Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Client at the Private Detective Agency

Just as I thought I heard a bell ringing faintly in the distance, my bedroom door was suddenly pounded violently, “Master! Master! There’s a visitor!” I was roused by an impatient housekeeper. Glancing at my bedside clock showed six in the morning. When you work as a private detective, these ungodly-hour visits come with the territory. And without fail—it’s always those ones bearing real headaches. Clicking my tongue irritably while keeping myself fully buried under blankets, “Quiet! Was planning to grab more shut-eye here. If they want something—make ’em wait.”

“But Master, they insist on seeing you with urgent business!” “Who is it?” “She didn’t give her name, but says you’ll recognize her—a distinguished lady, breathtakingly beautiful... and quite young.” I threw off the blanket and sat up sharply,

“What a nuisance… Show her to the parlor.”

No matter the circumstances, I always maintained my appearance meticulously. I applied my safety razor, hurriedly washed my face, changed into outdoor clothes, and appeared in the parlor.

“Oh!” “It was you?” “My apologies.” “Since you didn’t give your name—” By the window where the morning sun was streaming in，I brought a chair over，

“Now then, please come over here.” He urged.

“Not yet. You were still asleep, weren’t you?” “I’m terribly sorry.”

Just as the housekeeper had said, she was truly breathtakingly beautiful. I had heard she was twenty-nine, but she appeared no older than twenty-two or twenty-three, wearing a striking red boxy overcoat. She was Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka—wife of the heir to the former Count Matsuoka—and was renowned for her extraordinary beauty. It was common knowledge that the former Count—though belonging to a declining class—still operated as a shadow power in political circles with considerable influence, clinging stubbornly to old-fashioned ways. Yet he always remained the puppet master, never stepping into the light—a trait that might well have been his salvation.

Those with sharp tongues called him names like 'the old fox' or 'the master of political theater.' Those terms implied cunning and political deftness—qualities he undeniably possessed in spades. Even though he should have lost most of that vast fortune to property taxes and acquisition taxes, the fact that he could still maintain his former lifestyle was precisely because he was a wise man, I thought. The housekeeper brought kindling, added charcoal to the large Seto-ware brazier, and served tea before each person—all while Mrs. Matsuoka watched impatiently—but once she withdrew, Mrs. Matsuoka abruptly leaned forward.

“Detective, I must apologize for calling so suddenly at this ungodly hour and making such an unreasonable request, but I find myself facing an extremely troubling matter. I will explain everything in detail later, but would that be acceptable? Could you come to my house immediately, I wonder?”

Upon closer inspection，Mrs. Matsuoka looked haggard—her complexion was ashen，and her lips showed faint but persistent twitching．Though he didn’t know what troubled her，it was clear she faced something gravely significant．

I put on an overcoat and went out to the entrance with Mrs. Matsuoka. There, a New Ford was lying on its side.

When I settled into the seat, I deliberately took my time, maintaining perfect composure as I lit a cigarette, “What happened?” Mrs. Matsuoka was the first to speak. “I suppose you won’t fully understand unless I explain everything thoroughly, but you were aware that my husband returned from Siberia last spring, weren’t you?” “At the Azabu main residence—I met him once or twice.” “You are aware that Matsuoka’s father is currently in critical condition—that he’s been on the brink of death these past few days—aren’t you?”

“I know from the newspapers.” “Because of this, the Azabu main residence is now in utter chaos. In the midst of that—in fact, my husband Kazuo has gone missing.”

“Since when?” “It’s been one week today.”

With that, she abruptly fell silent and teared up. I wordlessly looked at Mrs. Matsuoka’s face as if urging her to continue. Though termed simply a disappearance, in her case, one could imagine numerous underlying complexities.

This wife, whom Kazuo had married against the opposition of his parents and relatives just before being drafted, had been a rising film actress at the time. After their marriage, she had severed all ties not only with the film world but also with any flamboyant social engagements, withdrawing into the depths of the count’s family estate—so that now, by all appearances, she had become a proper noblewoman. Yet one could imagine she must have endured countless hardships to reach that state. I thought there must be some complicated circumstances lurking behind Kazuo’s disappearance.

After a brief moment, Mrs. Matsuoka, her lips quivering, "You are aware of this, but the Matsuoka family has only two children—Kazuo and his younger brother Kaoru." "Kaoru is a painter and a quiet person, so the parents think very highly of him. He’s also extremely attentive, nursing their father with such care that he anticipates every need. Kazuo, on the other hand, is terribly taciturn and blunt—incapable of giving even a simple compliment—so he’s often criticized as cold-hearted or unfilial. Now that he hasn’t shown his face to their father or tended to him for nearly a week, the patient—unaware Kazuo is missing—keeps making cutting remarks and speaking ill of him to me. Caught in the middle, it’s as though my very flesh is being torn apart."

“Is the Count unaware that Mr. Kazuo has gone missing?” “We’ve kept it hidden.” “Mother knows—”

“How have you managed to keep it concealed?” “If it were known, it would be disastrous. They’d declare that an unscrupulous man who abandons his critically ill parent and disappears can’t inherit this house—you understand? Even without that pretext, their desire to have the second son—Mr. Kaoru—assume the inheritance reveals itself at every turn. It’s intolerable. While my mother-in-law intervenes to maintain appearances, if we don’t locate Kazuo and make him fulfill his final nursing duties, the Matsuoka estate will fall to Mr. Kaoru—you see? Last night’s family council passed such a resolution too. So you must find Kazuo at all costs—truly, Detective, I implore you as the plea of a lifetime—please find him for me.”

“Have you filed a missing person’s report?” “Yes, we filed one, but given how these days bring one major case after another, a mere disappearance doesn’t seem to be treated as significant—so there still aren’t any leads.” “And so, having given up on that avenue entirely, I’ve come to you without consulting anyone else to make this request.” “I think it would be best to keep the fact that you consulted me secret from everyone for the time being.”

“Rather than having him be found just in time for Father’s critical condition, it would be better to present it as if he returned on his own to tend to him.” “Otherwise, I think it would be pitiful for Kazuo to be subjected to such trivial misunderstandings.” “The younger brother who’s always compared to Kazuo only to come out praised has been keeping vigil through the night for two or even three days straight lately.” “He tells me he’s tending to Father for both himself and Elder Brother, which only makes heir Kazuo’s negligence all the more glaring—six or even seven days now! Goodness knows where he could be wandering about. Father’s critical condition has been in the papers—you’d think he’d know—it’s just heartbreaking.”

“Do you have any inkling at all?” “This time—of all possible times—I haven’t the faintest notion.”

“If I may ask—does this mean he had left the house open before?” “There were no instances of him leaving it open for several consecutive nights, but there had been once or twice when he would go out in the evening without saying where he was headed and return dazedly the next morning.” “Even after returning, didn’t he speak about where he had gone?” “My husband has always been a man of few words, and since coming back, he has become even more taciturn. There are frequent instances where he barely responds to questions, you see.” “I will explain the details once you come to the house—”

“Your husband’s room has been left exactly as it was when he disappeared, I presume?” “Yes. When we filed the missing person’s report, they told us not to touch anything, so we’ve left it exactly as it was.” “I haven’t noticed any particular changes myself, but in any case, I would like to have you come and inspect the entire room once, Detective.” Withered carnation

The car stopped before the white Western-style house. Though not an especially large structure, it occupied extensive grounds with a garden entirely of lawn. Areas left uncleared since air raids and the considerable distance to what were nominally neighboring houses gave the place a lonely air—like an isolated dwelling in the middle of a field.

I stepped out of the car behind Mrs. Matsuoka and began by walking around the house.

“Where is your husband’s room?” Mrs. Matsuoka stopped and pointed at the half-open window, “That’s the room with the window there. Leaving it wide open like that was careless, so we installed a new lock on the door facing the corridor and isolated that section—at least the locking itself is fully secure now.” "My husband has grown terribly timid—he used to be such a robust man before, but ever since returning from Siberia, it’s as though he became an entirely different person, turning into a nervous wreck. Every night before bed, he would personally check each lock in his room one by one—he couldn’t sleep unless he felt completely certain everything was safe." "And yet that morning he left the window wide open when he went out—it’s simply appalling," she continued.

“Please do come up.” She started toward the entrance,

"I'll first inspect the garden and come inside afterward." "I'll go prepare some tea then, Detective. Please come straight in once you've finished your inspection." I stood beneath the window and carefully examined the ground. Though a week had passed making details unclear, disturbed shoe prints remained visible - among them small rubber-soled footprints distinctly mixed in. Following the trail around the building brought me to the back gate. The gate door bore a heavy lock seemingly long unused, its latch rusted through.

The old wooden fence connected to the gatepost was broken in places, with a large hole that seemed to allow a dog to pass through, and the boards around the hole were loose and rattling. When pushed by hand, it opened quite wide, broken enough for an adult to crawl through by bending down. I stooped my body, angled my shoulder, and managed to get outside. The overcoat caught on the torn fence board, and a pinch-sized tuft of hair was torn off, snagged on the splintered board's jagged tip.

Outside the back gate, there were several tire tracks on the hardened soil. Though foot traffic didn’t seem particularly heavy, there was a road wide enough for cars to pass easily, leading from the edge of the estate to a broad thoroughfare. As I continued my meticulous inspection, I discovered another small piece of fabric—distinct from my overcoat—caught on one of the other fence boards. When I took it in my hand, it was a whitish striped silk fabric. At the same time, I noticed a sharp object embedded in the drainage channel at the base of the fence. When I picked it up and washed off the mud, it turned out to be a magnificent pearl tiepin.

The two finds filled me with considerable resolve. Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka had prepared tea and was waiting. I first took out the silk fabric to show her.

She took it and looked, but suddenly her face paled, “Where was it found?” “This is fabric from the white shirt he was wearing that day... Oh...”

Mrs. Matsuoka covered her face with both hands,

“I knew it! It was just as I imagined, Detective—Kazuo has surely been murdered. It must be... it must—” She trembled violently and sobbed convulsively.

Feeling it too cruel to sadden her further, I kept the tiepin in my pocket and didn't show it. "He wore a tie that matched this white shirt and had fastened his favorite pearl pin," Mrs. Matsuoka said, reminiscing about Kazuo's features as she began to speak voluntarily.

After a moment, Mrs. Matsuoka lifted her tear-stained face,

“Detective, I’ll tell you everything that’s happened since Kazuo returned—please listen—then you can make your judgment. You do think my husband has been murdered, don’t you?” “I don’t believe there’s any need for such concern yet. No corpse has been found—he’s merely disappeared, so he might still be safe somewhere. Now, please tell me everything without reservation. May I see your husband’s room?”

Mrs. Matsuoka unlocked the securely fastened door and guided me to his room. It was a Western-style room spanning roughly eight tatami mats. On the large desk lay a Western book left open mid-read. The swivel chair had been spun completely backward; it appeared someone had risen abruptly. In the vase atop the desk stood withered carnations with bowed heads. There were four. One lay trampled into a crumpled heap upon the red Persian carpet.

I imagined that while reading his book, he had been abruptly summoned—in his haste to rise, one carnation caught on his sleeve and fell. Without time to retrieve it, he must have trampled it underfoot and leapt through that low window. After I finished inspecting every corner of the room, Mrs. Matsuoka began speaking. "The pistol-forced pledge document—" "You may not understand unless I start from our marriage days, but you see, nearly all our relatives—beginning with both sets of parents—opposed it." "They said a class mismatch—that a mere movie actress like me could never become proper wife to the Matsuoka family heir—" "It took tremendous effort to overcome their objections and reach our wedding." "Throughout that time, my brother-in-law Mr. Kaoru alone constantly sympathized with us—became our ally." "He supported us through both hidden efforts and open advocacy." "Given this strained marriage foundation, my position after Kazuo departed for war became truly wretched." "I was taken into the main household—made to serve a strict father-in-law—granted not a shred of freedom—spent each day weeping while awaiting my husband's safe return."

“Mr. Kaoru was a painter, so needing an atelier, he had a small house built that also served as a studio on part of the Azabu main residence where he lives.” “They used what was called a model air raid shelter during the bombings as a basement and constructed it on top.” “Though considered part of the main residence, Mr. Kaoru’s atelier was quite distant—being within the same grounds didn’t make it nearby at all.” “But I would find excuses to visit the atelier, where Mr. Kaoru would console me and help ease my sorrows.” “Mr. Kaoru understood women’s feelings so well that all the women adored him.” “Yet despite this, he kept refusing marriage proposals that poured in like rain, continuing his bachelor life.” “His unmarried status seemed to make him even more appealing, for female guests constantly came to Mr. Kaoru’s place.”

“Once, Mr. Kaoru suggested that Elder Brother might have died in that land,” she said. “He mentioned that a friend who had returned was spreading such rumors—that he’d apparently been living luxuriously back home and succumbed to malnutrition.” After hearing this, waiting for my husband who might never return became unbearably sorrowful. I began visiting the atelier nearly every day just to weep. Then came sudden news—truly without a single prior letter—that Kazuo would return on the Takasago-maru. If ever joy could drive one mad, mine in that moment surely qualified. It was Mr. Kaoru again who delivered this glad tidings. Overcome, I clung to him desperately—grasping his hands, throwing my arms about him, pressing my lips to his hands—rejoicing like a child. Mr. Kaoru remained silent, allowing my outburst without protest, but when he saw I’d somewhat calmed,

“If someone were to see us in a place like this, it would cause quite a scandal.”

With those words, he went outside. When I later reflected on it, I felt ashamed at having behaved so indecorously, though it was due to overwhelming joy.

The Kazuo we had welcomed with such joy—well, what can I say?—had become a completely different man from the one who had gone off to war: melancholic and shadowed by gloom. He would sit brooding endlessly, carrying himself like someone perpetually braced against unseen threats. It was as if terror itself had taken possession of his soul. The main residence being cramped, we had promptly moved to this house. I had been radiant with hope that we might spend our days freely here—truly like newlyweds—yet from the very day of his return, I found myself utterly disillusioned. For four years, five years—how had he survived? Though mountains of questions burned within me, he would share nothing no matter how I pressed him. My husband kept behaving as though he couldn’t lower his guard even around me, his own wife—he had truly become a stranger.

The doctor said it was severe neurasthenia. Nights continued when he couldn't sleep without sleeping pills. He would suddenly leap up in the dead of night and look around wildly; then, shuddering as if terrified, he'd hide under the desk. The ferocity etched on his face in those moments defied description. I had come to realize Kazuo wasn't in a normal state. He had always been a timid man with delicate nerves—from his time at the front until his return home, he must have endured terrifying ordeals and life-threatening hardships, surely living through unspeakable experiences. One couldn't deny there were things tormenting his mind.

As I looked at Kazuo’s gaunt face, I found myself powerless to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. When I thought how the husband I had endured such hardships waiting for had become this cold, strange man, I felt such sorrow that I deeply wished—if only he would share any secret with me alone. It was evident he himself was suffering terribly. What tormented him remained unknown. Since he was agonizing alone, I could no longer bear it and confided in Mr. Kaoru.

Mr. Kaoru also wore a dark expression,

“Don’t you think Elder brother might be involved in something unsavory?” “Some say he committed quite violent acts during his time there, so under particularly dire circumstances, Elder brother might have even killed someone—perhaps he’s terrified his crime will be exposed.” “There are even stories of timid men going mad from the terror of their own crimes—” “He would never do something so heinous.” “He must have gone through something terrifying.”

“Then you should be the one to ask him.”

“But he won’t tell me anything.”

“Only family can do this, you know. A true sympathizer—if only they’d confide in me—I’d shoulder half of Elder brother’s suffering myself.”

Mr. Kaoru remained as pleasant as ever.

Finally mustering my resolve, one evening I said to Kazuo. "It is because I am unworthy of being your wife that you will not confide anything in me." "Then I shall have no choice but to request a divorce," I declared, pressing closer.

I knew full well my husband had not the slightest intention of leaving me. As for myself—though I had endured until now—I did not wish to separate at this late hour, yet I found secrets between husband and wife utterly unbearable. Even murder would have been acceptable. Had he done something far worse, I would not have been shocked. What pained me more was that his inability to confide meant he did not trust me—a far greater unpleasantness.

Kazuo seemed to have made some grave resolution; when he raised his face and looked straight at me, he demanded that I swear never to speak of it to others. And after making me swear a firm pledge, he finally revealed the anguish of his heart. During the time my husband was in the camp, several sons from noble families who were on good terms had gathered to form something like a study group, finding solace in their shared idleness. At that moment, my husband saw a small crumpled piece of paper that had fallen on the floor. When he picked it up and unfolded it, he discovered it was written by a member of this group—a denunciation letter addressed to their superior officer. Of course, Kazuo’s name was also written there, he said. He said he was startled and astonished that even within this small group who trusted each other, there could be a spy.

He realized he couldn’t let his guard down with such people around him, but since he couldn’t identify who the spy was and knew it wasn’t something to voice aloud, he kept silent. Then one day, he was suddenly summoned by someone called Lieutenant M. Wondering what this was about, he timidly followed behind him. The lieutenant amiably entertained Kazuo, providing rare treats like cognac and fine sweets. To my husband—who looked utterly bewildered—he mentioned having once been in Tokyo himself, then proceeded to lavish praise: how Kazuo’s father was a political heavyweight, how he wielded hidden influence beyond public appearances. This made me somewhat uneasy, yet I still found myself wondering how he knew such details—when a messenger arrived and whispered to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant immediately rose from his seat, commanded Kazuo to follow him, and they suddenly had to depart from there. He had no idea where they were going.

Outside, a jeep was waiting. By the lieutenant’s order, Kazuo got into the vehicle after him. The jeep raced at breakneck speed over several hills in Siberia's vast undulating terrain for nearly thirty minutes; all the while, the lieutenant—who had been so talkative—not only remained completely silent but also merely smiled faintly at the corners of his mouth when asked about their destination, offering no response whatsoever. Kazuo grew increasingly uneasy and unbearably anxious, but since he couldn’t flee, he resigned himself to fate. Closing his eyes tightly and steeling himself for whatever might come, the car abruptly came to a halt.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a small clearing surrounded by an immense, deep forest where a single tent stood pitched. The area lay deathly still under an oppressive silence. The lieutenant entered the tent with her husband in tow. Inside raged a lavish banquet. A massive table supported by log legs bore mountains of exotic delicacies from land and sea, while expensive Western liquor bottles rose like a dense thicket. Despite the extravagant spread, only three figures sat drinking at the table: a uniformed officer, a young man in a suit, and a beautiful woman. She appeared about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, her brisk demeanor accentuated by intelligent eyes that shone from a lovely face.

Through the lieutenant’s introduction, he took a seat beside the woman, but Kazuo couldn’t comprehend what was happening; feeling as if in a dream, he sat dazed. Then the group—beginning with the man in the suit—proceeded to toast to him with excessively polite smiles, and there too, Matsuoka’s father became the topic of conversation as they interrogated him exhaustively about his father’s social connections. He said he was astonished at how thoroughly they had investigated everything. They were chatting calmly, but the pistols at their hips seemed ready to speak at any moment, creating an unsettlingly amiable atmosphere where one couldn’t let their guard down—a cordiality laced with menace. They then questioned him in detail about his work while he had been in Japan, and soon after, in a more formal tone, asked whether he would pledge loyalty to their country.

Kazuo could not reply. When he remained silent, “Your silence implies consent.” “I’ll give you the paper—write exactly as I dictate.” “What am I to write?”

“Of course, the pledge document,” “swearing loyalty to our country.” “I would never—” “Refuse to write?” The officer drew the pistol from his hip and thrust its muzzle against Kazuo. “Now write it.” Refusal meant death. With the gun still pressed to him, my husband took the pen and wrote out the pledge as dictated. Though his memory remained unclear, he first inscribed his address, full name, and date of birth on the document before being compelled to write what followed.

"I swear to carry out any task ordered by the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics." "I will absolutely never speak of this matter to anyone." "I swear that even after returning to Japan, I will not speak of this matter to parents, siblings, or any other close individuals." "I acknowledge that I will face punishment if this oath is broken." Kazuo said he couldn't refuse when he thought of his wife remaining in Japan. While apologizing inwardly to his father for this transgression, he said tears streamed down his face as he signed the pledge.

The beautiful woman stood up, requested a handshake from her husband, and with a soul-melting smile pressed her crimson lips to his ear,

“Your work will begin after you return to Tokyo.” “We shall meet again there.” “Until then—goodbye.” With an intimate whisper, she quickly rose from her seat and left. The jeep’s engine roared to life, its sound gradually fading into the distance until it disappeared completely. “I’ll give you the codeword,” said the officer, pressing his mouth close to Kazuo’s ear. He then delivered this warning:

“Whenever, wherever, regardless of nationality—be they Japanese, Chinese, Korean, or even Indian—if any person appears using the codeword I just taught you, you must obey their every command.”

Since that day, Kazuo had noticed through careful observation that there seemed to be many others like him who had been forced to sign pledge documents. Yet these became mutual secrets buried deep in their hearts—not a single person ever spoke of them aloud. As a result, even former close friends could no longer trust one another. When viewed through suspicious eyes, everyone appeared to be spies who had signed pledge documents, leading them to probe each other’s intentions suspiciously.

The orders given to Kazuo were undeniably meant to exploit his father’s position for gathering various intelligence—in other words, my husband had been forced to return home bearing the burden of a spy’s mission. My husband said that a single misstep meant death. He also said he never knew when he might be killed.

A man bearing death's shadow, my husband was ceaselessly tormented by the terror of death and phantoms; there had even been a time when, from the agony of living, he resolved to end his own life by his own hand.

Startled by shadows, pale at every sound, he was someone who tensed at the arrival of visitors. One evening, on a train, after catching sight of a profile strikingly similar to that woman he had met in the great forest, he sank into deeper melancholy, his anguish growing ever more acute. Thinking, “She has come to Japan; contact will come eventually,” he summoned a locksmith to have the locks on his room reinforced, polished his pistol, became terribly nervous, and flinched at the slightest sound, his shoulders trembling. Even when door-to-door sellers came, he would end up glaring from behind his glasses.

The Criminal of Love

Kazuo, earnest yet timid, possessed an exceptionally strong sense of responsibility—if he failed to carry out his mission, his life would be taken. However, since he had been overwhelmed by coercion yet yearned to somehow escape it—tormented by these two conflicting agonies—there were times when his behavior made him seem utterly unhinged. I wondered if he had gone mad from fear.

I didn't know how to comfort him, so despite having sworn absolute secrecy, I confided only in Mr. Kaoru and sought his counsel. But he had no good solutions either, and could only fret alongside me. No one had appeared with the codeword yet, nor had there been any orders. In reality, he had done nothing at all. Yet despite this, my husband fretted needlessly—worrying that since he had pledged his oath, he might receive orders at any moment; that someone might appear from anywhere, of any kind.

One week ago, when word of Father’s critical condition had first come—during our absence while we were at the main residence—this carnation was delivered by an unknown woman. My husband turned deathly pale and began trembling violently. Inside the carnation’s pistil was a thin piece of paper folded into it—apparently something had been written on it in fine script—but my husband immediately struck a match and burned it, so I never saw it.

Following that initial incident, phone calls began coming at midnight from unknown sources, and anonymous threatening letters demanding "Consider the severe punishment for oath-breakers" started arriving. By breaking the oath, he likely meant Kazuo having confided that secret to me, but I couldn't understand how they discovered this. My husband insisted there must be someone connected to them nearby and abruptly dismissed two maids.

Tormented by mental anguish, he was visibly wasting away, and just as I feared he would either go mad, take his own life, or meet some tragic end—he suddenly vanished without a trace.

At that very moment, I was away nursing Father and had left the house. When I rushed over upon receiving a phone call from the housekeeper, there was the window left open just as described— "The master was on the phone last night speaking about something, but after retiring to his room, he still hadn't risen by morning. I knocked on the door but received no response." "When I peeked through the keyhole and saw the bed was empty, I was so startled that I immediately notified the main residence."

" said the housekeeper. It appeared my husband hadn't exited through the main entrance; both the front door and main gate had remained locked, they said.

At the main residence, they kept hounding me—"Why hasn't Kazuo come when Father is critically ill?"—but I couldn't admit his disappearance, so I lied that he had a high fever from a cold and couldn't get up, improvising excuses on the spot each time. Yet I couldn't quite keep up the charade with Mother; to her alone I confessed the truth. The relatives had always opposed my qualification to become that household's successor's wife; now exploiting my husband's absence, they're trying to have Mr. Kaoru assume the family headship.

“That being the case, I wish to ask that you somehow find him while my father still draws breath. He had been threatened so severely that he may have lost his sanity, but I can only pray that he’s still alive somewhere—yet today marks one week without a single word from him, and I’m tormented by thoughts that he might no longer be in this world. I feel as though I’m not living at all. Detective, what do you think? Now I have no choice but to cling to your help—truly, Detective, I beg of you—”

With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka clasped her hands together before me and pleaded.

From the moment I left Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka’s residence until ten o’clock the following night, I was so busy I didn’t have a moment to sleep. In Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka’s words, I had grasped a certain hint. Having gained confidence from that, I was able to take decisive action. Indeed, my activities over those thirty-some hours were so remarkably vigorous that even I couldn't help but admire them.

Though Count Matsuoka had been reported to be in critical condition, he possessed a vitality so miraculous it defied his advanced age, and his attending physician stated that his final moments still seemed some time away. At the bedside, the Countess and Mrs. Kazuo Matsuoka kept constant vigil, while their second son Kaoru occasionally took turns. In the adjacent room, the entire group of close relatives were packed in tightly. From the quiet sickroom, not a single cough could be heard.

The nurse wordlessly handed Kaoru the calling card on the silver tray she had received from the housekeeper. Having accepted it in silence, Kaoru went pale the moment he saw the words written on the calling card and stumbled out of the sickroom. On the card was written: "The patient under your surveillance has escaped. Come at once." it said. Kaoru's vision blurred; he shoved aside the nurse standing there and sprinted toward the atelier.

The interior of the atelier was pitch dark. The bulb had burned out, and there had been no time to replace it yet. He groped his way to first unlock the basement door, and as he began descending the stairs, a low voice from below—

"You were one step too late," I said. "The patient insisted he mustn't miss your father's final moments—came rushing straight here." "What?!" Kaoru seized my arm and twisted it upward—only to find himself flipped through the air and slammed against the ground.

The blow must have landed badly, for he remained unable to rise for some time. "Mr. Kaoru, your meticulously crafted plan—the one you devoted such long effort to—has been reduced to nothing at the very threshold of success, all due to this private detective." "It’s unfortunate, but there was no helping it." "Now stand up and listen to what I have to say." At the time when you—secretly in love with your sister-in-law since her movie actress days—were feigning sympathy to win her favor while plotting to steal her away if possible, your brother made his ill-timed return from Siberia. You, who should have rejoiced at his safe return, were instead utterly disappointed.

The young madam began living together with her husband; he couldn't stand idly by and watch. Just as you were scheming to drive a wedge between them, upon being told by the madam about your brother’s secret, you suddenly conceived a dreadful plan. To him—utterly convinced he bore a dark shadow and had his nerves on edge—you sent threatening letters and placed fake phone calls to frighten him, until you finally left him half-sick.

"The devil smiled as his elder brother’s mental affliction grew increasingly severe. After sending the carnation, on the following night—masked as you were—you used the secret codeword you had heard from the madam to lure your elder brother out through the window, deliberately exited through the back gate, abruptly covered his head with a cloth wrapper, placed him into the waiting automobile outside, took him into the atelier’s basement, and confined him there. It was unfortunate that you left behind the imprints of those small rubber soles you always wear."

“And you were desperately awaiting your father’s final moments,” I continued. “With your elder brother missing, you’d inevitably inherit both the family name and fortune—not to mention acquiring that beautiful young wife of his. What a pity it all came to naught.” My lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “When he discovered those ‘orders from Siberia’ actually came from his own brother, your elder brother regained his vigor completely.”

Just then, clattering footsteps sounded, and the young madam called out from the basement entrance.

“Mr. Kaoru, please come quickly.” “Father’s final moments have come.” “And I want you to accept this gladly.” “Elder Brother has returned—he made it in time for Father’s final moments.”

Mrs. Matsuoka grasped my hand where I stood and turned grateful eyes toward me. I did not mention that the culprit who had abducted Kazuo was his younger brother Kaoru. That was because Kazuo and I had made a promise to keep it an eternal secret between us, locked away in our hearts.