Pathway to Japanese Literature

A voice. An urgent call came to female detective Yoko Sakurai from Takeo Arimatsu, a wealthy man convalescing at his villa in Numazu - a matter requiring her services had arisen, he said, and he wished her to come immediately. Arimatsu was a smooth operator. Particularly toward women, he displayed impeccable courtesy and gentleness - a model gentleman through and through. Yet Yoko found herself disliking him for reasons she couldn't articulate, hesitating to comply. But professional duty compelled her; refusing without cause seemed improper. At 4:40 PM sharp, she boarded the express train departing Tokyo Station.

By the time the train arrived at Odawara, the short winter day had already deepened into full darkness. Yoko had just resolved a case; with no time to rest properly, she immediately found herself on the train. When she settled into her seat, exhaustion overtook her all at once—leaving her limp—and to make matters worse, intense drowsiness overwhelmed her until she soon found herself dozing off.

Suddenly, voices spoke nearby. She listened to them as if in a dream. The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere around the passageway.

“It worked.” “But it was a close call.” “After all—they’ve plastered them all over the damn train—”

The tone was rough, but the voice felt thin and soft. No reply could be heard. "No matter how much they've set up—until we achieve our objective, you mustn't get caught!"

After a brief pause, once more,

“If you keep lollygagging like that—I’ll waste you,” he growled with suppressed violence. The voices cut off abruptly. But scarcely had they passed Yugawara when it happened. The same voice barked “Move out!”—and with that, the emergency bell shrilled. The train jerked violently as brakes screamed against rails, lurching toward an unscheduled halt. Yoko’s eyelids fluttered open. Through her daze, she glimpsed two figures wrenching open a carriage door and hurling themselves into the night. One was a hulking man in a peaked cap; the other, a pale-faced slip of a thing with delicate features.

At last, the train came to a stop with a heavy, dragging sound along the rails. The passengers all stood up, and the train car erupted into chaos. Peering through the pitch-dark outside, faces eager to learn about the accident pressed against the windows. But as it appeared nothing in particular had happened, the train quietly began moving forward again.

“What happened?” “What happened?” “Did someone get hit?”

The passengers grabbed the passing conductor and demanded in an interrogative tone.

“It was nothing at all. Someone must have played a prank—when that emergency bell went off, we were thoroughly startled,” he said with a pained smile. “This is outrageous! Was it one of the passengers?” “We’re looking into it, but—to be honest, we can’t make sense of it and it’s rather problematic.”

“They pulled a prank and then ran off, didn’t they?” “No, that’s not the case. None of the passengers have disembarked—as you can see here, every destination has been properly recorded. If anyone were missing, we’d know immediately. Not a single person is unaccounted for—” The two shadows Yoko had seen—what could they have been? If the passenger count remained unchanged—perhaps it had been a dream. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to believe that. But since they insisted nothing had happened, she decided against stirring up trouble with unnecessary talk and kept silent.

Then this time, she heard the young wife sitting back-to-back whispering to her bureaucrat-like husband.

“A train stopping somewhere that isn’t a station feels rather eerie, doesn’t it? Who on earth could have pressed the emergency bell, I wonder?” “Perhaps someone pressed it accidentally—after all, with that famous noble thief Senzo Ogoshi having escaped prison, the authorities are completely on edge. Look—there’s a whole squad of detectives stationed on this train too!” “Oh, how dreadful!—Then does that mean there’s a suspicious person aboard this train?”

“But—they’re likely keeping close watch.” “It’s so eerie.” “When you speak that way, everyone’s faces appear quite frightening.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” “Ogoshi is a delicate-featured man.” “Not just his face—though a criminal, he shows unexpected kindness. When completing a job, he immediately visits distressed families reported in the news to provide assistance.” “That’s why people protect him and give misleading descriptions—apparently making his capture tremendously difficult.” “Another distinction from regular burglars was how Ogoshi exclusively targeted wealthy houses built through illicit means.”

“Why do you know about this in such detail? Nothing’s appeared in the papers yet, has it?” “At that time, I was a judicial officer—I was constantly in and out of the courts, so I know these things.” “Even among thieves, I’ve always wondered why Ogoshi alone enjoys such popularity. It must be because he truly has something different about him.”

The train arrived safely at Numazu.

Yoko stepped onto the platform and found it somewhat unexpected that Arimatsu was nowhere to be seen. Given how thorough he was, she had fully expected him to come meet her in his own car—and yet. She thought he might be waiting at the ticket gate instead, but he wasn’t there either. Not only that, but there was no one who seemed to have been sent by Arimatsu to meet her, and she felt slightly disappointed that he hadn’t even arranged for a car.

Yoko approached the round taxi and, while putting her hand on the door,

“Please take me to Mr. Arimatsu’s residence,” she said.

The driver slammed the door shut with a bang and turned the steering wheel simultaneously. The night wind was cold, and stars twinkled in the sky. As the car approached the pine-lined road, a Ford came speeding from the opposite direction. As they passed each other, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a burly man in a hunting cap gripping the steering wheel and an aristocratic-looking man sitting beside him. By the time she startled and tried to look again, the car had already sped past. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow the two shadows who had jumped from the train.

Arimatsu’s residence stood silent, yet its doors remained open wide as if awaiting someone, letting the round taxi clatter through the gate. Yet no one emerged to greet her. Yoko pressed the entrance bell. No attendant appeared.

A light was visible in the inner rooms, but the house felt unnervingly silent, as though completely devoid of life. She tried ringing the bell again. As she strained her ears, she heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. She waited two or three minutes, but still no one appeared.

Yoko, growing slightly impatient, pressed the bell repeatedly this time.

A pale face. Then, the door opened a crack, and from within peered two timid eyes.

“I have come from Tokyo. Please inform Mr. Arimatsu.”

she said with a wry smile as she presented a business card.

The other person wordlessly extended a slender white hand and accepted the business card. No sooner had she done so than she suddenly swung the door open wide, breath coming in excited gasps as though she’d been waiting impatiently— “Please come in, Ms. Sakurai.” “You’ve come!” She welcomed her with a suddenly transformed, approachable demeanor. Yoko realized at a glance that this was Miwako Arimatsu—the renowned beauty and Takeo’s adopted daughter. She appeared to be seventeen or eighteen, with striking beauty, but her face was deathly pale like a sick person’s. Moreover, her body trembled in small, rapid shudders, and even her lips showed faint spasms. This was no ordinary situation, she intuited,

“Miss Miwako, what happened?” When she asked gently, Miwako—as if she could no longer contain herself—suddenly burst into loud sobs.

“What happened?” “Could it be your father’s condition has worsened?”

“No. Father... that man—”

“Your father?” “Father... he passed away.” “What?!” “When?” The voice she had heard over the long-distance telephone call had been only four or five hours earlier. Yoko was shocked by this sudden turn of events. “I don’t know.” “I… I had no idea at all… I brought tea to the study,” Miwako began, trembling fearfully,

“Father was lying face down over the desk—dead.” “The whole room was awash with blood—” “Did he hemorrhage?” “No.” “A thief must have—there was a dagger stabbed through his heart.” “—I yanked the dagger out in my panic, then blood came spurting—my hands, my arms, my sleeves—all soaked through—”

Yoko couldn’t bear to hear the rest. She had Miwako guide her and rushed to the master’s study.

The room had been completely ransacked, and amidst the scattered documents, Arimatsu lay collapsed, stained crimson. In his right hand, a pistol remained tightly gripped, but he had apparently been stabbed in the heart before pulling the trigger. The dagger Miwako had pulled out lay thrown upon the floor.

“Have you informed the police?” “No, not yet—because there’s no one here. I was all alone—at a complete loss of what to do—when the bell rang, and I froze in place. Because I thought the thief had come back again, I was so scared—I couldn’t bring myself to go to the entrance. But I was truly relieved—Ms. Sakurai, you came and saved me.”

“What about the maid?”

“She went to town shopping.” “I think she should be returning soon, but—” Even though she knew nothing, Miwako’s fingerprints were likely on the dagger—and though it might have been coincidental, with the maid out shopping and no one else in the house but Miwako, what would that result in? Unless the criminal left behind some evidence as they fled, suspicion would naturally be cast. Yoko was first and foremost worried about that. However, Miwako seemed more mentally overwhelmed by the fact that her father had been murdered than by such matters, and when Yoko said she would go inform the police, she frantically stopped her—

“Ms. Sakurai, don’t go anywhere—please stay by my side. I beg you—” She clung to her hands. “Then I’ll stay here, so please go ahead, Miss Miwako.” Apparently finding this less frightening than remaining at home, Miwako immediately dashed outside. The autopsy results determined that the murder had been committed between 6:00 PM and 7:00 PM. The only person who had been in the house during that time was Miwako.

The maid made these statements before the investigator.

“Recently, the master had become terribly irritable—constantly on edge, unable to sleep peacefully at night.” “One moment he’d be listening to the news, then suddenly turn pale and summon a carpenter from Tokyo to fix the locks, jumping at every little sound as if someone were after him.” “This morning he was in an especially foul mood—berating Miss Miwako with such cruel words that even her gentle nature couldn’t endure it, leading to a terrible quarrel.” “In that dreadful voice of his, I heard him say things like ‘Miwako’s plotting to kill me’ and ‘I’ll end up murdered by you someday.’”

The investigators' eyes were uniformly directed at Miwako. However, she said that between six and seven o'clock, she had been writing a letter in her own room on the second floor.

Indeed, an unfinished letter lay on the desk. The following was written there.

"I could no longer endure the pain of being indebted to someone I should never have been indebted to." When I consider how my adoptive father—the dearest friend of my late father—took me in after I was suddenly orphaned and raised me to this day, I feel I must not rebel against him—yet it pains me that he would immediately claim I covet the Arimatsu family fortune, and that he detests how my face grows more like my late father’s than my mother’s, sometimes even covering his eyes to avoid looking at me. If he were truly a dear friend, shouldn’t he feel nostalgic? I wonder—yet when I think again, perhaps that too is natural. After all, my late father was a man who murdered my mother, then went mad in prison and took his own life. I don’t fully understand what drove him to kill her, but they say he was intensely emotional and quick to anger—so perhaps some simple motive led him to commit such a grave sin.

Because he loved my mother too much, he became extremely possessive—I remember him getting angry even when she just spoke briefly with another man. He was quick to become passionate and quick-tempered, yet would swiftly regain his good cheer. I’m told I take after him in that regard. Once I get angry, I become quite violent. Today, I was like a madwoman for half the day. Why? Because my adoptive father turned a blind eye to his own forgetfulness, accused me of losing his tie pin, and harshly blamed me. “You’re planning to steal it and run away, aren’t you?” he said, and finally added, “They say upbringing trumps lineage, but blood will out—after all, your parents are your parents.”

I flew into a rage at those words and smashed the single-flower vase that was there against the floor. Of course, in my heart, I had thrown it at my adoptive father— My adoptive father glared and struck me. With the single-flower vase I had thrown, he beat me mercilessly until I became covered in bruises. I will leave this house by today’s end, and I have resolved to work as a typist. I will work and support myself. Rather than sitting on a bed of needles, I will courageously push through a path of thorns. According to my adoptive father, my father was insane, so I too may go mad at any moment and do who knows what. His phobia will likely recover completely once I’m gone, since he seems to fear me in secret. "I too am terrified of my adoptive father—"

The letter was confiscated for reference, and Miwako was taken away from the scene.

The Noble Thief’s Visit

Had Arimatsu foreseen his death or sensed some impending danger that made him call Yoko? If only he had boarded one train earlier, he might have evaded that peril—she thought regretfully.

Yoko, who had boarded the last train, was worn out, yet her eyes were strangely alert, and she couldn't bring herself to doze off.

When she returned home, a guest was waiting in the parlor; by the time she finished discussing business and saw them out at the entrance, it was already nearly 1 o'clock. She told the maid who came to clean up afterward to get some rest soon and remained alone in the parlor. Because she wanted to think quietly without being disturbed.

Miwako’s fate—it was far too tragic. She felt her chest ache. The biological father had killed the mother and died in prison; now the adoptive father too had met a violent end—the backdrop of this orphan of rare beauty was as though painted in blood. The night gradually deepened. Yoko remained motionless, lost in thought. The gas stove’s flame appeared blue.

Then came a sound like someone sneaking through the garden. At this late hour! Thinking this, she opened the window and looked outside but saw nothing; the darkness of the shrubbery was deep and hushed. She closed the window and pulled a chair near the stove, but then heard a faint sound—no sooner had she registered it than a grating noise resounded. When she turned to look, a figure was reflected in the window; in the moment she gasped, cutting through the glass and undoing the latch, a masked man nimbly slipped into the room.

Yoko stood up and tried to press the bell, but the man grabbed her hand, “Please don’t call anyone.” “Please don’t make a commotion—I didn’t come to your house to steal.” “Because I wanted to meet you, Ms. Sakurai—”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you come through the front door and request to be admitted?” “From the front entrance—I am not in a position to enter through such means—” Despite having smashed through the parlor’s glass window like a savage intruder, his voice was soft and gentle—indeed, it even struck her as somehow familiar.

The man soon placed the dagger on the table. Yoko cast a sidelong glance at it. He searched his pocket, placed a diamond-studded ring and two or three nails on the table as well, then silently patted his pocket to demonstrate its emptiness. He seemed intent on demonstrating that he now carried no weapons whatsoever.

Since he had come in at such a late hour, risking danger, she thought he must have some extraordinary business, so Yoko pointed to one of the chairs and “Please have a seat,” she said, then anew,

“Just who are you?” she demanded. The man removed his mask. She was startled—that face was familiar. When they had passed each other on Numazu’s pine-lined avenue, he had been the man sitting next to the driver with an aristocratic bearing. Undoubtedly, one of the shadows that had jumped from the train was also the same man. It was only natural that she had thought the voice sounded familiar. After all, she had already heard his voice speaking in the passageway.

While looking at her surprised face, he calmly “I am the prison escapee Senzo Ogoshi,” he introduced himself. Yoko was startled a second time. “Were you surprised?” She couldn’t respond immediately.

The man who had removed his mask had a beautiful face like that of a fair-skinned woman. Had he come as a lone visitor through the front entrance, even if introduced as Senzo Ogoshi—the noble thief—one likely wouldn’t have believed it. In neither his demeanor nor his features was there even a trace of ferocity; rather, he appeared to be nothing less than a likable nobleman. “Ms. Sakurai, please lend me your ear for a moment to what I have to say.”

Yoko could not refuse his request. Though his expression remained gentle, she couldn't predict what demeanor he might show were she to reject his appeal.

“I accept. But—since the night grows late, please make your account brief.”

Ogoshi, with a pleased expression, bent slightly at the waist, “I thought you would say that.” “As I thought—my judgment was sound!” he murmured. After a brief silence, “The reason I escaped prison this time—it was certainly not done for my own sake. “It was for that man’s sake—no, rather, to fulfill a certain man’s request. “Ms. Sakurai, I shall speak nothing but the truth before you—and after hearing it, I implore you to lend me your assistance.”

Jealousy Senzo Ogoshi straightened his collar and began to speak. "I have never failed in anything I set out to do." "This marks my second prison escape—both successful endeavors." "The first was to eliminate a certain traitor; this time, to fulfill a dying wish from an innocent prisoner." "I may not be a ninja, but I excel at diverting attention to accomplish my work. Escaping prison poses little difficulty—the true challenge lay in finding someone willing to heed a prisoner's plea after breaking free." "Though this imposition grieves me, Ms. Sakurai, I beg you to consider yourself chosen by fate's arrow and bare your shoulder to this cause."

“Depending on the story—if it’s something within my power to accomplish, I’ll do whatever I can,” she agreed readily. “I heard a truly heartrending story from a certain death row inmate.” “As for how I, also a prisoner, came to hear this story from one who should have been confined to a solitary cell—please do not ask.” “All I need is for you to listen to the story—then my duty will be fulfilled.” “I shall omit all unnecessary details.”

“Oh, I just need the main points.” “That death row inmate had long since gone mad and taken his own life,” said Ogoshi, closing his eyes briefly. After a moment’s pause, he continued, “Let us call him Joji. He was born in America but lost both parents early—no siblings, utterly alone. A kind missionary took him in and doted on him. They eventually came to Tokyo together, where Joji entered school. But with his poor Japanese and Westernized habits, no one befriended him. “He always sat alone in a corner of the schoolyard, shrinking into himself. “Perhaps out of pity, one upperclassman began looking after him with great kindness. “Before long, they became as close as brothers.” As he spoke these words, Ogoshi struck a match and lit his bat,

“Joji, who had gained his first friend, was truly beside himself with joy.” “He would confide every little thing in this closest friend and seek his counsel—that’s how it went.” “After some years passed, the missionary died, and through his will, an immense inheritance came tumbling into Joji’s hands.”

“Such things often happen with Westerners, don’t they?”

“When the missionary passed away and being alone in such a large house felt too lonely,” said Ogoshi straightening his collar slightly with visible satisfaction before continuing earnestly: “His close friend introduced him to a widow’s household where they promised familial treatment.” “Joji moved there accordingly.” “From there he commuted daily while said companion visited constantly offering assistance.” “The widow had an exceptionally beautiful daughter named Fuyuko whom Joji soon began whispering ardent affections toward.” “Hearing this made bitter expressions twist across that dear comrade’s face who repeatedly cautioned against such pursuits.” “‘Abandon thoughts of Fuyuko—she’s wayward!’” “‘No promising future lies with such an unfit bride!’” “‘Merely some pauper’s daughter!’” “Thus did harsh denouncements flow.” “Yet resolve unshaken despite dissuasions saw proposals made regardless.” “Though overjoyed widows readily consented clear answers never came from those most concerned.” “Still marriage followed inevitably.” “Whatever Fuyuko felt mattered little beside Joji’s newfound bliss.” “Next year brought forth their darling girl while constant visits transformed confidant into virtual family member.” “Yet inexplicably coldness lingered where warmth ought bloomed between wife and bosom companion.” “‘If truly my dearest ally,’ mused troubled groom regarding spousal distance casting perpetual gloom.”

“He must be quite an innocent man, isn’t he?” “Seven or eight years passed like a dream.” “Fuyuko had a young sailor cousin named Sen-chan who would bring souvenirs and visit whenever he returned from a voyage.” “The two had apparently grown up in the same household since childhood, as close as brother and sister.” “Joji looked upon their cousinly affection with admiring eyes and rejoiced, but his close friend had already begun harboring suspicions about them and would frequently issue warnings.” “Even he—who had never doubted his wife’s devotion—began wondering ‘Could it be…?’ as these vivid accounts kept reaching his ears.”

“Being the words of his closest friend, he would believe them all the more.” “Well, from then on, he could no longer look upon the two with the same calm eyes as before. Though still half-convinced, his friend grew impatient and declared, ‘Very well—if you doubt my word so much, I’ll show you the evidence—’” “Show me,” he implored. “I could show you,” the friend replied with an odd laugh, “but if you grow agitated, that might prove dangerous.” “If it’s untrue,” Joji retorted indignantly, “I’ll never forgive you!” When Ogoshi began to say, “The friend laughed once more—” the parlor clock abruptly struck two. He glanced at the timepiece but continued his account,

“Then on the night of the class reunion, as Joji was attending, his close friend came rushing to fetch him.” “When they returned home together, sure enough, lively cheerful laughter could be heard from the detached room at the back.” “Her cousin Sen-chan had come.” “Through his close friend’s suggestion, he ended up hiding in the closet of the adjoining room to observe the situation.”

“Where was the girl at that time?”

“She was sitting on Sen-chan’s lap, eating chocolate.” “Play the shamisen for me,” Sen-chan said. Fuyuko took out the shamisen from the cupboard, tuned it, and asked, “What shall we play today?” she said. Perhaps imagining it, Sen-chan said in a feverish voice something about “the one where Kesagozen gets her head chopped off,” and when he did, Fuyuko laughed brightly and said, “Toba’s Love Mound.” His wife had studied nagauta from childhood and seemed quite confident in it, but Joji—who liked the organ but detested the shamisen—had forbidden her from ever playing it.” “Instead, he bought her a splendid grand piano.”

“In that case, it doesn’t seem like Mr. Joji truly loved Ms. Fuyuko, does it? He’s far too inconsiderate—do you think a woman could ever love a man who tries to have everything his own way?” Yoko tilted her head slightly. Ogoshi also smiled in agreement. “In any case, Joji was furious from the very fact that she was playing the shamisen he himself had forbidden.” After a while, Fuyuko began to sing in a clear, beautiful voice.

“*And so Endo Musha Moritoe— / In early spring’s mist-cloaked bloom / Your visage lingers on my pillow / At the green-leaved shrine where first we met— / Dawn-to-dusk, the ceaseless river of longing / This love-tossed soul—is this reality?*—” When they reached that point, suddenly, Sen-chan said in a sentimental voice, “You know, I’m setting sail again tomorrow. I brought this record so I could have you record Fuyuko-chan’s *Toba’s Love Mound*.” “If I want to hear your voice, I’ll listen to this record,” he said. Fuyuko’s voice was low and hard to hear, but Joji felt somehow suffocated, and clammy sweat began oozing from his skin. But his close friend was firmly holding his hand, so he couldn’t come out of the closet. “Though he couldn’t see clearly through the crack, he somehow felt that Sen-chan and Fuyuko’s hands were occasionally brushing against each other, and he could no longer stay still,” Ogoshi said, heaving a deep sigh as though recounting his own ordeal.

“Before long, the preparations for recording were completed in the next room, and the girl went there. Only Fuyuko’s upper body playing the shamisen was visible; Sen-chan’s figure remained unseen. His close friend kept poking Joji’s body and whispering, ‘There—look! See?’ He whispered such things, but Joji could see nothing. His close friend seemed even more engrossed than he was.” He paused briefly, cleared his throat lightly, but then began speaking again.

“But no sooner had he sensed Sen-chan rising than he simultaneously saw the man’s hand come to rest on his wife’s shoulder.” Joji felt a dizzying vertigo. His hot blood rushed to his head, completely robbing him of reason; he shook off his close friend’s attempts to restrain him and stumbled out of the closet. So suddenly did he appear that Fuyuko recoiled in shock, crying out “Ah!” as she clung to Sen-chan. “It’s over.” Joji lost all sense of reason and lunged. Then, for some reason, the lights abruptly went out, and the room plunged into total darkness. The instant he felt the dagger being placed into his hand— “Perhaps he had accidentally grabbed a dagger that happened to be lying there—but in any case, the moment he gripped the blade, he flew into a rage.” As Ogoshi spoke, his eyes somehow took on a murderous glint.

“Joji swung the dagger and rampaged wildly, but met no resistance; driven by blood frenzy, he collided with pillars and tore through sliding doors when suddenly, his wife let out a scream that sent him into an even greater frenzy.” “Agh!” Amid Fuyuko’s screams of “You—help! Agh!” blended with a terrifying “You did it!” Then came that terrifying voice—“You did it!”—followed by the heavy thud of someone collapsing. Joji became like a madman, wildly swinging the dagger. “Help—you, hold Mr. Takeo down—” Even his wife’s voice, screaming for help at the top of her lungs, meant nothing to Joji in his frenzied state. Eventually, he became utterly exhausted and collapsed on the spot. Who had sounded the alarm? Officers came thundering in, and Joji was apprehended without difficulty. “By that time, both Sen-chan and Fuyuko had already breathed their last.”

“The girl survived, didn’t she?” “The girl—in a frenzy, thinking it was something precious—clutched that Record and fled deeper inside.”

Record “As Joji gradually calmed down, he grappled with the horror of his crime.” “In the heat of the moment, he killed two people—and one of them was his own irreplaceable beloved wife.” “It appeared his close friend had fled back before the commotion began, for by the time the police arrived, he was nowhere to be seen.” “In the sea of blood, he alone sat blankly, clutching the dagger as if in a faint.” “Wasn’t it that close friend who handed over the dagger?”

“Perhaps?—he did consider that possibility,” Ogoshi said, “but the dagger was his own, there was no evidence—he couldn’t do anything about it.” “Moreover, after that incident, this ‘close friend’ demonstrated such extraordinary kindness—” “From securing lawyers to organizing clemency campaigns—he even vowed to take the girl in and mold her into a proper young lady.” “It reached such extremes that Joji thought not even a blood brother would have shown such devotion.” “They say Joji wept with gratitude, regretted ever doubting him even momentarily, and entrusted everything—from managing all assets to securing the girl’s future—to his care.”

“He must be an extremely kind man.” “But as days passed, various doubts began arising in his mind.” "He kept stabbing wildly, but never once felt the resistance of flesh being pierced." "And yet Fuyuko had her lung pierced from behind, while Sen-chan was stabbed through the heart." "He simply couldn’t comprehend it." “As his memories gradually clarified, even his wife’s dying words—'You, Mr. Takeo, hold him down!'—seemed peculiar; if the one trying to stab her had been her own husband, why would she plead with that same husband for help?” “He began suspecting someone else had acted under cover of darkness.” "Who on earth could that someone be?" “If anyone had been present at the scene, it could only have been his close friend. Yet not only did this man leave no evidence whatsoever—by the time police arrived, he’d already vanished from the scene—”

“Who was it that went to inform the police?” “It was a public telephone call, I heard.” “Of course, they never discovered who made it.” “So Joji too began to wonder if perhaps...?” “He tried clinging to that suspicion—but even if his close friend had killed them, the man’s subsequent kindness was so overwhelming that he couldn’t bring himself to resent him.” “‘Whatever happened,’ he resolved, ‘I’ll bear this sin alone.’” “Yet when calm reflection returned, the absurdity struck him—how could he fight a crime he couldn’t remember committing?” “Then came the meticulous sifting of memories—how Fuyuko’s mother had once revealed the friend’s earlier marriage proposal, how viciously that friend had hated Sen-chan, how Fuyuko herself had recoiled from the man’s presence—and when these fragments coalesced, he gasped sharply and bit his lip.”

“Mr. Joji, this was the first time you realized you’d completely fallen for your close friend’s treacherous scheme, wasn’t it?” “That’s correct.” The thought that his beloved wife had been murdered, that he himself was to be executed without guilt, and that he had even granted a man who might as well have been his enemy the rights to freely manage the inheritance bequeathed by his benefactor—this drove his fury to its zenith. “Then, not long after, he went mad and committed suicide.”

“What happened to the close friend?” “He used Joji’s money to play the markets and has now become extremely wealthy.” “What about the girl?”

“That’s the issue.” “When the girl comes of age, she will undoubtedly resent Joji.” “It can’t be helped if he’s resented, but when I imagine how shamefully she must live in society’s eyes—it’s unbearable.” “It is Joji’s fervent wish—to have the real culprit uncovered and proof established that her father was innocent, all for his daughter’s sake—that I have come to request your help in fulfilling.” Yoko was perplexed.

“But there’s not a single piece of evidence, is there?” “The evidence remains on the record.” “That record—it’s already gone, isn’t it?” “It’s by some strange turn of events that it came into my possession. So when I suddenly realized the day had come to fulfill his promise, that’s why I escaped prison—my accomplice broke into a mansion and, among stolen kimonos, found a record by chance. When he returned home and played it, it was utterly horrifying; he felt uneasy about destroying it and decided to hide it beneath a temple’s veranda to preserve it—or so I heard.”

“Where is the mansion that was burgled?”

“It’s Takeo Arimatsu’s house in Numazu.” “In that case—” Ogoshi smiled,

“I am the one who killed Arimatsu.” “The truth is, when I previously escaped prison, I visited him and told him about Joji.” “Since Arimatsu confessed that he himself had killed both victims, I urged him to surrender honorably.” “Despite swearing he would surrender without fail, he had not done so by that time.” “Probably when he heard I would soon be captured and imprisoned again, he felt relieved.” “However, upon learning about this latest prison escape from the news, he became utterly terrified and must have made that long-distance call to you intending to request my capture.”

“What about the two shadows that jumped from the train?” “One was me, and the other was my accomplice—the man who stole that record.”

“Why did you have that conversation in the corridor? If someone overheard, don’t you think that would be dangerous?” “I only meant for you to hear it, Ms. Sakurai. With everyone startled by the emergency bell, if you were to mention hearing suspicious voices, Ms. Sakurai, wouldn’t that make the uproar even greater?”

“Why did you do such a thing?”

“I wanted to prolong the stop.” “I thought it would be problematic if you visited me while I was working.” “However, I hadn’t intended to kill Arimatsu either, but when he suddenly pointed a pistol at me, I just—” “Then I must have you surrender yourself this time.” “Otherwise, poor Miss Miwako remains under suspicion—” “Of course, I will surrender myself.” “If you would kindly take care of this matter, my business here will be concluded—I’ve no reason to linger any longer.”

Ogoshi took out the record from his pocket and placed it on the table. Yoko put on the record. The two tensed up. “As fleeting as morning dew—crushing grasses underfoot, Moritō steals through the garden; though the moon shines bright, love’s darkness—Agh—! You—help! Mr. Take is killing Sen-chan—! You! You there—come quickly and hold Take-san down! —Ugh! This bastard—he did it! Don’t lose your mind—what grudge could you have against me? What will killing me accomplish?! Wait—you! “M-murderer! Gah! You—help me—!”

Violent static intercutting the words—it seemed to recount the scene as it happened. The words broke off there, and then in an eerie silence as if sinking into darkness, only the forlorn sound of the needle spinning could be heard.

Yoko shuddered,

“With such conclusive evidence right here—” she exclaimed. “Ms. Sakurai, then please—I leave this in your hands.” “When I consider how I’ve finally fulfilled that death row inmate’s request today—it feels like a weight has lifted from my chest. Though having escaped prison, my sentence will surely grow heavier.” “Yet the burden upon my heart has grown lighter.” “Please watch over Miss Miwako’s future as well.”

“Understood.”

Treading on the frost of dawn, the midnight guest vanished without a trace.