Pathway to Japanese Literature

Demonic Emissary

“Damn it!”
“Another pigeon.”
“This makes four times now?”

Detective Chief Tatematsu hung up the receiver with a bitter expression, turned to Detective Akaboshi, and spat out those words.

The pigeons known as messengers of peace had become demonic emissaries, repeatedly threatening the households of the wealthy who possessed valuable jewels.

Over a month had passed since they first heard these complaints, but they still hadn’t even identified a suspect. Just as their frustration was reaching its peak, yet another report came in.

“Who is it this time?”

Detective Akaboshi asked hurriedly, his eyes glittering.

“It’s Third Secretary Sugiyama’s residence.”
“He is currently in Tokyo on home leave but is scheduled to return to his post on the Tōyō Maru the day after tomorrow.”
“As you know, since he’s engaged to an American girl, he bought a splendid diamond from Tenkadō in Ginza as a souvenir.”
“That was yesterday afternoon.”
“However, when he returned from going out around five today, a large package had arrived.”
“That, you see, is the usual birdcage.”
“Inside was the usual carrier pigeon, with a letter and a small bag tied to its leg,”

Place the diamond thou acquired yesterday into this bag and release it with the pigeon.
If thou dost defy this command, prepare thyself for thy life to be as nothing.

“and it says that same terrifying threat is written there.”

Detective Chief Tatematsu stood up while slipping his arms into his overcoat,

“Alright‚ we’ll head straight to Mr.Sugiyama’s residence now.
“I’ll need you to come along too.”

he said‚ his face stiffening with tension.

Twenty minutes later.

Tatematsu, accompanied by Detective Akaboshi, visited Secretary Sugiyama at the Grand Hotel.

There，surrounding the usual birdcage，two or three people were already engaged in a noisy discussion．

The debonairly dressed tall man was the hotel manager；the portly，ruddy-faced man in his fifties was the owner of Tenkadō who had sold the jewelry；and the Western-attired beautiful woman who appeared to be thirty-seven or thirty-eight was Fumiko Iwaki，an agent from the insurance company．

“I—I absolutely refuse to hand it over because of such threats！ When I acquired the diamond yesterday，I immediately insured it．”
“Therefore，upon receiving this letter，I hurriedly asked Mr．Tenkadō and Ms．Iwaki to come—”

Sugiyama was thoroughly agitated.
Though no formal introductions had been made, Tenkadō’s owner and Fumiko Iwaki turned toward Tatematsu and Akaboshi and bowed politely.
Akaboshi studied them carefully.
A three-carat diamond glittered on Tenkadō’s gnarled thick finger, but not a single ring adorned Fumiko Iwaki’s delicate slender ones—diamonds would show to best advantage on such fingers, he thought.
Under Akaboshi’s steady gaze, she colored faintly, smiling as she maintained her modest composure.

Tatematsu was meticulously examining the birdcage, white silk pouch, and letter when—

“Do you know anything about the appearance or other details of the person who delivered this?”

In the meantime, the manager leaned forward.

“Since Mr. Sugiyama has been receiving various gifts daily before his departure, we didn’t pay it any particular mind. The bellboy accepted it, but he says it was a man with a large face and a blue bruise under his eye.”

At this moment, Sugiyama turned toward Tatematsu,

"I’ve just been told a terrifying story about the pigeons by Mr. Tenkadō—is this really true?"

While maintaining a calm facade on the surface, the considerable anxiety within was clearly discernible from his expression.

Tatematsu frowned and nodded,

"As troubling as it is, it's the truth—about a month ago, Mr. Tomita, a prominent businessman, was threatened using the same method a few days after acquiring an expensive diamond."
"He refused their demands despite police protection and was brutally murdered by someone."
"Next came another target through identical means, with the third being Mrs. Ginzō Takarada, wife of the millionaire."
"She followed the perpetrator's instructions by attaching the diamond to a pigeon and releasing it—which is why she remains unharmed to this day."
"And that makes you the fourth marked target."

Mr. Sugiyama’s hand—which had been pressed to his forehead—began trembling faintly as he suddenly became aware of the danger surrounding him.

“Could you—could you somehow save me?”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

“What if we chased the pigeons with an airplane?”

“If it were the sea or desert, that’s one thing—but in Tokyo and its vicinity, it’s absolutely impossible. The criminal is a shrewd operator who’s mastered exploiting this weakness; the real challenge lies in how to draw them out.”

Tatematsu lit a cigarette as if remembering something,

“How many people know that you bought this diamond?”

He asked Sugiyama in an interrogative manner.

"I, Tenkadō, Ms. Iwaki, and—"

At this moment, Tenkadō interjected from the side.

“Most of our store clerks are aware.”
“And then—one more person—” he said, glancing around and hesitating.

“Who’s the other one?”

“That would be Dr. Saekita.”
“—Ever since the pigeon threats became notorious, we’ve been paying special attention to everyone entering and leaving our store.”
“It was when Mr. Sugiyama purchased the diamond yesterday.”
“A distinguished gentleman came straight into our store and said, ‘Show me that pearl necklace in the window.’ When we showed it to him, he declared, ‘I’ve bought one exactly like this—just wanted to compare prices and quality,’ then left immediately after looking at it. Given the circumstances, we thought him suspicious. Upon investigation, we learned he was Dr. Saekita—a wealthy lawyer—who had reportedly visited all our fellow large stores,” explained the Tenkadō owner with mild pride.

Akaboshi stared fixedly at Tenkadō’s face and said.

“What kind of person was this Dr. Saekita?”

“A thin, tall, sturdy man,” replied Tenkadō’s owner. “He wore pince-nez and had a somewhat Western-looking face.”

“So aside from your clerks, only he knew about it. No need for thanks,” Tatematsu cut in abruptly. “Now then—Mr. Sugiyama—what will you do?”

he asked.

“Could you please take custody of this birdcage at the Metropolitan Police Department? It’s rather unsettling.”
“Changing my plans over mere threatening letters would show too much weakness.”
“I will decidedly depart the day after tomorrow,” he declared firmly, though his face turned pale.

“I see.”
“We’ll protect you until you’ve safely boarded the ship.”
“Detective Akaboshi—I’m leaving everything to you. Make sure he departs without incident.”

Sugiyama smiled with relief and said.

“Oh—thank you very much. If you would kindly arrange that, I can be entirely at ease.”

Tenkadō furrowed his brows with concern,

"How about considering the next ship? At a time like this, going out poses the greatest danger. If I may suggest—it would be safest if you remained at home for now and observed how things develop."

"There’s no conceivable way I’d be killed en route. Besides, Detective Akaboshi will be accompanying me—there’s truly nothing to worry about."

Sugiyama had brightened somewhat.

Surrounded by a crowd of people,

On the morning of his departure, a Metropolitan Police Department car was dispatched to the entrance of the Grand Hotel, and in his room Akaboshi spoke in a vigorous voice.

"We'll escort you to Yokohama with two detectives and myself—three of us total—so you'll be perfectly safe."

Sugiyama made an uneasy face,

"I'm sorry for putting you through this trouble."
"I may seem cowardly...but I couldn't stop worrying and barely slept at all last night."
"I kept imagining someone sneaking into my room during the night—"

He said with a laugh, but his voice echoed hollowly.

When getting into the car, Sugiyama followed Akaboshi’s instructions and sat between him and the detective.

“We’ll have another detective sit in the front auxiliary seat, so you’ll be surrounded by a human wall, Mr. Sugiyama. This should keep you safe, right?”

Protected by three detectives, he safely left the hotel.
However, since there was still plenty of time before departure, the driver judiciously kept their speed low, letting multiple cars coming from behind overtake them.

When they had come straight along the Keihin Highway to Suzugamori, suddenly—with a tremendous bang—before they could react, the car body began clattering and shaking violently.
Sugiyama lurched forward and instantly turned as pale as a corpse; one detective slammed his head against the window glass; another struck his forehead hard with the metal rod he had been gripping.

The driver who had been inspecting the tire exclaimed in shock.

"The tires! They got the tires!"

“Did they get us?”

Akaboshi asked back in surprise.

“They shot us from behind— There’s a hole— The hole—”

“Huh?! Is there a hole in it?”

The detective sitting to Sugiyama’s right jumped out to check. “Don’t get out! Stay inside!”

The detective, being so absorbed, seemed not to hear Akaboshi’s voice and was intently examining the tire alongside the driver.

At that moment, a large automobile approached from the opposite direction; it appeared to be an empty car with no one inside, but as they passed each other, a white hand shot out swiftly from the window—the instant he noticed it, Sugiyama let out a sharp cry,

“I’m hit!” he shouted, grabbing his shoulder.
His palm was thickly smeared with blood.
He staggered and collapsed heavily behind Akaboshi.

White hand.

Upon hearing Akaboshi’s report, Detective Chief Tatematsu stood up indignantly and paced around the room while clicking his tongue repeatedly.
Akaboshi, feeling the weight of his anger on his brow, looked down and forced out his words.

“The criminal had been tailing us by car. Upon realizing our bodies made it difficult to shoot Mr. Sugiyama directly, they first shot the tire while overtaking us to divert our attention—then calmly doubled back around. When that detective stepped out of the vehicle, Mr. Sugiyama became an open target... It burns me raw that we walked straight into their trap.”

“Was it just the white hand that you saw?”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Was it a jitney taxi or private car? And you didn’t catch the driver?”

“When Mr. Sugiyama stood up, his body blocked my view—I couldn’t see clearly. But I did notice square, sturdy shoulders.”
“It all happened too fast—”

“The license plate number?”

Akaboshi wiped the sweat from his brow, looking frustrated,

“That’s... I don’t know. One of the screws on the license plate had come loose, so it was swaying wildly up and down—I couldn’t read the numbers at all—”

Tatematsu fell silent in bitter frustration.
On the desk was yesterday’s newspaper spread out.

Yet Another Pigeon Threat!

Akaboshi felt as though the headline "Yet Another Pigeon Threat!" was mocking him.

“I will definitely make up for this failure—no matter what happens—I will capture the criminal. Please bear with this for a little longer.”

At that moment, a waiter entered holding a single name card.

“Detective Akaboshi, this person apparently has something urgent to inform you about.”

Akaboshi left the chief’s office but soon returned and placed a name card before Tatematsu,

“There’s a student named Honda Keiichi who says he happened to be passing by when Mr. Sugiyama was shot and saw the criminal’s face.”
“I questioned him thoroughly.”
“He apparently lives in a small apartment near Suzugamori and cooks for himself.”
“Right now he’s surrounded by reporters downstairs—the evening papers will surely run the story. I strictly instructed him to only mention seeing the face and nothing else. Once that article appears, the culprit will panic,” Akaboshi said, suddenly energized.
Tatematsu paced restlessly, a sardonic smile twisting his lips,

“Publicity hound.”
“He might particularly be the criminal’s accomplice. Carelessly trust him and you’ll end up humiliated.”

Akaboshi remained silent.

In the corner of the room, a pigeon was fluttering restlessly.

"I'll borrow the birdcage."

Without waiting for Tatematsu’s reply, he wrapped the birdcage in a furoshiki and left.

When he returned about two hours later, the chief was no longer in the room, so he returned only the birdcage to its original place.

On his way to visit Sugiyama, Akaboshi bought a copy of the evening paper.
Sure enough, this morning’s events were featured prominently.
He stared intently at the photograph of the student who claimed to have seen the criminal, then grinned and stuffed it into his pocket.

In the dimly lit corridor of the hospital, at a turn in the hallway, he encountered a woman—that woman turned out to be none other than Fumiko Iwaki.
She gave a cheerful nod,

“Mr. Sugiyama has suffered such an awful misfortune—I was so shocked when I saw the evening paper that I came to pay him a visit,” she said.
In her hands was a splendid bouquet.

“Mr. Sugiyama is refusing visitors, so you can’t see him.”

“Oh my, is he really in such critical condition?” she asked in a hushed voice, furrowing her brows with apparent concern. “Detective Akaboshi, are you leaving right away? I’ll deliver this bouquet and be back—could you wait a moment? There’s also something to discuss regarding Mr. Sugiyama—” She hurried toward the hospital room, tossing the words over her shoulder.

As Akaboshi was strolling down the long corridor, Fumiko Iwaki soon came back.

“I hear someone saw the criminal—what a relief.”
“Detective Akaboshi, please arrest them at once.”
“I’ve just consulted with Mr. Tenkadō too—if these incidents keep happening, our business will collapse. It’s truly troubling.”

“I’m well aware.”

After a slight pause, Akaboshi said.

“Shall we discuss matters concerning Mr. Sugiyama?”

“I heard from Mr. Tenkadō that Mr. Sugiyama is quite well-regarded at the Foreign Ministry—handsome, capable, from a good family—so there are apparently many women who want to become his wife. That’s why some believe this could be the work of someone dissatisfied with his marriage to a foreigner.”

“Do you have any leads on such a person?”

“No, not particularly—I’m just mentioning it for your reference. Desperate young people will do anything—if not that, I’d say it’s the work of a diamond-obsessed criminal. In fact, this criminal might not even be trying to steal high-value items to convert into cash.”

“Why?”

“But—hasn’t it been said that none of the stolen diamonds have surfaced anywhere?”

Akaboshi gave a wry smile.

“Do you still like jewels?”

“No, I’ve come to dislike them. The reason is, I had converted my money into jewels and kept them, but when I tried to sell them, they would nitpick—saying they were outdated, flawed, or had poor color—and swindle me out of payment. All because I bought diamonds, I lost my entire fortune and ended up in such poverty. That’s why one shouldn’t keep such things. Now even looking at them makes me shudder—I can’t fathom why anyone would buy them.”

Ah—so that was why this woman wasn’t wearing a ring. It made sense now.
As he imagined her slender fingers—once adorned with diamonds worthy of being called Jewelry Queen—Akaboshi gazed at her beauty.

Two slender legs

Night had fallen when Honda Keiichi finally returned to his Suzugamori apartment.
The innkeeper came to his room holding the evening paper.

“This photo doesn’t look anything like you, Mr. Honda,” he said, repeatedly comparing the photograph in the evening paper to the real thing while tilting his head in puzzlement. However, the innkeeper seemed immensely pleased that his own establishment’s name had appeared in the newspaper.

“Did anyone come by while I was out?”

“Quite a few came by for once—some even asked where your room was before leaving.”
“You’ve become quite famous—but did you really see the culprit’s face? What kind of guy was he?”

“I can’t tell you that.”
“It’s absolutely confidential—the police have strictly ordered me to keep silent.”
“And hey, old-timer—I need you to stay up tonight. Once they nab the culprit, I figure the cops’ll come callin’ right quick—”

“You must be joking—the cops can’t possibly nab him that quick! Once he knows his mug’s been spotted，even he won’t slip up，see?”

“The cops said they’d set up a cordon right away—seems they’ve got a lead.”

“Oh? Really?”
“Well then I’ll stay up—it’d be an honor to say they got the lead to arrest the culprit from someone staying at my place.”
“You’ll be in the papers again!”

The innkeeper folded the newspaper and carefully tucked it into his pocket, then left, rattling the ill-fitting door with a clatter as he went.

Honda laid out a futon in his room and flopped down fully clothed.
The low ceiling felt as if it were pressing down on his face; he turned off the light and kept his eyes closed.

The pillar clock at the counter struck twelve; then it struck one, then two. The pale light of the crescent moon shone through the curtainless windowpane.

Suddenly he heard a faint noise.
Was it a cat sneaking across the roof?
But that seemed too heavy. Honda slipped out of his futon and crouched in a dark corner.
The noise stopped abruptly, returning everything to silence. Moments later, something thin and snake-like dangled down from the window, swaying gently—a black rope upon closer inspection.
Then came another creaking sound overhead. Two legs thicker than the rope hung down next, sliding smoothly along the rope before using the window frame as a foothold to slip effortlessly into the room.
In the dimness, the man’s age and features remained unclear—one hand gripping rope, the other clutching a large honed navy knife—as he fixed his glare on the futon. He flipped the knife into a reverse grip, drew breath, then slammed it down with a whoosh; the blade sank deep into the futon’s padding.
Honda sprang up resolutely and lunged forward with all his strength.
Two pitch-black masses rolled across each other in a grapple.

“Damn it!”

Honda twisted his opponent down and slapped him across the face with all his strength.
The man groaned and stopped moving.
He panted, picked up the knife, and turned on the light.
When the light came on, the man noticed but no longer had the strength to resist.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, wearing a tattered Western-style jacket over bare skin with torn knitted fabric.
A large scar ran from his nose to his ear.

“Get up!”

Honda gripped the knife and shouted.
The man glanced up sharply with sidelong eyes, but despite that, he obediently rose and sat up.
Both knees were trembling violently.
The red scar stood out starkly on the livid face.

“You bastard—did you come here to kill me? Who hired you?”

The man did not answer.

“Why are you silent? Speak!”
“If you don’t talk, I’ll beat you to death!”

The man stubbornly refused to answer; Honda lunged forward,

“You bastard, why aren’t you speaking?!”

He grabbed the collar and yanked him roughly.
The man struggled as if in pain, pointed to his throat, and hung his head.

“What—you bastard, are you mute?”

The man remained silent with a pitiful air.
Though still half-doubting, Honda hauled him to the front desk with the innkeeper to settle the matter.

“Get moving—walk ahead! Quietly go down the ladder steps—turn around and you’ll get this!”

He brandished the knife as a warning, but without any particular attempt to flee, the man obediently followed the command, descended the stairs toward the front desk—only to find the innkeeper, who should have been awake, fast asleep and snoring thunderously.

“Old man, wake up! Old man!” he shouted, but the innkeeper showed no sign of waking. Since the mute man was crouched on the floor with his hands clutching his head, Honda let his guard slip slightly.
As he entered the front desk area and bent down to shake the innkeeper awake,

“Acting all cocky now, you Akaboshi bastard!”

A voice rang out. Startled, he tried to turn around—but in that instant, the back of his head was struck with a blow that felt like it split his skull, and with that, he lost consciousness.

Mute Ken

“Come to your senses yet, Akaboshi? You’ve had it rough. Never would’ve guessed you’d disguised yourself as some student called Honda.”
“They told me ‘Detective Akaboshi’s injured’—gave me a shock rushing over. You did succeed in drawing out the culprit. Pity about the rest.”

Akaboshi remained silent.
Beside him lay the innkeeper, his head likewise tightly wound in bandages; he tried to speak but his tongue felt leaden and sluggish; when he attempted to sit up, a sudden wave of dizziness nearly sent him toppling forward.
Tatematsu said to drink the wine.
After drinking a little, his mind became somewhat clearer.

“Was I unconscious for quite a long time?”

“Well—the innkeeper says he was woken up around 4 a.m. by someone claiming to be from the police—and when he went to open the gate—he was suddenly clubbed—but I’d say you were taken out before that.”

“So they tried to kill me with two people—one came in through the gate—and another came along the roof through—”

Tatematsu was startled,

“Two people?”

Akaboshi let out a sigh.

“I never had confidence in this plan from the start.
That’s why I didn’t tell anyone.
But tracking pigeons is ultimately impossible unless you’ve got a hawk or something, so I concluded there was no other way than to lure out the culprit and catch them.
So about ten days ago, I rented this apartment under the name Honda Keiichi and secretly waited for the next incident. When Third Secretary Sugiyama was indeed attacked, I made sure the papers ran stories about a student named Honda witnessing the culprit’s face.
I figured the culprit would probably come after Honda—
As for why I used an apartment instead of my own place—with so many people around, I thought they’d try to settle things quietly.
That’s exactly what I wanted. If it was just one or two of them, I could handle it without police involvement.
I hated the idea of making a big scene waiting for a criminal who might not even show.
Thinking I could take them alone—that overconfidence was my mistake.
But next time I’ll get it right,” he said, giving a brief account of last night’s events. Tatematsu slapped his knee,

“A scar running from nose to ear—muteness—a navy knife—it’s Mute Ken.”
“So it was their doing after all?”

“Is he really mute?”

“A fake mute. He’s a hopeless bastard.”

While pressing his throbbing head, Akaboshi staggered to his feet,

“Do you know his whereabouts?”

“I know,”
“But he’s likely just a pawn of the pigeon handler.”
“Or maybe he’s only contracted to kill you.”
“Either way, if we nab that bastard and make him talk, we’ll get something useful.”

“Mute Ken won’t be found easily now—the pigeon handler must’ve stashed him away,” he said, turning to the innkeeper,

“Old man, what sort of bastard hit you?”

“It happened in a flash—no time to see anything properly. But I remember he had a big face with a bruise under his eye.”

“That bruise under the eye—the man who delivered the pigeon to Mr. Sugiyama also had one.—Anyway, we need to catch Mute Ken. I’ve got to shake off this headache and get to the university lab.”

“You mustn’t overexert yourself. The doctor ordered complete bed rest and left.”

"But I have an appointment to keep today."
"Explain the situation and send a proxy instead."

“No—I’m going.”
“I’ve commissioned pigeon research myself; sending someone else would defeat the purpose.”

Volcanic Ash Soil.

Emerging from the agricultural department laboratory, Akaboshi’s face bore an irrepressible look of joy, and he had regained such vigor that even his headache was forgotten. When he returned home, he plopped down in front of the charcoal brazier and spread out this morning’s newspaper to look through it. Articles about pigeons were the first thing to catch his eye.

Third Secretary Sugiyama, who had been reported to be in critical condition, was fortunately recovering well and would be discharged within a few days.
Despite opposition from Detective Chief Tatematsu and others who feared renewed danger, Mr. Sugiyama had resolved to release the pigeon in question with the diamond attached immediately upon discharge.

On another page, there was a comic strip showing a grown man bowing to a pigeon after losing.
Akaboshi clicked his tongue and threw down the newspaper.
Just then, Tatematsu arrived.

“How are you feeling?”

Akaboshi slightly bowed his head and adjusted his posture.

“Isn’t this comic infuriating?—” he said, picking up the thrown newspaper and pointing to the comic section while,

“The public doesn’t appreciate at all that we’re risking our lives in this fight.”

“It can’t be helped.—By the way, I just visited Mr. Sugiyama. He said to ask you when would be a good day to release the pigeons. You—is it safe to have them attach the diamond? I don’t know what tactics you have in mind—”

Akaboshi grinned and said, “I’m terribly frustrated by all these failures. But this time, I’ll get it right. I’ll explain everything properly later, but since the diamond’s a fake, even if they steal it, it won’t be a big loss.” Then he abruptly changed the subject—

“Have you found Mute Ken’s whereabouts?”

“I know his whereabouts. It’s under Ochanomizu Bridge, but he left last night and hasn’t returned.”

“I thought as much.”
“That bastard probably won’t go back there now.”

Akaboshi had fallen silent and was deep in thought, but when he suddenly raised his face, his tone shifted slightly as he—

“I’ve finally managed to get a rough idea of where those pigeons are coming from, so I’m heading out to investigate now. So could you let me decide the day to release the pigeons? On the day, I plan to get there ahead of time with several detectives and set up a stakeout.”

“How did you find out where the pigeon coop is located?”

“I haven’t pinpointed it exactly yet, but after having Dr. Matsumoto, the agricultural scientist, examine the evidence, we’ve got a rough idea. The three birdcages remained clean when the pigeons first arrived, but curiously, after a day or two passed, a jet-black substance—light as ash or soot—accumulated in the corners, gradually darkening the interiors. I gathered that black debris and scraped off the soil clinging to the pigeons’ legs and between their toes before taking everything to the doctor’s office for analysis. However, it was neither ash nor soot but soil—black soil. The locals call it boka-tsuchi, and a certain area near Tokyo is entirely composed of this volcanic ash soil. On windy days, it swirls up into the air, and the surroundings can even turn pitch black. The particles that had worked their way between the pigeons’ wings would naturally fall off or drop each time they flapped their wings, accumulating in the cage. Then there was the shield bug found in the stomach of the first pigeon that arrived. From those clues, we’ve managed to narrow it down somewhat—but we still need to locate where exactly the pigeon coop stands. Once it’s confirmed, we’ll have Mr. Sugiyama release the pigeons.”

Released Pigeon

Despite his shoulder wound still unhealed and bandages yet unwrapped, Sugiyama was discharged from the hospital and resolved to release the pigeon that very evening.
When this news appeared in print, crowds swiftly gathered before the hotel hoping to glimpse the notorious demonic messenger.
Undoubtedly accomplices lurked among these spectators—which was precisely why Detective Chief Tatematsu, having outwardly opposed the pigeon release until the last moment yet wishing to avoid public scrutiny—hid in Sugiyama’s room while directing operations.

While restraining the nervous pigeon, Tatematsu, Sugiyama, and a third officer worked together to securely tie a small pouch containing the diamond to it, making the bird grow even more frightened and thrash wildly inside the cramped birdcage.

Tatematsu nonchalantly picked up the birdcage and began ascending to the rooftop garden, then suddenly remembered something. He handed it to Sugiyama and took up position in an inconspicuous spot before giving a low-voiced signal.

“Now, Mr. Sugiyama, release it!”

Sugiyama opened the cage, took hold of the pigeon, and sent it skyward with a swift motion. The bird flapped its wings once or twice, traced a large circle through the air, then flew off to an unknown destination.

Nakasu Forest

At the very same moment when pigeons were about to be released from the rooftop of the Grand Hotel, two cars carrying Akaboshi and several detectives hurtled down Kōshū Highway toward their destination.

“Detective Akaboshi.”
“How did you pinpoint the pigeon coop?” asked one of the detectives.

“There aren’t many households that raise carrier pigeons. But I initially assumed the culprit themselves maintained a pigeon coop—it never occurred to me they might be stealing someone else’s birds. There’s this wealthy young couple who kept over a dozen pigeons as a hobby but grew tired of them. They relocated the coop to a desolate forest called ‘Nakasu Forest’ adjacent to their property. Lately, there’d been rumors of frequent thefts—five pigeons already gone. I immediately visited their house, requested an audience with the owner, and thoroughly inquired about the stolen pigeons’ ages, unique habits, feather colors... Everything matched perfectly.”

“Clever pigeon handler—pure profit.”

“If they’re using stolen pigeons, that complicates the investigation even further.”

“But you—Mr. Sugiyama is releasing the pigeons this evening, right? Haven’t they already returned to the coop? I hear they fly about seven chō per minute—what if by the time we arrive, the culprit’s already grabbed the diamond and made off?”

“It’s fine. If they were carrier pigeons, they’d return to the coop—but Mr. Sugiyama’s releasing common pigeons. Since I bought them from a bird shop, they’d only fly back there if anywhere. They’ll never return to Nakasu Forest no matter how long you wait—rest assured. Right now, the culprit’s probably craning his neck wondering ‘When? When?’”

“Did you switch the pigeons?”

“That’s right. This operation won’t work unless it’s after dark, and we can’t exactly release the birds at night either.”

The five detectives, each in nondescript clothing, abandoned their cars midway and ventured into the pitch-black forest with Akaboshi as their guide.
The trees blotted out the starlight, plunging everything into total darkness.
Extending their hands to avoid colliding with trunks, the detectives pressed deeper into the woods with cautious steps.

Akaboshi suddenly stopped, pointed ahead, and said in a tense voice.

“There’s a light!”

In a decaying cottage on the verge of collapse, two men could be seen warming themselves by a fire that was nearly extinguished.

“So they’re waiting.”

“Waiting for the pigeon to return—”

He glanced back at the detectives and said.

“Surround the cottage. When I give the signal, take them down all at once. Move quietly—don’t let them notice you.”

The bamboo leaves rustled in the wind.
They sank into the grass and inched closer around the cottage.

Akaboshi suddenly raised his right hand as a signal.

The entire group surged toward the cottage.
Caught off guard, the two men panicked, shoved their opponents aside, and frantically tried to flee.
The embers of the bonfire scattered abruptly, and a single pigeon flew up onto the roof.

Akaboshi shouted, “You’re Mute Ken, aren’t you?”

Ken swung up his knife and charged forward but was immediately pinned down and had both hands bound.

A detective rushed over,

“Look out!”
The moment he shoved Akaboshi aside, a pistol shot rang out grazing his ear.

The man went mad, firing wildly as he emptied every last bullet in a continuous barrage.
One detective had his arm injured, and another was shot in the knee.
But soon the man too collapsed, drenched in blood.

With this turn of events, Ken could no longer maintain his feigned muteness—he began shouting curses at the top of his voice, bellowing and thrashing about wildly. When Akaboshi lifted the man who had fallen face down and looked at his face, there was a large blue bruise beneath his eye.

Is this the culprit?

In other words, was he the pigeon handler?

The square, sturdy shoulders and thick neck were familiar—this had to be the driver of that suspicious large car. But the white hand that had swiftly emerged from the window back then was undoubtedly not this man’s. Which meant the true culprit lay beyond these two.

“Ken, is this bastard the boss?” Akaboshi said, pointing at the corpse.

“Boss? Hell no! This here’s Kichikō with the blue bruise—that bastard.”
“The boss is someone else entirely!”

“What kind of person is the boss?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Where is he? Spit it out!”

“I don’t know squat—no name, no face—but Kichikō told me he’s some kinda magnificent big shot,” he said, suddenly looking up at Akaboshi with taunting eyes. “The only one who knew the boss was Kichikō. Since you’ve gone and killed your golden goose—too damn bad—there’s no way to find out now. No matter how much you bastards squirm, you’ll never figure it out.”

He sneered.

Leaving Mute Ken and Kichikō with the Blue Bruise in the detectives' custody, Akaboshi went off alone somewhere.

Fake Doctor

The detectives who had returned to the Metropolitan Police Department reported the full details of the incident to Tatematsu.

“Good work. You all must be worn out, but I’ve been struggling with this case myself—the thing is, another pigeon has arrived at Dr. Saekida’s place.”

“What?! Again?!”

“I had my suspicions about Dr. Saekida being fishy, but now that he’s been threatened, I’m completely baffled,” he was saying when the desk phone’s bell blared urgently.
When he picked up, it was Akaboshi’s voice.

"My apologies, but bring two or three detectives and come to Tokyo Station's boarding gate immediately—I hear a pigeon has arrived at Dr. Saekida's place. If we don't hurry, we'll fail again. I'll explain the details later."

"Right, I'm coming now."

Tatematsu rushed to Tokyo Station with the detectives.
Akaboshi stood poised impatiently before the boarding gate, leaping into the still-moving car and throwing open the door as he barked at the driver:

“Akasaka’s Fujiyama Hotel.”
“Stop here,” he said, settling into the seat beside Tatematsu.

“Before we arrive, I’ll explain everything from the beginning,” I said. “Dr. Saekida—the one interested in pigeon handlers—had been investigating this case alone. As you all know, pigeon handlers intimately understand diamond buyers and their true valuations.” I leaned forward, my injured knee protesting against the car seat. “This has to be someone connected to a jewelry store—maybe even a jeweler themselves.”

“The day before Mr. Sugiyama received his pigeon threat,” I continued, “the doctor visited every major jeweler in Tokyo. He’d ask to see pieces displayed in shop windows—a pearl necklace at Tenkadō, diamond ring at Katori’s place, ruby obi clasp at Taya’s, emerald pin at Tamamura’s—but never bought anything.”

Tatematsu’s fingers drummed against his holster as I spoke. “He made each jeweler think he’d made purchases, then waited for pigeons to come demanding specific gems. If they’d asked for diamonds, we’d have suspected Katori. Rubies would’ve pointed to Taya.” My knuckles whitened around the door handle as we swerved through traffic. “But they requested Tenkadō’s pearl necklace instead—”

The chief’s palm smacked my thigh mid-sentence. “So you were—you were Dr. Saekida?”

“So you were—you were Dr. Saekida?”

“I was in disguise.”
“Of course, I did it with the doctor’s permission—wearing pince-nez and sideburns—”
“When that fake doctor went to Tenkadō, seven people were in the store: Mr. Sugiyama, the owner, four employees, and Fumiko Iwaki from the insurance company.”
“The culprit must be among these seven people.”
“The first one I found suspicious was Tenkadō’s owner.”
So I summoned him to the phone and said, “Right now at Nakasu Forest, Mute Ken and Kichikō with the Blue Bruise have started a huge fight—Ken’s bastard ran away, but Kichikō’s badly injured and about to die. There’s something I absolutely must hand over—I need you to come—” When I told him this, the owner snapped back angrily, “Must be a mistake! Never heard those names.” So next I tried calling others and repeated the same spiel.
Then—“How did you get this number?” came the interrogation before any real reply.
Got her!
Thinking I had her hooked, I lied, “Kichikō told me,” to which she snapped, “Idiot! What a useless fool you are! Fine—I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Can’t make it tonight—don’t call again.”
“I won’t tolerate more calls,” she barked. “Where are you calling from? Who are you?
“You a friend of Kichikō’s? What’s your name?” She kept hammering questions like that—but I fed her half-truths and hung up.”

“Who on earth is that?”

"Fumiko Iwaki from the insurance company"

“What?!”
“Fumiko Iwaki?”

“That woman frequents jewelers through her work and knows exactly who bought what.”
“She knows their true value too.”
“These days more people insure jewels, you know.”

“But how could that woman—”

“She wears that gentle face but hides steel beneath.”
“When I met her at the hospital last week, she fed me lies—said some jealous rival must’ve sent pigeons to Mr. Sugiyama, claimed she hated diamonds down to spinning some sob story about why.”
“That’s when I knew something stank.”
Directing casual attention revealed faint ring marks on slender fingers—too pretty by half.
Made me wonder enough to dig deeper.”
“Turns out after her jewelry-mad husband died—man lived high once—she got poorer by the year selling off baubles one by one.”
“When even her last ring vanished? Remembered some foreign novel she’d read—used it as blueprint for this pigeon scheme.”

“If you knew that much, why didn’t you arrest her sooner?—What if she flees?”

“She won’t flee. A clever woman like her knows damn well running would only make her look guilty.”
“Because my story was half guesswork—I needed hard proof.”

“Then why’d you sniff around Tenkadō with that phone stunt?”

“I thought she might be in collusion.”

The car stopped short of the hotel.

“Is an insurance company’s female agent really living in such a splendid hotel?”

Tatematsu stared wide-eyed in disbelief.
Akaboshi laughed and,

“This is her hideout.”
“There, she goes by the name Fumiyo Iwasaki.”
“This hotel has many Westerners, so it must be advantageous for selling diamonds.”
“The residence under Fumiko Iwaki’s real name is a small apartment room.”

The group took the elevator up to the fifth floor.
Standing before Fumiko Iwaki’s room, Akaboshi quietly knocked on the door.

The room was hushed and seemingly empty, but after a moment came the rustling sound of fabric moving across the floor from within. Just as someone inside cracked the door open a sliver to peer into the hallway, a detective swiftly shoved it open with his shoulder and barged in.
Tatematsu and Akaboshi followed behind.
Fumiko Iwaki turned deathly pale, biting her lower lip as she glared resentfully at Akaboshi while brushing back stray hair from her face—on her slender finger glinted a dazzling diamond ring.

“Without any evidence—isn’t it utterly despicable to suspect me like this? Rather than be arrested by the likes of you—”

As she spoke retreating step by step, she suddenly yanked off the diamond ring from her left hand and hurled it at Akaboshi’s face with a snap. Then, like a swift bird, she dashed to the window, raised her white hand high—and in an instant, hurled herself out into the void below.
On the paving stones below, Fumiko’s body lay shattered like a bouquet of scarlet peonies flung to the ground.

When Akaboshi picked up the ring that had been thrown and examined it, it was the one stolen from Mrs. Takarada.