Pathway to Japanese Literature

*Title: Psychological Test*

I

As for why Furuya Seiichirō conceived the terrible crime that will now be recounted, the details of his motives remained unclear.
Even if they had been understood, they would have borne little relevance to this tale.
Seeing that he maintained a semi-working student existence while attending a certain university, one might consider that tuition necessities had pressed upon him.
He was a rare genius and an extraordinarily diligent scholar, so it was indeed regrettable that trivial part-time jobs consumed his time for earning tuition, leaving him unable to fully devote himself to cherished reading and contemplation.
But would a human being truly commit such an abominable crime for reasons of that nature?
Perhaps he had simply been a congenital villain.
And perhaps it wasn’t merely tuition—he might have found himself incapable of restraining sundry other desires as well.
Be that as it may, six months had now passed since he had first conceived the scheme.
During that interval, he had vacillated endlessly, deliberated exhaustively, until finally resolving to carry it through.

One day, he happened to become acquainted with his classmate Saitō Isamu.
That was the beginning of it all.
At first, there was naturally no premeditation involved.
However, partway through, he began approaching Saitō with a vague purpose in mind.
As he drew closer, that vague purpose gradually came into focus.

Saitō had been renting a room in a private lodging located in a lonely mansion district of Yamanote for about a year.
The owner of the house was the widow of a government official—though she was already an old woman nearing sixty. Despite being able to live comfortably on the income from several rental properties left by her late husband, this childless woman would say, "Money is my only support now," and took supreme pleasure in lending small sums to trustworthy acquaintances to gradually increase her savings.
The reason she rented a room to Saitō was likely partly due to feeling insecure living with only women, but without a doubt, she also factored in how even just the monthly rent would increase her savings.
And she—though such tales are seldom heard nowadays—was rumored to hide vast sums of cash in a secret spot at her home, beyond her surface-level bank deposits; for the psychology of misers, it seems, remains consistent across all eras and cultures.

Furuya felt tempted by this money.
What value was there in that old hag holding such a fortune?
Wouldn't it be perfectly logical to use that for the tuition of a promising young man like me?
To put it simply, this was his theory.
Thereupon, he sought to gather as much knowledge about the old woman as he could through Saitō.
He tried to locate the secret hiding place of that vast sum.
However, until he heard that Saitō had accidentally discovered that hiding spot, he hadn't formed any concrete plan.

“You know, for that old woman, it’s quite an ingenious idea. Usually, hiding spots for money are set places like under the floorboards or in the attic, but hers is in a somewhat unexpected location.”
“In the tokonoma of that inner parlor, there’s a large maple flowerpot, right?”
“It’s at the bottom of that flowerpot.”
“That’s the hiding place.”
“No thief would ever suspect that money was hidden in a flowerpot.”
“In a way, you could say the old woman’s a genius miser.”

At that moment, Saitō laughed amusedly as he said this.

From that point on, Furuya's plan gradually solidified into concrete form. For each potential method of transferring the elderly widow's money to his tuition funds, he accounted for every possibility to devise the safest approach. This proved far more challenging than anticipated—compared to these calculations, even the most complex mathematical problems seemed trivial. As previously mentioned, he spent six months solely refining this scheme.

The critical difficulty lay unquestionably in evading punishment. Ethical barriers—what others might call pangs of conscience—hardly concerned him. Just as he admired rather than condemned Napoleon's grand-scale killings, he considered it perfectly reasonable for a gifted young man to sacrifice an old crone already halfway in the grave if it nurtured his talents.

The elderly widow rarely went out.
She spent her days silently huddled in the inner parlor.
Even when she did occasionally go out, during her absence, the country-bred maid faithfully kept watch under her orders.
Despite all of Furuya’s painstaking efforts, the elderly widow’s precautions showed not the slightest gap.
Waiting for a time when both the elderly widow and Saitō were absent, deceiving this maid into going out on an errand or something, and then stealing the money from the flowerpot during that opportunity—Furuya initially considered this approach.
However, that was an utterly reckless idea.
Even if only for a brief moment, if it were discovered that I had been alone in that house, that alone would be enough to cast suspicion on me, wouldn’t it?
He spent a full month thinking up and discarding various foolish methods of this kind.
These included tricks such as making it appear as though Saitō, the maid, or a regular thief had stolen the money; methods of sneaking in without making a sound when only the maid was present and stealing it without her noticing; ways to carry out the deed at night while the elderly widow slept; and every other conceivable scenario—he considered them all.
However, each and every one of them contained a high possibility of discovery.

There was no alternative but to eliminate the old woman.
He finally reached this terrifying conclusion.
Though he didn't know exactly how much money the elderly widow had, considering all aspects, he didn't believe it amounted to a sum worth committing murder for.
Was it not excessively cruel to kill an innocent person for a known quantity of money?
However, even if that sum wasn't considered significant by society's standards, it would be more than enough to satisfy the impoverished Furuya.
Moreover, according to his reasoning, the issue was not the amount of money but rather rendering the crime's discovery absolutely impossible.
For that purpose, no sacrifice was too great to pay.

Murder, at first glance, appeared to be an act many times more dangerous than mere theft.
But that was merely a kind of illusion.
Indeed, if undertaken anticipating discovery, murder would undoubtedly be the most perilous of all crimes.
However, if one were to base judgment not on the severity of crimes but on the difficulty of their detection, then in certain cases—as in Furuya’s case—theft might rather prove the riskier endeavor.
In contrast, silencing those who uncover one’s misdeeds—though cruel—remained free from such concerns.
From ancient times, great villains had calmly committed murder after ruthless murder.
Was it not precisely through these bold killings that they so rarely faced capture?

So, assuming he kills the old woman—was there truly no danger in that?
From the moment he confronted this problem, Furuya spent several months thinking it through.
During that long period, how had he developed his plan?
As this would become clear to readers as the story progressed, those details would be omitted here; in any case, through analysis and synthesis so meticulous that ordinary people could scarcely conceive of it, he had devised a method absolutely free of even the slightest oversight—a method that was utterly foolproof.

All that remained now was to wait for the opportune moment.
However, it came surprisingly soon.
One day, Saitō was occupied with school matters and the maid was sent out on an errand; it was confirmed that neither would return home until evening.
That was precisely the second day after Furuya had completed his final preparatory acts.
That final preparatory act (this alone requires prior explanation) was a certain action taken today, six months after he had first heard about the aforementioned hiding place from Saitō, to confirm whether it still remained as it had been at that time.
On that day (two days prior to the murder of the elderly widow), in the course of visiting Saitō, he entered the inner parlor—her room—for the first time and exchanged various small talk with her.
He gradually steered that small talk toward a single direction.
And he repeatedly brought up topics such as the elderly widow’s assets and the rumors that she had hidden them somewhere.
Every time the word “hide” came up, he subtly observed the elderly widow’s eyes.
Then, just as he had anticipated, each time her eyes would subtly shift toward the flowerpot in the alcove (though by then it no longer held a maple but had been replanted with a pine).
Furuya repeated this several times and was able to confirm beyond any doubt.

II

Now, at last, the day came.
He donned his university’s formal uniform and cap, draped a student cloak over them, put on ordinary gloves, and headed toward his destination.
After much deliberation, he had ultimately resolved not to disguise himself.
If he were to disguise himself, it would leave traces that could lead to the crime's discovery—through purchasing materials, securing a place to change clothes, and various other aspects.
It would only complicate matters and have no effect whatsoever.
The method of crime should be made as simple and overt as possible within the bounds where there was no risk of discovery—this was his sort of philosophy.
The crux was simply not being seen entering the target house.
Even if it were discovered that he had passed in front of the target house, that posed no problem whatsoever.
Since he often took walks in that area, he could assert that he had simply been out for a walk that day.
At the same time—and on another front—if someone he knew were to see him en route to the target house (this contingency absolutely had to be accounted for), whether it would be better to be wearing some strange disguise or to remain in his usual formal uniform and cap required no deliberation whatsoever.
As for the timing of the crime—he knew there would be convenient nights when both Saitō and the maid were absent—why did he choose the dangerous daytime?
This, like the matter of his attire, was to eliminate unnecessary secrecy from the crime.

However, even someone as composed as he couldn’t help but act like an ordinary thief—or rather, perhaps even more nervously than they would—glancing around in all directions when he stood before the target house.
The elderly widow’s house was a standalone building bordered by hedges on both sides, while across the street stretched the high concrete wall of a wealthy person’s mansion, extending nearly a hundred meters.
Because it was a lonely estate district, even during the day there were times when not a single soul passed by.
When Furuya arrived there as well, fortunately, not a single dog was in sight on the street.
He carefully and silently opened and closed the lattice door, which would normally clang loudly with a metallic sound when opened.
Then, from the earthen entranceway, he asked to be let in in an extremely low voice—a precaution against the neighboring houses.
When the elderly widow came out, under the pretext of having something slightly confidential to discuss regarding Saitō, he was led to the inner room.

No sooner had they settled into their seats than the elderly widow stood up to pour tea, apologizing, “Unfortunately, the maid isn’t here.”
Furuya had been waiting for this moment with bated breath.
When the elderly widow bent slightly to open the sliding door, he suddenly grabbed her from behind and, using both arms (though wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints), strangled her neck with all his strength.
The elderly widow merely let out a guttural sound in her throat and did not put up much of a struggle.
In her death throes, her fingertips clawed at empty air and brushed against the folding screen standing there, leaving a slight wound.
It was a two-panel gold-leaf folding screen from a certain era, depicting the Six Poets in vivid colors, but precisely where Ono no Komachi’s face should have been, there now lay a pitiful tear about an inch long.

When he confirmed that the elderly widow had breathed her last, he laid the corpse down there and, looking somewhat concerned, gazed at the tear in the folding screen.
However, upon closer consideration, there was nothing to worry about at all.
Such a thing couldn't possibly serve as any kind of evidence.
Thereupon, he went to the target alcove, grabbed the base of the pine tree, and pulled it out cleanly from the flowerpot along with the soil.
As expected, at the bottom lay an object wrapped in oilpaper.
He calmly unwrapped the package, took out a new large wallet from his right pocket, put about half of the bills inside—there was easily five thousand yen—returned the wallet to his pocket, then wrapped the remaining bills in oilpaper and hid them at the bottom of the flowerpot as before.
Of course, this was to conceal any evidence that he had stolen the money.
Since only the elderly widow herself knew the total amount of her savings, even if it were halved, no one would suspect a thing.

Then, he rolled up the zabuton cushion lying there and pressed it against the old woman’s chest—a precaution against blood spatter—pulled out a jackknife from his left pocket and opened its blade, then plunged it into her heart with a sickening squelch. After giving the handle a firm twist, he yanked it back out. Then, using the fabric of the same zabuton cushion, he wiped the knife’s blood cleanly and returned it to its original pocket. He had thought that merely strangling her left a risk of revival. In other words, it was the old practice of delivering the finishing blow. As for why he hadn’t used a blade from the very beginning, it was because he had feared that doing so might result in his clothing being stained with blood spatter.

At this point, we must briefly explain about the wallet into which he had placed the bills and the jackknife from earlier.
He had purchased them at a stall during a certain festival solely for this purpose.
He timed his visit to the festival for the busiest hour, chose the most crowded stall, tossed out exact change in coins, grabbed his items, then vanished so swiftly that neither the vendor nor the many customers had time to remember his face.
And these items were both extremely common—the kind that couldn’t possibly bear any distinguishing marks.

Having carefully confirmed that not a single trace remained and ensuring the sliding doors were properly closed, Furuya slowly made his way to the entrance. He tightened his shoelaces there while considering the matter of footprints. But there was even less to worry about on that front. The earthen entranceway was made of hard plaster, and the street outside had been parched dry by days of clear weather. All that remained now was to open the lattice door and step outside. But if he were to make a misstep here, all his meticulous efforts would be for naught. He strained his ears and tried patiently to listen for footsteps on the main street. ……It was utterly silent, with no signs of life. The only sound to be heard was the plinking and plucking of a koto being played somewhere within a house, carrying an air of utmost tranquility. Steeling himself, he quietly opened the lattice door. And with an air of nonchalance, as though he were a visitor who had just taken his leave, he stepped out onto the street. As expected, there was no sign of anyone there.

That entire block was a lonely residential district, every street alike.
Some four or five blocks away from the old woman’s house stretched an ancient shrine stone wall facing the roadway.
After confirming no one was watching, Furuya dropped the murder weapon jackknife and bloodstained gloves into a crevice in the stone wall.
Then he ambled toward a small nearby park he always visited during walks.
He sat on a park bench and spent considerable time watching children play on swings with an utterly composed expression.

On his way back, he stopped by the police station.
And,
“I found this wallet just now. Since there seems to be quite a lot inside, I will turn it in.”
With that, he presented the wallet.
He answered the police officer’s questions—providing where and when he had found it (plausible fabrications) along with his address and full name (truthful).
Then he received what resembled a receipt—a printed form bearing his name and amount details.
This was undoubtedly an extremely roundabout method.
But safety-wise it was optimal.
Since nobody knew half remained missing from where the widow’s money originally lay hidden—the wallet’s owner would never surface.
After one year it would indisputably become his.
Then he could spend it freely without suspicion.
He had settled on this approach after exhaustive deliberation.
Hiding it elsewhere risked accidental discovery.
Keeping it himself posed obvious dangers.
Moreover this method nullified any threat of recorded serial numbers—
(Though he’d thoroughly verified this point already...)

"There could be no fool idiotic enough to turn in his own stolen goods to the police—why, even the Buddha himself wouldn’t have foreseen such a thing!"

He suppressed a laugh and muttered to himself.

The following day, Furuya awoke from his usual peaceful sleep in a room at his lodgings, yawned, then spread open the newspaper delivered to his bedside and skimmed through the society section.
He discovered an unexpected piece of news there and was momentarily taken aback.
But this was by no means cause for concern—rather, it proved an unforeseen windfall for him.
The reason lay in his friend Saitō being named as a suspect.
The grounds for suspicion were stated to be Saitō’s possession of a large sum of money incongruous with his social standing.

“Since I’m Saitō’s closest friend, it’s only natural for me to present myself at the police station and have them question me about various matters.”

Furuya promptly changed into his kimono and hurried off to the police station.
That was the same police station where he had turned in the wallet the previous day.
Why hadn’t he turned in the wallet to a police station under different jurisdiction?
But even that had been a deliberate act of his signature artless honesty.
He arranged his face to show just the right degree of concern and requested permission to meet Saitō.
However, as anticipated, this was not granted.
There, through extensive questioning about why Saitō had become a suspect, he managed to clarify certain circumstances to some extent.

Furuya imagined the following.

Yesterday, Saitō returned home before the maid.
That was shortly after Furuya had achieved his purpose and left.
And naturally, he discovered the elderly widow’s corpse.
However, before immediately reporting it to the police, he must have thought of something.
That is, it concerned that flowerpot.
If this were the work of a thief, perhaps the money inside might be missing?
That was likely out of momentary curiosity.
He checked there.
Yet unexpectedly, the bundle of money remained properly intact.
That Saitō conceived evil intentions upon seeing this was indeed a shortsighted notion, yet not unreasonable.
That no one knew of the hidden location meant the interpretation would inevitably point to the murderer having stolen it.
Such circumstances would present an irresistible temptation to anyone.
Then according to the police officer’s account, he calmly reported the murder as if nothing had happened.
But what recklessness!
He had slipped the stolen money into his belly band and remained composed.
Evidently he hadn’t imagined they would conduct a body search on the spot.

“But wait,” Furuya thought. “How exactly will Saitō try to explain himself? Depending on how this develops, couldn’t it become dangerous?” He turned the possibilities over in his mind. When caught with the money, Saitō might have claimed, “It’s mine.” Given that no one knew the full extent of the elderly widow’s assets or their hiding place, such an excuse might temporarily hold water. But wasn’t the sum excessively large? Ultimately, he’d likely have to confess the truth. Yet would the court accept that? Unless another suspect emerged, they’d never acquit him before then. With luck, he might even face murder charges. That would be ideal—but then again, as the judge pressed him during interrogation, certain facts might surface. Like how he’d told me about discovering the money’s hiding place, or how I’d visited the old woman’s room for a long chat two days before the crime, not to mention my financial struggles and tuition woes.

However, all of these were things Furuya had already accounted for before formulating this plan.
And no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine that any facts more disadvantageous to him could be extracted from Saitō.

After returning from the police station, Furuya ate his belated breakfast (during which he told the maid who brought his meal about the incident) and left for school as usual.
At school, everyone was abuzz with rumors about Saitō.
He became the center of those rumors and spoke half-triumphantly.

III

Now, dear readers well-versed in the nature of detective stories, you are fully aware this tale will by no means end here. That is exactly right. Truth be told, everything up to this point has merely been the premise of this story; what the author particularly wishes you to read lies ahead. In short, this concerns how Furuya's meticulously planned crime came to light.

The preliminary judge in charge of this case was the renowned Mr. Kasamori.
He was not only a distinguished judge in the conventional sense but also gained further renown for possessing a somewhat eccentric hobby.
This stemmed from his being a sort of amateur psychologist; when faced with cases that defied resolution through ordinary methods, he would ultimately employ his extensive psychological knowledge, which often proved effective.
Though his career remained brief and his years young, as a preliminary judge in the district court he possessed brilliant talent that seemed almost wasted in such a role.
Everyone believed this elderly widow murder case too would be easily resolved once in Judge Kasamori’s hands.
Judge Kasamori himself thought the same way.
As usual, he intended to thoroughly investigate this case during preliminary hearings and handle it so that no complications whatsoever would remain for the trial.

However, as the interrogations progressed, the difficulties of the case gradually became clear.
The police stations and related authorities straightforwardly asserted Saitō Isamu’s guilt.
Even Judge Kasamori had to acknowledge there was some validity to their claim.
The reason being that despite summoning and meticulously interrogating everyone who had any trace of entering or leaving the elderly widow’s home during her lifetime—whether debtors, tenants, or mere acquaintances—not a single suspicious individual could be found.
Furuya Seiichirō was naturally among them.
With no other suspects emerging, there remained no choice but to judge Saitō Isamu—the most plausible candidate—as the culprit.
What proved most damning for Saitō was his inherently timid disposition; overwhelmed by the courtroom’s oppressive atmosphere from the outset, he proved incapable of giving clear responses during questioning.
Flustered beyond measure, he would retract previous statements, forget what he ought to have known, make unwittingly damaging claims—each frantic act only deepening suspicion.
This stemmed from his fatal vulnerability of having stolen the widow’s money; absent that misstep, even with his nervous temperament, someone of Saitō’s considerable intellect would never have blundered so catastrophically—a circumstance rendering his position truly pitiable.
Yet when it came to definitively branding Saitō a murderer, Judge Kasamori found himself lacking conviction.
There remained only suspicion.
No confession had been made; no conclusive evidence obtained.

Thus, one month had passed since the incident.
The preliminary hearing still hadn’t concluded.
Judge Kasamori was beginning to grow impatient.
Just then, a promising report arrived at his office from the police chief overseeing the old woman’s murder case.
On the day of the crime, a wallet containing over five thousand two hundred yen had been found in town not far from the widow’s residence—yet due to staff negligence, it had gone unnoticed until now that the person who reported it was Furuya Seiichirō, a student and close friend of the suspect Saitō.
But given that no one had come forward to claim such a large sum even after a month, didn’t this suggest something significant?
They had reported it purely as a precaution.

Judge Kasamori, who had been utterly stumped, seemed to perceive a glimmer of hope upon receiving this report.
Procedures to summon Furuya Seiichirō were promptly initiated.
However, despite Judge Kasamori’s fervor, the results of interrogating Furuya appeared to yield little of value.
When asked during interrogation why he had not reported finding the large sum of money at the time of the initial investigation into the incident, he answered that he hadn’t thought it was related to the murder case.
This answer had sufficient justification.
Since the elderly widow’s assets had been discovered in Saitō’s money belt, who could possibly imagine that other money—especially cash lost on a busy street—was part of the widow’s fortune?

But could this be a mere coincidence? The fact that on the day of the crime, a man who was the close friend of the prime suspect (and who, according to Saitō’s testimony, even knew about the flowerpot hiding place) had found such a large sum of money not far from the scene—could this truly be a coincidence? Judge Kasamori agonized, trying to discover some meaning in this. What Judge Kasamori regretted most was that the elderly widow had not recorded the serial numbers of the bills. If only that had existed, whether this suspicious money was related to the case would have been immediately clear.

"If only I could grasp even one small but solid lead..."
Judge Kasamori devoted all his talents to deliberation.
The on-site investigations were repeated countless times.
The elderly widow's familial relations were thoroughly investigated.
However, they gained nothing.
And so another half-month passed fruitlessly.

The only possibility—the judge thought—was to assume Furuya had stolen half of the widow's savings, hidden the remainder as before, placed the stolen money in a wallet, and made it appear found on the street.
But could such an absurd notion be possible?
They had examined the wallet too, yet found no significant clues.
Moreover, Furuya calmly testified he passed before the old woman's house during his walk that very day!
Would any culprit dare make such an audacious claim?
First and foremost, the murder weapon's whereabouts remained unknown.
The search of Furuya's boarding house yielded nothing.
But regarding the murder weapon—wasn't it equally unresolved for Saitō?
Then who on earth should be suspected?

There was not a single piece of conclusive evidence. As the police chief and others maintained, suspecting Saitō did align with his profile. Yet Furuya too could not be ruled out as a suspect. The sole established fact was that after six weeks of exhaustive investigation, no other suspects existed beyond those two. Having exhausted all conventional methods, Judge Kasamori concluded the time had come to deploy his trump card. He determined to apply his psychological examination—a technique that had repeatedly proven effective—to both suspects.

IV

When Furuya Seiichirō received his first summons two or three days after the incident, he learned that the presiding preliminary judge was the renowned amateur psychologist Judge Kasamori. He had already anticipated this final contingency at the time and was no little flustered. Even someone as composed as he had never imagined that psychological tests—however much an individual’s eccentric fancy—would be conducted in Japan. Through various books, he knew all too well exactly what psychological tests entailed.

Struck by this major blow, he—having lost any pretense of composure to continue attending school—secluded himself in his boarding house room under the pretext of illness. He thought of nothing but how to overcome this crisis. He maintained his deliberations with the same meticulous planning and fervor—perhaps even greater—that he had applied before executing the murder.

What sort of psychological test would Judge Kasamori conduct? There was no way to foresee it. Furuya recalled every investigative method within his knowledge and examined potential countermeasures for each one. Yet since psychological tests were fundamentally designed to expose falsehoods, deceiving them further appeared theoretically impossible.

According to Furuya's analysis, psychological tests could be broadly divided into two categories based on their nature.
One was based purely on physiological reactions; the other was conducted through language.
The former was a method where examiners posed various crime-related questions while recording subjects' minute physical reactions through specialized devices—an attempt to uncover truths unattainable through ordinary interrogation.
This approach relied on the theory that even when lying through words or facial expressions, humans cannot conceal neural excitation from manifesting as subtle physical symptoms; methodologies included detecting faint hand movements via devices like automatographs,
ascertaining eye movement patterns through specific means,
measuring breathing depth and rhythm using pneumographs,
gauging pulse strength and rate with sphygmographs,
quantifying limb blood volume through plethysmographs,
detecting minute palm perspiration via galvanometers,
and observing degrees of muscle contraction from light knee taps—alongside various similar techniques.

For example, if suddenly asked, “You must be the one who killed the elderly widow,” he was confident he could calmly retort, “What evidence do you have to make such a claim?” But wouldn’t his pulse quicken unnaturally or his breathing become rapid at such a moment? And wouldn’t it be absolutely impossible to prevent that? He assumed various scenarios and conducted experiments in his mind. However, strangely enough, even the most critical, sudden questions he posed to himself seemed incapable of inducing physical changes. Of course, there were no instruments to measure minute changes, so nothing definitive could be said, but given that he couldn’t even sense any nervous agitation itself, there should have been no resulting physical changes either.

As he continued with various experiments and speculations, Furuya suddenly hit upon an idea.
The idea was whether practice might diminish the effectiveness of psychological tests—in other words, whether with each repetition of the same question—the second time compared to the first, the third time compared to the second—the nervous reactions would grow weaker.
In other words, it was a matter of habituation.
As could be understood by considering various other cases, this seemed quite plausible.
The absence of reaction to his own interrogation ultimately stemmed from the same principle—there had already been anticipation before the interrogation was even delivered.

Thereupon, he examined every single one of the tens of thousands of words in Jirin and thoroughly extracted any terms that might be subject to questioning. And then, it took him a full week to complete this "training" of his nerves.

Next was the testing method conducted through language. This too was nothing to fear. Rather, precisely because it relied on language alone, it was all the more susceptible to deception. There were various methods for this, but the most commonly used was what was known as an association test—the same method that psychoanalysts used when examining patients. Words like "paper screen," "desk," "ink," or "pen"—several ordinary words were read out one after another, and they were made to utter associated words as quickly as possible without thinking at all. For example, when presented with "paper screen," there might be various associations like "window," "threshold," "paper," or "door," but any of them would be acceptable—they were to say whatever word first came to mind. Then, among those meaningless words, they inconspicuously mixed in crime-related terms like ‘knife,’ ‘blood,’ ‘money,’ or ‘wallet,’ and examined the associations elicited by them.

First and foremost, the most thoughtless individual—in the context of this elderly woman’s murder—might inadvertently respond with "money" when presented with the word "flowerpot."
That was because stealing “money” from beneath the “flowerpot” had left the deepest impression.
In that case, he thereby confessed to the charges.
However, a more thoughtful person, even if the word "money" came to mind, would suppress it and answer, for example, "ceramics."

Against such falsehoods, there existed two countermeasures.
The first involved repeating the tested words from the initial round after a brief interval.
When implemented, naturally given answers typically showed no discrepancy between first and second instances, while deliberately fabricated responses differed from their initial versions eight or nine times out of ten.
For example, when presented with "flowerpot," one might answer "pottery" initially and "soil" upon repetition.

The second method utilized specialized equipment to precisely record the time between question delivery and response reception. Through measuring these response speeds—for instance, if someone answered "door" to "shoji screen" in one second yet took three seconds to respond "pottery" to "flowerpot" (though actual cases proved more complex)—this delay indicated the subject had suppressed their initial association regarding "flowerpot," thereby marking them as suspicious.
This temporal delay might manifest not in the current word but in subsequent meaningless terms.

Another method involved explaining the circumstances of the crime in detail and having them recount it back. If someone were the true culprit, when made to recite it, they would inadvertently blurt out truths—differing in minute details from what they had been told. (To readers already familiar with psychological tests, I must apologize for this excessively detailed explanation. However, were we to omit this, the entire story would become unclear to other readers, so it truly could not be helped.)

When it came to this type of test, the necessity of "practice"—as with the previous case—went without saying. But even more crucial than that, according to Furuya, was artless honesty. One must avoid resorting to trivial tricks.

When presented with "flowerpot," the safest method was rather to answer frankly with "money" or "pine." The reasoning was that even if Furuya were not the culprit, it would be natural for him to have acquired some degree of knowledge about the criminal facts through Judge Kasamori’s interrogations and other means. And since the fact that there was money under the flowerpot was undoubtedly the most recent and profound impression, it was only natural for the associative process to function in that manner. (Moreover, with this method, even if made to recount the crime scene’s state of affairs, one remains safe.) The only problem was the matter of time. This too required "practice." "When 'flowerpot' comes up, I need to practice answering 'money' or 'pine' without faltering in the slightest." He spent several more days on this "practice." In this manner, all preparations were fully complete.

He had also taken into account one advantageous circumstance on another front. Considering this, even if confronted with unexpected questioning, he felt no fear whatsoever about displaying unfavorable reactions to anticipated interrogations—indeed, he could advance a step further. This was because he wasn’t the only one being tested—Furuya wouldn’t face the examination alone. Could that neurotic Saitō Isamu, despite protesting his innocence, truly maintain unflappable calm through all manner of interrogations? In all likelihood, he too would naturally exhibit reactions at least comparable to Furuya’s.

As Furuya thought it through, he gradually grew more at ease.
He began to feel like humming a tune.
He had now even come to await Judge Kasamori’s summons.

Five

How was Judge Kasamori’s psychological test conducted?
What reaction did neurotic Saitō show?
How calmly Furuya responded during his test.
The narrative refrained from enumerating those minutiae-filled accounts here and proceeded directly to the results.

It was the day after the psychological test had been conducted.
Judge Kasamori was in his home study, tilting his head slightly as he faced the documents recording the test results, when Akechi Kogorō’s business card was presented.

Readers of *The Murder Case on D Slope* would be somewhat familiar with what kind of man this Akechi Kogorō was.
He had since frequently involved himself in difficult criminal cases, demonstrated his remarkable talents, and come to be fully recognized not only by experts but also by the general public.
He had become acquainted with Judge Kasamori through a certain case.

Guided by the maid, Akechi Kogorō’s beaming face appeared in Judge Kasamori’s study.
This story takes place several years after *The Murder Case on D Slope*, and he was no longer the student he once had been.

“You’re quite zealous, aren’t you?”

Akechi said, peering at Judge Kasamori’s desk.

“No, really, I’m completely stumped this time.”

Judge Kasamori responded while turning his body toward the guest.

“That old woman’s murder case, isn’t it? How did the psychological test results turn out?”

Since the incident, Akechi had frequently met with Judge Kasamori to inquire about the detailed circumstances.

"Well, the results are conclusive," said Judge Kasamori. "Yet somehow I can't reconcile myself to them."
"Yesterday I administered both the pulse examination and association test. Mr. Furuya showed almost no reaction."
"To be sure, there were some questionable aspects in the pulse readings, but compared to Saitō's responses, they're negligible—scarcely worth noting."
"Look at this."
"Here you'll find the list of questions alongside the pulse records."
"Saitō displays truly marked reactions."
"The association test reveals the same pattern."
"You need only observe the response times to the stimulus word 'flowerpot'."
"While Mr. Furuya answers faster than for other meaningless words, Saitō here takes a full six seconds—see?"

The association test record that Judge Kasamori presented was recorded as shown on the left.

The ○ symbol indicates words related to crime.
In reality, about a hundred are used, and furthermore, two or even three sets are prepared and administered one after another; however, the table on the right has been simplified to make it easier to understand.

“You see, it’s remarkably clear, isn’t it?”
Judge Kasamori waited for Akechi to review the records before continuing: “Looking at this, Saitō has made various deliberate fabrications.
“What’s most evident is the slow reaction time, but this affects not only the problematic words but also those immediately following them and even the second ones.”
“Then again, he makes quite forced associations—saying ‘iron’ for ‘gold’ or ‘horse’ for ‘steal.’ What took him longest with ‘flowerpot’ was likely struggling to suppress both ‘money’ and ‘pine’ associations.”
“In contrast, Furuya’s responses are perfectly natural.”
“To ‘flowerpot’ he answers ‘pine,’ to ‘oilpaper’ he says ‘hide,’ to ‘crime’ he responds ‘murder’—associations a culprit would desperately conceal—yet he states them nonchalantly and with remarkable speed.”
“If he were the actual murderer and showed such reactions, he would have to be a complete imbecile.”
“However, in reality, he is—a university student, and quite a brilliant one at that.”

“It could be interpreted that way too.”

Akechi said pensively.
However, Judge Kasamori proceeded with the conversation without noticing his meaningful expression at all.

“However,”
“With this, there’s no longer any doubt about Furuya, but when it comes to whether Saitō is truly the culprit—despite the test results being so clear—I just can’t feel certain.”
“After all, even if I convict him in the preliminary hearing, it’s not the final decision—so this should suffice for now. But as you’re aware, I have that stubborn streak of mine.”
“It galls me to have my conclusions overturned in a public trial.”
“That’s why I’m still wavering, to be honest.”

“Looking at this, it’s truly fascinating,”

Akechi began with the records in hand.
“Furuya and Saitō are both said to be quite studious, but how their natures show through in answering ‘Maruzen’ to the word ‘book’.”
“What’s more intriguing is how Furuya’s responses all carry a materialistic, rational quality, while Saitō’s undeniably possess a tender touch—wouldn’t you agree?”
“Lyrical, isn’t it?”
“Responses like ‘woman,’ ‘kimono,’ ‘flower,’ ‘doll,’ ‘scenery,’ or ‘younger sister’—they rather make one think of a sentimental, delicate man.”
“Moreover, Saitō must be in poor health.”
“To ‘dislike’ he answers ‘illness,’ and to ‘illness’ responds ‘tuberculosis’—see here?”
“Proof he’s been dreading pulmonary consumption all along.”

“That is one way to look at it.”
“The association test—the more you think about it, the more intriguing conclusions emerge.”

“By the way,”
Akechi said, slightly changing his tone.
“Have you ever considered the weaknesses inherent in psychological tests?
De Quiros criticized Münsterberg’s concept of psychological tests—while this method was devised to replace torture, he argued its results could still entrap the innocent and let the guilty escape, much like torture itself.
Münsterberg himself had written somewhere that psychological tests’ true efficacy lies solely in determining whether a suspect knows about specific places, people, or objects; in other cases, they remain somewhat hazardous.
I might be preaching to Buddha by telling you this.
But I do believe this is an essential point—what are your thoughts?”

“That may be true if you consider worst-case scenarios,”
“Of course I know that.”

The judge answered with a slightly displeased expression.

“But those very worst cases might be closer at hand than we imagine.”
“Couldn’t we consider it this way?”
“For instance, suppose an extremely nervous, innocent man falls under suspicion for a crime.”
“This man was apprehended at the crime scene and knows all the criminal details.”
“In such circumstances, could he possibly remain composed during a psychological test?”
“Wouldn’t it be natural for him to grow agitated—thinking ‘Ah, they’re testing me! How should I answer to avoid suspicion?’”
“Therefore, wouldn’t psychological tests conducted under such conditions constitute what De Quiros termed ‘entrapping the innocent’?”

“You’re referring to Saitō Isamu, aren’t you?”
“No—it’s precisely because I myself had an indistinct sense of that matter that I mentioned earlier: aren’t you still vacillating?”

Judge Kasamori's expression grew increasingly bitter.

“Then, if we accept that Saitō is innocent—though he certainly won’t escape the charge of stealing the money—who on earth could have killed the old woman—”

Judge Kasamori interrupted Akechi mid-sentence and roughly demanded.

“Then, do you have another suspect in mind by any chance?”

“There is.”
Akechi answered with a grin.
“From the results of this association test, I believe Furuya is the culprit.
“However, I can’t say for certain yet, but that man has probably returned home by now.
“What do you think?
“Can’t we discreetly summon him here? If we do, I’m certain I can uncover the truth and present it to you.”

“What did you say?”
“Do you have any solid evidence for that?”

Judge Kasamori inquired with considerable surprise.

Akechi showed no particular air of triumph as he explained his reasoning in detail.
And this completely convinced Judge Kasamori.

Akechi’s request was accepted, and a messenger was dispatched to Furuya’s lodgings.

“Your friend Mr. Saitō has been conclusively determined guilty.”
“There are matters I wish to discuss regarding this outcome—I would ask you to trouble yourself by coming to my private residence.”

This constituted the summons.

Furuya had just returned from school when he heard this and promptly came. Even he was not a little excited by this good news. In his joy, he completely failed to notice the terrible trap laid there.

Six

After explaining the reasons for deciding Saitō’s guilt in general terms, Judge Kasamori added the following.

"I must apologize for having suspected you."
"In fact, today I asked you to come both to make that apology and to explain the circumstances thoroughly."

Then, after ordering black tea for Furuya among other courtesies, he began making casual conversation in an extremely relaxed manner.
Akechi also joined the discussion.
The judge introduced him as a lawyer acquaintance who had been commissioned by the deceased elderly widow’s heir to handle matters such as debt collection.
Of course, half of this was a lie, but it was indeed true that following a family council meeting, the old woman’s nephew had come from the countryside to inherit her estate.

Among the three of them, various topics were discussed, beginning with rumors about Saitō.
Now completely at ease, Furuya became the most eloquent of them all.

While they were engaged in this way, time slipped by unnoticed, and evening shadows began to gather outside the window.
Furuya happened to notice this and, as he began preparing to leave, said—

“Well then, I’ll take my leave now—but is there any other business you require?”

“Oh, I’d nearly forgotten all about it!”
Akechi said cheerfully.
“Oh, it’s nothing important really.”
“Well, since it’s come up… Are you aware that in the room where the murder occurred, there was a two-panel gold folding screen standing there? It’s become an issue because it had a small scratch on it, you see.”
“That is, the folding screen wasn’t actually the old woman’s property—it had been held as collateral for a loan. The owner insists the damage must have occurred during the murder and demands compensation, while her nephew—a stingy fellow who takes after his aunt—absolutely refuses, claiming the scratch might have been there all along.”
“It’s really such a trivial issue that we’re completely stumped.”
“Though I should mention that the folding screen does appear to be a rather valuable piece.”
“By the way, since you frequented that house, you’re probably familiar with the folding screen—do you happen to recall whether it had any scratches before?”
“What do you think?”
“You probably didn’t pay particular attention to the folding screen, right?”
“Actually, we did ask Mr. Saitō as well,” continued Akechi with feigned exasperation, “but he became so terribly agitated that we couldn’t get anything coherent from him. What’s more, the maid has returned to her hometown—even when we wrote to inquire, her replies proved utterly useless. It’s rather vexing…”

The fact that the folding screen had been collateral was true, but all other points were, needless to say, mere fabrications.
Furuya felt a chill at the mention of the folding screen.

However, upon listening carefully and finding it was nothing of consequence, he felt completely relieved.
What am I getting all jumpy for? Hadn’t the case already been settled?

He pondered for a moment how he should answer, but as usual, he concluded that being truthful was the best approach.

“Your Honor is well aware of this, but I’ve only entered that room once—and that was two days before the incident.”

He said with a grin. He couldn’t help but delight in speaking this way.

“Oh, but I do remember that folding screen.”
“When I saw it, there were certainly no scratches or anything.”

“Is that so?”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s just a tiny scratch on the face of the Ono no Komachi depicted there.”

“Ah yes, I remember now.”
Furuya said, putting on an air of having just recalled.

“That was a painting of the Six Poets, wasn’t it?”
“I remember Ono no Komachi too.”
“But if there had been a scratch at that time, I couldn’t possibly have missed it.”
“After all, you’d notice immediately if there were a mark on that vividly colored face of Komachi.”

“Then, even if it’s an inconvenience, might I ask you to provide testimony? The screen’s owner is a man of insatiable greed who’s utterly impossible to deal with.”

“Certainly—at any time convenient for you.”

Furuya, feeling somewhat smug, consented to the request of the man he believed to be a lawyer.

“Thank you.”
Akechi ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and said cheerfully.
This was a peculiar habit of his whenever he grew slightly excited.
“Actually, from the very beginning, I thought you must have known about that folding screen.
“You see, in yesterday’s psychological test records, when given the stimulus word ‘picture,’ you specifically answered ‘folding screen.’”
“This here.”
“Since boarding houses rarely keep such furnishings, and you don’t appear to have any particularly close friends besides Saitō, I concluded it must have been the screen from the old widow’s parlor that left an unusually strong impression on you for some reason.”

Furuya was momentarily startled.
It was indeed exactly as this lawyer had said.
But why had he blurted out something about the folding screen yesterday?
And yet, strangely enough, he hadn’t noticed it at all until now—wasn’t this dangerous?
But in what way was it dangerous?
Hadn’t he thoroughly examined that scratch at the time and confirmed it wouldn’t provide any leads?
It’s fine, perfectly fine.
He gave it some thought and finally felt relieved.

However, in reality, he had failed to notice that he had committed an error so glaringly obvious it defied comprehension.

"I see. I hadn't noticed it at all, but you're absolutely correct."
"That's an exceptionally keen observation."

Furuya replied with perfect composure, never wavering from his artless honesty.

“Oh, it was merely coincidental that I noticed,” Akechi replied modestly while posing as the lawyer.
“But since we’re speaking of observations—though I assure you this is nothing alarming—there’s another point.
In yesterday’s association test containing eight perilous words, you navigated them all flawlessly.
Too flawlessly, in fact.
Had there been even a shadow of guilt, such perfection would be impossible.
These eight words are circled here.”
Akechi produced a fragment of the test record.
“Yet your reaction times to these were fractionally quicker—each by mere tenths of seconds—than to neutral words.
For instance, responding ‘pine’ to ‘flowerpot’ took only 0.6 seconds.
Such artless spontaneity!
Among thirty words, ‘blue’ for ‘green’ should be swiftest, yet even that required 0.7 seconds from you.”

Furuya began to feel intense unease.
What on earth was this lawyer being so talkative for?

Was this out of goodwill or malice?
Perhaps there was some deeper ulterior motive at play.
He poured every ounce of his being into deciphering its meaning.

“Whether it’s ‘flowerpot,’ ‘oilpaper,’ or ‘crime,’ none of the eight problematic words could be considered easier to associate with than mundane terms like ‘head’ or ‘green.’ Despite that, you’re answering those difficult associations even faster. What could this mean? The point I noticed lies there. Shall I try to guess your state of mind, hmm? What do you say? It’s merely a bit of fun. But if I’m mistaken, please pardon me.”

Furuya shuddered involuntarily.
However, even he himself didn’t understand what had caused it.

“You were well aware of the dangers of psychological tests and had prepared ahead of time.”
“You’d devised responses for every crime-related word—if they said this, you’d answer that.”
“No, I’m not criticizing your approach.”
“Truthfully, psychological tests can be perilous in certain situations.”
“After all, we can’t guarantee they never acquit the guilty while condemning the innocent.”
“But your preparations were too meticulous—though you never meant to answer swiftly—those specific words alone became faster.”
“This was truly a grave miscalculation.”
“You fixated only on avoiding delays, completely overlooking how excessive speed could betray you.”
“Naturally, the time differences were minuscule—only an exceptionally observant eye would catch them.”
“Regardless, artificial constructs always develop cracks somewhere.”
The foundation of Akechi’s suspicion rested entirely on this single point.
“Yet why did you select suspicion-laden words like ‘money,’ ‘murder,’ and ‘hide’?”
“It goes without saying.”
“There lies your artlessness.”
“Had you been the culprit, you’d never have answered ‘hide’ when prompted with ‘oilpaper.’”
“Your calmness in addressing such dangerous terms proves your innocence.”
“Don’t you agree?”
“Exactly as I’ve stated.”

Furuya was staring fixedly at the speaker’s eyes. For some reason, he found himself unable to avert them. And the muscles from his nose to mouth stiffened, leaving him feeling as though all expressions—whether smiling, crying, or showing surprise—had become impossible. Of course, he couldn't speak. If he had tried to force out words, they would undoubtedly have immediately become screams of terror.

“This artlessness—this refusal to employ petty tricks—is your most distinctive characteristic.”
“That’s precisely why I asked those questions.”
“Hmm, don’t you understand?”
“It concerns that folding screen.”
“I never doubted that you would answer innocently and truthfully, of course.”
“In reality, that was exactly the case.”
“By the way, Judge Kasamori, may I ask when the Six Poets folding screen was brought into that old woman’s house?”

Akechi inquired of the judge with a feigned innocent look.

“The day before the criminal incident.”
“In other words, the fourth of last month.”

“Huh? The day before, you say? Is that true?”
“Isn’t it strange? Mr. Furuya has clearly stated that he saw it in that room two days prior to the incident—that is, on the third—hasn’t he?”
“That’s quite illogical.”
“If one of you isn’t mistaken—”

“Mr. Furuya must be misunderstanding something.”
Judge Kasamori said with a smirk.

“It has been clearly established that until the evening of the fourth, that folding screen remained in its true owner’s possession.”

Akechi observed Furuya’s expression with deep interest.
It was beginning to crumble in an odd way, like the face of a little girl about to burst into tears.

This was the trap Akechi had planned from the very beginning.
He had learned from Judge Kasamori that there had been no folding screen in the widow’s house two days prior to the incident.

“This has turned into quite a predicament.”
Akechi said in a deeply troubled voice: “This is an irreparable blunder.
Why would you claim to have seen something you never even looked at?
You haven’t been to that house even once since two days before the incident—isn’t that right?
Especially remembering that Six Poets painting proved your fatal mistake.
You probably tried so desperately to tell the truth that you ended up lying instead.
You see how it was now?
When you entered that room two days before everything happened—did you even notice whether there was a folding screen there?
Of course you didn’t.
In reality it had nothing to do with your plan—even if there had been one—you know how those faded old screens blend into their surroundings.
So naturally you assumed what you saw on that day must have been there all along.
And I phrased my questions precisely to encourage that assumption.
This sort of illusion occurs more often than we realize—if you think about it carefully.
But ordinary criminals would never have answered like you did.
They operate under this crude notion that hiding everything solves all problems.
What worked beautifully for me was your mind being ten—no—twenty times sharper than average judges or felons.
That conviction of yours—that total openness about nonessentials actually enhances safety.
A classic case of outsmarting yourself.”

“So I decided to take that reverse approach even further, you see.”
“Surely you never imagined that a lawyer with no connection to this case would set a trap to make you confess, did you?”
“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Furuya sat perfectly still, silent, his deathly pale face beaded with sweat at the forehead.
He thought that now that it had come to this, the more he tried to explain himself, the more he would only expose his flaws.

He, precisely because he was intelligent, was well aware of how eloquent a confession his slip of the tongue had been.
Strange to say, within his mind, various events from his childhood onward flashed by like a revolving lantern, appearing and disappearing in rapid succession.

A long silence continued.

“Can you hear?”
Akechi said after a while.
“Listen—can you hear that rustling, rustling sound?”
“That, you see,”
“The entire time, someone has been transcribing our conversation in the next room... You there—since it’s finished now, could you bring it here?”

Then, the sliding door opened, and a young man of student-like appearance emerged holding a sheaf of Western paper in his hand.

“Please read it aloud once.”

Following Akechi’s order, the man began reading aloud from the beginning.

“Now then, Mr. Furuya, could you please sign here and affix your thumbprint? A thumbprint will suffice.”
“You wouldn’t possibly refuse, would you?”
“After all, didn’t you just promise earlier that you’d testify about the folding screen anytime?”
“Though I suppose you never imagined the testimony would take this form.”

Furuya knew full well that even if he refused to sign here, it would be of no use. He signed and sealed the document, thereby acknowledging Akechi’s astonishing deduction as well. And now, he hung his head like someone who had completely given up.

“As I stated earlier,” Akechi concluded his explanation. “Münsterberg maintains that psychological tests only achieve definitive results when probing whether a suspect possesses knowledge of a specific place, person, or object. In this case—whether Mr. Furuya saw the folding screen—that’s precisely the point. Without this crucial element, even a hundred psychological tests would prove useless. After all, we’re dealing with a man like Mr. Furuya here—someone who anticipates every possibility and prepares with meticulous care. There’s one more thing I must emphasize: psychological testing doesn’t strictly require textbook stimulus words or specialized equipment. As I’ve just demonstrated through experiment, it can be effectively conducted through ordinary conversation. Historical exemplars of judicial wisdom—figures like Ōoka Echizen-no-kami—have unwittingly applied methods that modern psychology would later systematize.”