Pathway to Japanese Literature

Just as I thought I heard a bell ringing in the distance, the bedroom door was suddenly being pounded violently, "Master, Master! There's a guest for you!"

I was roused by the impatient housekeeper.

When I looked at the bedside clock，it was six in the morning. When you’re in a profession like private detection，you often find yourself receiving visits at the most ungodly hours. It’s always those types who bring the most troublesome cases. I clicked my tongue in irritation while staying completely buried under the blanket， “Shut your noise!” “I was just about to catch another wink.” “If they have business，have them wait.” “But Master，she insists she needs to see you immediately!”

“What kind of person?” “She wouldn’t give her name, but said you’d know her when you saw her—a proper lady, frightfully beautiful, and rather young.”

I threw off the blanket and sat bolt upright,

“Fine.” “Show them to the parlor.”

I always kept my appearance immaculately neat, no matter the circumstances. I applied the safety razor, hurriedly washed my face, changed into my outdoor clothes, and appeared in the parlor.

“Oh! It’s you,” I said. “My apologies—since you didn’t give your name—” I carried a chair to the sunlit window. “Please, have a seat here,” I offered. “Not yet—were you still asleep? I’m so terribly sorry.” Just as the housekeeper had described, she was astonishingly beautiful. Though I knew her to be twenty-nine, she appeared no older than twenty-two or twenty-three in that vivid red box-cut overcoat. This was the wife of Iwao Matsuoka, heir to the former Count Matsuoka lineage—a woman already legendary for her peerless beauty.

That the former Count, belonging to a declining class, still remained a shadow power in political circles—maintaining considerable influence as he always had—was common knowledge; he was ever the puppet master who never stepped into the light, one might say it was this very trait that had preserved him. Those with sharp tongues called him 'the old badger' or 'the master swordsman.' These were epithets implying cunning and political maneuvering, and there was certainly justification for such names. That vast fortune of his should have been largely devoured by property taxes and acquisition levies, yet he somehow sustained his former lifestyle intact—a feat possible only for a man of his shrewdness, or so I concluded.

The housekeeper brought embers, added charcoal to the large Seto ware brazier, and served tea before each of us—all while Mrs. Iwao watched impatiently. Once the housekeeper had withdrawn, she suddenly leaned forward, “Master, I know it’s terribly presumptuous of me to call on you so suddenly at this ungodly hour, but the truth is—I find myself in a most dreadful predicament.” “I’ll explain everything properly in time, but would you oblige me?” “Might you come to my house at once?”

Upon closer inspection, Mrs. Iwao looked haggard—her complexion was deathly pale, and her lips were trembling faintly. Though I didn’t know what exactly had occurred, it was certain that she now faced a matter of grave importance—at least to her.

I put on my overcoat and went out to the entrance with Mrs. Iwao. There, a New Ford was parked sideways.

When I settled into the seat, I deliberately moved slowly, with practiced composure, and lit a cigarette. "What happened?"

I broke the silence. “I suppose you won’t understand unless I explain everything properly, but you are aware that my husband returned from Siberia last spring, aren’t you?” “At the main estate in Azabu, I had the honor of meeting him once or twice.” “You are aware, I presume, that Matsuoka’s father is currently in critical condition—that he has recently entered a terminal state?” “I read about it in the papers.” “Because of that, the main estate in Azabu is now in an uproar. In the midst of all that—my husband Iwao has gone missing.”

“Since when?” “Today marks one week.”

Having said that, she abruptly fell silent and teared up. I wordlessly looked at Mrs. Iwao’s face as if urging her to continue. Even phrased as a mere disappearance, in her case it invited endless speculation. This wife—whom Iwao had married against his parents’ and relatives’ opposition just before his deployment—had been a rising film actress at the time. After marriage, she severed all ties with both cinema and high society, withdrawing deep into the count’s household until she appeared every inch the proper noblewoman—though she must have endured untold hardships to become so. I thought there must be complex circumstances lurking behind Iwao’s disappearance.

After a brief moment, Mrs. Iwao, her lips trembling,

“You are likely aware that the Matsuoka family has only two children: Iwao and his younger brother Kaoru.” “Kaoru is a painter and quiet by nature—so attentive in nursing Father that he anticipates his every need—which makes him dearly beloved by our parents. But Iwao remains sullen and abrupt, incapable of pleasantries, earning him labels like ‘heartless’ or ‘unfilial.’ Now he hasn’t visited Father or tended to him for nearly a week! The patient rails at me with cutting remarks and harsh words, unaware his son has gone missing. Caught between them—it feels like my very flesh is being torn apart.”

“Does the Count not know that Iwao has gone missing?” “It’s been kept secret.” “Only mother knows, but—” “How have you managed to keep it secret?”

“If word got out, it would be catastrophic.” “They’d never permit an unscrupulous wretch who abandons his critically ill parent and disappears to inherit this family.” “Even without that pretext, their determination to have the second son—Mr. Kaoru—assume the inheritance reveals itself at every turn.” “It’s intolerable.” “While my mother-in-law mediates between us, if we don’t absolutely locate Iwao and make him perform his final nursing duties, the Matsuoka family will fall into Mr. Kaoru’s hands.” “Last night’s family council apparently formalized that very resolution.” “Therefore, you must find Iwao without fail—truly, Master, I implore you as the entreaty of my lifetime—please discover him.”

“Has a missing person report been filed?” “Yes. We did file one, but with all these major cases happening these days, a simple disappearance doesn’t seem to warrant serious attention—there’s still no leads at all.” “So I abandoned that approach completely and came straight to you without consulting another soul—I implore you to take this case.”

"I think it would be best to keep your consultation with me secret from everyone for the time being." "Rather than having him be discovered just in time for Father’s critical condition, we should make it appear as though he returned of his own accord to tend to him." "Otherwise, poor Iwao would only face needless misunderstandings." "The younger brother—always compared favorably to Iwao—has now been keeping vigil for two or three nights straight." "Mr. Kaoru claims he’s caring for Father on behalf of both himself and his elder brother, which makes the heir apparent’s negligence all the more conspicuous. For six days—seven even—who knows where he’s been wandering? Though Father’s condition has been in the papers, one would think he’d know... It’s simply pitiful."

“Do you have any leads?” “This time—this particular time—I have absolutely no idea.”

“So you mean to say he’d left the house unlocked before?” “He never did it for several nights in a row, but there were once or twice when he’d slip out in the evening without saying where he was going and wander back the next morning.”

“Even after returning, did he not tell you where he had been?”

“My husband has always been extremely taciturn, but since his return he’s become even less talkative. There have been many occasions when he wouldn’t properly answer even when questioned.” “I’ll explain the details once we reach the residence—”

“Your husband’s room has been left exactly as it was when he ran away, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” “When we filed the missing person report, you instructed us not to touch anything, so it’s been left exactly as it was.” “I haven’t noticed anything particularly different myself, but in any case, I thought it best to have you come and inspect the entire room, Master.”

Withered carnation

The car came to a stop in front of the white Western-style mansion. It wasn’t an especially large building, but its surroundings were spaciously laid out, and the garden was entirely covered in lawn. Due to areas still bearing scars from air raids left uncleared, and what neighbors existed being distantly removed, the place had the somewhat lonely feel of a solitary house standing in open fields.

I got out of the car behind Mrs. Iwao and first walked around the perimeter of the house. “Your husband’s room?” Mrs. Iwao stopped and pointed at the half-open window, “That’s the room with the window. Leaving it wide open like that was unsafe, so we added a new lock to the door facing the hallway and sealed off that area entirely—now it’s thoroughly secured.” “My husband became terribly timid—he used to be such a robust man before, but ever since returning from Siberia, it’s as though he transformed into a different person, consumed by anxiety. Every night before bed, he’d personally check each lock in his room one by one. He couldn’t sleep unless he felt absolutely certain everything was secure.” “Yet that morning he left the window wide open when he went out—it’s utterly baffling,” she said,

“Please do come in.” As she started toward the entrance, “I’ll come in after I’ve briefly inspected the garden.” “I’ll prepare some tea then, Master, so please come straight in once you’ve finished your inspection.”

I stood under the window and carefully examined the ground. As a week had already passed, it was hard to make out clearly, but there were disturbed shoe prints, among which small rubber soles were distinctly visible. Following the footprints and circling around, I came out to the back gate behind the building. The back gate’s door was secured with a heavy lock that appeared not to have been opened in a long time, its mechanism rusted.

The old plank fence connected to the gateposts was broken in places, with a large hole that seemed to allow even a dog to pass through; the panels around the hole were loosely rattling. When pushed by hand, it opened quite wide, broken enough for an adult to crouch and pass through.

I crouched down, angled my shoulder, and managed to get outside. My overcoat caught on the torn fence panel, and a tuft of hair was torn off and snagged on the jagged edge of the splintered wood.

Outside the back gate, there were several tire tracks on the hardened soil. Though foot traffic seemed sparse, a road wide enough for cars ran alongside it, broadening into a main thoroughfare at the estate's edge. As I kept searching meticulously, I found another small scrap of fabric—different from my overcoat—snagged on a different fence panel. Taking it in hand, I recognized pale striped silk. At the same moment, I noticed something sharp protruding from where the ditch met the fence base. When I picked it up and rinsed off the mud, it revealed itself as an exquisite pearl tie pin.

The two finds greatly emboldened me.

Mrs. Iwao had prepared tea and was waiting.

I first took out the silk fabric and showed it.

She was holding it and examining it when suddenly her face paled, “Where did you find it? This is the fabric from the dress shirt he was wearing that day. Oh…” Mrs. Iwao covered her face with both hands,

“I knew it! It was just as I imagined, Master! Iwao has surely been killed! It must be true, it must—”

She trembled and let out a choked sob. Since I couldn’t bear to sadden her further, I kept the tie pin tucked in my pocket without showing it. "He would pair it with a tie in a matching color and fasten his favorite pearl pin," Mrs. Iwao said of her own accord, as if conjuring her husband’s visage. After a moment, Mrs. Iwao raised her tear-drenched face,

“Master, I’ll tell you everything that’s happened since Iwao returned—please listen—and then I ask that you render your judgment. You do believe my husband has been killed, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe there’s any need for such concern just yet. No body has been discovered—he’s simply missing, so he may still be safe somewhere. Well, please tell me everything without holding anything back. Shall we have a look at your husband’s room?” Mrs. Iwao unlocked the securely fastened door and guided me to his room. It was a Western-style room measuring just eight tatami mats. On the large desk lay an open Western book, left half-read. Seeing the swivel chair turned completely backward, it appeared he had suddenly stood up. In the vase on the desk, withered carnations drooped their heads. There were four. On the red Persian rug lay a single carnation, trampled and crushed into a crumpled mess.

While reading his book, he was suddenly called; in his haste to stand up, a carnation caught on his sleeve and fell. Without a moment to retrieve it, he must have trampled it and leaped out through that low window—or so I imagined.

After waiting for me to finish thoroughly searching the entire room, Mrs. Iwao began to speak.

With a pistol pressed against the pledge document—

“You likely won’t understand unless I start from the beginning of our marriage, but after all, not only my parents but nearly all our relatives were opposed.” “In other words, they said a difference in social standing—that a mere movie actress could not become the wife of the Matsuoka family’s heir—” “It took tremendous effort for us to push through all that and finally get married.” “Amid all that turmoil, the one who constantly sympathized with us and took our side was my husband’s younger brother, Mr.Kaoru.” “He became our shadow and sunlight—supporting us through it all.” “Since ours was such a forced marriage, my position after Iwao left for the front became truly wretched.” “I was taken into the main residence, served under my strict father-in-law, granted not a single shred of freedom—spent each day in tears—all while waiting only for the day my husband would return safely.”

“Since Mr. Kaoru was a painter who needed a studio, he had them build a small house that doubled as an atelier on part of Azabu’s main residence grounds where he lives.” “They constructed it by repurposing what had been hailed as a model air-raid shelter during the bombings into its basement.” “Though technically part of the main estate, Mr. Kaoru’s studio stands quite distant—within the same compound walls but separated by a considerable stretch.” “But I would invent errands to visit the studio, where Mr. Kaoru would console me and ease my sorrows.” “Mr. Kaoru possessed such insight into women’s hearts that every woman adored him.” “Yet despite this, he kept refusing the torrent of marriage proposals and remained unmarried.” “His very bachelorhood seemed to heighten his appeal—women visitors flocked incessantly to Mr. Kaoru’s quarters.”

One time, Mr. Kaoru suggested that Elder Brother might have passed away in that land. He said that a friend who had returned was spreading such rumors. They claimed he had apparently perished from malnutrition because he had been living luxuriously on the home front. After hearing that, waiting for a husband who might never return became unbearably sad, and I would go to the studio nearly every day to weep.

However, suddenly—despite there having been not a single letter—joyous news arrived that Iwao was returning on the Takasago Maru. If ever there were a case of someone being driven mad with joy, I think mine at that time would have been it. It was also Mr. Kaoru who brought that news, and I—frantic and clinging to him, driven mad with joy—grasped his hands, threw my arms around him, pressed my lips to his hands, and reveled childishly in delight. Mr. Kaoru remained silent, staring fixedly and letting me do as I pleased, but when he saw I had somewhat calmed down,

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

After uttering that single line, he went outside.

When I later reflected on it—though it had been out of overwhelming joy—I felt ashamed at having behaved so improperly. The Iwao we had welcomed with such jubilation—well, how shall I put it—had become a man utterly changed from his pre-war self: gloomy and withdrawn. He was perpetually deep in thought, appearing frightened of something unseen. It was as if he had become someone possessed by some terror-stricken malady. As the main residence felt constricting, we immediately moved to this house. Though I had been radiant with hope that we might live freely here—passing our days like newlyweds—from the very day of his return, I found myself completely disillusioned. There were endless questions I wanted to ask—how he had survived those four or five years—yet no matter what I inquired, he would tell me nothing. My husband had grown into such an odd man, constantly behaving as though he couldn't lower his guard even around me, his own wife.

The doctor said it was severe neurasthenia. Nights continued when he couldn't sleep without sleeping pills. In the dead of night, he would suddenly leap up, glance around wildly, then shudder in terror and hide under the desk. The look on his face at those times was utterly terrifying. I had indeed come to think Iwao wasn't in a normal state. By nature he was a timid man with delicate nerves—from his time at the front until returning home, he must have endured terrifying ordeals and life-threatening hardships, surely lived through experiences too unspeakable to put into words. It couldn't be said nothing had tormented his mind.

As I looked at Iwao’s gaunt face, I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my cheeks of their own accord. When I thought how the husband I’d waited for through such hardship had become this cold, strange man, it pained me so deeply—if only he would confide in me any secret at all—that I found myself wishing with all my heart. It was clear he himself was suffering terribly. Of course, I didn’t understand what tormented him. Since he was agonizing alone like this, I finally couldn’t bear it anymore and told Mr. Kaoru about it.

Mr. Kaoru also wore a dark expression, “Could Elder Brother be involved in something bad?” “There are those who say he did quite violent things while in that land. In fact, Elder Brother might have even killed someone—couldn’t he be fearing that his crime will come to light?” “There are stories of timid men going mad from fear of the crimes they’ve committed—” “He would never do something so outrageous.” “He must have experienced something terrifying.”

“Then you should ask him yourself.” “But he won’t tell me anything!” “Only family.” “The true sympathizer—if only he would confide in me, I’d gladly take on half of Elder Brother’s suffering.”

Mr. Kaoru remained as agreeable as ever.

“I finally mustered my resolve and said to Iwao one evening. ‘Because I lack the qualifications as a wife，you don’t confide anything in me.’ ‘In that case，there’s no other choice—I must ask you for a divorce,’ I declared，pressing him.”

I knew well the heart of my husband, who had not the slightest intention of parting. Moreover, even for myself—though I had endured until now—I did not wish to part ways at this point; however, having secrets between husband and wife was something I simply could not bear. “I wouldn’t mind even if you had killed someone.” “Even if you had done worse things—I wouldn’t be surprised.” More than that—the fact that you couldn’t confide in me meant I wasn’t trusted—and that was what made it so unbearable.

Iwao seemed to have made some considerable resolve; he raised his face, looked straight at me, and instructed me to swear an oath that I would absolutely not disclose it to others. And after making me swear a firm pledge, he finally opened up about the anguish in his heart. When my husband was in the detention camp, there was a time when several sons from prominent families, who were on good terms with each other, gathered to form something like a study group and passed the time together in their idleness. At that moment, my husband saw a small, tightly crumpled scrap of paper lying on the floor. He picked it up, unfolded it to look, and realized it was something written by one of this group’s members—a denunciation letter to their superior officer. Of course, Iwao’s name was also written there, he said. He was shocked—it was said he stood astonished that even within this small group who trusted each other there could be a spy.

He thought that having such people nearby made it impossible to let his guard down, but since he couldn’t determine who the spy was and it wasn’t something to speak of openly, he left it as it was—until one day, he was suddenly summoned by a man called Lieutenant M. Wondering what this was about, he timidly followed behind him. Lieutenant M amiably entertained Iwao, offering rare treats like cognac and fine sweets, then lavished praise on his father—calling him a political heavyweight and one of Japan’s hidden powerbrokers who operated behind the scenes—all while addressing my husband, who looked as bewildered as a fox under a spell. A sense of unease crept over me, yet even as I marveled at how thoroughly they knew these details, an orderly arrived and whispered to the lieutenant.

Lieutenant M immediately rose from his seat, ordered Iwao to follow him, and suddenly they had to depart from there. He had absolutely no idea where they were going.

Outside, a jeep was waiting. By the lieutenant’s order, Iwao got into the vehicle after him. The jeep raced at breakneck speed over several hills in Siberia’s vast undulating terrain. After nearly thirty minutes of driving, the lieutenant—who had been so talkative earlier—not only remained completely silent throughout but merely smiled faintly at the corners of his mouth when questioned about their destination, offering no answer. Iwao grew increasingly uneasy, overwhelmed by anxiety yet unable to flee. Resigning himself to entrusting his fate to heaven, he shut his eyes tightly and steeled himself to accept whatever might come—when abruptly, the vehicle halted.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a small clearing surrounded by the depths of a vast primeval forest, where a single tent had been erected. The surroundings were deathly still, wrapped in a terrifying silence. The lieutenant entered the tent with her husband in tow.

Inside, a banquet was in full swing. On the large table with log legs were heaped high rare delicacies from land and sea, while expensive Western liquor bottles stood like a forest. It was indeed a splendid banquet, yet before the table, vigorously drinking liquor, were only three people: a military-uniformed officer, a young man in a suit, and a beautiful woman among them. She appeared to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with a brisk demeanor, her lovely face lit by keenly analytical eyes.

Through the lieutenant’s introduction, he was seated beside the woman, but Iwao—utterly bewildered and feeling as though in a dream—sat there dazedly. Then the young man in the suit and the rest of the group toasted him with exaggeratedly polite and amiable smiles, only to bring up Matsuoka’s father once again, probing relentlessly into his social connections. He said he had been astonished at how thoroughly they had investigated every detail. They were chatting calmly, but there was an unsettling amiability about it—a kind of serene menace that kept one on edge, as if the pistols at their hips might bark at any moment. Then they questioned him in detail about his work when he had been in Japan, and soon after, in a solemn tone, asked whether he would pledge loyalty to their country.

Iwao could not respond. When he remained silent, “Your failure to answer signifies consent.” “I’ll hand you the paper—write exactly as I say.” “What am I to write?” “Of course, the pledge document.” “Pledge loyalty to our country.”

“Such a thing—” “You refuse to write?” The officer drew the pistol from his hip and suddenly aimed its muzzle at Iwao. “Go on—write.” Refusal meant death. My husband, still with the gun’s muzzle pressed against him, took the pen and pledged as he was commanded. He couldn’t recall clearly, but on the pledge document he filled in his address, full name and date of birth before being compelled to write what followed.

“I swear to carry out any and all tasks I am commanded to perform for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I will absolutely never speak of this to anyone. I swear that even after returning to Japan, I will not speak of this to my family or anyone close to me. I acknowledge that if I break this oath, I will be punished.”

Iwao said that when he thought of his wife who remained in Japan, he couldn’t refuse. He said that while apologizing in his heart to his father for his sin, he could not help but pledge, tears streaming down his face. 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 mission will begin after you return to Tokyo.” “We’ll meet again there.” “Until then—goodbye.”

After whispering familiarly, she briskly rose from her seat and left. The sound of the jeep starting up could be heard, and soon it gradually grew distant before fading away completely.

“Let me tell you the codeword,” said the officer, bringing his mouth close to Iwao’s ear. After that, he gave this warning. “Whenever, wherever, and regardless of nationality—be they Japanese, Chinese, Korean, or even Indian—if someone appears using the codeword I just taught you, you must obey all of that individual’s commands,” he said. From that day onward, Iwao realized—upon paying close attention—that there were apparently many others who, like him, had been forced to sign pledge documents. But as these were kept as mutual secrets buried deep within their hearts, not a single soul spoke of them. As a result, even former close friends could no longer trust one another. If you viewed them with suspicion, everyone would appear to be spies who had signed pledge documents, leaving them all to scrutinize each other.

The orders given to Iwao were as clear as day—to leverage his father's status and investigate various matters—which meant my husband had returned bearing the mission of a spy. My husband said that one misstep would mean death. He also said he never knew when they might kill him.

A man bearing death's shadow—my husband was ceaselessly tormented by fear and visions of death, until at last, driven by the agony of existence itself, he resolved to take his own life with his own hands.

Startled by shadows, turned pale at every sound, braced himself for visitors—he had become such a man. One evening on the train, after catching sight of a profile strikingly similar to that of the woman he had met in the great forest, he grew even more despondent, his anguish intensifying relentlessly. "She’s in Japan—there will be contact eventually," he would mutter, summoning a locksmith to reinforce his room’s security, polishing his pistol, growing so terribly nervous that even the slightest sound made him flinch and shudder. Even when pushy salesmen came calling, he would end up glaring from behind his glasses.

The Criminal in Love

The earnest and timid Iwao had a sense of responsibility stronger than most—if he failed to carry out his mission, his life would be forfeited. Yet having been forced into this submission while desperately wanting to break free, he was torn between these two torments until his behavior sometimes bordered on madness. I wondered whether fear had driven him insane. Since I didn’t know how to comfort him, I broke my oath of absolute secrecy and confided solely in Mr. Kaoru to seek counsel. But he too possessed no clever solutions, leaving us to simply agonize together.

No one had appeared with the codeword, nor had there been any commands. In reality, he had done nothing. Yet despite this, my husband tormented himself with imagined scenarios—worrying that since he had pledged, he might receive orders at any moment, that someone might appear from anywhere at all—and remained consumed by anxiety. About a week ago, when word of Father’s critical condition began to spread, this carnation was delivered by an unknown woman while we were away at the main estate.

My husband turned deathly pale and began trembling violently. There was a thin piece of paper folded inside the carnation, with something finely written on it—or so I was told—but my husband immediately struck a match and burned it before I could see. After that came late-night phone calls from unknown sources and anonymous letters demanding things like "Consider the severe punishment for oath-breakers." The broken oath must mean Iwao confided that secret to me, but I can’t fathom how they discovered this.

My husband said there must be someone close to us in contact with them, and he suddenly dismissed two maids. Due to his mental anguish, he was visibly wasting away—as I grew fearful he might go mad, take his own life, or meet some tragic end—when he abruptly vanished. At that very moment, I had been away nursing my father and left the house. When I rushed over after the maid’s call, the window stood wide open,

“The master had been discussing something over the phone last night; however, after retiring to his room and not rising even by morning—when I knocked on the door—there was no response.” “When I peeked through the keyhole and saw the bed was empty, I was shocked and informed the main house.” reported the maid.

It appeared my husband hadn’t left through the main entrance—both the entryway and front gate remained securely locked. At the main estate, they kept badgering me—“Why hasn’t Iwao come when Father’s on death’s door?”—but since I couldn’t admit he was missing, I lied that he lay bedridden with a high fever, deflecting their questions each time they arose. Yet try as I might to maintain the charade, I couldn’t bring myself to deceive Mother—to her alone did I confess the truth.

"My relatives have always vehemently opposed my qualification to become that household’s successor’s wife, so they’re now exploiting my husband’s absence to have Mr. Kaoru inherit the family headship. That’s why I want you to find him while Father still breathes. Given how severely he was threatened, he might have lost his mind—but if he’s still alive at all, that’s all I can pray for. Yet today marks a week without any word, making me wonder if he’s even in this world anymore. I feel like I’m not truly living. What do you think, Detective? Now there’s nothing left but to rely on your help—please, Detective, I beg of you—"

Mrs. Iwao, with tears in her eyes, clasped her hands together before me and pleaded.

From the moment I left Mrs. Iwao’s house until ten o’clock the following night, I was so busy I didn’t have a moment to sleep. I grasped a certain hint within Mrs. Iwao’s words. With confidence gained from that, I took decisive action. Indeed, my activities over those thirty-odd hours were so remarkable that even I marveled at them. Despite being reported as critically ill, Former Count Matsuoka possessed a mysterious vitality unbefitting his advanced age, and his final moments still seemed some time away, the attending physician stated.

At the bedside, the Countess and Mrs. Iwao kept constant vigil, while Kaoru, the second son, occasionally took their place. In the adjoining room, all close relatives stood packed tightly together. Not a single cough could be heard from the hushed sickroom. The nurse wordlessly passed Kaoru the calling card on the silver tray she had received from the maid. Kaoru, who had accepted it in silence, paled abruptly upon reading the text on the card and staggered out of the sickroom. The calling card read:

"The patient you were monitoring has escaped. Come at once." it read.

Kaoru’s vision blurred; he shoved aside the nurse there and sprinted to the studio.

The studio was pitch-dark. The light bulb had burned out, and he hadn’t yet found time to replace it. Groping through the darkness, he first unlocked the basement door. As he started descending the stairs, a low voice rose from below— "You’re a step too late. The patient insisted he couldn’t miss his lordship’s final moments—came rushing straight here." "What?" Kaoru seized the man’s arm in a vise-like grip and twisted—or so he intended—but found himself flipped headlong and slammed to the ground.

Whether due to an unlucky strike or not, he couldn’t rise for some time. “Mr. Kaoru, that elaborate scheme you’ve been crafting all this time—just one step from completion—has now burst like soap bubbles thanks to a mere private detective like me.” “A pity, but unavoidable.” “Now get up and listen.” “You’d secretly loved your sister-in-law since her film star days—playing the sympathetic confidant to win her favor while plotting to steal her away—when ill fortune brought your brother back from Siberia.” “You who should’ve celebrated his safe return found yourself bitterly disappointed instead.”

"The young wife was living with your brother; you couldn't bear to watch idly by. Just as you were trying to drive a wedge between them, you heard about your brother’s secret from the young wife and suddenly hatched a terrifying plan. To him—convinced he bore a dark shadow and had his nerves perpetually on edge—you sent threatening letters and made fake calls to intimidate him until you finally reduced him to a half-sick state."

“As your brother’s mental affliction grew increasingly severe, the devil smiled while watching. After sending the carnation, on the following night, you—wearing a mask—used the secret codeword you had heard from the young wife to lure your brother out through the window, deliberately exited via the back gate, abruptly covered his head with a cloth, placed him in the car you had waiting outside, brought him to the studio’s basement, and confined him there. It’s unfortunate you left traces of those small rubber-soled shoes you always wear.”

“And you were single-mindedly waiting for your father’s impending death. If your brother remained missing, then inevitably the one to inherit that household would be you, Mr. Kaoru. You intended to claim both the family’s noble legacy and its fortune—and furthermore, to take possession of the beautiful young wife—but what a shameful miscalculation. Your elder brother has fully regained his vigor upon learning that what he believed were orders from Siberia actually came from his younger brother Mr. Kaoru.”

There came the hurried sound of footsteps, and the young wife called out from the top of the basement stairs. “Mr. Kaoru, please come quickly.” “Father has passed away.” “And I want you to be pleased as well.” “Brother has returned; he made it in time for his final moments.” Clasping my hand where I stood, Mrs. Iwao turned grateful eyes toward me. The fact that the culprit who kidnapped Iwao was his younger brother Kaoru was something I did not mention. It was because Iwao and I had made a promise to keep it as our eternal secret, locked away in our hearts.