Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

A little north of Gojō on Aburanokōji Street stood a rented house labeled "Shimaida Lodgings" in a feminine hand.
Around that back gate there had been a man for over ten minutes now—passing by, doubling back, listening intently for sounds within, then suddenly glancing around as if startled.

It was the night of August 23, 1926.
The sweltering evening bore Kyoto's trademark humidity, air hanging thick as sediment with not a leaf stirring.
Though past eleven o'clock, the thermometer still refused to dip below eighty degrees.

Because the Jizō Bon festival had continued since the previous day, Kyoto's streets were unusually crowded from early evening onward that day.
There were devout men and women visiting shrines with sincere faith; people seeking coolness after being kept awake by the heat; carefree souls content simply to mingle with the crowds; and it wasn't certain there weren't ne'er-do-wells scheming to exploit the commotion for their own ends.
Catering to all these people, festival vendors peddled litter-strewn ice cream, chilled sweets, and watermelon slices—still hoarsely hawking their wares in hopes of quickly offloading leftover stock.

However, this was limited to areas associated with today’s festival—Rokakudo Temple, Anzan Jizo Shrine, and their surroundings—so the vicinity of Gojō Aburanokōji had indeed grown quiet past eleven o’clock. As it coincided with the fifteenth night of the lunar calendar, the full moon occasionally revealed itself through breaks in the thick clouds only to disappear again.

The man who had been loitering around the back gate of the Shimaida residence pushed it open and slipped inside like the wind the instant the moon disappeared behind clouds. Then, as if conjured from thin air, a second man materialized on the street that had seemed utterly deserted until now. Following the first man’s example, he pushed open the gate and vanished inside.

About twenty minutes later, the second man emerged from the gate with a deflated expression.

Then, this time, the third man suddenly emerged from the shadows and resolutely approached the second man.

“How’d it go?”

“No way around it—they saw right through us.”

“Meaning?”

“Like this,” the second man said, sticking out his pinky finger.
“This here’s their little tryst.”
“Turns out the bastard works as a foreman at some factory—couldn’t get a proper look at his face since he kept it turned away, but seems his right arm’s missing from the elbow down.”
“With that handicap, no chance that miserly old goat would let his daughter marry him.”
“A crippled laborer through and through.”
“But get this—the girl’s just as mismatched for a moneylender’s brat. She’s been pleading with that wreck to whisk her away before they ship her off somewhere.”
“And get this—the bastard’s bawling about needing time to prepare for marriage, says a factory hand can’t just set up house overnight. All that sniveling and clinging—couldn’t stomach another minute of their lovey-dovey act, so I made myself scarce.”

“So you went in planning to bag a big prize, only to get treated to a full-blown lovers’ scene instead—completely knocked off your stride, eh?”

“Times like these make me thoroughly sick of this detective line of work.”

“Still, what a detestable bastard. Why don’t we give him a good scare?”

“Don’t. It’s a crime.”

“Don’t sympathize with idiots—aren’t you acting suspicious yourself?”
“Don’t joke around.”

II

As the two plainclothes detectives moved twenty to thirty steps northward while conversing in low voices, the back gate of Shimaida Lodgings swung open smoothly again. From within emerged the first man, with a flustered appearance as though something had occurred, hurrying out in a flurry.

The two detectives hurriedly stepped back two or three paces,

“Wait!” they shouted.

The man started in surprise, turned toward them, and then suddenly dashed off in the opposite direction like a startled bird.
The two men were momentarily stunned by this unexpected action, but once committed, they became pure stubborn resolve.
Their entire bodies snapped into professional tension.
It mirrored physics’ equilibrium—apply one force, and a proportional reaction arises in response.
The detectives gave chase at full speed.
Yet the fleeing figure vanished instantly into thin air.
They split up and scoured every alleyway, eave, and shadow around Gojō Aburanokōji until dawn’s approach forced them back empty-handed.

“The bastard got spooked and hid himself away.”
“What a damnable bastard.”

“Ah, well. It’s not like we actually let the thief get away.”

The two met in front of the Shimaida house, said such things, and resigned themselves.

“But while we’re here, why don’t we take a quick look inside the house?”

“There’s no need for that. It’s late—it’d be cruel to startle them now.”

“Still, if something did happen, it’d be negligence on our part.”

“That may be true, but... Let’s handle this quietly. You always go in too rough—just like during that inspection last time...”

“Cut the ancient history—let’s just get inside.”

Seeing that it still wasn’t locked, the gate opened immediately when given a slight push, just as before.
Parting through the bush clover thicket, one circled around to the detached veranda while the other headed for the entrance.

Since the front door stood wide open, Detective Otsu called out in a low voice, “Hello?”, but the house remained utterly silent with no sign of anyone emerging.
He gradually raised his voice until finally pounding on the wooden door while—
“Is there no one here?” he shouted, yet still there was no indication of anyone coming forth.
And yet inside the room, the electric light blazed brightly.
“For a man with his reputation as a greedy old miser, this is inexcusably careless,” Detective Otsu muttered irritably as he stepped up into the tatami room.

The right side of the entrance was an eight-tatami room.
This was the chamber where the house’s old man had drained the lifeblood from countless desperate souls.
For some reason, the sliding door connecting the entryway to this room stood ajar by two or three inches.
Still standing, Detective Otsu peered through the gap.

His pupils dilated instantly, locked upon something within the room.

III

The room’s interior was strewn with burnt paper scraps like the aftermath of a fire, and nearly at its center lay an opened portable safe measuring about two shaku by one shaku, containing only enough silver and copper coins arranged in a single row to cover the bottom.
Beside the safe lay a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties—slender, with sharp facial bones and a receding hairline—his hands bound and a muzzle gag stuffed in his mouth.

Detective Otsu pressed a hand to the forehead and found it warm.
The man was definitely alive.
Yet given how he didn’t so much as twitch, he must have been shocked into complete unconsciousness.

Thinking “This is bad—I need to notify headquarters immediately,” he started to rise when hurried footsteps came rushing toward him from the detached building.
It was, of course, Detective Kō.

“Hey, this is a major incident!” Detective Otsu exclaimed the moment they met, tugging Detective Kō’s sleeve and leading him to the eight-tatami room at the heart of the matter.

“Damn, this is bad... And now there’s trouble brewing at the detached building too.”

“What’s the move?”

“The daughter, because of the heat, opened one rain shutter, lowered a bamboo blind there, lay down in bed with the light still on, and seemed to be reading a book.”

“Hmph.”

“I thought I’d leave it at that, but just to be safe, I called out ‘Hello?’ in a low voice—yet somehow there was no response.”
“Then I rapped on the rain shutter, but she stayed facing away and didn’t even try to turn around.”
“I called out ‘Hello?’ again in a loud voice, but still there was no response.”

“Yeah, and then?”

“Since I thought she was sleeping quite soundly, I figured I should remind her to lock up before bed and finally went into the room.”
“And I put my hands near the daughter’s shoulders and shook her, saying ‘Hey’.”
“I thought she’d be startled seeing me there, but there was still no reaction.”
“The sound of the book she’d been holding dropping with a thud was so startling that it ended up shocking me instead.”

“Was she killed?”

“But that’s not what happened. She’s breathing normally. Her body temperature shows no abnormalities either. Someone must have drugged her with anesthetic. When I came here and saw this situation, it all made sense—the thief likely drugged her first to prevent any disturbance before calmly proceeding with his work.”

“If we’d stationed someone at the back door then, we could’ve caught him easily. What a wasted opportunity.”

“What’s done is done. Anyway, we need to report to the main station immediately.”

“Then you stay here on watch—I’ll rush to make the call. Don’t lay a finger on anything till they come from headquarters.”

While saying this, Detective Otsu hurriedly exited outdoors.

IV

“Check whether there are fingerprints left on the safe,” the prosecutor ordered a man as he sat down beside the collapsed old man.

“An extraordinary amount of paper ash lies scattered about. No doubt some debtor bearing a grudge against this old man burned every loan document within reach.”

“He was a man of ill repute.”
“Such an outcome could well be expected.”

While answering this, the Police Chief suddenly noticed something clenched tightly in the old man’s hands, which were bound behind his back.

“Doesn’t it look like he’s clutching something in his right hand?”

“Indeed, let’s try prying it open… He’s gripping it quite tightly.”

As the prosecutor gripped the tips of the old man’s index and middle fingers, attempting to forcibly pry them open, the old man—who until now had lain unconscious—

“Ouch!…” he shouted and thrashed his hand violently. Upon closer inspection, severe burns appeared to stretch from his thumb across the inner side of his index finger, the flesh swollen painfully. Even so, he still did not try to open his hand.

“Hey, have you come to?”
“What’s wrong?”

The Police Chief spoke gently to him, but the old man went limp again, showing no sign of responding.

Meanwhile, at the detached building, Inspector Yukata—renowned for his competence within Mizogawa Station—examined the daughter’s condition alongside the police physician.

“She’s been administered a mild anesthetic. If left undisturbed for another thirty minutes, she should regain consciousness naturally.”
“It’s best to leave her as she is.”

“What kind of anesthetic was used?”

“Well, there’s no trace of a smell left, so I can’t tell—but do you have a keen nose?”
“A trace amount of anesthetic evaporates immediately. Unless one has an exceptionally keen nose, it’s undetectable.”
“In any case—judging from her breathing and pulse—it’s nothing serious.”
“She’ll come around soon.”

“When you first arrived, was this woman sitting at the desk?” Inspector Yukata asked, looking toward Detective Kō.

“Yes.
“She was leaning against this plain desk talking to a man without a right hand.”

“How many minutes after you left did the man without a right hand come outside?”

While watching the police physician—who had given a brief nod to both men before heading toward the main house with his bag—Inspector Yukata continued speaking.

“It was soon after.”
“Well… I’d say about five minutes.”

“When you left, those two weren’t having any sort of quarrel?”

“‘Hurry up and be together…’ It sounded like he was saying ‘Just wait a little longer,’ but there was no sign of an argument starting.”
“If anything, they were clinging to each other and kissing like they couldn’t bear to part for even a minute longer—it made me feel downright awkward watching them.”

“You mentioned the man seemed restless and in a hurry when he left…”

“Ah, Detective Otsu did mention that, but I didn’t notice it myself.”

“Hmph, so then when you challenged them, they ran away?”

“That is correct.”

“Around where did you lose sight of that man?”

“After all, we were twenty or thirty steps away when the moon was hidden behind clouds. And since I never imagined that man would attempt such an outrageous act back then, I can’t recall the exact spot—but it was definitely somewhere slightly downhill from Gojō.”

“Then you two searched for ten minutes, right?”

“Ah, we searched as thoroughly as possible, but ended up letting him get away.”

Inspector Yukata glanced around the room but found no signs of disturbance.
On top of the plain desk were two or three books neatly stacked, and beside them lay a small fourteen-karat gold pencil.
Beneath the plain desk lay a diastase bottle and a Calmotin bottle, both toppled over.

“Make sure no one touches the plain desk—we’ll need to take fingerprints later.”

Having said this, Inspector Yukata started to head toward the main house but suddenly turned back, picked up the Calmotin bottle, and tucked it into his pocket.

V

Due to the stimulant medicine administered by the doctor taking effect, Old Man Shimaida came back to his senses.
He opened his eyes wide with a bewildered expression, scanning the room intently until his gaze landed on the safe—whereupon he immediately attempted to stretch his hands toward it.
But with both hands still tightly bound, he let out an “Ah, it hurts!” before collapsing face-first onto the floor once more.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Looks like you’ve been robbed. We’re police.”
“From Mizogawa Station.”
“Now tell us how you wound up like this.”

The Police Chief took out a Shikima pack and lit it while speaking.

“Do you remember his face?”

The prosecutor sat beside the old man and asked in a calm tone.

“My hands… Untie these hands, sir… Ah, it hurts…”

“I’ll untie them now—but first I need to ask who tied you up.”

“It’s a man I don’t know—someone I’ve never seen before. You still haven’t caught him yet?... My precious loan documents—all turned to ashes... And right before my very eyes... Ah, how infuriating...”

“What happened to your left temple there—isn’t it purple and swollen?”

The prosecutor pointed at Shimaida’s temple and said.

“Bastard—remember him! He’s a man with terrifying strength.”
"That bastard slammed his fist into there with all his might."
“After that... I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything...”

“What happened to your hands? They look badly burned. And what’s that you’re clutching in them?”

“P-please untie my hands quickly—let me see—am I clutching something? Oh, thank goodness!”

Shimaida shouted like a madman while frantically trying to shake free his bound hands, thrashing about.

When the prosecutor and police chief exchanged glances, two detectives approached Shimaida and untied his hands.
When he hurriedly opened his palm, a triangular fragment of a bankbook—about an inch on each side, caked with pus from burns—emerged from within.

“This one’s burned too… More precious than life…”

While saying this, Shimaida gazed resentfully at the remaining paper fragment, utterly dejected.

“What is that?” asked both the prosecutor and the police chief, peering at the dirty paper fragment from either side.

“It’s a Yasuda Bank passbook.”
“I was trying to hold onto even this much when that bastard struck a match and lit the edge of the passbook.”
“Every time it started dying out, he’d relight it again until he burned it down to this.”
“Thanks to him, I got these burns all over.”
“With both hands tied like that, there was nothing I could do.”
“Sir—do you think the bank’ll still take this?”

“The bank will probably look into it.”
“By the way—you don’t recognize that thief’s face at all?”

“Yes—he wore a full mask! And I…I was stunned senseless from the very start—”

“Do you recall whether he had a right hand?”

Inspector Yukata broke his prolonged silence to interject.

“His right hand?” Shimaida echoed with a strange expression.

“Right—was your temple struck from behind or from the front?”

“Well, it happened so fast—whether it was from the front or behind… I think it was probably from the side.”

“When he tied your hands, did the thief use both hands?”

“After taking that solid hit, I was completely… frantic.”

“How did he light them?”

“He used matches from that ashtray there—piled up the loan documents on the scorched tatami and burned them away.”
“Now that I think of it… I believe he only used one hand… But whether right or left, I can’t quite…”

“Were there any bills in the safe besides the documents?”

“There were about ¥3,000 in hundred-yen bills and ¥700 in ten-yen bills, but that brazen bastard took them all right before my very eyes!”

“Did the thief say anything?”

“It wasn’t just a few words!
He kept talking nonstop from start to finish.
‘You’re a societal parasite—I’ll punish you on heaven’s behalf!’—he kept spouting these grand declarations!”

“You have no leads whatsoever?”

“There’s no one in particular... but really, every last bastard I’ve ever lent money to hates my guts...”

“You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you? Does she have a lover?”

“Certainly not! If you ask around about that daughter of mine, you’ll find she’s known for her upstanding reputation. It’s already been arranged for her to be with my nephew returning from Dalian next month, so...”

“Your daughter is currently in the annex, drugged by someone and fast asleep.”

“No, that’s impossible. The thief came in through the front entrance and left through the front entrance. I heard it clearly with my own ears... Oh yes, now I remember! As he was leaving, the thief said—‘I don’t do wicked deeds like you. I punish wicked men.’ ‘As proof, the police will protect me for sure.’ ‘Tonight I plan to be under police custody.’ ‘When the cops arrive, give them my thanks too’—that’s what he said.”

At that moment, Detective Kō reported that the daughter in the annex had regained consciousness, so the group left two constables on guard and headed toward the annex.

Six

“Who was the man that entered your room around half past eleven last night?”

The prosecutor asked the daughter, who trembled violently with fear.
She still didn’t seem to fully grasp the situation, occasionally raising her eyes to steal glances at the imposing officials before growing frightened again and lowering her gaze.

“I don’t know any such person,” she answered, trembling.

“There’s no way you don’t know! I—” Detective Kō edged forward with a hint of anger, but the prosecutor restrained him,

“Now, now—you stay quiet,” he said while turning back toward the daughter.

“Hiding it won’t do you any good—this gentleman here has seen everything. It’s some factory foreman missing his right hand…”

When the daughter heard terms like “factory foreman” or “missing his right hand,” she began trembling even more violently than before—so visibly that she seemed utterly incapable of responding. Yet despite this, she finally answered in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s.

“No, I don’t know anything about that. That must be a case of mistaken identity.”

“That man drugged you with anesthetic, put on a mask, sneaked into the main house, bound your father, and made off with all the cash and documents. Well? You know you were drugged with anesthetic, don’t you?”

A strange flash gleamed in the daughter’s eyes for an instant.
She appeared to be deep in thought about something.
Inspector Yukata was observing the daughter’s demeanor with great care.

“Oh! Right,” the daughter began speaking in a manner completely different from before. “Now that you mention it, I do think a black-masked man suddenly came from that tree’s shadow around midnight and pressed something pungent against my nose.” “……That must be it.” “I remember it clearly……”

Inspector Yukata at this moment approached the police chief’s side,

“Let us cease interrogating this young lady.”
“This woman overdosed on Calmotin last night—the drug’s effects were too strong.”
“She has no connection whatsoever to the thief in the main house.”
“No matter how much you question her, she won’t tell the truth.”

As he said this, he took out the box of Calmotin from his pocket and placed it there.

“This is the evidence.”
“Furthermore, there’s no need to keep searching for the man missing his right hand.”
“That man certainly did come here.”
“It’s also a fact that he was challenged by two people at the back gate and fled.”
“But isn’t it a sin to probe too deeply into the amusements shared between youngsters?”
“When hidden affairs become known to society, anyone would feel mortified.”
“Look.”
“This young lady’s face tells everything.”

The daughter’s face flushed crimson as she hung her head.

“But more importantly,” Inspector Yukata continued, “we must find the real culprit. Though at present our only lead is the fingerprints. We need to get those results quickly and set our investigative strategy. Judging by how that old man was subdued—not only does it seem impossible for someone missing a right hand, but it doesn’t feel like an amateur’s work either. Checking fingerprints comes first. And we can’t ignore that parting threat the thief made to him at the end. That sort of daring robber always follows through on their boasts. They might be snoozing comfortably right under this station’s eaves as we speak—just to shock us and savor the thrill.”

“Your thinking is too novelistic—it’s a nuisance. However much you insist, would a thief ever stay at the police station on the very night he committed his crime?” the police chief said with a laugh.

“However, we can’t afford to dawdle any longer,” Inspector Yukata pressed. “It’s been hours since daybreak.” He turned to summon Detective Kō—but the detective was nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps he’s in the main house?” suggested an officer already sprinting toward the structure. Moments later he returned, breathless. “No sign of him there either.”

Seven

By the time the entire group had returned to the main police station, it was already nine o'clock in the morning.

The police cordon had failed to catch any strong suspects, and with the victim’s memory remaining hazy, the investigation could establish no clear direction.
The fingerprint results showed that while only left-hand prints had been detected in the detached room’s paper-lacquered cabinet, those on the main house’s safe included prints from both hands—conclusively proving that the assailant who struck the main house was not a man missing his right hand. Yet among all fingerprints on file in the prefectural identification division’s records, none matched those from the scene.
Therefore, those fingerprints were immediately sent to the National Police Agency.

Around 9:30, when the Police Chief—exhausted from pondering and the fatigue since the previous night—had sunk heavily into his office chair for a breather, a duty officer brought in a special delivery letter.

The Police Chief listlessly slit open the seal and began to read.
The handwriting was wildly erratic, evidently scrawled in great haste—likely in a moving vehicle or similar circumstance—yet showed traces of expert penmanship as follows:

Last night, having received most gracious hospitality at Sugihara Police Station’s holding cell, I was then conveyed via a splendid automobile and am currently speeding down Shijō Avenue in said vehicle. For further details, kindly direct your inquiries to Sugihara Police Station. However, prior to that, you must urgently release the pitiable man who has been confined since last night in the storage shed at the northern corner of the Shimaida residence. By the by, I shall now proceed to Yasuda Bank to withdraw all of Shimaida’s deposits—please convey my regards to him accordingly. I cannot bear to see his pitiful state as he clings to those useless old ledgers, scorching his hands in the process. As for the cash formerly owned by Shimaida, I shall dispose of it appropriately for public works at my discretion—I trust you will grant me this liberty. We shall meet again ere long through different means in another locale. Detective Kō is currently riding alongside me, laughing over last night’s tale. Lastly, rest assured that we shall never trouble upstanding citizens—this I solemnly declare. In haste, I conclude with only the essentials.

The Masked Man

To Police Chief Mizogawa

The police chief nearly toppled over from his chair.
“This is utterly outrageous—no ordinary case!” he fumed.

Just as he was ordering a patrol officer to investigate the Shimaida residence as a precaution, Inspector Yukata arrived in a panic.

“Chief, I’ve done something truly regrettable.”
“I ended up letting him get away.”

“Hmph, what happened?” the Police Chief leaned forward.

“Intending to investigate every last one of those detained by city police stations last night, I went to Sugihara Station—and found they’d brought in a dead-drunk man from Miyagawacho after midnight and had him in their holding cell.”
“After all, since they’d apprehended this drunkard in Miyagawacho—a good distance from there—at nearly the same time as the incident occurred at the Shimaida residence, Sugihara Station hadn’t considered it particularly noteworthy. But then this morning, Detective Kō from Mizogawa Station arrived by car, claiming he was Baron Matsuzawa, and took him away.”

“I see—so you’re claiming that’s the perpetrator?”

“Yes. From Gojō Aburanokōji to Miyagawachō, it takes just five minutes by car if driven at full speed. And if you gulp down liquor nonstop in the car along the way, you can easily mimic a drunkard who’s been drinking for three hours with breath reeking of overripe persimmons.”

“What on earth has happened to Detective Kō? This is outrageous!”

“You see, last night, when he left Detective Otsu at Shimaida’s back gate and entered the house, the real Detective Kō must have been subdued by him in one fell swoop. Then he put on Kō’s clothes and completely impersonated him. It took twenty minutes from when Detective Kō entered until he came back out. During that time, could someone possibly stick around watching young lovers canoodle? And so, after keeping Detective Otsu’s attention fixed on the back gate, he let the master thief slip calmly out through the front entrance.”

“So you’re saying he had detectives keep watch while he was committing the robbery—in other words,”

“Exactly. There’s no safer method than this.”

“A letter like this just arrived.”
“What an insolent bastard.”
“Here—take a look.”

As he spoke, the Police Chief pulled from his pocket the special delivery letter he’d just received and displayed it still sealed.

“So did you have them investigate the storage shed at the Shimaida residence?”

Inspector Yukata gnashed his teeth in frustration after finishing the letter and spoke.

“Yeah, the report should arrive any moment now. …So the man missing his right hand isn’t involved in this case after all.”

“They were just having their secret rendezvous, completely unaware.”
“Poor things—they must’ve been startled when chased by those two.”
“He must live nearby… It all unfolded exactly as I’d suspected.”
“We were merely thirty minutes behind.”
“That half-hour delay let them seize complete initiative.”
“When I heard the thief say he’d ‘be under police care tonight,’ I grew suspicious—but couldn’t piece it together until Detective Kō vanished.”
“A grave miscalculation.”
“Next time such an opportunity arises, I won’t let them slip away.”

The report that the real Detective Kō had been discovered bound behind his back and gagged with a rope in the storage shed of the Shimaida residence reached Mizogawa Station less than five minutes later.