Pathway to Japanese Literature

"...So that's how it was." "Yes, I observed the entire proceedings of that case from start to finish. That defendant you're representing—Moriki Kunimatsu—I simply can't bring myself to believe he murdered Viscount Matsumura... At the time of the incident, I had studied the newspaper reports quite thoroughly." "So? I never imagined an artist like yourself would take interest in such a brutal criminal affair."

Isegawa Ryūtarō tossed a 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 studied the other man’s face intently as if seeing it anew. In the piercing cold of spring, outdoors had turned to snow before one knew it, and after nightfall, even wind had joined in.

In a Western-style study surrounded by crammed bookshelves, two people sat facing each other in chairs by the fireplace. The host was Isegawa Ryūtarō; the guest was Kiyokawa Jun.

When one thought back, it had been a decade since the two men had spent many a winter night in this room with their knees drawn up by the fireside. Isegawa was five years older than Kiyokawa. During their time at the same high school and university, they had trusted and loved each other like true brothers. However, youthful friendship tends to gradually diminish when the fervor of youth begins to fade.

Isegawa studied law. Then following in his father's footsteps to become a lawyer, he fought many cases in the name of justice. Kiyokawa studied literature in keeping with his youthful aspirations and emerged into society as a playwright. His works—each new publication met with brilliant acclaim while causing many young people to spend countless sleepless nights. Thus their paths gradually diverged.

Isegawa, now thirty-six years old, married six years prior. But the household was lonely. They were not blessed with children. 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, with powdery snow scattering outdoors, Isegawa Ryūtarō finished his solitary dinner and was about to glance through the evening paper when he unexpectedly received a visit from Kiyokawa Jun—now called an old friend.

After exchanging pleasantries，Kiyokawa abruptly began talking about today’s courtroom proceedings where he had appeared as part of the legal process. But this was merely a courtesy toward myself as a lawyer—it seemed nothing more than flattery. He struggled to guess the visitor’s purpose for coming，yet somehow managed to find a conversational opening. “Actually，it was unexpected that you would take interest in something like a murder case．For us legal professionals，it’s quite an intriguing case... If you have time，why not stay and hear the full story？You probably know this already，but my wife remains unwell—she’s been in Odawara since New Year’s．Since I’m struggling here alone，if it suits you，why not stay overnight for old times’ sake？Let’s talk at leisure．”

He said this with a kindly smile. Kiyokawa Jun responded with his time-honored beautiful smile but answered anew.

"I don't have any particular interest in murder cases per se—it's just whether Viscount Matsumura was killed or not that strangely piques my interest." This answer came as a surprise to Isegawa. He had merely intended to let Kiyokawa state his business as comfortably as possible—likely something as disagreeable as a typical client's request—and had only touched upon the case he was handling in passing.

“Hmm… So you and the late Viscount were… involved in something?” “No, I didn’t know him at all.” “I’ve never even met the Viscount.” “But whether Moriki killed him or it was suicide—that’s what strangely weighs on me……” When addressed this way about the criminal case consuming all his efforts, Isegawa found himself growing unexpectedly animated. Forgetting his initial suspicions while still registering the oddity in Kiyokawa’s phrasing, he pressed onward abruptly.

“No—in fact, that’s not limited to you alone. The public at large is equally trying to learn the truth. Of course, I believe the Viscount committed suicide. At the very least, I am convinced Moriki Kunimatsu is not a murderer.” “But look—the prosecutor has formally indicted him as a robbery-murderer. Prosecutor Fujiyama is someone I know well personally—he’s not a man to act rashly. The Preliminary Judge has also transferred this to trial court as a robbery-murder case against the defendant.”

“But hasn’t Moriki made a full confession before the prosecutor?”

“Now, wait a moment. If you’re so insistent, I’ll go over that incident in detail here once again.”

"That was exactly last autumn, an event at the beginning of October. At the start of that month, I had gone to Kansai for about ten days regarding case matters, and during my absence, on October 3rd, an incident occurred at the M hot spring resort near Odawara. As you are well aware, Viscount Matsumura—who had been staying in Room 103 of the M Hotel at that resort since the night of October 1st—was found dead there." "As this was reported in detail at the time—and you likely know—Viscount Matsumura had lived as a diplomat since his youth and remained completely unmarried until age forty-two. Regarding the matter of an heir too—perhaps due to ordinarily good health—he seemed never to have considered it at all, and even after returning to Tokyo, from outward appearances he continued leading an extremely lonely yet seemingly carefree bachelor life."

On October 1st，Viscount Matsumura appeared nonchalantly at **the** M Hotel. It was said he had spent the previous night at **the** N Inn in Numazu. After arriving at **the** M Hotel，the Viscount’s demeanor showed no signs of any change whatsoever. On October 3rd，a bellboy named Moriki Kunimatsu knocked on **the** door of **the** Viscount’s room for some business，but there was no response. After a while，he went again，but there was no response. Outside **the** door，**the** Viscount’s shoes were positioned outside，so 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 on the bed. Up to this point, I was merely recounting what had been reported at the time, but it cannot be denied that there were unnatural aspects in Moriki’s actions. Consequently, though he later became the defendant and significantly changed his own testimony, the initial reports had been as described above.

"As for that matter—which I will examine in detail later—regarding how the Viscount had died (this was all investigated by the authorities), he lay in bed with a pistol in his right hand, having fired a shot directly above his right ear. From there, only a small amount of fresh blood had spilled out, with absolutely no other changes present. As a result of the investigation, it became clear that the Viscount had died instantly from a single pistol shot around midnight the previous night."

“Now, the crucial question becomes whether the Viscount’s death was suicide, murder, or accidental death. From the body’s condition, an accidental death could not be considered. The most natural interpretation would naturally be to establish a suicide theory.” “The police too initially seemed to have considered that possibility primarily, but firstly, nothing resembling a suicide motive could be discovered. Of course, anything akin to a suicide note was entirely absent. Secondly—this was ascertained—the Viscount happened to be left-handed. It was consequently determined that this left-handed man had fired the pistol with his right hand at the moment of death. 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, a highly disadvantageous fact came to light. Namely, he—who had been immersed in dire circumstances at that location, completely unable to manage his debts—not only neatly paid off approximately half of his various obligations by October 4th, but despite about five hundred yen in banknotes being discovered in his room, could not clarify their origin. On the other hand, while it remains unclear how much money Viscount Matsumura had taken with him when he set out on his journey, at the time of discovery there was less than twenty yen in his wallet.

“You must have noticed this already, but the sequence of events leading up to Moriki discovering the Viscount’s body is extremely odd.” “If the guest had summoned him, that would be one thing, but without permission after knocking from outside the door, a bellboy should not enter a guest’s room.” “Particularly at an establishment like the M Hotel, bellboys should be thoroughly trained in such matters.” “Moreover, even if guests don’t emerge all day, one shouldn’t knock indiscriminately simply because they haven’t come out for breakfast by around ten in the morning.” “First of all, what business did he have knocking on the door of Room 103?” “He was unable to give a clear answer on this point.” “After being severely interrogated by the police, he temporarily changed his testimony and started spouting nonsense about how when he passed by, the door happened to be open and he heard a groaning sound from inside.” “Moreover, regarding those banknotes, he only gives vague explanations and the matter remains completely unresolved.” “After much ado, the police concluded he was undoubtedly the perpetrator and sent him to the prosecutor’s office.”

“This is, of course, not an unreasonable story, and I can well understand why one would suspect him at this point.”

After being subjected to strict interrogation by the police, Moriki, quite inexplicably, confessed in full to having committed the crime himself. According to his confession, he fully deserved to be indicted as a robbery-murderer. The previous night, he had been ordered by the Viscount to bring cigarettes to Room 103. At that time, the Viscount lay in bed counting a bundle of banknotes. For a man in financial distress, this proved an intense temptation. Yet even he lacked the courage to kill the Viscount and take the money, so he silently withdrew. But around one o'clock, when visiting the restroom before retiring, he chanced to pass Room 103 and found its door slightly ajar. When he thought—“Ah, he must have forgotten to lock it”—the bundle of notes he’d seen earlier materialised before his eyes. For him, trapped in poverty, this became an irresistible lure. As though pulled by invisible strings, Moriki slipped into the room. In the lamp’s faint glow near the Viscount’s pillow lay a swollen wallet and a pistol. Slithering forward, he reached for the wallet—the instant his fingers touched leather, the Viscount’s eyes snapped open. “Who’s there?!” With that cry came an outstretched hand grasping for the banknotes. In blind panic—quicker than seizing the pistol—Moriki threw himself forward, jammed the muzzle against the Viscount’s temple and fired. Snatching up the notes, he fled like a hare before hounds.

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

When Isegawa finished speaking up to this point, he lit a fresh cigarette.

Kiyokawa remained motionless like a statue, silent, staring at the stove’s flame and listening intently.

A strong gust of wind blew past, rattling the windowpanes.

“The reason I took on this case was because I knew a friend of the M Hotel’s owner, but by the time I became involved, the case had already moved to preliminary hearings.” “As you probably know, during preliminary hearings one cannot inquire in detail about the case’s contents.” “It was only after the preliminary examination by the judge had concluded that I first met Moriki Kunimatsu and was able to learn the details of the case.” Moriki abruptly retracted his confession after attending the preliminary hearing. And then he began to state the facts as he had done in the courtroom today.

“Since you attended that hearing, you likely grasp the case’s general outline, but let me lay it out plainly from my side.” According to Moriki’s testimony, Viscount Matsumura had committed suicide before his very eyes. “The five hundred yen found in his possession, along with the funds used to settle his debts, had been given to Moriki by the Viscount himself moments before the suicide.”

To begin with, this wasn't the Viscount's first stay at the M Hotel. He had lodged there several times before and was quite familiar with Moriki Kunimatsu—indeed, it appeared the bellboy had even been rather favored by him. As you observed during the trial, the defendant remains twenty-four years old with a reasonably handsome countenance and quick wit—traits that would make him seem well-practiced in attending to a bachelor viscount's personal needs. On October 1st's evening, Viscount Matsumura arrived alone and took Room 103. At that time, according to Moriki's observations, there had been no noticeable alteration in the Viscount's demeanor whatsoever. Then around midnight on the 2nd, the call bell in the viscount's chamber abruptly sounded. When Moriki hastened to the room, he reportedly found His Lordship smoking in bed—but upon seeing his face, the Viscount suddenly—

“You’ve looked after me in many ways, but since I’ll be going away to a distant place, I’m leaving this with you.” “Take it quietly and keep it.” While saying this, he suddenly thrust out a bundle of bills. As Moriki stood startled, the Viscount abruptly seized his left hand, forced the bills into his palm while simultaneously gripping it tight. To Moriki, this abrupt behavior from the Viscount proved somewhat incomprehensible, but since the money was being offered regardless, he thanked him and accepted it.

“That’s enough. As there’s nothing more, you may go.”

Being told this, he remained flustered, bowed, opened the door, and stepped outside. He,

“Good night.”

As he was about to leave after saying this, a strange, muffled thud resounded from inside the room. He—who had sensed something odd about the Viscount's demeanor from earlier—suddenly flung open the door he had just closed and rushed back inside, only to discover the Viscount lying in bed, having shot himself through the head with a pistol and died instantly. This pistol appeared to have been concealed by the Viscount within the bedding during their earlier conversation; Moriki had remained completely unaware of its presence until that moment.

Now, there, the most prudent course of action for Moriki would have been to immediately go to the office and inform everyone of this matter. “You would naturally think so too, I suppose.” “Yet why did he not take that course of action?” “In a word, it was the temptation of money, you see.” Of course, he too apparently thought to immediately rush to the office. However, when he saw the large sum of money he was gripping in his hand, he suddenly thought of the consequences. Indeed, the Viscount’s suicide would likely be acknowledged. There was no way he would be suspected of killing him. “But who would prove that the Viscount had given him such a large sum in full just now?” He thought. If he were to insist that he had received it, not only would the officials disbelieve him, but might they not even come to doubt the cause of death itself? If he abandoned greed, there would be no problem. He should just silently return the bundle of bills and call someone. But he wanted the money so badly he could taste it. Not only that, but in this situation, even if there were no witnesses, this was money that rightfully belonged to him by his own entitlement.

He hesitated. As a result of this hesitation, he foolishly kept silent and withdrew to his room.

“When you consider it, the Viscount too bears culpability.” “If he truly had enough goodwill toward Moriki to give him that sum, he should have left behind at least a suicide note for the man’s sake.” “That situation would inevitably cast suspicion on such a young fellow, you understand.”

All night long, Moriki agonized in his bed, trying to devise a way to explain himself, but in the end, no good idea came forth. And ultimately driven by morbid curiosity, he finally went to check the Viscount's room himself, only then pretending to discover it the next morning and rousing everyone. Therefore, it’s no wonder his testimony contains suspicious aspects. "Therefore, it is only natural that he came under police suspicion." "Then why did he confess to the police?"

This was simple. “After being harshly interrogated and given that he had generally been lying from the start, Moriki became overwhelmed and ended up confessing to fabricated charges—such cases are hardly rare.” “I don’t know to what extent suspects are mistreated by the police, but you must have heard how people sometimes confess to falsehoods.” “Moriki too became one of those unfortunate souls.” “Having told a trivial lie initially, he found himself compelled to utter outrageous falsehoods.”

He spent his time before the prosecutor in this manner. Of course, he had initially denied the confession made to the police before Prosecutor Fujiyama, but after being rebuked with "Don't keep changing your story," he ultimately reverted to his original statement. When matters reach this stage, peculiar delusions begin to form in a defendant's psychology. However much we external observers might believe that no one would ever tell such life-threatening falsehoods regardless of how foolishly they've been treated, once a defendant fabricates a consistent lie and repeats it numerous times, it gradually loses its terror until they eventually become disturbingly composed about it.

Moriki Kunimatsu had confessed to the dreadful robbery-murder charge and maintained the same account even during his first and second interrogations before the preliminary judge.

It was not until the third interrogation during the preliminary hearing that he began stating the facts as he now claims. It was only at this session that he suddenly began denying all previous facts and started asserting his own innocence. As you have heard, in the trial court, he is vehemently asserting his absolute innocence. Prosecutor Fujiyama’s position, having indicted him based on his confession, is also quite understandable. Nor can it be said that one fails to understand the feelings of the judge who transferred the case to trial.

“But the innocent remain innocent regardless of what people say. Just imagine if they were to pronounce him guilty. The state would be committing an unconscionable error. Isn’t that perilous beyond measure?”

Isegawa Ryūtarō said this with some excitement and stared fixedly at Kiyokawa Jun.

Kiyokawa Jun had been listening in complete silence, but at this moment, he suddenly spoke up. “I see. I have come to understand the details of the incident’s progression. ……But do you truly believe in Moriki Kunimatsu’s innocence?” “………………” “No—to pose such a question to you in your capacity as a lawyer is indeed presumptuous. But, Mr. Isegawa. As a friend—you know—as a friend, I want to ask this. You truly believe Moriki Kunimatsu is innocent. Do you believe what he says—of course, what he said in court today… do you believe that to be true?”

“Of course!”

Isegawa answered as if shouting. However, his complexion clearly showed the expression of someone whose weak spot had been struck. "Without any doubt?" Kiyokawa pressed him like a hunter pursuing fleeing prey, but on his face appeared a surprising degree of seriousness.

“Of course… How could I deliver today’s defence arguments without believing them—you—” Isegawa gulped audibly and continued.

“Of course, I am a lawyer.” “It’s what I make my living as.” “A profession where one must defend clients to the end.” “But incompetent though I may be—Isegawa Ryūtarō—foolish as I am, I don’t stubbornly argue innocence for someone I clearly believe guilty, blinded by money.” “I wouldn’t have taken such a case from the start.” “Admittedly, there are instances where what one initially believed innocent later appears otherwise.” “In such cases—whether lawyers should abandon their defense of the accused, and whether such abandonment aligns with the spirit of justice—this has been a major issue even debated in Britain.” “But this present case isn’t such a situation.” “I believe in Moriki’s innocence.”

As Isegawa’s agitation intensified, Kiyokawa, for some reason, gradually revealed a cold expression. And then, even more persistently, he pressed further with his questions. “Why?” “For what reason?”

Isegawa answered these persistent, rapid-fire questions while looking at Kiyokawa with a slightly exasperated expression.

“Why? I don’t understand why you’d ask me such a thing—in short, it’s because the evidence to establish guilt is insufficient.”

Before one realized it, Isegawa stood up and began pacing in front of the stove.

“Kiyokawa—since you’re not a legal professional, let me clarify this for the record—under the spirit of law and criminal procedure, *I* bear no obligation to prove the defendant’s innocence.” “On the contrary, the prosecutor must actively prove the defendant’s guilt.” “For judges to deliver guilty verdicts, naturally courts must first establish guilt.” “Therefore, in evenly balanced cases—where any reasonable doubt exists—the defendant must absolutely be deemed innocent.” “This principle extends beyond our nation.” “All systems in civilized nations follow this structure.” “In the notorious Crippen case, Lord Birkenned—who defended his mistress—wrote indignantly in his memoirs about Sir Richard Muir serving as Counsel for the Crown demanding he prove his client’s innocence.” “A lawyer has no duty whatsoever to voluntarily prove a defendant’s innocence under any circumstances.” “However, prosecutors bear absolute responsibility for proving defendants’ guilt.” “This derives from the maxim: ‘Better ten guilty escape than one innocent suffer.’” “Admittedly, one might question whether this principle itself embodies true justice.” “But so long as humans judge humans, we’ve no choice but to uphold this creed.”

“Therefore, even in this case, I have no obligation to actively assert Moriki’s innocence.—Kiyokawa, I’m telling you this because it’s you—actively proving it at this stage would mean actively proving that the Viscount’s death was a suicide, which is quite difficult. However, the prosecutor should prove that the Viscount was killed—that it was not a suicide—and moreover, that he was killed by Moriki Kunimatsu.”

"In short"—he maintained—"today's prosecutor's closing argument and supplementary evidence alone fail to establish proof." "Prosecutor Fujiyama may consider that evidence sufficient, but I absolutely do not think so." "The absence of any discernible motive for suicide in the Viscount—and conversely, the defendant having ample motive for murder—need not be belabored at this stage. Such matters do not constitute sufficient evidence for conviction." "Everyone has secrets." "Especially in the case of that unmarried Viscount." "What secrets there might have been—such things aren't easily discerned." "It's entirely possible for someone to impulsively resolve to die." "There's no guarantee one would leave a suicide note." "Moriki may have a motive for robbery-murder." "But to be told he must have done it precisely because of that would be unbearable." "The primary issue lies in why left-handed individuals did not use their left hand when committing suicide by pistol." "This of course depends on their degree of left-handedness." "However"—he leaned forward—"it is by no means unnatural for left-handed people to perform actions with their right hand." "There are those who are left-handed but always use chopsticks with their right hand, or invariably hold pens in their right—even with pistols, they don't necessarily favor their left."

“The most regrettable thing is that contemporary science cannot definitively determine whether it was suicide or murder—that is, whether the pistol was fired by oneself or by another person—in such cases. When it comes to hanging deaths, they can often be determined relatively clearly, but the confusion that arises is well understood even in the Kobue Case. In short, I consider the evidence insufficient. Not only that, but to tell the truth, while I cannot actively prove his innocence, I consider what Moriki Kunimatsu says to be entirely factual—the absolute truth. That is my conviction. Well, Kiyokawa, what do you think?”

Isegawa, who had been pacing around the room frenetically while holding forth, no sooner finished saying all this in one breath than he glared at Kiyokawa as if launching a counterattack and gulped down his ice-cold tea. "So, as I said earlier, I feel Moriki didn't do it." This time it was Kiyokawa who slightly faltered as he replied in a feeble voice. Then, somewhat restlessly, as if suddenly remembering, he picked up his teacup.

Once again, silence continued.

The wind still hadn't stopped. The windowpanes occasionally rattled, announcing the intensity of the snow.

Isegawa Ryūtarō was now nothing but a legal professional toward Kiyokawa—no, toward all people. He was poised to lunge at any who retaliated against him as enemies. He was no longer recalling their old 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 assuming a grave expression, Kiyokawa said: “Mr. Isegawa, you were told there’s no need to prove Moriki’s innocence.” “But if that proof could be established, it would be even better, wouldn’t it?” “No—even if it can’t be proven in court, should someone prove it before you, you would strengthen your conviction all the more—and consequently mount a powerful defense.” “Of course—if there’s someone who can do that, there’d be no issue.”

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

“What?” “You—what did you say?” Kiyokawa’s words struck Isegawa like a bolt from the blue. “Yes.” “I know a certain man.” “That man is my close friend.” “That man witnessed and knows the entire progression of that incident.”

Isegawa stood up from his chair as if leaping up. And placing his hand on Kiyokawa’s shoulder, “Hey, you—is that true? If that’s true—then let me meet that man immediately!” he shouted. “Now, please listen calmly without getting startled. In fact, that’s precisely why I came here today.”

“Hey, you—why on earth have you kept silent until now? If only you had come sooner! But ah... You were still my close friend after all. You were someone to be trusted. So you came here specially today for that reason? I’m grateful. I thank you.”

Isegawa grasped Kiyokawa’s hand with an agitated expression. “Mr. Isegawa, it’s too early for thanks.” “There’s a profound reason for my silence until now.” “I may come to regret this meeting.” “Or perhaps you too—” “Don’t speak nonsense!” “However compelling your reasons—with an innocent man facing condemnation before your very eyes—why hesitate?” “How could there be cause for regret?” “You know robbery-murder carries only two sentences—death or life imprisonment.” “You know Moriki’s innocent.” “Or know one who does.” “What else matters—”

“There is a profound reason!” “No—no matter what reasons there may be! Justice—yes! With justice itself now on the verge of being trampled...” “Mr. Isegawa, it’s precisely because I had been contemplating that very notion of justice.” “At this very moment when an innocent person is about to be sentenced to such punishment—where is the justice in silently watching that?! What even is justice... No—we’ll save that discussion for later. Anyway, please just tell me what you know.”

While forcibly suppressing the agitation in his heart, Isegawa pressed Kiyokawa.

“Mr. Isegawa, please tell me later whether it was right for me to remain silent until today. In any case, as you say, I will try to tell you everything I know.”

“As I just said, this concerns a man with whom I am closely acquainted. This man does not lie. Let us tentatively call him A. How did A come to know about that incident?”

“Mr. Isegawa, do you know the M Hotel at M Hot Spring?” “Do you know Room 103?” “That room is located on the far right wing of the M Hotel, with a garden in front that immediately meets a wall.” “But do you know there’s a house standing just beyond that wall?” “That house was originally the villa of a wealthy individual named K, but since last year, a Tokyo hotel operator purchased it and converted it into a hotel.” “Room 3 of the E Hotel is on the second floor and adjoins it in such a way that it directly overlooks Room 103 of the M Hotel.” “Of course, such clear details cannot be seen.” “However, when looking down from there—if only the width of the rotating window’s glass in Room 103 has its blinds removed—the interior becomes clearly visible.” “This is something I recently went to verify myself, so there’s no mistake.” “Mr. Isegawa, A was in Room 3 of the E Hotel at midnight on October 2nd.” “And then, by sheer coincidence, only the rotating window near the top of Room 103 at the neighboring M Hotel happened to be open—so through the glass, he could see part of the interior.”

A apparently glanced there absentmindedly around midnight. From there under the illumination of a table lamp inside Room 103 at the M Hotel, only part of a bed was visible through the glass window. "Though I say this, it's actually something that happened later, I should mention." "No matter how close you are, there's no way to see that clearly with the naked eye." "At first he wasn't paying particular attention, so he didn't realize it was part of a bed." "But then, triggered by some movement, he suddenly caught sight of something glinting." "Since it had appeared before his eyes not just once, A suddenly became curious, took out the nearby opera glasses, and focused intently to look." Then he saw what appeared to be a man's head and one hand. "When he looked closely at the glinting object, he realized it was likely the barrel of a pistol." "In other words, he could see someone handling a pistol inside Room 103."

As A continued watching with bated breath, the visible hand suddenly withdrew, leaving complete stillness in its wake. Just as he thought nothing more would occur and began lowering the opera glasses from his eyes, he glimpsed a single arm reappear. "He doesn't clearly recall this part," Kiyokawa explained, "but based on where the head had been positioned, it was likely the right hand. When that hand abruptly extended outward, it clutched what appeared to be a bundle of papers." As the hand then began making varied movements, A reportedly understood for the first time that someone stood beside the bed and that this arm's owner was conversing with them.

Then, from the opposite side emerged an arm clad in what appeared to be dark Western clothing. The hand from within the bed entwined with that hand. Then the bundle of papers was transferred to the hand that had emerged afterward. The now-empty hand from the bed kept moving busily as if engaged in conversation, but when it abruptly ceased mid-motion, A reportedly concluded their discussion had ended. "This is fascinating," he thought—and at that very moment of observation, the bed's hand reemerged. This time it held the pistol from earlier. In an instant, that right hand pressed the weapon's muzzle against its owner's head. As A involuntarily prepared to cry out, what seemed to be an invisible left hand yanked up the quilt, suddenly covering over half of both muzzle and head with bedding. Though contradictory-sounding, at this critical juncture A—seeking full comprehension—reportedly released his opera glasses and leaned forward sharply, only to hear a muffled report at that precise instant. "He did it!" Thinking thus, when he again pressed the glasses to his eyes, the head in bed remained utterly motionless in its former position. Then abruptly reappeared those Western-clad hands—now two in number. After slightly peeling back the quilt to look, they immediately withdrew as if startled. A kept his eyes tightly shut from sheer terror, never witnessing what followed. "No—he couldn't have seen it," came the report. For thirty minutes thereafter he allegedly kept watching through the windowpane with naked eyes, but not a single thing stirred within. Thus did A learn multiple people had committed suicide. "And thus too," came the addendum, "he apparently discovered others had found this suicidal event."

“What do you think? This perfectly matches what defendant Moriki has stated, doesn’t it?” Kiyokawa swallowed hard after reaching this point in his account. Isegawa, who had been glaring while listening since earlier, suddenly spoke as if unable to contain himself any longer. “Ah! You see? Isn’t this exactly as I’ve maintained? Then what became of this friend of yours? Are you keeping silent?”

“He only recently told me—his close friend—about that matter. No one else knows.”

“Outrageous! You’re no better either!” “Knowing all those facts while being aware Moriki was arrested—why would you, you!” “And that man refuses to come forward!”

Depending on what response might follow, an urgency demanding immediate resolution shrouded Isegawa's face. "However, A has reasons preventing him from coming forward." "A has his position, and I have mine." "Mr. Isegawa." "I would ask you to briefly consider that aspect."

"What a pathetic thing to say, Kiyokawa!" "You and I were close friends, weren’t we?" "I never thought until this very moment that you had become such a person." "Admittedly, you’re not a legal professional, but can’t you grasp even this level of reasoning?" "Listen. Here in this situation is a young man named Moriki Kunimatsu, falsely charged with a crime and now facing the possibility of execution." "Listen. On one side exist your friend A and yourself, who clearly know of his innocence." "In this situation, what should A and you do?" "What constitutes righteousness?" "Is such an obvious matter beyond the comprehension of both A and you?" "No matter how much of an artist you are, there’s no way you wouldn’t understand this level of logic." "Kiyokawa, I may sound repetitive, but let me say this again." "Justice is being trampled underfoot!" "No! Justice has already been trampled by keeping that defendant imprisoned so long!" "The law demands nothing from you." "You bear no legal obligation." "But what does morality dictate?" "What direction does justice point?" "Kiyokawa, consider this carefully."

Kiyokawa answered coldly. “Mr. Isegawa, I fully understand what you’re saying.” “However, in that case, I would like to ask.” “Does A have an obligation to save Moriki even by sacrificing himself?” “Sacrifice?” “Yes. That is to say, the profound reason lies precisely in that point.” “A must come forward and simultaneously sacrifice himself.” “What do you mean by that again? Are you saying it involves A’s life or something?” “For instance, are you saying A is a murderer or...”

“No, that’s not it.” “Listen.” “On the midnight of October 2nd, A was not alone on the second floor of Hotel E.” “Let me state this clearly:” “He spent that night there with his lover—the two of them.” “And that woman is someone’s wife.”

Isegawa, aghast, gazed at Kiyokawa’s face. Kiyokawa continued.

“A was at Hotel E with a certain married woman that night.” “This is, needless to say, an extraordinary secret.” “Therefore, if A were to attempt to save Moriki, they would investigate why he was at Hotel E at that time.” “If that happens, his terrifying love affair will naturally be exposed without fail.” “A is probably in tears even today.” “Since Moriki was arrested, there hasn’t been a single day he hasn’t thought about this matter.” “Mr. Isegawa, even A and I are not such fools.”

After a brief silence, Isegawa solemnly said.

“I see. So that’s how it is.” “I understand completely.” “But, Kiyokawa.” “I don’t see any problem with that, though.” “What an outrageous story!” “A is undoubtedly a legal criminal, isn’t he?” “I can sympathize with his position to some extent.” “But the other is a capital case, you know.” “The other would not receive such a heavy punishment.” “From this perspective as well, I believe A should voluntarily come forward.” “Frankly, it seems perplexing that you yourself sympathize with a criminal like A.”

“You are a legal professional.” “That’s why you can only consider things through a legal lens.” “For A, having this affair exposed might be a matter more serious than capital punishment…” “That’s simply reaping what you’ve sown.” “What requires deliberation?” “Kiyokawa, save Moriki Kunimatsu.” “I implore you.”

“Mr. Isegawa, isn’t that stemming from your selfishness as a legal professional—or more precisely, as a lawyer?”

“What? Selfishness?” “Outrageous!” “What are you saying?” “As I’ve repeatedly stated, this matter concerns justice.” “The dictates of justice—” “No—I don’t mean you’re an egoist.” “I only mean to say you’re considering Moriki alone.” “Mr. Isegawa.” “Suppose A comes forward.” “The problem extends beyond A alone.” “Naturally, the married woman too must be sacrificed.” “Yet you’d declare it self-inflicted.” “Indeed—that’s how a dispassionate legal professional like yourself would perceive it.” “Very well—I shan’t oppose you.” “But you mustn’t overlook the greater sacrifice here.” “The paramount victim remains that woman’s husband, living in peaceful ignorance.” “Would you call even that self-inflicted?” “Of course, dismissing such a cuckolded husband as foolish settles everything.” “But dare you voice that?” “Doesn’t such definitive judgment terrify you?”

“Mr. Isegawa.” “To save Moriki Kunimatsu alone, three people will become sacrifices.” “On one side lies life; on the other lies a situation where lives—or something greater still—must be discarded.” “As I am not a legal professional, I do not engage in arithmetic comparing one life against three.” “I merely state facts.” “From my perspective, I cannot help feeling that at least the husband alone cannot be said to have brought this upon himself.” “If that logic holds, then neither can we say Moriki Kunimatsu hasn’t brought this upon himself.” “To me, this problem is too terrible.”

Closing his eyes and engrossed in thought, Isegawa said.

“Given our differences in thinking are unavoidable, then I want to ask you clearly. Are you saying it’s completely impossible for Mr. A or yourself to come forward?”

“That’s why... That’s exactly why I’m struggling over that point.”

“Kiyokawa, then I have one more question.” "If it's such an impossible matter, why did you come to me?" "What in God's name did you come here to say such things for?" "If you'd just kept silent from the start, don't you realize how much easier it would have been for me?"

Isegawa's words resounded almost like those of someone harboring resentment.

“That’s why I said I might regret it later.” “However, let me answer why I came here today.” “A has recently confessed the facts.” “I was surprised.” “And so I agonized over what to do.” “However, 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 moved by your enthusiasm.” “You are devoting all your efforts to save an innocent person.” “What you are doing is right.” “It is admirable.” But at that moment, I thought: whether you truly believed in Moriki Kunimatsu’s innocence. When I thought this, how I wanted to tell you the truth. And I resolved that I wanted to give you even a bit more conviction and courage than you currently had. As someone who wasn’t a legal professional, I could only think that merely stating the truth was preferable to not stating it at all. If, as you now said, that was the case, then I couldn’t bring myself to think that saying nothing at all would be better. At the same time, I didn’t believe that telling the truth must immediately lead to proving it. Having talked about A should be better than not doing so. “I don’t believe that having talked about A means we must drag him into court.”

“…………” “As a legal professional, you must think that once A is mentioned, he must be brought to court—otherwise nothing can be achieved.” “As a legal matter, that may be the case.” “However, I am not a legal professional.” “I simply wanted to convey the facts to you.” “And I simply wanted to give you conviction and courage—that’s all.”

When he finished speaking, he stared directly at Isegawa's face.

Various emotions seemed to be stirring within Isegawa's heart. “Kiyokawa, our differing perspectives can’t be helped. That is precisely as I have just stated. I’m not saying I don’t understand what you’re saying. But at the same time, you should be able to understand my position. How about it—can’t we compromise with each other?” “...Meaning?” “In other words, we would have Mr. A appear in court. But if we make it that he was alone at M Hot Springs at that time, Mr. A won’t be troubled.”

“However, if the judge asks why he was there at that time, what will you do?” “Is Mr. A going to lie?” “As a lawyer, are you intending to have the witness lie?”

“Not at all—that is absolutely not the case. Criminal Procedure Act Article 188 stipulates that when testifying would expose oneself to legal jeopardy regarding a particular matter, one may refuse to testify on that point. In Mr. A’s case, he need only state the facts he witnessed—he can refuse testimony on all other matters.”

“Mr. Isegawa.” “You truly are a legal professional.” “And you really can’t think of anything but legalistically.” “Just think about it—the law may indeed be structured that way.” “However, from one perspective, isn’t Mr. A’s refusal to testify on that point tantamount to a kind of confession?”

“However, there is absolutely no danger involved.”

“That is a legal issue.” “How can you assert there’s no factual danger?” “Just having a witness like Mr. A suddenly appear in this case would make the newspapers buzz.” “Nosy reporters might head to E Hotel.” “No—they’ll definitely go.” “If that happens, it will prove not only that A stayed there that night but also that a respectable married woman was present at the same time.” “Mr. Isegawa.” “In that hotel’s office—though of course under pseudonyms—the two of them have signed.” “The wife’s handwriting has been clearly revealed.” “A cannot escape.”

“Then having just that wife come forward wouldn’t…”

“That’s absolutely impossible. The wife was not a woman who should have been in such a place at that time. Not only that, but since she herself did not witness it, there’s nothing to be done.” “Then there is no longer any room for compromise.” “If it were merely a matter of what I myself have stated before you, I could go to court.” “However, if that is entirely dismissed as a fabrication, then that’s the end of it... Very well. Since things have come to this, I have no choice but to act according to my convictions.”

“Then what will you do?” “Among us legal professionals, there is a maxim: ‘Let justice be done though heaven fall.’” “Let justice be done.” “Kiyokawa, I am fighting for what is right.” “To you personally, this may amount to repaying kindness with enmity.” “I will accept your goodwill as goodwill.” “However, having heard that account, I cannot remain silent.” “Absolutely!”

“Are you going to apprehend Mr. A?” “As far as I’m concerned, apprehending Mr. A or bringing you to court—both are my duty.” “Kiyokawa, I repeat—this does not stem from my own selfishness.” “It is for justice.” “I will fight for justice.”

“Please wait.” “In the name of that justice, I ask you to reconsider once more.” “That’s right.” “What is justice?” “Please think again.” “Justice may indeed be noble.” “But when pitiful, powerless humans take willful actions against it—that becomes terrifying.” “Fate performs more terrifying deeds than humans can imagine.” “Don’t you find this brave advance of yours itself terrifying?”

“I am no man of letters, so I don’t understand your convoluted phrases.” “I simply dread trampling justice underfoot.” “That is what is terrifying.” “In this situation—no matter what sacrifices must be made—saving Moriki Kunimatsu is unquestionably the most righteous path.” “Very well—compromise with you is impossible.” “Tomorrow I shall investigate E Hotel and uncover A’s true identity.” “Kiyokawa, I will say one last thing—you and A appear remarkably close.” “You are not suggesting you’re A yourself, are you?”

“We’ve already said everything there is to say to one another.” “I’ll leave everything to your judgment.” “But Mr. Isegawa—don’t forget what I’ve just told you.”

Amid the wind that grew ever stronger and the snow that fell with increasing intensity, the old friends thus quarreled, and thus they parted. After seeing off his old friend, Isegawa Ryūtarō sat alone by the hearth and did not sleep a wink.

The following day brought a snowfall heavier than the day before. Isegawa Ryūtarō, who had finally fallen asleep around four in the morning, ended up sleeping until noon while being assailed by various phantasms.

In a listless state, he decided to stay home all day and gazed at the heavy snow outside the window.

Kiyokawa had changed; his thinking was entirely different from his own. He seemed to believe that protecting an adulterer was the right thing to do. What was justice? Wasn't the problem really quite straightforward? One could only somewhat sympathize with protecting an adulterer if Kiyokawa himself were that very sinner.

While thinking such things, he was gazing at the blizzard outside the window in his study.

But... but Kiyokawa was my close friend. He could not possibly lack a conscience. The fact that he had come already showed the turmoil in his heart. He would come today. He would surely come and tell me everything.

Isegawa Ryūtarō decided to stay home all day having considered this.

However, this was an unfounded expectation. It was a vain hope that could not be relied upon. Though the day ended, Kiyokawa never appeared. When night's curtain fell, he pondered the terror of the raging blizzard outside. Suddenly recalling his wife Shizue spending this desolate night alone in Odawara, he began writing her a letter. Then he retired late to bed. Having failed to sleep properly the previous night, he took a heavy dose of sleeping pills upon lying down that evening and sank into profound 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 a late breakfast, the maid "A letter for you, sir."

With that, she brought a thick sealed letter. In exchange for the letter to Shizue that he handed to the maid, when he turned over the envelope, there clearly appeared the three characters spelling Kiyokawa Jun. With his heart racing, he cut open the seal, and the letter that unfolded before his eyes was as follows.

Mr. Isegawa Ryūtarō

I hereby offer my final farewell to you, my dear friend. Please forget me eternally. The instant this letter falls into your hands, you and I shall become two people utterly unrelated in this world. All circumstances will assuredly separate us forevermore.

Mr. Isegawa, the person I temporarily referred to as A was not myself, as you have surmised. However, he was a person like my double. Yes, he was the same as I. A was in fact my biological younger brother. It concerns my biological younger brother, Kiyokawa Hiroshi. Foolishly, I had remained unaware of my brother’s terrible love affair until recently. I had absolutely no idea that my younger brother Hiroshi—who still seemed like a child to me, having just graduated from university—was involved in such a dreadful love affair.

Hiroshi, as I mentioned yesterday, had witnessed every detail of Moriki Kunimatsu's incident at E Hotel. By what means Heaven may punish an illicit affair is beyond human comprehension. Since witnessing that incident out of curiosity, Hiroshi has not known a single night of undisturbed sleep. Mr. Isegawa, it pains me that you might think Hiroshi lacks conscience. He held precisely those convictions you described. Particularly for one like my brother—trained in law—it appears he believed sacrificing himself to come forward constituted true justice.

However, on the other hand, he had fallen into a dissolute love affair. The need to sacrifice his beloved woman was what most dulled that resolve. Since that incident, though he would think of coming forward—of having to come forward—he could not bring himself to do so; nor could he commit suicide, and thus he passed his days.

However, Moriki Kunimatsu's case progressed further, developing in a manner most unfavorable to the defendant. Each time this was reported in the newspapers, my younger brother felt as though his very flesh were being sliced. When the first trial session commenced and it became clear the defendant's peril had deepened irreversibly, Hiroshi could no longer endure it and confessed to me both that dreadful truth of the incident and his terrifying love affair. Please comprehend my shock at that moment. When I was made to hear clearly the name of that lady's husband, my astonishment redoubled. For he was a virtuous gentleman of distinguished standing who trusted his wife above all others.

Moreover, that gentleman was someone I knew very well. A person I knew well, trusted well, and loved well. Mr. Isegawa, please understand my position. If you were in my position, what would you do? Would you resolutely bring my younger brother to court? The theory did not fail to indicate the direction I should take. The step that one who stood in my position should take must have been clear. But that was truly, truly unbearable.

I once resolved to sacrifice my younger brother. Of course, I resolved to sacrifice the woman involved as well. But when I thought of the husband who had been betrayed, I simply could not carry out that resolution. That person is my close friend. That person is someone I believe I respect and understand. When I thought that unless this person’s fate was shattered with a single blow, Moriki Kunimatsu could not be saved, I could not help but wonder: must justice demand the sacrifice of even that friend?

Please believe me. This is by no means a deception or anything of the sort. It was not that familial love had dulled my resolve. I still possess more than enough determination to sacrifice my sinful younger 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 friends can be understood through the sincerity I hold toward you. Please understand my position—having an unfortunate biological younger brother on one side, an unfortunate friend on another, and knowing of the existence of the unfortunate Moriki Kunimatsu elsewhere. If it were possible, I tried to somehow neatly wrap up everything. But that was, after all, nothing more than a cowardly deception. As you told me last night, my resolve to reveal the truth had dulled no matter what, yet I found myself compelled to take the contradictory action of informing you to some extent.

Thus must I, this unfortunate one, keep struggling in this suffering—how much longer? While agonizing over this thought, I returned home last night.

But the tragedy finally reached its final act. My younger brother, without perceiving this older brother’s suffering, finally embarked on the journey of death last night.

Having learned of my visit to you, he must have thought I would disclose everything. And he must have discerned the path you ought to take as a lawyer. He left behind a suicide note and departed Tokyo, embarking on his journey through the raging blizzard. He must have considered me an unreliable older brother. Or perhaps he regarded me as an elder brother who would not deviate one step from righteousness.

My younger brother wrote that he wished to die in the A foothills of S Prefecture, a place he had long preferred. And then, as the inevitable conclusion of their love, he would likely take the woman with him on that path. According to the suicide note, it seems the woman involved had long been prepared for such an eventuality. By now, the two of them must have been lying embraced in the raging blizzard of the A foothills. If I had tried to stop them, I might have been able to prevent their deaths. But I do not now feel inclined to prevent my younger brother's death.

The fact that two people were dying in the A foothills was an unfortunate thing for all involved. For the two of them, this went without saying. Yet for the woman's husband, it meant greater misfortune still. For Moriki Kunimatsu, it spelled the greatest calamity. But if I were to step back and consider—how could someone like me, with such frail power, possibly stem this tide of fate? Even were I to save my brother's life, what would that achieve?

Mr. Isegawa, which path is the most right for me? For me, where does the path of justice lie?

I will depart on a journey as I send this letter to you. However, I will not die. I merely wish to go where I shall never meet you again. Finally, I pray that through atonement by these two lives—now likely facing death—their souls may return to heaven. For Moriki Kunimatsu, I pray that some great salvation may come.

And finally, for you whom I most trust and love, whatever may come to pass, I earnestly, earnestly pray that there may be happiness.

Kiyokawa Jun

The complexion of Isegawa, who had finished reading, did not seem of this world.

But just as he was trying to collect his thoughts, there came a knock at the door, and the maid hurriedly entered.

“Sir, there is a telephone call.”

“Where from?” “Um... It’s a long-distance call from a police station somewhere.” “The police?”

Seized by a dreadful, ominous premonition, he stood in the telephone room. "...This is Isegawa Ryūtarō... Huh? "What? ...The S Prefecture N Police? ...Hah... Hah... 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 repeat that. Yes, that is indeed my wife.... There’s a letter addressed to me?” "Is she really dead?" "What? A corpse dressed like a gentleman?... ...What? Kiyokawa Hiroshi!"

The maid standing outside had been observing her employer's abnormal state when suddenly, at that moment, she heard the sound of shattering glass from the telephone room and saw her employer stagger and collapse.

Isegawa Ryūtarō collapsed from cerebral anemia.

Several days later,

Isegawa Ryūtarō, who had been bedridden without meeting anyone, upon hearing that his close acquaintance Prosecutor Fujiyama had come to visit him as a private citizen, insisted on having him shown to the living room.

While observing his host's face—which had grown pitifully haggard in such a brief period—Prosecutor Fujiyama offered formal condolences and attempted to calmly take his leave, advising him to focus on physical recuperation. "Fujiyama, this contest ends with my victory." "…………"

Prosecutor Fujiyama, who knew about the tragic family incident, was suddenly told this by Isegawa and momentarily didn't understand what it was about. “Fujiyama, it’s the Moriki Kunimatsu case.” “Ah, that matter. The resignation notice from the defense has been submitted... but given that recuperation is crucial now, it can’t be helped.” “Fujiyama, the victory is mine.” "It’s not that I withdrew from the defense because I thought he was guilty." “No—it’s the exact opposite.” "Moriki Kunimatsu is absolutely innocent!" “You—you’re making an outrageous mistake here!”

“…………” “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.”

Having said this, Isegawa Ryūtarō—a cold, unpleasant smile curling at the corners of his lips—closed his eyes once more as he lay in his sickbed.

(April 1930)