Pathway to Japanese Literature

“Oh, so you were at the courtroom today? ……So you were there after all.” “Yes, I attended the entire trial from beginning to end. Well, that defendant you’re defending—Moriki Kunimatsu, was it?—I can’t quite believe he killed Viscount Matsumura either. ……Back when the incident happened, I read the newspapers in great detail, you know.”

“Is that so? I never thought an artist like you would be interested in such a grim criminal case.”

Isegawa Ryutaro discarded his cigarette into the ashtray with a flick as he said this. Then he picked up the black tea cup that had been placed before him, sipped from it, and began studying his companion’s face with renewed intensity, as if seeing him for the first time. In the biting chill of spring, the outdoors had turned to snow, and after nightfall, wind had joined in.

In a Western-style study surrounded by bookshelves crammed full of books, two men sat facing each other in chairs by the hearth. The host was Isegawa Ryutaro, and the guest was Kiyokawa Jun. When he thought about it, it had already been a decade since the two of them had spent many a winter night huddled by the hearth in this very room. Isegawa was five years older than Kiyokawa. During their time at the same high school and university, the two had trusted and loved each other like true brothers.

However, youthful friendships are things that, from around the time the passions of youth begin to recede, tend to start fading away.

Isegawa studied law. He followed in his father’s footsteps to become a lawyer and fought numerous cases in the name of justice. Kiyokawa studied literature while remaining true to his youthful aspirations and emerged into the world as a playwright. Each time his works were released recently, they bathed in a brilliant spotlight while causing many young people to spend numerous troubled nights.

In this way, their paths gradually diverged.

Isegawa Ryutaro, now thirty-six years old, had married six years ago. However, his household was lonely. They were not blessed with a child. Moreover, his wife Shizue was always in poor health and spent half of each year away from home, recuperating in the Shonan region.

On this night too, as powdery snow scattered outdoors, Isegawa Ryutaro had finished his solitary dinner and was about to glance through the evening paper when he unexpectedly received a visit from Kiyokawa Jun—now considered an old friend. After exchanging pleasantries over their long separation, Kiyokawa abruptly began discussing the day’s courtroom proceedings he had attended in his capacity as a legal professional. However, this seemed nothing more than a perfunctory courtesy toward him in his role as a lawyer—mere flattery.

Struggling to guess the true reason for his visitor’s call, he managed to find a way to broach the subject.

“To be honest, I was surprised you’d take an interest in something like a murder case.” “To us, it’s quite an intriguing case… If you have time, why don’t you stay and listen to the whole story?” “You probably know this already, but my wife’s health hasn’t improved—she’s been in Odawara since New Year’s.” “Since I’m all alone and feeling rather lonely, why don’t you stay here for old times’ sake if it suits you? We can talk at leisure.”

He showed a benevolent smile as he said this. Kiyokawa Jun responded with his time-honored beautiful smile before answering anew. "I’m not particularly interested in murder cases as such—it’s simply whether Viscount Matsumura was actually killed that peculiarly intrigues me."

This answer came as a surprise to Isegawa. He had merely intended to let Kiyokawa state his business as comfortably as possible—though it was likely as unpleasant as that of a typical client—and had only touched upon the case he was involved in as a matter of course. “Hmm… So you and the late Viscount had some—” “No, I don’t know him at all.” “I’ve never even met the Viscount.” “But whether Moriki killed him or the Viscount committed suicide—that’s what strangely bothers me……”

When told such things about the criminal case he was pouring his all into, even Isegawa found himself compelled to grow increasingly engaged. Forgetting his initial reservations and even while noticing the unnaturalness of Kiyokawa’s words, Isegawa abruptly pressed on.

“Not at all—it’s not just you. The public equally seeks to know the truth. Of course, I believe the Viscount committed suicide. At the very least, Moriki Kunimatsu is no murderer.” “But consider this—the prosecutor formally indicted him for robbery-murder. Prosecutor Fujiyama, whom I know well personally, isn’t one to act rashly. The preliminary judge too has forwarded this as a robbery-murder case to trial.”

“But isn’t it said that Moriki has made a full confession before the prosecutor?”

“Now, wait a moment. If you’re so earnest about this, I’ll recount that incident in detail here once again.”

That happened precisely last autumn, in early October. At the beginning of that month, I had gone to Kansai for about ten days regarding the case, but during my absence, on October 3rd, an incident occurred at the M Hot Spring Resort near Odawara. As you are no doubt aware, in Room 103 of the M Hotel at the M Hot Spring Resort, Viscount Matsumura—who had been staying there since the night of October 1st two days prior—was found dead. As this was reported in detail at the time—and you are no doubt aware—Viscount Matsumura had worked as a diplomat since his youth and remained completely unmarried until he was forty-two years old at the time. Regarding the matter of an heir as well—likely because he had always been in good health—he seemed never to have given it any thought. Even after returning to Tokyo, though appearing utterly solitary to outsiders, he maintained what seemed a carefree bachelor’s life.

On the night of October 1st, Viscount Matsumura appeared at the M Hotel without fanfare. He had spent the previous night at N Inn in Numazu. After arriving at the M Hotel, there was no noticeable change in the Viscount’s demeanor. On the morning of the third day, Moriki Kunimatsu, a bellboy, knocked on the Viscount’s door for some business, but there was no response. After a while, he went again, but there was no response. Since the Viscount’s shoes were outside the door, it was certain he was inside.

Now, since the door was not locked from the inside, Moriki opened it and entered, whereupon he discovered the Viscount lying dead in bed.

Up to this point, I have merely recounted what was reported at the time; however, one cannot deny the unnatural aspects in Moriki’s actions. Therefore, though he later became the defendant and significantly altered his own testimony, it was initially reported as described above. Setting that aside for later examination, as for how the Viscount had died—this being entirely investigated by the authorities—he was lying in bed holding a pistol in his right hand with a gunshot wound directly above his right ear. Only a small amount of fresh blood had spilled from there with absolutely no other alteration. As a result of the investigation it became clear that the Viscount had died instantly from a single pistol bullet around midnight the previous night.

Now then, the crucial question became whether Viscount Matsumura’s death was suicide, murder, or an accidental death. “Judging from the body’s posture,” he continued, “an accidental death cannot be considered.” “The most natural interpretation would naturally be to posit suicide as the theory.” The police too had initially seemed to consider that possibility, but first and foremost, they had discovered no motive resembling suicide. “Of course,” Isegawa added gravely, “no suicide note or anything of the sort was found whatsoever.” “Secondly—and this was conclusively established—the Viscount was left-handed.” “This fact became pivotal.” “They concluded that this left-handed man had fired the pistol with his right hand at death’s moment.” “Thirdly—as I mentioned earlier—the testimony from Moriki Kunimatsu, the bellboy who first discovered the body, had grown increasingly dubious.”

When Moriki Kunimatsu was interrogated, extremely disadvantageous facts came to light. That is to say, at the time he had thrown himself into debt-ridden circumstances at that very location—his finances were completely strained—yet by October 4th, not only had he neatly repaid approximately half of his various debts, but despite around five hundred yen in banknotes being discovered in his room, he was unable to clarify their origin. On the other hand, while it remained unclear how much money the Viscount had taken with him on his trip, when discovered, there had been less than twenty yen in his wallet.

“You must have noticed this already, of course, but the sequence of events leading up to Moriki discovering the Viscount’s body was highly irregular.” “If the guest had called for him, that would be one thing, but without permission after knocking from outside, a bellboy shouldn’t enter the room.” “Especially at a place like M Hotel, the bellboys should be thoroughly trained in such matters.” “Moreover, even if a guest hasn’t emerged all day, they shouldn’t start knocking indiscriminately just because the guest hasn’t come out for breakfast by around ten in the morning.” “First of all—for what reason did he knock on the door of Room 103?” He was unable to give a clear answer on this point. “After being harshly interrogated by the police, he temporarily changed his testimony, coming up with some nonsense about how when he passed by, the door happened to be open and he heard a groan from inside.” “Moreover, regarding those banknotes, he only gave vague explanations, and things didn’t progress at all.” “After much back-and-forth, the police concluded he was undoubtedly the culprit and sent him to the prosecutor’s office.”

“This is naturally a reasonable account, and I can well understand suspecting him under these circumstances.” After being rigorously interrogated by the police, Moriki had strangely confessed that the crime was entirely his own doing. According to his confession, he sufficiently deserved to be indicted as a robber-murderer. “The previous night, he had been ordered by the Viscount to bring cigarettes to Room 103.” At that moment, the Viscount was lying in bed counting a bundle of banknotes. “For someone in such desperate need of money—this was an immense temptation.” However, even he couldn’t muster the courage to kill the Viscount and take the money. He silently returned, but around one o’clock—when heading to the restroom intending to sleep—he happened to pass Room 103 and found the door slightly ajar. Just as he thought “He must have forgotten to lock it,” the bundle of banknotes he had seen earlier floated before his eyes. For him, trapped in financial desperation, this became an irresistible temptation. As if pulled by invisible strings, Moriki crept into the room. In the dim lamplight by the Viscount’s pillow lay a bulging wallet and a pistol. Smoothly advancing, he reached for the wallet—the instant his fingers touched it, the Viscount suddenly awoke. “Who’s there?!” Shouting this, the Viscount stretched out his hand to reclaim the banknotes. In his panic, Moriki pressed the muzzle of the nearby pistol against the Viscount’s head and fired before properly grasping it. Seizing the banknotes, he bolted from the room like a startled hare.

“This is the fact that Moriki clearly stated before the prosecutor,” “In other words, he fired a pistol in order to obtain another person’s property, thereby taking the life of its owner.”

Having spoken this far, Isegawa lit a new cigarette.

Kiyokawa remained motionless like a statue, silent, staring at the stove’s flames and listening intently. A strong wind swept past, rattling the windowpanes for a moment.

“The reason I took on this case was because I knew a friend of M Hotel’s owner, but by the time I became involved, proceedings had already entered the preliminary hearing stage.” “You likely know this already, but during preliminary hearings, one cannot make detailed inquiries into a case’s substance.” “Only after the preliminary judge completed his examination was I finally able to meet Moriki Kunimatsu and gain full knowledge of the incident.”

After appearing in the preliminary hearing, Moriki abruptly retracted his confession. And then he began to state the facts he had presented in **the courtroom** today.

“Since you attended that hearing, you likely have a general understanding of the case’s progression—but let me explain it clearly from my side.”

According to Moriki’s account, Viscount Matsumura had committed suicide right before his eyes. “And the five hundred yen in banknotes he possessed, along with the money used to cover his debts, were given to Moriki by the Viscount himself just before his suicide.”

Now, it wasn’t as though the Viscount had stayed at M Hotel for the first time. The Viscount had stayed there several times already and was quite acquainted with Moriki Kunimatsu. Far from that—it seems he was even rather doted on. As you have seen, the defendant was still twenty-four years old with a rather handsome face and somewhat quick wit; from these traits, it seemed he was quite accustomed to taking care of the bachelor Viscount’s personal affairs.

On the night of October 1st, Viscount Matsumura arrived alone and stayed in Room 103. At that time, from what Moriki observed, there had apparently been no change whatsoever in the Viscount’s demeanor. Then, around midnight on the 2nd, the call bell from the Viscount’s room suddenly rang. When Moriki hurried to the Viscount’s room, he found the Viscount had gotten into bed and was smoking a cigarette, but the moment the Viscount saw his face, he suddenly— “You’ve done a lot for me, but I’m going far away this time, so I’m giving this to you.” “Take it quietly and keep it.”

While saying this, he suddenly thrust out a bundle of banknotes. As Moriki stood astonished, the Viscount abruptly seized his left hand, forced the bills into his palm while simultaneously clenching his grip with crushing force. Moriki found this sudden behavior of the Viscount somewhat difficult to comprehend, but since he was being given the money regardless, he expressed his thanks and accepted it. “That’s enough. You may go and rest now.”

Being told this, he bowed in bewilderment, opened the door, and stepped outside. He, “Good night.” As he bid farewell and turned to leave, a strange, muffled thud echoed from within the room. Having suspected since earlier that something was amiss with the Viscount’s behavior, he suddenly flung open the door he had just closed and rushed inside—only to find Viscount Matsumura lying in bed, having shot himself in the head with a pistol and died instantly.

As for this pistol, during their earlier conversation Viscount Matsumura had apparently concealed it within the bed, and Moriki stated he had been completely unaware of it until that moment.

Now, at this juncture, the most prudent course for Moriki would have been to promptly report this matter to the office and inform everyone. "You would naturally think so too." Yet why did he not adopt that course of action? To state it plainly—it was monetary temptation.

Of course, he too had apparently thought to rush straight to the office. However, when he saw the large sum of money gripped in his hand, he suddenly considered the consequences. The Viscount’s suicide would likely be recognized. No one would possibly suspect him of murder. But who could prove Viscount Matsumura had just given him such an enormous amount? He thought. If he claimed to have received it, not only would the officials disbelieve him, they might even doubt the cause of death itself. Abandoning greed would make it simple. He could silently return the bundle of banknotes and call for help. But he was desperate to keep the money. More than that—this was rightfully his own money now, belonging to him through legitimate rights even without witnesses.

He hesitated. In the end, having hesitated, he foolishly withdrew to his own room in silence.

“The Viscount wasn’t blameless either,” Isegawa reflected. “If he’d truly meant well by giving Moriki that money, he should’ve left a suicide note for him. That kind of half-measure was practically inviting suspicion onto the young man.”

All night long, Moriki agonized in his futon, trying to think of a way to explain himself, but in the end, no good idea came to him. And driven by morbid curiosity, he finally went to check the Viscount’s room himself, and only then pretended to have discovered it the next morning and roused everyone. Therefore, it’s only natural that his account contains suspicious elements. Therefore, it’s only natural that he would come under police suspicion.

Then why did he confess to the police?

“This is straightforward,” Isegawa continued. “After being subjected to relentless interrogation while having told lies himself from the outset, Moriki became overwhelmed and confessed to whatever suited their narrative—such cases are far from rare.” His tone shifted slightly as he addressed Kiyokawa directly: “I don’t know how harshly police interrogate suspects, but you’ve surely heard how people sometimes confess to false charges.” Returning to his analytical voice, he concluded, “Moriki became one of those tragic cases. Having told an initial trivial lie, he found himself compelled to fabricate ever more outrageous falsehoods.”

He spent his time before the prosecutor in the same state. Of course, it’s said he initially denied his police confession before Prosecutor Fujiyama, but after being barked at with “Don’t go spouting all sorts of nonsense,” he reverted back to his original story.

At this stage, a peculiar delusion took root in the defendant’s psyche. However much we, as outsiders, might have thought that no one would fabricate a life-threatening falsehood even under the most absurd circumstances, once a defendant told a coherent lie and repeated it frequently, the terror gradually faded until ultimately they became surprisingly nonchalant.

Moriki Kunimatsu, after confessing to the horrific robbery-murder charge, continued to give the same account even during the first and second interrogations before the preliminary judge. It was finally during the third interrogation in the preliminary hearing that he began stating the facts as he now claims. It was from this session onward that he abruptly began denying the facts he had previously admitted and asserting his innocence.

"As you have heard, in the courtroom he was vehemently asserting his absolute innocence. Prosecutor Fujiyama’s position in indicting him based on his confession was also quite understandable. Nor was it that we could not understand the judge’s state of mind in transferring the case to trial. But no matter what they say, the innocent remain innocent. 'If they were to hand down a guilty verdict against him—' 'The state would be committing an outrageous error.' 'That’s an extremely perilous path!'" Isegawa Ryutaro spoke these words with some excitement and stared intently at Kiyokawa Jun.

Kiyokawa Jun had been listening in complete silence, but at this moment he suddenly spoke up.

“I now thoroughly understand the sequence of events in the case. ...But do you truly believe in Moriki Kunimatsu’s innocence?” “………………” “No, it was presumptuous of me to ask such a thing of you in your capacity as a lawyer.” “However, Mr. Isegawa.” “As a friend—you know—as a friend, I want to ask this.” “You truly believe Moriki Kunimatsu is innocent.” “What he says—of course, what he said in court today… Do you truly believe that is the truth?”

“Of course!”

Isegawa answered in a shout. However, his face clearly bore the expression of someone whose weak point had been struck.

“No matter what?” Kiyokawa pressed him like a hunter pursuing fleeing prey, but his face bore an unexpectedly earnest expression. “Of course… How could I have delivered today’s defense if I didn’t believe it, you…”

Gulping audibly, Isegawa continued. “Of course, I am a lawyer. I make my living as a lawyer. I belong to a profession that must defend clients to the bitter end. However, unworthy though I may be—Isegawa Ryutaro, fool that I am—I am not so blinded by money as to stubbornly argue for the innocence of someone I clearly believe to be guilty. In that case, I wouldn’t have taken the defense from the beginning. Admittedly, there are instances where what one initially believed to be innocent later appears otherwise. Whether lawyers should abandon their clients’ defense in such circumstances, and whether such abandonment aligns with the spirit of justice—this was once a major issue debated even in Britain. But in this case, that does not apply. I believe in Moriki’s innocence.”

As Isegawa's agitation grew, Kiyokawa, for some reason, gradually revealed an icy expression. And he pressed further. “Why do you believe that?” “On what grounds?”

Isegawa answered this persistent barrage of questions while looking at Kiyokawa with a somewhat exasperated expression.

“Why? I don’t understand why you’re asking me this, but to put it simply, it’s because the evidence for establishing guilt is insufficient.” Before he knew it, Isegawa had stood up and begun pacing before the stove. “Kiyokawa, since you’re not a legal professional, let me clarify—according to the spirit of the law, of criminal law, I have no obligation to prove the defendant’s innocence. Conversely, it’s the prosecutor who must actively demonstrate the defendant’s guilt. For a judge to deliver a guilty verdict, naturally the court must prove guilt beyond doubt. Therefore, in cases where evidence seems evenly balanced—where there’s even a sliver of doubt—the defendant must absolutely be deemed innocent. This principle isn’t unique to our nation. All systems in civilized countries operate this way. In the famous Crippen case, Lord Birkett—who defended his mistress—wrote indignantly in his book about how Lord Richard Muir, then serving as Counsel for the Crown—that is, acting as prosecutor—had demanded he prove the defendant’s innocence. A lawyer is never obliged to proactively prove innocence under any circumstances. Yet prosecutors bear an absolute duty to establish guilt. This stems from the maxim: ‘It is better that ten guilty persons escape than one innocent suffer.’ Admittedly, one might question whether this principle itself aligns with true justice. But so long as humans judge other humans, I believe we’ve no choice but to uphold this maxim.”

“That’s why in this case too, I have no obligation to actively assert Moriki’s innocence.—Kiyokawa, I’m telling you this precisely because it’s you—actively proving anything at this stage would mean conclusively demonstrating the Viscount’s death was suicide, which would be exceedingly difficult. However, the prosecutor must prove that the Viscount was murdered—that it was not suicide—and moreover, that he was killed by Moriki Kunimatsu.”

"In short, he believed that based solely on today’s prosecutor’s closing arguments and other evidence, it had not been proven. ‘Prosecutor Fujiyama may think that constitutes sufficient evidence, but I absolutely do not agree. The absence of a discernible suicide motive for the Viscount, coupled with the defendant’s apparent ample motive for murder, hardly constitutes sufficient evidence for conviction.’"

Everyone had secrets. This was especially true for that unmarried Viscount. What secrets he might have had—such things weren’t easily discerned. The possibility of someone impulsively deciding to die couldn’t be ruled out. “It’s not necessarily certain that he left a suicide note.” “Moriki might have a motive for robbery-murder.” “But if they insist he must have done it simply because of that, I can’t bear it.” “The biggest problem lies in why a left-handed person didn’t use their left hand when committing suicide with a pistol.” “This, of course, depends on the degree of left-handedness.” “However, it is by no means unnatural for left-handed people to do things with their right hand.” “There are those who are left-handed but always use their right hand for chopsticks or pens, so it doesn’t necessarily follow that they would always hold a pistol in their left hand either.”

“The most regrettable thing is that modern science cannot conclusively determine whether it was suicide or murder—in other words, whether the pistol was fired by the victim themselves or by someone else in such cases. When it comes to deaths like hanging, they can often be determined relatively well, but even in that Kobue Incident, you see how matters become contentious. In short, I consider the evidence insufficient. Not only that—to speak truthfully—while I cannot actively prove his innocence, I believe what Moriki Kunimatsu says is entirely factual and true. I am convinced of it. Tell me, Kiyokawa—what do you think?”

Isegawa, who had been pacing around the room engrossed while talking nonstop, finished saying all this in one breath; then, as if pouncing from his side this time, he stared at Kiyokawa’s face and gulped down his thoroughly chilled tea.

“So, as I said earlier, I feel that Moriki didn’t do it.” This time, it was Kiyokawa who slightly faltered as he replied in a feeble voice. And then, somewhat awkwardly, as if suddenly remembering, he picked up the teacup.

Once again, the silence continued.

The wind still had not subsided. The windowpanes occasionally rattled, announcing the intensity of the snowstorm.

Isegawa Ryutaro was now nothing but a legal professional—not merely to Kiyokawa, but to all people.

He was poised to lunge at any who opposed him as enemies, ready to tear into them. He no longer recalled their past friendship or anything of the sort. He no longer concerned himself with such matters as why Kiyokawa had come to visit him on that snowy night.

However, the silence was first broken by Kiyokawa.

Suddenly adopting a grave expression, Kiyokawa said. “Mr. Isegawa, you stated there’s no need to prove Moriki’s innocence.” “Yet being able to prove it would be preferable, would it not?” “No—even if proof remains unattainable in court, should someone demonstrate it before you privately, you’d fortify your convictions and thereby construct an impregnable defense.” “Naturally. Had we such a person, there’d be no objection.”

“Then I shall say it, Mr. Isegawa—Moriki Kunimatsu is innocent. His confession is true. Rest assured. And so you may proceed unwaveringly in the direction you believe.”

“What?” “You—what did you say?”

Kiyokawa’s words struck Isegawa like a bolt from the blue.

“That’s right. “I know a certain man. “That man is my close friend. “He has witnessed and knows every detail of that incident’s progression.”

Isegawa leapt up from his chair. And then, placing his hand on Kiyokawa’s shoulder,

“Hey，you—is that true?” “Wait—if that’s true，let me meet that man immediately!”

he shouted.

“Now, please don’t be startled—calm yourself and listen. Actually, that’s precisely why I came here today.” “Hey, you—why have you kept silent until now? If only you had come sooner! But ah... You were my close friend after all. You were someone to be trusted. So you came here today specifically for that? I’m grateful. Thank you.” Isegawa grasped Kiyokawa’s hand with an agitated expression.

“Mr. Isegawa, it’s too early for you to be thanking me.” “The reason I’ve remained silent until now—there are profound circumstances behind this.” “I may perhaps come to regret having met you today.” “Or perhaps you too…”

“You’re talking nonsense.” “Whatever reasons there may be—with an innocent man about to be falsely accused right before your eyes—what are you hesitating for?” “What could you possibly have to regret?” “You do know this—the penalty for robbery-murder only has two options: death or life imprisonment.” “You know Moriki is innocent.” “Or you know a man who does.” “What are you thinking, being in that position…?” “It’s because there are profound reasons!”

“No—whatever reasons there may be! Justice—yes! Justice itself is being trampled upon at this very moment—” “Mr. Isegawa, it’s precisely because I’ve been pondering this concept of justice.” “To stand silent now—when an innocent man may receive such punishment—where is your justice?!” “What even constitutes justice... No, let’s save that debate for later.” “Just tell me whatever story you know—now, I implore you!”

Forcibly suppressing the turmoil in his heart, Isegawa pressed Kiyokawa. “Mr. Isegawa, whether it was right for me to remain silent until today—please tell me that later. In any case, as you say, I will try to tell you everything I know.” “As I’ve just said, this concerns a man I know well. This man does not lie. Let us call him A for now. How did A come to know about that incident?”

“Mr. Isegawa, do you know the M Hotel at M Hot Spring? Do you know about Room 103? That room is in the rightmost wing of the M Hotel, with a garden in front that immediately meets a wall. However, do you know there’s a house standing just separated by a single wall from it? That house was originally the villa of a wealthy man named K, but since last year, a Tokyo hotel operator has purchased it and turned it into a hotel. Room 3 of that E Hotel is on the second floor and adjoins it in such a way that looks directly down onto Room 103 of the M Hotel. Of course, such clear details aren’t visible. But if you look down from there, when the blinds are removed from just the width of Room 103’s casement window glass, the interior becomes clearly visible. I recently went to see and test this myself, so there can be no mistake. Mr. Isegawa, A was in Room 3 of the E Hotel at midnight on October 2nd. And so, by coincidence, only the upper part of the casement window in the neighboring M Hotel’s Room 103 was open, allowing him to see a portion of the interior through the glass.”

Apparently, A had idly glanced over there around midnight. From there, in the light of the room’s lamp, he could only see a portion of the bed. “Though I should mention—this comes from later in the story,” Kiyokawa interjected. “Even at close range, such clarity isn’t possible with the naked eye. At first, he wasn’t paying particular attention, so he didn’t even realize it was part of a bed. However, at some moment, he suddenly saw something glint.” Since this had appeared before his eyes not just once, A suddenly grew curious, took out the opera glasses beside him, and desperately tried to adjust the focus to get a better look. Then, a head that appeared to be that of a man and a single hand came into view. “When he looked closely at the shining object,” Kiyokawa continued, “he realized it was likely the barrel of a pistol. In other words, someone could be seen fiddling with a pistol inside Room 103.”

As A continued watching, holding his breath, the visible hand suddenly withdrew, and after that, nothing moved for some time. "So, thinking nothing more would happen, at the very moment he tried to remove the opera glasses from his eyes, he saw a single arm again." "He didn’t seem to remember clearly, but judging later from where the head had been, it was likely the right hand—and when that hand suddenly thrust out, it was holding something like a bundle of paper in its grasp." As the hand began moving about in various ways during this time, A realized for the first time that someone was standing beside the bed and that the person whose arm it was must be speaking with them.

Sure enough, from the opposite side emerged an arm clad in what appeared to be a black Western-style suit. The hand from within the bed and that hand became entangled. Then the bundle of papers was transferred to the hand that had emerged afterward. The now-empty hand from the bed still seemed to move about as if engaged in animated conversation, but when it abruptly ceased amidst this motion, A concluded their discussion had ended. Just as he thought "This is interesting!" and kept watching, the hand from the bed emerged again—this time holding the earlier pistol. In an instant, that right hand pressed the pistol's muzzle against its owner's head. As A involuntarily prepared to cry out, an unseen left hand—presumably belonging to another—yanked up the futon, abruptly covering both gun muzzle and head more than halfway with bedding. Though contradictory in logic, A—desperate to see clearly—reportedly set aside his opera glasses and leaned forward at that very moment, only to hear a dull sound. He did it! When this thought struck him and he readjusted the glasses, the head in the bed remained motionless in its original position. Suddenly two suited hands emerged this time. They slightly peeled back the futon to look before withdrawing immediately as if startled. Overwhelmed by terror, A squeezed his eyes shut and witnessed nothing further—no, he apparently couldn't see anything at all. For roughly thirty minutes afterward, he continued watching through the window glass with naked eyes, but by then no movement remained whatsoever. Thus A came to understand someone had committed suicide. He further learned others had apparently discovered this suicidal act.

“How about it?” “Doesn’t this perfectly match what defendant Moriki has stated?” Kiyokawa swallowed hard after speaking this far. Isegawa Ryutaro, who had been listening with a piercing glare all along, perhaps unable to bear it any longer, suddenly spoke.

“Yes, yes! Behold—it unfolds just as I had faith it would be!” “And what became of that friend of yours, A?” “Do you mean to remain silent?” “He only recently confided this matter to me—his closest friend.” “No one else knows.” “Outrageous! You too are complicit!” “Knowing full well these facts—aware that Moriki had been arrested—why did you... you!” “And that man refuses to come forward!”

Depending on the response, an urgency that could not be left unaddressed shrouded Isegawa’s face.

“However, A has a reason he cannot come forward.” “A has his position, and I have mine—that’s how it is.” “Mr. Isegawa.” “I would ask you to consider that point briefly.” “Kiyokawa, what a pitiful thing to say.” “Were we not close friends?” “Until this very moment, I never imagined you could become such a man.” “You may not be a lawyer, but surely you can grasp logic this basic?” “Listen—here stands Moriki Kunimatsu, a young man falsely accused, now facing potential execution.” “Listen—on one side exist your friend A and yourself, who know full well of his innocence.” “In this situation, what should A and you do?” “What action would be right?” “Is something so self-evident beyond the understanding of both A and you?” “However artistic your temperament, there’s no excuse for failing to comprehend logic this fundamental.” “Kiyokawa, forgive my repetition, but I’ll say it again.” “Justice teeters on the brink of desecration.” “No—justice was already trampled when they imprisoned that defendant indefinitely.” “The law demands nothing of you.” “There exists no legal obligation.” “But what does morality instruct?”

“Where does justice point?” “Kiyokawa, take a moment to consider this.”

Kiyokawa answered coolly.

“Mr. Isegawa, I fully grasp what you’re saying.” “But if that’s so, let me pose this question.” “Does A bear any obligation to save Moriki even through self-sacrifice?”

“Sacrifice?” “Exactly. In other words, that is precisely where the profound reason lies.” “A must come forward and sacrifice himself in doing so.” “What do you mean by that? Are you saying it involves A’s life or something?” “For instance, suppose A were the murderer…” “No, that’s not it. “Listen to me. “On the midnight of October 2nd, A was not alone on the second floor of the E Hotel. “I’ll state it plainly. “He spent that night there with his lover. “Moreover, that woman is someone’s wife.”

Aghast, Isegawa gazed at Kiyokawa’s face.

Kiyokawa continued further. “A was at E Hotel that night with a certain married woman.” “This is, of course, an extremely grave secret.” “Therefore, if A were to attempt to save Moriki, they would investigate why he was at E Hotel at that time.” “If that happens, his terrible affair will inevitably be exposed.” A was probably in tears even today. He had not gone a single day without thinking about this matter since Moriki’s arrest. “Mr. Isegawa—neither A nor I are such fools.”

After a brief silence, Isegawa solemnly said.

“I see. So that’s how it is.” “I understand clearly.”

“But, Kiyokawa.” “I see no issue whatsoever here.” “This is outrageous!” “A is undeniably a legal criminal, isn’t he?” “I can provisionally sympathize with his circumstances.” “But one side involves a capital case!” “The other doesn’t face such severe punishment.” “Given this disparity alone, I believe A should step forward willingly.” “Frankly, it baffles me that you yourself would show sympathy for a criminal like A.”

“You are a lawyer. That’s why you can only think of everything in legal terms. For A, the exposure of this affair might be a matter graver than the death penalty…”

“That’s what you call reaping what you’ve sown.” “What need is there to consider?” “Kiyokawa, save Moriki Kunimatsu.” “I implore you.”

“Mr. Isegawa, isn’t this stemming from your selfishness as a legal professional—no, more precisely, as a lawyer?” “Selfishness?!” “Outrageous!” “What are you implying?” “As I’ve told you repeatedly—the essence lies in justice.” “What justice demands—”

“No, I’m not saying you’re a selfish person. I merely want to say that you’re thinking solely of Moriki. Mr. Isegawa. Suppose A comes forward. The problem isn’t just A alone. Of course, the other party’s wife must also be sacrificed. But you would say, ‘They’re reaping what they’ve sown.’ Indeed, a cold-hearted lawyer like you would think that way. Very well, I will not dare to oppose you. But you must not forget there is an even greater sacrifice here. The greatest victim in this case is that woman’s husband himself, living peacefully without knowing anything. Do you say that he too is reaping what he’s sown? Of course, if you simply dismiss a husband who’s lost his wife as a fool, that’s one way to end the matter. But would you dare say that? To declare that so decisively—doesn’t that terrify you? Mr. Isegawa. To save Moriki Kunimatsu alone, three people will be sacrificed. One side is life; the other is a situation where they must abandon life—or something even greater. Since I am not a lawyer, I will not engage in arithmetic calculations weighing one life against three. I'm merely stating the facts.”

“From my perspective, I cannot help but feel that at least the husband alone cannot be said to have reaped what he sowed. If that’s the case, then one cannot say that Moriki Kunimatsu hasn’t reaped what he sowed either. To me, this problem is too terrifying.”

With his eyes closed and absorbed in thought, Isegawa said.

“Given that our differing perspectives are unavoidable, then I want to ask you clearly.” “Are you saying it’s absolutely impossible for Mr. A or yourself to come forward?”

“That’s why… that’s exactly why regarding that point I am torn.”

“Kiyokawa, then I’ll ask one more thing. If that’s impossible, then why did you come to me? What on earth did you come here to tell me such things for? Don’t you realize how much easier it would’ve been for me if you’d just kept silent from the start?” Isegawa’s words resonated more like those of resentment. “That’s why I said I might regret it later. But let me answer why I came here today. A has recently revealed the truth. I was surprised. And then I agonized over what to do. But today I heard that you were appearing in court regarding that defendant’s case. So I immediately went to the courtroom and listened to the entire proceedings. I was deeply moved by your passion. You are devoting all your strength to save an innocent person. What you are doing is right. It is something worthy of respect.” But at that moment, I thought—whether you truly believed in Moriki Kunimatsu’s innocence or not—that was what I wondered. When I thought this, I wanted somehow to tell you the truth. And I resolved to give you even a little more conviction and courage than you currently had.

As someone who isn’t a lawyer, I could only think that speaking any truth at all was better than staying silent. Just as you say now, I can’t bring myself to believe it would’ve been better to say nothing. At the same time, I don’t believe that speaking the truth must directly require proving it. Having told A’s story should be better than not having done so. "I don’t believe that having told A’s story means we must drag A into court."

“…………”

“Since you’re a lawyer, you must think that once we speak of A’s story, we have no choice but to drag A into court.” “As a legal matter, that may be the case.” “However, I am not a lawyer.” “I merely wanted to convey the facts to you.” “And I only wanted to give you conviction and courage.” Having finished speaking, he stared intently at Isegawa’s face.

Various emotions seemed to be stirring within Isegawa's heart.

“Kiyokawa, our differing perspectives are unavoidable. “That is as I just said.” “I can’t say I don’t understand your point.” “But at the same time, you could also come to understand my position.” “How about it—can’t we reach some sort of compromise?” “……You mean?” “In other words—we’ll have Mr. A appear in court. “But if we establish that he was alone at M Hot Springs at that time, Mr. A won’t be inconvenienced.”

“However, what will you do if the judge asks why he was there at that time? Is Mr. A going to lie? As a lawyer, do you intend to make the witness lie?” “No, that’s absolutely not the case. Article 188 of the Code of Criminal Procedure stipulates that when giving testimony would result in legal jeopardy for oneself, one may refuse to testify on that point. In other words, in Mr. A’s case, he only needs to state the facts he witnessed; he can refuse to testify on any other matters.”

“Mr. Isegawa. “You truly are a legal professional through and through. “And you truly cannot conceive of anything beyond legal frameworks. “Consider this—while the law may indeed be structured that way, “isn’t A’s refusal to testify on that matter, viewed from one angle, equivalent to a form of confession?” “But there’s absolutely no legal jeopardy involved.”

“That is a legal issue.” “How can you claim there’s no factual danger?” “Just having a witness like A surface in this case would make headlines.” “Inquisitive reporters might visit E Hotel.” “No—they’ll undoubtedly go.” “Then it would prove not only that A stayed there that night, but that a respectable married woman was present too.” “Mr. Isegawa.” “They signed their names in that hotel’s registry—under pseudonyms, of course.” “The wife’s handwriting has been conclusively verified.” “A cannot escape this.”

“Then having only the wife appear would mean…” “It’s absolutely impossible. She was not a woman who should have been in such a place at that time. Moreover, since the wife herself never witnessed anything directly, there’s nothing to be done.”

“Then there’s no longer any room for compromise.” “If it were merely something I myself said before you, I could go to court...” “However, if that is dismissed entirely as a fabrication, then so be it. ...Very well. Given how things have unfolded, I have no choice but to act according to my convictions.”

“Then what will you do?” “We lawyers have a maxim: ‘Let justice be done though heavenfall.’” “Let justice be done.” “Kiyokawa, I fight for what is right.” “To you personally, this may amount to repaying kindness with enmity.” “I will accept your goodwill as goodwill.” “But having heard that account, I cannot remain silent.” “Absolutely.” “Are you going to track down A?” “As for me, I consider it my duty either to track down A or to bring you to court.” “Kiyokawa, I repeat—this isn’t born of selfishness.” “It’s for justice.” “I will fight for justice.”

“Please wait.” “In the name of that very justice, I implore you to reconsider once more.” “Exactly.” “What is justice?” “Please think again.” “Justice may be a noble concept.” “But when pitiful, powerless humans take arbitrary actions in its name—isn’t that terrifying?” “Fate performs more dreadful acts than humans can conceive.” “Doesn’t charging ahead so boldly strike you as dreadful?”

“I’m no man of letters, so your intricate words escape me. I fear nothing but the trampling of justice. That alone terrifies me. In this case, whatever sacrifices required—saving Moriki Kunimatsu must be the supreme right. Very well, compromise proves impossible with you. Tomorrow I’ll investigate E Hotel and ferret out A’s true identity without fail. Kiyokawa—one final word—you and A share an intimate connection. You couldn’t possibly be A yourself...?”

“We’ve said all there is to say to each other.” “I will leave everything to your judgment.” “But Mr. Isegawa—please do not forget what I have just said.”

Amid the increasingly fierce wind and ever-thickening snowfall, the old friends thus quarreled and thus parted ways. After seeing off his old friends, Isegawa Ryutaro sat alone by the hearthside without sleeping a wink.

The following day brought an even heavier snowfall than the day before. Isegawa Ryutaro, who had finally fallen asleep around four in the morning, slept until noon while assailed by phantasms.

In a somewhat languid state, he decided to remain shut in at home all day and gazed at the heavy snow outside the window. Kiyokawa had changed; his thinking was utterly different from my own. He seemed to believe that protecting an adulterous criminal was right. What is justice? The matter should be perfectly straightforward. Protecting an adulterous criminal was something I could only slightly sympathize with in terms of sentiment if Kiyokawa himself were that criminal.

While pondering these matters, he gazed out at the blizzard from his study. But... but Kiyokawa is my close friend. There was no reason to believe he lacked a conscience. The very fact that he had come already laid bare the anguish in his heart. He would come today. He would come and tell me everything without fail.

Isegawa Ryutaro, having thought this, decided to remain at home all day. However, this expectation proved unfounded.

It had been a vain hope, utterly unreliable.

That day came to an end, yet Kiyokawa never showed himself.

When night’s curtain fell, he pondered the terror of the great blizzard raging outside. Suddenly recalling his wife Shizue—likely spending this desolate night alone in Odawara—he began writing her a letter. Then, late into the night, he went to bed.

Having failed to get a good night’s sleep the previous night, he took a large dose of sleeping pills that evening and, upon going to bed, fell into a deep slumber.

The next day was clear. The snow and wind had ceased, but the entire area was a world of silver.

Just as he finished his late breakfast, the maid—

“There is a letter for you, sir.” Having said this, she brought a thick envelope. In exchange for the letter addressed to Shizue that he handed to the maid, he turned over the envelope—and there, clearly written, were the three characters: Kiyokawa Jun.

With his heart racing as he tore open the seal, the letter that unfolded before his eyes was as follows.

Mr. Isegawa Ryutaro I hereby humbly offer my final farewell to you, my dear friend. Please forget me forever. At the moment this letter falls into your hands, you and I will become two people with no connection whatsoever in this world. All circumstances will undoubtedly cause you and me to part forever. Mr. Isegawa, the person whom I temporarily called A yesterday—as you have surmised—is not myself. However, he is an extension of myself. Yes, he is the same as I. In truth, A was my biological younger brother. In truth, A was my biological younger brother—Kiyokawa Hiroshi.

Foolishly, I remained unaware of my brother’s terrible love affair until recently. To me—having just graduated from university—my brother Hiroshi still seemed like a child; I had absolutely no idea he was involved in such a terrible love affair.

As I mentioned yesterday, Hiroshi had witnessed the entire incident involving Moriki Kunimatsu at E Hotel. By what means heaven repays illicit love lies beyond human comprehension. Hiroshi—having witnessed that incident out of curiosity—had not known a single night of peaceful sleep since then. Mr. Isegawa, it pains me that you would think Hiroshi lacks conscience. He held precisely the same conviction you yourself expressed. For my brother—a man versed in law—it seemed he believed sacrificing himself to come forward constituted true justice.

However, on the other hand, he had fallen into a depraved love affair. The necessity of sacrificing the woman he loved was what most dulled that resolve. Since the incident, though he would resolve to come forward—determined he must come forward—he found himself unable to act, nor could he commit suicide; he simply let time slip away.

However, the case of Moriki Kunimatsu progressed relentlessly, and moreover developed in a manner most unfavorable to the defendant. Each time it was reported in the newspapers, my brother felt as though his flesh were being sliced. And then, when the first trial was finally convened and he learned that the defendant's life was increasingly in peril, Hiroshi could no longer endure it and confessed to me that dreadful truth and his terrifying love affair.

Please understand my shock at that time. When I was made to hear the name of that lady’s husband clearly, I was astonished anew. For that man holds a distinguished social position and is moreover a virtuous gentleman who trusts his wife most implicitly. Furthermore, that gentleman is someone I know intimately. Someone I know thoroughly, trust profoundly, and love dearly.

Mr. Isegawa, please understand my position. If you were to stand in my position, what would you do? Would you resolutely bring my brother before the court? Theory does not fail to indicate the path I ought to follow. The step one who stands in my position ought to take is clear. But that is truly, truly unbearable.

I once resolved to sacrifice my brother. Of course, I had also steeled myself to sacrifice the lady involved. But when I thought of the betrayed husband, I found myself utterly unable to carry out that resolution.

That man is my close friend. He is someone I believe I both respect and understand. When I thought that unless I shattered this man’s fate with one blow I could not save Moriki Kunimatsu—I could not help but wonder: must justice demand even that friend’s sacrifice?

Please believe me. This is not a deception or anything of the sort. It was not that familial love weakened my resolve. I still possess more than enough determination to sacrifice my sin-laden brother. But even were heaven and earth to crumble, I could not endure seeing my dear friend's face when betrayed by his wife.

Mr. Isegawa, how faithful I am to my friends—you should be able to know this through the sincerity I feel toward you. On one hand, I have an unfortunate younger brother; on another, an unfortunate friend; and yet, knowing that there also exists the unfortunate Moriki Kunimatsu—please try to understand my position.

I tried, if possible, to somehow neatly resolve everything. But no matter how one looks at it, it was nothing but a cowardly deception. As you told me last night, my resolve to disclose the truth had grown dull no matter how I tried, and yet I found myself compelled to take this contradictory course of action—informing you to some extent.

In this way, how long must this unfortunate I continue to struggle in this torment? While tormented by such thoughts, I returned home last night.

But the tragedy finally reached its climax. Without sensing this elder brother’s anguish, my younger brother finally embarked on his final journey last night. When he learned that I had visited you, he must have thought that I would reveal everything to you. And he must have realized the path you, as a legal professional, ought to take. He left behind a single suicide note and departed Tokyo on a journey through the blizzard. He must have thought me an unreliable brother. Or perhaps he thought of me as a brother who would not bend even a step from what is right.

My brother left a note saying he wished to die in the A foothills of S Prefecture, a place he had long favored. And in all likelihood, as the culmination of that affair, he must have taken the lady along with him in death. According to the suicide note, it seemed the woman involved had long been prepared for such an eventuality.

By now, they must be lying embraced in the blizzard of the A foothills.

Had I tried to stop them, I might have been able to prevent their deaths. But now, I find myself unable to muster the will to stop my brother’s death.

The fact that two people would die in the A foothills was unfortunate for all. For the two themselves, this went without saying. Yet for the woman's husband, it proved still more unfortunate. And for Moriki Kunimatsu, it became the greatest misfortune.

But if I take a step back and consider—how could someone like me, with my transient power, possibly stem this fate? Even if I were to prevent my brother’s death, what would it achieve?

Mr. Isegawa, which path is the most righteous one for me? For me, where does the path of justice lie? At the same time as sending this letter to you, I too will set out on a journey. However, I will not die. I simply wish to go to a place where I will never meet you again. Finally, I pray that their lives—now likely approaching death—may atone for their sins, and that their souls return to heaven. For Moriki Kunimatsu, I pray that some great salvation will come.

And finally, to you whom I most believe in and love, no matter what may come to pass, I pray with all my heart—with all my heart—that there may be happiness. Kiyokawa Jun

The pallor of Isegawa’s face as he finished reading seemed not of this world.

However, just as he tried to collect his thoughts, there came a knock at the door and the maid hurriedly entered. “Sir, there is a telephone call for you.” “Where from?” “Um… It’s a long-distance call, and I’m told it’s from a police department somewhere.” “What? The police?”

Assailed by a terrifying, ominous premonition, he stood in the telephone room. “...This is Isegawa Ryutaro... Huh?” “What?… S Prefecture N Police?… Huh? Huh? What is it?” “I can’t hear you well. …That is my wife’s name.” “What?” “In the snow... dead? …What did you say? Please say it again. Yes, that is indeed my wife. …There’s a letter addressed to me?” “Is she dead? Really?” “What? A gentleman’s corpse?…… ……What? Kiyokawa Hiroshi!”

The maid who was outside had been observing her master’s unusual state when suddenly, the sound of shattering glass came from the telephone room, and she saw her master stagger and collapse.

Isegawa Ryutaro had suffered a cerebral anemia and collapsed.

A few days later,

Isegawa Ryutaro, who had been bedridden and refusing all visitors, upon learning that his close acquaintance Prosecutor Fujiyama had come to see him in a private capacity, insisted on receiving him in the parlor. While observing his host’s pitifully haggard face—transformed in mere days—Prosecutor Fujiyama offered perfunctory condolences and attempted to calmly take his leave with an admonition to focus on recuperation. “Fujiyama, the case is my victory.” “...”

Prosecutor Fujiyama, who knew of the tragic family drama, was momentarily at a loss when Isegawa suddenly said this to him.

“Fujiyama, it’s the Moriki Kunimatsu case.” “Ah, that matter… You’ve submitted your resignation from the defense, but… Given your current need for recuperation, it can’t be helped.” “Fujiyama, this case is my victory.” “I didn’t resign from defending him because I believed him guilty.” “No—it’s precisely the opposite.” “Moriki Kunimatsu is absolutely innocent.” “You—you’re making an unforgivable mistake!”

“...” “Fujiyama, I have one more thing to tell you.” “Let justice be done though heaven fall.” “But what Justice is—we need to consider that.”

After saying this, with a cold, unpleasant smile playing about his lips, Isegawa Ryutaro closed his eyes once more upon his sickbed.

(April 1930)