Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author's Words The protagonist of this story is a demon of the human world—one who could be likened to the Balkan legend of “Vampire.” There are cases where a dead person, once buried, transforms into a demon—wandering out night after night from graveyards, sneaking into homes to suck the living blood of sleeping humans and continuing an unfathomable posthumous existence. This is the legendary Vampire. When a victim awakens while their blood is being sucked, a hair-raising struggle ensues between them and the Vampire; but most do not awaken, having their living blood sucked night after night until they waste away and die. To prevent this supernatural phenomenon, when people excavate a likely grave and open the coffin, they find that the dead transformed into Vampires have grown plump and vibrant, with a healthy complexion and nails and hair longer than at burial—making them instantly recognizable at a glance. When they recognize it as a Vampire, they drive a stake through the corpse—already dead once—to kill it again. At that moment, the Vampire emits an uncanny, anguished shriek and spurts fresh blood as if alive from its eyes, mouth, ears, nostrils, and skin’s pores—finally perishing utterly. Such is the tale.

The life of this demon of the human world—which I intend to chronicle—is none other than a generational account of a “Vampire”: emerging from an unknowable secret lair, it extends pale tentacles to attack beautiful women; those assaulted writhe and wither away under bottomless terror; a gallant amateur detective rescues the pitiful victims and wages a fearsome struggle against the demon; until at last, its true form is exposed, its sorcery stripped away, and it meets a hair-raising end.

(*Hochi Shimbun*, September 26, Showa 5 [1930])

Duel

On the tea table were two wine glasses, each filled to about eighty percent with a liquid as clear as water. They were filled perfectly to eighty percent, as if measured with a precision instrument. The two glasses were completely identical in shape, and their positions were equidistant from the table’s center point to the last fraction—as if aligned with a ruler. Even if there had been a greedy child scrutinizing which glass offered greater advantage, he would never have been able to choose, no matter how long he stared.

The neurotically precise symmetry of the two glasses—from their contents to their shape and positions—was an uncanny sensation.

Now, flanking this table were two large wicker chairs, arranged with equally meticulous order in perfectly symmetrical positions. Upon them sat two men, as primly poised as dolls.

It was the third-floor corridor of Shio no Yu A Inn at Shiobara Hot Springs in early autumn—a time still some way before the crimson leaves would peak. Beyond the open glass doors stretched an unbroken expanse of green; below lay the long roof of the lightning-bolt-shaped corridor leading to the hot spring baths, and beneath the dense canopy of branches, the Shikanuma River’s current flickered in and out of view. The ceaseless roar of rapids—like a brain throbbing into numbness.

The two men had been staying at this inn as spa guests since the end of summer. One was a middle-aged gentleman of thirty-five or thirty-six, with a pale face so elongated it seemed drawn out, and consequently a slender, tall frame. The other was a handsome young man—no, perhaps “beautiful boy” would be more fitting—still only twenty-four or twenty-five years old. To describe him succinctly, he had an intelligent look about him—a face somewhat Japanized from that of the film actor Richard Barthelmess—but was rather a boyish youth. Both men had grown a bit chilly, so they threw on the inn’s dotera over their yukata.

Not only were the two wine glasses uncanny, but the appearance of these two men staring at them was also terribly uncanny. They were desperately trying not to show their inner turmoil, but their faces were pale, their lips bloodless and parched to bone-dryness, their breath ragged—only their eyes, fixed on the glasses, shone with an unnatural gleam. “Now, you’ll choose first.” “Take one of these glasses.” “I followed our agreement and mixed a lethal dose of Jarll into one of these before you arrived here… I am the preparer.” “I have no right to choose the glass.” “Because I cannot say I didn’t leave a mark to prevent you from discerning.”

The older gentleman spoke in a hoarse, low voice, slowly and deliberately to keep his tongue from tripping.

The beautiful young man nodded slightly and extended his right hand over the table. To choose the fateful glass. Two wine glasses that looked exactly the same. Whether the young man’s hand shifted a mere two inches to the right or the left—by nothing more than a fleeting whim of chance—the irreversible fate of life and death would be sealed, beyond all tears or screams. From the pitiful young man’s forehead and the tip of his nose, beads of greasy sweat swiftly oozed out.

His right fingertips clawed futilely at the air, frantically trying to reach for one of the glasses. However, even as his mind raced, his fingertips seemed to refuse to obey. But all the while, the gentleman across from him had to endure even greater suffering than the young man. He knew exactly which one was the “death glass.” As the young man’s fingers wavered left and right, his breathing changed. His heart throbbed irregularly, as if it would burst.

“Hurry up.” The gentleman, unable to endure any longer, shouted. “You’re being cowardly. You’re trying to read which glass it is from my expression.” “That’s cowardly.” When told this, he realized—though unconsciously—that he was shamefully trying to discern the other man’s subtle changes in expression and frantically avoid the poisoned glass.

When he realized this, the young man turned even paler from shame.

“Please close your eyes.” He said，stammering. “You’re the cruel one，watching my fingertips move like that.” “I am afraid of your eyes.” “Please close them．Please close them.” The middle-aged gentleman closed both eyes without a word． Because they had realized that keeping their eyes open would only intensify their mutual suffering． The young man finally came to the time when he had to take one of the glasses． It was the off-season at the hot spring inn，but there were still people around． If he dawdled and someone interfered，it’d be troublesome．

He resolutely thrust out his right hand.

……What a bizarre duel! But in this modern age where the state prohibits such acts, this remained the only permissible means of dueling. Had they resorted to old-fashioned swords or pistols, the victor who felled his opponent would instead face punishment as a murderer. Then it could not be called a duel. Thus was devised this new-era poison duel. They had each properly prepared "suicide" notes in their pockets and agreed that once they drained their respective glasses, they would return to their rooms, crawl into their futons, and silently await the verdict. The suicide notes had been exchanged and confirmed to contain not a single trace of deception.

The two men had encountered a fateful woman at that hot spring inn. They loved with a love that hemorrhaged like blood. For them, this was likely an event that would come but once in their lifetimes. What a maddened love rivalry! Their stay was being extended day by day. And a month passed, yet the outcome remained undecided.

The woman had not been indifferent to either of them. Yet no matter how much time passed, she never showed a clear choice. They had been forced to alternate between sweet self-delusion and heart-rending jealousy nearly every hour. They could no longer endure this torment. If their opponent would not choose, they had no choice but to settle it themselves. One of them withdraw? Such a notion was unthinkable. Then it must be a duel.

Let us engage in a gallant, life-risking duel like knights of old! And thus, the mad pact between the two love-crazed men was sealed. It was no laughing matter—this madness… Mitani Fusao (that being the name of the beautiful youth) finally grasped the glass on the right. He closed his eyes and lifted the cold container from the table. It was irreversible now. He brought the glass to his lips resolutely, as though fearing hesitation. His closed-eyed, pale face jerked upward to stare at the ceiling. The liquid from the glass flowed smoothly between his teeth. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp.

A long silence.

And then, a strange sound began to reach the ears of the young Mitani, who had closed his eyes. Amidst the roar of the valley's rapids, there came a separate, wheezing sound like labored breathing. It was the sound of his opponent's breathing. He startled and opened his eyes. Ah! What is the meaning of this? Okada Michihiko, the middle-aged gentleman, was staring piercingly at the remaining glass with eyes bulging like a monster's. His shoulders heaved unnaturally, his sweaty, sallow nostrils twitched eerily, and his breathing—agonized, death-throe gasps—sounded as though he might collapse unconscious at any moment.

The young Mitani had never seen such a terrible expression of terror since the day he was born. He understood. He understood. He had won; the one he had taken was not the poisoned cup. Okada staggered up from his chair as if to flee, but with a desperate effort, he overcame himself. He collapsed limply into the chair. His sallow cheeks gauntly sunken in an instant. His violent, sob-like breathing. Ah, what a miserable fight this was. But he finally took the poisoned cup.

Little by little, his trembling fingertips drew closer to his parched lips.

Okada Michihiko, the older gentleman, had to take that glass—knowing full well it contained poison—out of a duelist's stubborn pride. But the hand clutching the glass betrayed his desperate resolve, quivering so miserably that the liquid within splattered across the tabletop. The young Mitani, utterly terrified by the liquid he had just swallowed, seemed completely unaware that Okada had drawn the ill-fated lot; even as he watched his opponent's agony, he appeared convinced that the man was trembling before one of two possible misfortunes, just as he himself was.

Okada would repeatedly muster his resolve and bring the glass to his mouth, but each time, it would come to an abrupt halt a mere inch from his lips. It was as though an invisible hand were interfering. “Ah, how cruel!” The young Mitani turned his face away and involuntarily muttered. That mutter ignited the opponent’s animosity. Okada’s face was twisted in agony, but with a final surge of strength, he finally pressed the poisoned cup to his lips. And at that moment—a sharp cry. The clatter of breaking glass. The wine glass slipped from Okada’s hand, struck the veranda’s wooden floor, and shattered into fragments.

“What are you doing?” Okada shouted, panting with rage.

“Oh no, I’ve committed a blunder. “I beg your forgiveness.”

Mitani flushed red around the eyes with some inexplicable pride. What blunder was this? He had intentionally knocked over the opponent’s glass.

“We’re doing this over! We’re doing this over! I refuse to accept favors from some greenhorn like you!” Okada shouted like a petulant child.

“Ah, in that case…” The young man asked back in surprise. “So it was you who drew the bad lot, wasn’t it? The poison was in the cup that just broke, wasn’t it?” When he heard that, an “Oh no!” expression flashed across Okada’s face. “We’re doing this over. There’s no such thing as this idiotic contest. Come on, we’re doing this over.” “You’re a coward,” the young Mitani said with a look of contempt. “By demanding a rematch, you intend to make me take the poisoned cup this time, is that it? If I had known you were such a coward, I wouldn’t have done that…… I couldn’t bear to see your agony. Moreover, I have already drunk the liquid. Whether it was poison or not, the duel has already been decided. If I don’t die even after several hours, then I win; if I die, you win. There was no reason you absolutely had to drink that.”

When considered, it must indeed be so. The purpose of this duel was love, not each other’s lives. Once the duel was decided, there was no need to pointlessly sacrifice the remaining life. Even so, by knocking over his opponent’s cup, the young Mitani had proven himself two or three steps more of a man compared to the one who had been miserably saved. It was a splendid deed, like something straight out of an old knight’s tale. Okada found that mortifying. For him, the older of the two, it must have been an unbearable humiliation.

But he ultimately lacked the courage to insist on a "rematch" and fell silent with an awkward expression. Weighing disgrace against life, he must have found life more precious after all.

At that moment, a clunk sounded from the room at the end of the corridor.

The duelists, absorbed in their contest, had noticed nothing at all; however, there had been a person who, from some time prior, had been eavesdropping on their conversation from behind the sliding door in the adjoining room. That person now left their hiding place and walked into the center of the room.

Yanagihara Shizuko! That was the dazzlingly gorgeous figure of their lover. Yanagihara Shizuko.

Ah, for the sake of this woman, it was by no means unreasonable that thirty-six-year-old Okada Michihiko and twenty-five-year-old Mitani Fusao had conceived of such an extraordinary duel—one unthinkable in this modern age. A plain-patterned, unadorned single-layer garment. A black gauze obi bearing embroidery daringly showy as if defying restraint. A collar of refined yet alluring taste; the fragrance of an eight-pomander sachet. Though her true age was twenty-five, the same as young Mitani’s, her wisdom far surpassed her years, while her beauty and childlike innocence made her appear no older than a maiden under twenty.

“Should I not have come in?”

Despite knowing everything, she tilted her head and curved her petal-like lips into a beautiful shape to ease the awkwardness of the two men stiffly glaring at each other. The two men remained silent for a long time, as though they knew no way to respond. When Okada Michihiko realized Shizuko had witnessed his current state, overwhelmed by layered humiliation, he could no longer remain seated. He stood up abruptly, crossed the room with heavy footsteps, and headed toward the opposite corridor. But at the sliding door where Shizuko had hidden earlier, he turned back to look at the remaining pair—and in an undeniably venomous tone,

“Widow Hatayanagi, this marks our eternal farewell.”

With those strange words, he vanished down the corridor. Who on earth was this "Widow Hatayanagi"? There was no one here besides Yanagihara Shizuko and the young Mitani. But upon hearing that, for some reason, Shizuko's complexion abruptly changed.

“Oh… So he did know after all.” She muttered with a sigh, in a voice so low that the young Mitani could not hear. “Have you heard everything we were discussing here?” Mitani finally regained his composure and awkwardly looked up at the beautiful woman’s face. “Yes, but it wasn’t intentional.” "When I entered here without thinking, that’s how matters unfolded." “I simply... found myself unable to depart.”

Her cheeks too flushed crimson. When she thought that such a commotion had arisen because of her own doing, even though she responded briskly with her words, she could not help but feel ashamed. "You must think this is strange." "No, why would I think such a thing?" Shizuko said solemnly. "I truly felt it was beyond my station." She abruptly cut off her words, pursed her lips into a tight line, and stared off into empty space. She didn't want to show her tearful face. But with the dewdrops of tears that had welled up unbidden, her eyes appeared to blaze fiercely.

Shizuko’s right hand rested softly on the edge of the table. Slender white fingers with dimpled joints. Meticulously cared-for, lovely peach-colored nails. Young Mitani, averting his eyes from his lover’s tears, had been absently gazing at those beautiful fingers when, before he knew it, his face turned deathly pale, and even his breathing grew erratic. ……However, he finally managed to do it. Resolutely, he gripped her white fingers—dimpled at the joints—firmly from above.

Shizuko did not pull back her hand.

The two avoided looking at each other’s faces, devoting their hearts solely to their fingertips as they felt each other’s warm blood for a long time.

“Ah… at last…”

The young man whispered, burning with joy.

Shizuko, her eyes brimming with tears and filled with a distant longing, merely smiled enchantingly without uttering a word.…

At that very moment—ah, what a turn of events. Frantic footsteps echoed through the corridor; the sliding door clattered open; and there jutted into view—the face of Okada Michihiko, who had left mere moments before—now contorted with an eerie murderous glare. Okada Michihiko froze mid-step as he entered, his breath catching at the sight before him. For several seconds stretched taut between them—an awkward staring standoff. From the moment he entered, Okada had kept his right hand buried deep within his dōtera coat’s breast fold. Something lay concealed within that fold.

“I, who just declared our eternal farewell and left—do you understand why I’ve returned?” He twisted his deathly pale face into an ugly grimace and grinned slyly. Mitani and Shizuko, unable to comprehend this madman-like attitude, remained silent. During the eerie silence, Okada’s entire body convulsed violently—twice—with such intensity it startled. But soon, his smiling face gradually transformed into a miserable grimace.

“It’s no good. “I really am a hopeless man.” He muttered in a feeble voice, as if talking to himself, “Please remember. “that I have come here like this for the second time.” “You’ll remember, won’t you?”

No sooner had he spoken than he suddenly spun around and rushed out of the room as if fleeing.

“Did you notice?” Mitani and Shizuko had entered the tatami room before they knew it and were sitting with their bodies pressed tightly together. “That man was holding a dagger inside his breast pocket.” “Ah!” Shizuko pressed closer to the young man with an unsettling air. “Don’t you think that man is pitiable?” “That’s cowardly.” “Wasn’t that man’s endangered life saved through your truly noble resolve?” “And besides…”

Extreme contempt for Okada and, at the same time, boundless reverence for Mitani were vividly apparent in her expression. That knocking over the poisoned glass would leave such an impression was something even Mitani had not anticipated. As they spoke, their hands were once again clasped together. The room had been temporarily used without the inn’s permission—deliberately chosen as the most inconvenient and isolated spot for their bizarre duel—and since it wasn’t assigned to anyone, there was no worry of maids coming to attend to any needs.

The twenty-five-year-old lovers, childishly innocent, forgetting all prudence, were drawn into a world of peach-colored mist and a suffocatingly sweet fragrance. What they had discussed, how much time had passed—none of it, nothing at all, was clear to them. When they suddenly noticed, in the next room, a maid was kneeling formally and calling out.

The two, as if waking from a dream, awkwardly adjusted their postures. "What do you want?"

Mitani asked in an angry voice.

“Ah, Mr. Okada left instructions for me to deliver this to both of you.”

What the maid held out was a square paper package.

“What could it be?… Looks like photographs.” Mitani opened it with mild unease, but as he gazed at its contents for a while, it was not he but Shizuko—peering in from beside him—who let out a strange scream at the overwhelming horror and fled the spot. It was two photographs. One was of a man; one was of a woman. But they were not ordinary photographs. It was only natural that Shizuko had fled. To such an extent that one would think there could be no more gruesome way to kill than this—they were photographs of corpses cruelly hacked and mutilated.

To those accustomed to illustrations in criminology texts, the sight was not particularly unusual, but for Shizuko—a woman—precisely because these were not fabricated images, it held the same nauseating terror as beholding actual mutilated corpses.

Both the man and the woman had received such deep slashes that their necks were nearly severed, the wounds gaping open horribly like mouths. The eyes were opened so wide from terror they seemed ready to burst from their sockets, and from the mouths, a copious amount of jet-black blood had flowed down the chins, staining the chests. “It’s nothing at all.” “That man is playing such a childish prank, isn’t he?”

Because Mitani said this, Shizuko, driven by morbid curiosity, approached again and peered at the ghastly figures. "But there's something strange about this, isn't there? "They're being killed sitting so neatly like this."

When told to look, he realized how strange it was. In photographs of gruesome corpses, it was common for bodies to be sprawled on door planks or such, but this corpse sat properly on a chair like a living doll. Even with its neck slashed, it faced squarely forward. The very unnaturalness made it feel all the more terrifying. Both Mitani and Shizuko felt something ice-cold crawl up their backs in a bone-chilling shudder. As they looked, they felt as if some indescribably sinister thing were slowly seeping out from the photographs.

From behind, stained with wounds and dried blood, they felt something bone-chilling laughing toward them. “Ah! Don’t!” “You mustn’t look.”

Suddenly, Mitani shouted and flipped the photographs over. At last, he realized the horrifying meaning of those photographs.

But it was already too late. "Oh... So it really is...?" Shizuko's face was deathly pale. "That's right... What a hideous monster he is!" In the photographs, those being brutally slaughtered were none other than Mitani and Shizuko. When they recalled—once when the three of them had gone out for a stroll in town with Okada—they had found a photo studio and had taken several pictures: some with all three together, others individually.

At that time, Okada had deftly retouched the photographs they had exchanged with each other, fashioning gruesome corpses. For him, a Western-style painter, such work was a mere trifle. Indeed, with just slight alterations, their faces had completely transformed, revealing a bone-chilling deathly pallor. It was no wonder they hadn't recognized their own likenesses. When they asked where Okada was, it turned out he had said he was going to Tokyo, left all his luggage behind, and hurried off.

When they checked the clock, about two hours had already passed as if in a dream since Okada had left. Ah, what an ill-omened memento it was. They could only hope this overly elaborate prank wasn’t a harbinger of some terrible event.

Man Without Lips

The lovers’ ill-omened premonition was, unfortunately, soon to prove all too true. A terrifying event they could never have imagined occurred.

About half a month had passed since Okada Michihiko left behind those eerie photographs and departed (he had not once returned to Shiobara during that time) when a most bizarre individual checked into the same inn where Mitani and Shizuko were staying.

The calamity struck as though this man were an emissary of the devil—it erupted precisely on the day he arrived at the inn.

It was undoubtedly a coincidence. But one could not help but sense some eerie twist of fate at work.

Since that individual would hold significant relevance to this story long afterward, it was necessary to record the appearance here in some detail.

The autumn leaves began to color, and sightseers were increasing day by day—a season that typically drew crowds. Yet on that day, whether due to the drizzly rain or some ill-omened curse, Shiobara Hot Springs A Inn found itself strangely devoid of guests.

In the evening, a single chartered automobile finally pulled up to the entrance. From inside emerged what appeared at first glance to be a frail, decrepit old man over sixty years old, clinging to the driver’s arm as he stepped down. “A room as far from other guests as possible.”

The old man spoke curtly in a snuffling nasal voice and ascended the entrance step. His legs seemed terribly weak; even while walking down the corridor, he clung to his cane. A lame, snuffling-nosed, eerie guest. However, starting with his tailored haori coat, his attire was quite splendid, so even though he was somewhat disabled, the inn staff treated him with deference. When shown to a downstairs room, before anything else—in unclear words that required repeated clarification—he asked this question.

“Miss, is there a beautiful woman named Yanagihara Shizuko staying here?” When they truthfully answered that she was staying, he pressed them with a barrage of questions in a snuffling voice—where her room was located, what sort of relationship she had with the young man Mitani—and forbade them from telling Shizuko and the others about his inquiries. He tossed out a ten-yen bill as hush money.

“What is that?” “It’s creepy.”

After the old man’s meal had concluded, the maid who had come to clear the tray cornered another maid in the hallway and whispered in hushed tones.

“How old do you think he is?!” “Well, he’s certainly over sixty.” “No—they say he’s actually much younger.”

“But look at that snow-white hair of his!” “That’s exactly why it’s even weirder! And that white hair—who knows if it’s even his real hair. And he’s hiding his eyes with tinted glasses, right? Even in his room, he wears a mask to hide the area around his mouth.” “On top of that, prosthetic hands and legs.” “Yes, yes. His left hand and right leg aren’t his own. Even eating a meal, he struggles with that.”

“That mask—he took it off during meals, didn’t he?” “Yes, he did take it off. Oh, I just shuddered! What do you think was under that mask?” “What was there?” The other maid, shuddering herself, looked around the dimly lit corridor. “There’s nothing there. It’s just red gums and white teeth suddenly exposed. In other words—he has no lips!” It may sound strange to say, but the guest was half a man. In other words, half of his body was not his own.

The most striking feature was his lips, but his nose was grotesquely missing, exposing the raw red interior of his nostrils; his eyebrows utterly absent without a trace, and most unnerving of all—not a single eyelash remained on his upper and lower eyelids. It was only natural that the maids suspected even the white hair on his head was a wig.

Moreover, his left hand was a prosthetic hand, his right leg a prosthetic leg—a man whose only satisfactory part in his entire body was his torso. Later, according to what the man—Hiruta Reizou was his name—volunteered without being asked, during the major earthquake and fire of previous years, he had lost his limbs and suffered burns across his face, and that surviving such grave injuries was a miracle—a fact he seemed rather proud of.

Despite having refused an invitation to bathe earlier, claiming he had caught a cold, this mysterious figure—after the maid had left—descended the long staircase toward the bathhouse in the valley below, his cane and prosthetic leg clunking against the wooden floorboards. Perhaps because he was accustomed to it, he descended briskly, surprisingly without any sign of danger, skillfully adjusting his body’s balance. Upon finishing his descent of the stairs, he emerged onto the bank of the Kanamata River, roaring with a dreadful noise. There stood a gloomy bathhouse constructed of semi-natural rocks.

Thinking he was going to bathe—but no—he stepped out from the corridor into the garden and peered stealthily through the glass window from outside the bathhouse into its interior.

Due to the smoldering drizzle and the hour nearing dusk, the bathhouse interior filled with steam appeared dim and blurred like a scene from a dream. There squirmed two white forms. The young Mitani's sturdy muscles and Yanagihara Shizuko's smooth skin.

Hiruta came down to casually observe the two. He knew they were bathing from the maid’s words. Even in a hot spring bathhouse where men’s and women’s areas were strictly separated, Yanagihara Shizuko was so terrified of the echoing, dimly lit bathhouse—resembling a valley floor and devoid of other bathers—that the young Mitani entered the women’s bathing area himself. Due to the dimness and steam, even their white bodies—not even an arm’s length apart—were barely visible, so neither felt particularly awkward or embarrassed.

The only sound that could be heard was that of the valley stream, swollen by the rain. The bathhouse stood far removed from the main building, and with its structure incorporating natural rocks as they were, it felt as though a stark-naked man and woman—just the two of them—faced each other in solitude within a realm beyond the human world.

“There’s no need to worry about such things.” “It’s just a childish prank.” Mitani spread out into a starfish shape in the bath.

“I can’t see it that way.” “I keep feeling like that person is still prowling around here like a shadow.”

Shizuko’s white body crouched on the bluish-black boulder like a painting. After a while, the young man suddenly noticed it and asked in surprise. “Ah, what are you staring at like that?” “You’re making even me shudder!” “What’s wrong with your eyes?” “Get a hold of yourself.” “Ms. Shizuko.” “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Mitani suddenly grew afraid that his lover might have gone mad and shouted.

“Was I seeing things? Look, something strange was peering in from that window!” A frantic, dreamlike hollow voice answered. Mitani was startled but forced a cheerful tone, “There’s nothing there.” “Only the autumn leaves visible on the mountain beyond.” “You’re acting so strange today…”

He trailed off and then, for some reason, abruptly cut off his words.

At the same moment, Yanagihara Shizuko’s blood-curdling scream echoed through the vast bathhouse.

They saw it. Outside the small window facing the river—though only for an instant—they saw something indescribably terrifying. The creature stood with wild white hair bristling upward, wearing strange black glasses beneath which lay no nose—half its face dominated by a crimson mouth baring sharp white teeth through raw flesh—a monstrosity beyond any earthly being they had ever witnessed. Overwhelmed by terror, Yanagihara Shizuko abandoned all modesty and propriety as she splashed into the bathwater and desperately clung to Mitani’s naked form.

In the beautiful water where the bottom was visible, two mermaids fluttered and entangled themselves. “Let’s escape. Hurry, let’s escape!” One mermaid clung tightly to the neck of the other mermaid, pressing her mouth to its ear as she fearfully whispered. “There’s no need to be afraid.” “It’s just your imagination.” “You must have mistaken it for something else.” Mitani dragged Shizuko—who still clung to him—out of the bath, then rushed to the small window and flung it open with a clatter.

“Look. There’s nothing here.” “We’re just overstraining our nerves.” Urged thus, Shizuko gingerly stretched her neck over the young man’s shoulder and peered out the window.

Immediately below them flowed the bluish-black waters of the Shikamata River. It was precisely at a spot that had become a deep pool—already deep to begin with, compounded by days of rain’s swelling waters, and moreover, within the dusk-filled valley depths—that the river flowing through its bottom appeared all the more dreadful. At that moment, Mitani Fusao felt Shizuko’s skin—pressed flush against his buttocks—suddenly twitch with a spasm.

“What’s that! What’s that!” When he looked at the riverbank she kept staring at and screaming toward, even young Mitani couldn’t help but let out an “Ah!” this time. It was no longer a dream or an illusion. It was the most real, inescapable major incident.

“A drowned corpse.” “There’s no need to be afraid.” “I’ll go check whether there’s any chance of survival. Please wait here.” In the changing room, he quickly put on his kimono and rushed out to the scene through the corridor—whereupon Yanagihara Shizuko followed after him with nothing but an obi. “Ah, it’s completely hopeless. They didn’t jump in today.” Indeed, the drowned corpse was swollen grotesquely like a sumo wrestler. The face was turned downward and couldn’t be seen, but judging by its clothing, it appeared to be a hot-spring guest.

“Oh, this kimono—I recognize it.” “You must also—”

Shizuko’s voice trembled with emotion as she blurted out something strange. The drowned corpse was wearing a thin striped meisen single-layer garment. The striped pattern looked familiar. “It can’t be…”

While doubting his own eyes, Mitani could not rest assured until he confirmed the drowned corpse’s face. He went down to the water’s edge and timidly used his foot to give a firm push to the corpse drifting against the bank. Then, the corpse—as if flipping over like a door panel—spun around and turned face-up. It turned over with such uncanny ease—as if still alive—that he shuddered.

Yanagihara Shizuko fled far away, lacking the courage to look at the drowned corpse’s face. Mitani did look, but the sight was so revolting he couldn’t bear to stare for long. The corpse’s face had bloated grotesquely, its features utterly distorted, and furthermore—perhaps from colliding with a rocky outcrop—nearly the entire visage had been crushed into a mangled mess, so ghastly one couldn’t bear a second glance.

Needless to say, Mitani and Shizuko ran to call the inn staff. There was no need to recount the details of the drowned corpse commotion that ensued. The police came, of course, and people from the court arrived as well. The commotion spread not only through Shio no Yu but across all of Shiobara, and for two or three days, everywhere one turned, that was the rumor.

Despite the face being disfigured, it was confirmed through middle-aged appearance, build, clothing, personal effects, and other factors that the drowned corpse was none other than Okada Michihiko. The investigation revealed it to have been a suicide by drowning. Upstream, there were many famous waterfalls. Okada had jumped into one of those plunge pools and committed suicide. The doctor’s estimation placed the time of death at over ten days prior, so it was likely that on the very day he had left the inn declaring he would go to Tokyo, he had thrown himself into the waterfall basin where he sank, and—due to the prolonged rainfall that had swollen the waters—had finally drifted to the rear of the inn that day.

As for the cause of the suicide, no definitive conclusion had ultimately been reached. Rumors arose that it was apparently a failed love affair. There were also those who claimed Yanagihara Shizuko must have been the other party. But no one knew the truth. Only Shizuko herself and young Mitani knew the truth. It seemed Okada had not first become acquainted with Shizuko when he came to Shiobara. His love had been far more tenacious and profound. The reason he had come to the hot springs may not have been for recuperation but simply out of a desire to approach Yanagihara Shizuko. The extent of his torment could be understood even from his proposal of that madness-driven poison duel.

Given how profound his feelings were and how intense his suffering had been, it was only natural that despair drove him half-crazed. But even as he carried a dagger tucked into his kimono, he lacked the courage to use it. In the end, he had no choice but to take the path of the weak and destroy himself.

The day after the drowned corpse commotion, young Mitani Fusao and Yanagihara Shizuko left this detestable land behind and boarded a train to Tokyo.

Though they remained completely unaware, in another carriage of that same train rode an old man—his hawk-emblazoned collar upturned, hunting cap polished to a shine, face hidden behind black glasses and a mask. The Man Without Lips! It was Hiruta Reizou. Ah, what manner of connection could this sinister figure—from the very beginning—have had with Mitani and Shizuko?

Now, dear readers, the above constitutes what might be called the prologue of our story.

From this point onward, the stage shifted to Tokyo. And thus, the curtain on a crime incident stranger than any in the world was finally about to be raised.

The Boy Shigeru

Mitani and Shizuko continued their pleasant rendezvous, arranging a meeting place once every three days even after returning to Tokyo.

Mitani, having just graduated from school and yet to secure stable employment, was living in a boarding house sustained by his parents’ remittances, while Yanagihara Shizuko appeared to have circumstances she found difficult to disclose—keeping even her address ambiguous—so they refrained from visiting each other. But as time passed, their passion showed no signs of waning; rather, it grew increasingly intense, making it impossible for them to maintain such an ambiguous state indefinitely. “Ms. Shizuko, I can no longer endure these criminal-like secret meetings.” “Please clarify your circumstances.” “What exactly is this ‘Widow Hatayanagi’ matter?”

One day, Mitani brought up the question he had repeated many times since Shiobara, with the resolve that today was the day. "Widow Hatayanagi" was another name for Yanagihara Shizuko—one that the deceased Okada Michihiko had inadvertently let slip.

“Why am I so cowardly? It must be because I’m terrified you’ll cast me aside.” Yanagihara Shizuko laughed as if joking, yet her voice carried a tearful quality. “No matter what your past entails, that alone won’t alter my feelings. What truly bothers me is how this situation makes me feel like your plaything.” “Oh...”

Shizuko let out a sorrowful sigh and remained silent for a while, but then suddenly adopted a strange, desperate tone and blurted out bluntly. “I’m a widow.” “I’ve long since imagined that.” “And I’m a millionaire.”

“……”

“And I have a six-year-old child.”

“…………” “See? You must be feeling repelled now.” Young Mitani, at a loss for what to say, remained silent. “I’ll lose everything.” “Please listen.” “Ah, why don’t you come to my house right now?” “And won’t you see my dear boy?” “That’s perfect! That’s perfect!” Shizuko stood up unsteadily—her cheeks unnaturally flushed from agitation, tears streaming unnoticed down her face—and without waiting for the young man’s response, pressed the call bell on the pillar.

Before long, the two of them—unable to make sense of anything, gripped by a madness-like state—were seated side by side on the car cushions. Mitani, as if to say, “Would something like that change my heart?” silently gripped Shizuko’s hand tightly.

They both remained completely silent. But in their minds, an arabesque of tangled thoughts was spinning like a pinwheel.

In about thirty minutes, the car arrived at its destination. Before the two who had alighted lay a wide stone pavement, granite gateposts, a latticed iron gate tightly shut, and an unbroken concrete wall stretching onward.

On the gatepost’s nameplate was inscribed, as expected, "Hatayanagi."

The room they were shown into was a spacious Western-style parlor, subdued yet lavishly decorated.

The large armchair wasn’t uncomfortable. Directly across from Mitani’s chair stood a plush sofa, and there, slumped against the rounded armrest with a gaudy-patterned velvet cushion at her back, was Shizuko’s faintly perfumed figure. The boy in Western clothes—adorable as he leaned his elbows on Shizuko’s knees and stretched his legs across the sofa—was the late Mr. Hatayanagi’s posthumous child: Shizuko’s own son, Shigeru. Against the faded leather sofa’s backrest lay Shizuko’s pallid face, the garish cushion, and young Shigeru’s apple-red cheeks. It looked like a beautiful painting titled “Mother and Child.”

Mitani looked up from the two of them and gazed at the framed, enlarged photograph hanging on the wall above their heads. He was a man around forty with an unpleasant face. “This is the late Hatayanagi.” “I shouldn’t have kept such a thing hanging here.” Shizuko solemnly offered an apology. “And then… Shigeru too.” “Would this child too be an eyesore to you, just like Hatayanagi?” “No, absolutely not.” “Who could possibly dislike such an adorable Shigeru?” “And he’s the spitting image of you.”

“And I’m sure Shigeru likes me too. Right? Isn’t that so?” As he said this, Mitani took the boy’s hand, and Shigeru smiled sweetly and nodded. Outside the window, even in this garden’s courtyard, maple leaves were coloring crimson while sunlight filtered softly through evergreen thickets—a pale-hued moment tinged with melancholy sweetness like a half-remembered dream.

Shizuko, caressing Shigeru’s cheek, suddenly began recounting her life story, but given the nature of the surrounding scene, even that took on an eerie tale-like quality. However, to transcribe her life story verbatim here would prove far too tedious; I will confine myself to briefly noting only those parts relevant to this narrative. At eighteen, Shizuko—having lost her parents and perhaps due to being raised by distant relatives—was a girl possessed of an unusually intense attachment to money and the honors it could procure.

She fell in love. But she discarded that love like a pair of worn-out shoes and married the millionaire Hatayanagi.

Hatayanagi was much older. His features were ugly. Moreover, he was a scoundrel who thought only of slipping through legal nets for profit. Yet Yanagihara Shizuko loved Hatayanagi. The money he procured for her - this she loved even more than Hatayanagi himself.

But even Hatayanagi, with his formidable streak of ill fortune, could not escape retribution forever. He failed to slip through the legal net, was charged with a horrific crime, and had to become a prisoner of the jailhouse. While Yanagihara Shizuko and Shigeru spent over a year living in lonely obscurity, Hatayanagi—who had fallen ill in prison—finally passed away in its infirmary. Neither Hatayanagi nor Yanagihara Shizuko had relatives pressing them for inheritance distribution, yet suitors drawn by the vast fortune and the still-young widow’s beauty appeared one after another. Weary of the incessant nuisance and repulsed by their wealth-driven proposals, she entrusted Shigeru to a kind nurse and set out alone under a pseudonym for a carefree hot spring convalescence—

There, the young man Mitani, who happened to be staying at the same inn, developed intense feelings for her without knowing a single thing about her background. Even that was admirable enough, but then there was his inexplicably manly demeanor during the poison duel. For Shizuko as well, her beginning to harbor feelings for the young man Mitani was by no means a coincidence. “Have you come to fully understand just how greedy, fickle, and unworthy a woman I am?” Shizuko, having finished her lengthy confession, wore a resigned smile on her slightly flushed cheeks.

“What kind of person was that first poor lover?” “You haven’t truly forgotten him, have you?”

Mitani’s tone contained a somewhat indescribable, uncanny quality.

“I was deceived by that person.” “At first, he said all the right things—promising to make me happy—yet I never became happy at all.” “That person wasn’t just poor; he had a repulsive, dreadful nature.” “But though he loved me, the more he did so, the more utterly loathsome it became—it made my stomach turn.” “You truly don’t know where that person is now or what he’s doing, do you?”

“Yes, it’s a story from eight years ago, you know.” “Moreover, I was still just a child at the time.” Mitani stood up silently, walked over to the window, and gazed outside.

“So… this is your way of cutting me off, then?” He continued to gaze outside as he spoke in an expressionless tone. “Oh!” Shizuko exclaimed in surprise.

“Why would you say such a thing? It’s just that… keeping my true circumstances hidden from you became too painful. I—a wife of a criminal who died in prison, with a child no less—grew terrified to go on being with you like this.” “With all that said, do you truly believe we can part ways now?”

From Shizuko’s perspective, it could be said that precisely because they could not part, she revealed her circumstances. He should not be someone who failed to understand that. She too stood up and walked over, standing beside Mitani to look out the window. In the beautiful lawn where slightly reddish sunlight cast long shadows from the standing trees, Shigeru—who had slipped out of the room unnoticed—could be seen playing with his beloved dog Siguma, nearly twice his size. “Just like the child, you too bear no guilt.” “Because of that, my feelings toward you have not changed.” “But more than that, your wealth terrifies me.” “Just like your first love, I too am nothing but a poor student.”

“Oh!” Shizuko placed her hand on Mitani’s shoulder and gazed so closely at his face that their cheeks nearly touched, smiling with such beauty it seemed she might exclaim, “Oh, how wonderful!”

Just then, from outside the estate wall came the vulgar sound of flute and drum music. The first to notice it was Siguma. He appeared uneasy, swiveling his ears as he stared in that direction. Lured by the dog's demeanor, Shigeru too pricked up his ears to listen.

No sooner had the music stopped near the gate than the faint, grating voice of the street performer began to be heard.

Mitani and Shizuko saw Shigeru suddenly run out toward the gate. Siguma too ran alongside his master, now lagging behind, now darting ahead. Outside the gate, a street performer of bizarre appearance was bellowing the confectionery shop’s advertising slogans in rapid succession.

On his chest was a drum, and on top of it was a box with samples of sweets lined up. His kimono was a clownish Japanese-Western hybrid costume—a chaotic patchwork of yuzen and merino fabrics. On his head, he wore a papier-mâché comic doll’s head twice the size of a normal face, its black cave-like mouth booming out a grating voice. The street performer’s voice—perhaps because he was completely encased in the doll’s head—sounded oddly nasal, like a cheap phonograph, to the point of being nearly unintelligible.

But regardless of meaning, the song-like cadence was amusing, and what’s more, drawn by the novelty of such an outlandish figure, Shigeru dashed out the gate and found himself approaching the street performer. “Young master, look, I’ll give you this candy.” “Go on, eat up.” “Candy so delicious it’ll tear your cheeks off—irresistibly tasty!” Shaking the papier-mâché face in a comical tone, he offered the sample sweets atop the drum. Shigeru, thinking the kind man was like Santa Claus, happily accepted the candy and, though not particularly hungry, promptly brought it to his mouth out of novelty.

“It’s delicious, right? Now then, this old man’s gonna beat the drum, play the flute, and sing you the most hilarious song you’ve ever heard!”

Huee-huee, boom-boom. The oversized comical face spun round and round atop his shoulders. The yuzen-merino clown costume began dancing comically—jerkily, jerkily—like a marionette.

While dancing, the street performer gradually moved away from the gate of the Hatayanagi residence. Shigeru, overwhelmed by the sheer amusement, unwittingly lost himself and followed along after him like a sleepwalker.

At the front was the dancing street performer, followed by Shigeru in his adorable Western-style outfit. And trailing behind them was Siguma, like a calf. A most mysterious procession walked on and on endlessly through the desolate mansion district.

Unaware of this, Yanagihara Shizuko remained in the parlor. Even though the street performer’s music had gradually faded into the distance and finally become inaudible, Shigeru still had not returned no matter how much time passed, and she suddenly began to worry. She called the maid and had her search the front gate area, but it was said that not only Shigeru but even their beloved dog Siguma had vanished without a trace. It had an undeniably ominous feel. Shizuko, Mitani, and the servants turned pale and searched every corner of the estate, inside and out, but there was no trace of them anywhere.

At that moment, Wet Nurse O-Nami, who had been out on an errand, returned and burst into tears of apology, adding to the commotion.

They had never imagined he might have been taken by the street performer, but seeing that he couldn’t be found despite such an exhaustive search, everyone’s thoughts settled on the possibility of kidnapping.

Whether to report it to the police or wait a little longer—as they wavered indecisively, time marched on mercilessly. As night fell and the outdoors darkened, their anxiety only grew. In the endless darkness where Shigeru wandered crying his mother’s name—Yanagihara Shizuko could almost see his pitiful figure and hear his sorrowful voice, leaving her unable to stay still or remain standing. After some time, as Yanagihara Shizuko and the others had gathered in the parlor exchanging uneasy glances, a student rushed in with a deathly pale face in panic.

“It’s definitely a kidnapping.” “Siguma has returned.” “He fought loyally for the young master until he was this badly injured.” When they looked outside the door the student pointed to, Siguma—resembling a calf—lay limply, his entire body soaked in blood, emitting a mournful whine. Huff-huff—a frantic panting. A limp, dangling tongue; eyes that kept spasming white. Gruesome wounds gaping open in several places.

The moment Yanagihara Shizuko saw the crimson form sprawled in the corridor—associating it with her precious child suffering the same fate somewhere distant—she felt a dizzying faintness and barely managed to keep from collapsing. To her, the blood-drenched Siguma’s pitiful gasping kept appearing as young Shigeru’s writhing figure no matter how long she stared. The Hatayanagi household had an elderly man named Saitou who served in a steward-like role, but due to his unfortunate absence, Mitani made the call to the police in his stead, explained the situation, and requested a search for Shigeru.

From the police came the reply that an officer on duty would be dispatched, and just as he was about to hang up after completing the call, the clamorous bell rang out once more. Mitani, still at the desk telephone, pressed the receiver to his ear again and exchanged a few words when his face turned deathly pale.

“Who is it?” “Where from?”

Yanagihara Shizuko asked with a worried, panting breath.

Mitani pressed his hand over the mouthpiece and turned around, but was visibly struggling with indecision. "Is something worrying you?" "Never mind that—please speak quickly."

Shizuko pressed. “I’m certain I recognize it.” “It’s not an impostor.” “Your child himself has come to the phone.” “But……”

“What? What did you say?” “Is Shigeru on the phone?” “But that child still doesn’t even know how to place a call properly.” “...But I’ll listen. I know his voice best.” Shizuko rushed over and snatched the receiver from Mitani’s hesitating hand. “Can you hear me? It’s Mother. Is that you, Shigeru? Where are you?” “I... I don’t know where...” “I don’t... There’s a scary man here... Making a terrible face... He won’t say anything...”

The voice cut off abruptly. It seemed the frightening man had suddenly covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. “Oh—it really is Shigeru.” “Shigeru… Shigeru…” “Come now—speak quickly to Mother.” “I’m your mother.”

When she kept calling out patiently, after a while, Shigeru’s faltering voice was heard again. “Mother… please take me back… I’m… tomorrow… at twelve midnight… behind the library in Ueno Park… now.”

“Oh, you—what are you saying? There’s a villain beside you making you say such things.” “Shigeru.” “Just one word—just one word will do—please tell me where you are now.” “Come on, where are you?” But the boy’s voice, as if deaf, ignored Shizuko’s words and was speaking unchildlike, terrifying things. “If Mother brings 100,000 yen in bills there, I can return.” “100,000 yen in bills.” “It has to be Mother. Otherwise, I can’t return.”

“I understand, I understand.” “Shigeru, stay calm. I’ll definitely save you.” “If you tell the police, we’ll kill your child.”

Ah, how dreadful!

Could it be that “your child” referred to Shigeru Shounen himself—the very boy speaking? “Now, change your ways.” “If you don’t change your ways, this child will suffer.” Before those words could finish, a child’s sorrowful wail—Waah!—rang out.

Demonic Passion

What a cruel and heartless deed! Crimes involving the kidnapping of boys and girls to extort ransom were often heard of, but forcing the kidnapped boy himself to utter threats, making them listen to his heartrending cries, and seeking to gouge out the mother's heart—this was an unprecedented demonic stratagem. But for Shizuko, rather than condemning the demonic deeds, her mind and heart were in such turmoil over Shigeru's unspeakably terrifying predicament—uttering those chilling threats over the phone—that she had no room to think. Clinging to the receiver in a semi-frantic state, she strained not to lose the voice on the other end.

“Shigeru. Don’t cry.” “Mother will listen to anything you say.” “I don’t care about money.” “I agree.” “Yes, tell the person there that I agree. But in return—without fail—please return Shigeru to me.”

In response, from the receiver came a child’s faltering voice—utterly devoid of emotion, as if reciting from memory. “There’s no mistake here. If you change even one thing from before on your end, we’ll kill Shigeru.”

And then, with a click, the phone went dead.

No matter how young a six-year-old child he was, he must have understood the terror of the words he was forced to utter. The demonic threat that had made him speak those words in such an emotionless tone—how intense it must have been! The mere thought made one’s hair stand on end. At the scene where Mitani—along with the wet nurse O-nami and maids—was attempting to console Yanagihara Shizuko, who lay collapsed weeping before the telephone, the judicial chief inspector from Kojimachi Police Station soon arrived accompanied by one plainclothes officer.

“It’s a common tactic—well, there’s no need to prepare actual money. Just bring a newspaper-wrapped bundle or something like that and go to the designated spot regardless.” “Then you exchange it for the child.” “The police will handle the rest smoothly.” “Of course, we will apprehend the culprit.” “However, if we were to go from the very beginning, the culprit would be on guard and flee. Therefore, you must adhere to their demands and make it appear as though you’ve brought the money alone without police assistance.” “I once lured a culprit using this method and successfully arrested them.”

The Judicial Chief Inspector stated this as if it were nothing.

“However, since the culprit will likely check the money on the spot—if they realize it’s counterfeit—wouldn’t they do something violent to the child?” When Mitani asked anxiously, the police officer smiled and,

“We’ll be right there with you.” “We’ll station several constables near the site, and in case of emergency, they’ll rush out from all directions and apprehend the culprit without allowing any argument.” “Moreover, since the child remains valuable merchandise to the culprit, even should this plan fail, they will never harm him.” “To be frank, ransom demands belong to an antiquated era of crime—anyone attempting such a stunt nowadays must be an exceptionally dimwitted bandit.” “Furthermore, one might say there have been almost no successful cases using this method to date.”

In the end, it was decided that night to station seven or eight plainclothes detectives under the shade of trees near the site beforehand, while ostensibly Yanagihara Shizuko would go alone to retrieve Shigeru; however, Mitani—overly concerned for her circumstances—proposed an even more eccentric plan. “Ms. Shizuko, please lend me your kimono.” “I will disguise myself as you and go.” “I have experience playing female roles in student theater.” “Even a wig can be easily procured.” “In the pitch-black forest, I’ll manage to fool them.” “Moreover, if I go myself, I’ll bring Shigeru back by force if needed.” “Please let me do this.” “Sending you feels far too dangerous.”

Although there were opposing opinions saying it wasn’t necessary to go that far, in the end, Mitani’s fervent wish was accepted, and he became Shizuko’s substitute. That night, Mitani applied meticulous makeup to his beardless face, donned a wig, wore Yanagihara Shizuko’s kimono, and cross-dressed for the first time since his student theater days. He was emboldened by this strange adventure and appeared to feel no small interest in the cross-dressing itself. As one would expect from having proposed it himself, his cross-dressing was so skillfully executed that it could only be mistaken for a real woman.

“I will definitely bring Shigeru back.” “Please wait here reassured.” As he was about to depart, he comforted Shizuko with those words—but at that moment, as they exchanged glances, both clad in women’s attire, who could have foreseen that this would become a long separation?

Mitani, in women’s attire, got off the automobile at the foot of the mountain, passed through the mountain grounds, and arrived at the darkness behind the library just a little before the appointed time of twelve o’clock.

Though the police box was not far off and Sakuragi-cho’s residential district lay just within sight, that corner was unnervingly pitch-dark, as if one had stepped into a deep forest. Where were the detectives hiding? True to their profession, even Mitani—who knew they were there—could detect no sign of them. While keeping watch in all directions, he stood in the darkness for a while when a rustling sound of grass being trodden reached him, and two faintly visible black shadows—one large and one small—drew near. The smaller one was indeed a child. The opponent had kept their promise and had likely brought Shigeru.

“Shigeru’s mother, is it?” A black shadow called out in a whisper. “Yes.”

The other answered in a womanly whisper. “You haven’t forgotten the promised thing, have ya?” “Yes.” “Then hand it over.” “Ah—is that Shigeru over there?” “Shigeru dear, come here.” “Hey! Not so fast—it’s an exchange for what we agreed on.” “Come on—hand it over now!”

Gradually, as he grew accustomed to the darkness, the figure of his opponent became faintly visible. The man was dressed in a short coat and workman’s trousers, his face wrapped in black cloth. The child, in his adorable Western-style outfit, was unmistakably Shigeru. It seemed the boy had undergone quite severe abuse; even upon seeing his mother, he did not utter a sound, remaining gripped by the man at the shoulder as he shrank into himself. “It’s exactly 100,000 yen—ten bundles of 100-yen bills.”

Mitani presented the bulky newspaper-wrapped bundle. Even so, it was an exorbitant sum of money. Even for the sake of a beloved child, handing over such an exorbitant sum so readily was a bit strange. Would the man truly trust and accept it?

However, even the thief seemed somewhat deranged; upon receiving the bundle, he made no attempt to inspect it, released the child, and abruptly fled into the darkness.

“Shigeru dear. “It’s Uncle.” “I’m Uncle, here to pick you up in place of Mother.” As Mitani was pulling the boy close and whispering such things, from the direction where the thief had fled came an eerie scream accompanied by the sound of something thudding heavily against a tree trunk. “Got him!” “We caught the thief!”

One of the detectives who had been hiding in the shade of the trees effortlessly captured the villain. A "Wah!"-like cry arose from all directions; the sound of people running. The detectives lying in ambush all rushed in that direction.

The apprehension was disappointingly simple. The group of detectives, grabbing the end of the thief’s rope, took him directly under the streetlight standing a short distance away in order to see his face. Mitani also took the boy by the hand and followed from behind, but when he caught a glimpse of the boy’s face under the bright electric light, he let out an odd cry of “Ah!” for some reason. As the readers may have imagined, the boy Mitani had retrieved bore no resemblance whatsoever to Shigeru. It was an unfamiliar child wearing Shigeru’s Western-style clothes.

But even if Shigeru was an imposter, the thief himself had been captured. The child could be retrieved at any time.

Mitani led the unfamiliar boy and approached the group of detectives surrounding the thief.

However, what was this? There, hadn’t something truly bizarre occurred as well?

“Hey, I didn’t know it was nothin’ bad. I just got greedy for the ten yen and did what he told me to do.” “I don’t know nothin’. I ain’t involved!”

The man had removed his mask and was profusely making excuses. "I know this guy." "This guy's a novice parent beggar camping out in these mountains." "The one dressed in those Western clothes is this guy's kid."

One detective corroborated the man’s statement. “So you were supposed to take the money in exchange for the fake child and bring it to that man waiting somewhere—the one who hired you—right?”

Another detective glared at the beggar and roared.

“Nah, I wasn’t told nothin’ about takin’ any money. He just said if a woman brought a square package, I should grab it and toss it somewhere.” “Hmm, strange. So the thief knew full well the money bundle was newspaper.” An uncanny feeling crept in—like being tricked by a fox. “You remember his face, don’tcha? What’d he look like?” Another detective pressed.

“I don’t know about that. He wore big black glasses and a mask, and on top of that, he held his coat sleeve over his face while he spoke…” Ah! This getup!

The reader had likely been reminded of a certain person by this point. "Hmph. So he wore a short workman's coat?" "Well, he was wearin' a brand-new, high-quality one." "Age?" "I ain't sure, but he was 'bout sixty, I reckon."

The detectives took this beggar with a child to the police station and interrogated him even more harshly, but they learned nothing beyond what they had already heard at Ueno Park.

Mitani, who had even gone so far as to cross-dress and boldly headed out, was left with an excruciatingly awkward feeling. He hastily bid farewell to the detectives, escaped into a passing taxi, and returned to the Hatayanagi household.

When he returned, an even more astonishing event awaited him.

“Madam left a short while ago due to a letter from you.”

It was the student servant’s words. “A letter? I don’t remember writing anything like that, but if that letter is still here, please show it to me.”

Mitani, his chest throbbing from intense anxiety, shouted.

The letter the student servant had retrieved was an ordinary envelope without any distinguishing marks and ordinary stationery, skillfully imitating Mitani’s penmanship, with the following written upon it: Ms. Shizuko:

Please get into this car and come at once. Shigeru has been injured and was just carried into the hospital. Please hurry here.

At Ueno, Kitagawa Hospital, Mitani.

Upon reading it, Mitani turned deathly pale, suddenly rushed into the telephone booth by the entrance, and frantically called the police station. The Kitagawa mentioned in the letter was a real hospital, but it was perfectly clear that Shizuko had not gone there. Poor her—where could she be now, and what kind of terrible ordeal was she experiencing? Shizuko, shocked by the forged letter and in a frantic state, hadn’t noticed at all where or how the car she was riding in had been moving; but when it stopped and she got out, she found herself in a completely unfamiliar, desolate town where there was no sign of anything resembling a hospital.

“Driver, isn’t this the wrong place? Where is the hospital?” By the time Shizuko asked in surprise, the driver and his assistant had already alighted on either side and seized her arms. “The hospital you mentioned must be some kind of mistake. The young master is here in this house.” The driver, nonchalantly telling a blatant lie, forcefully pulled Shizuko along. Passing through a small gate and opening a pitch-black lattice door, they stepped up to what seemed to be an entrance step. They passed through two or three rooms without light, descended an odd staircase, and found themselves in a small, damp, earthy room.

Only a small lantern was lit, making it hard to see clearly, but the concrete walls—devoid of pillars or any features—the reddish-brown thin flooring, all gave the unmistakable impression of an underground dungeon. The incident happened so abruptly that there wasn’t even a moment to consider crying out for help. “Shigeru? Where is my child?” Even as Shizuko realized she had been deceived, she couldn’t bring herself to give up entirely and blurted out futile words.

“You’ll get to see the Young Master soon enough.” “Just stay quiet and wait here.” The drivers left the room with arrogant finality—the clang of a heavy door slamming shut, the metallic click of a lock engaging. “Well, what do you intend to do with me?” Shizuko rushed to the door while screaming, but it was already too late. However she pushed or pounded, the thick wooden panel refused to yield.

On the hard, cold thin flooring, she collapsed and remained still—the relentless night air closing in, the indescribable silence of the underground cellar, like a graveyard. As Shizuko calmed down, her own terrifying circumstances became clear. Her mind was so consumed with Shigeru that she had no time to consider her own peril, yet she found it rather strange how she had been lured into this place so easily.

Suddenly noticing something, she strained her ears and heard a child’s crying voice coming from somewhere above. In the profound stillness of the night, a lonely weeping voice faltered and resumed, thin and intermittent. It seemed that a young child was being beaten. How could I mistake the voice of my beloved child? That was unmistakably Shigeru’s crying voice. If that weren’t the case, it couldn’t possibly strike my heart so piercingly. “Shigeru. You... you are Shigeru, aren’t you?” Yanagihara Shizuko could no longer endure it and involuntarily let out a high-pitched scream.

“Shigeru. Answer me. Your mother is right here.” “Answer me.” “Your mother is right here!” Her voice—shamelessly and heedless of appearances, screaming madly—must have finally reached him, for in an instant, the crying ceased abruptly, only to be replaced by a piercing wail that echoed with heightened intensity, as if being torn apart. The tone sounded as though it were calling *Mother! Mother!*

Amidst this, an eerie crack-crack sound—Ah, poor child, he was being whipped.

But during that time, something far more terrifying than Shigeru’s cries was stealthily drawing near to her.

At the top of the door through which the drivers had left was a small peephole, its cover now slowly beginning to open. As the pitiful child's cries had quieted somewhat, her attention—which had been fixed on the ceiling—dissipated, and at that very moment her eyes caught the uncanny transformation occurring across the door's surface. Shizuko stared transfixed as the peephole gradually widened inch by inch. The lantern's reddish-brown light faintly illuminated the door's surface when—as if from nowhere—a thread-like black slit appeared. It gradually curved into a crescent shape until finally resolving into a gaping pitch-black hole.

Someone had come to spy. “Please let me see Shigeru.” “Please don’t hurt him.” “In return, I’ll endure anything you do to me.”

Shizuko screamed with all her might. “Do you truly mean you’ll endure anything?” A voice answered—terribly muffled and booming, perhaps distorted by the door. The tone felt so unnervingly eerie that she found herself completely unable to speak her next words. “If you insist this much, I might let you meet Shigeru after all—but those words of yours had better not be lies.”

No sooner had the voice—still barely intelligible—sounded than a face abruptly appeared in the round peephole.

The moment she saw it, Shizuko—overwhelmed by terror—let out a stifled "Hee—", a sound neither cry nor scream, covered her eyes with her sleeve, and collapsed facedown. Because the indescribably terrifying apparition she had once seen at Shiobara Hot Springs had appeared there once again. A face entirely drawn taut, a nose red and collapsed, long teeth bared in a lipless mouth—a grotesquely ugly monster, unthinkable as anything of this world. Before long, she felt a cold draft sweep across the collar of her prostrate form. The door must have been opened.

Ah, step by step, he was drawing closer. The moment she realized this, terror gripped her so utterly that she could neither stay nor flee—her body froze stiff, leaving her unable to even lift her face, let alone stand up. It was the feeling of being tormented by nightmares. Although Shizuko did not see it, the one who opened the door and entered was a grotesque figure cloaked in a black mantle that concealed not only his body but his face as well. Yet from the mantle’s bulky drape and the glimpses of bare skin through its gaps, it appeared he wore nothing beneath—only the mantle thrown directly over his nakedness.

The man assumed a posture as if looming over Yanagihara Shizuko and, once again in an indistinct voice, “I’ll test whether your words are true or lies right now.” As he said this, he lightly tapped Yanagihara Shizuko’s back, but in doing so, his left wrist brushed against her cheek. Yanagihara Shizuko felt a fear—a chill that stopped her heart—at the touch of his wrist, hard and cold like porcelain. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to us? Tell me your reason!”

Yanagihara Shizuko raised her face, contorted in desperate frenzy, and shouted in a shrill voice.

When had the lantern been blown out? The room was now plunged into true darkness. The monster’s whereabouts could only barely be discerned by its grotesque breathing sounds.

The man remained ominously silent.

In the darkness, something blacker than black writhed faintly, and an abominable breath drew gradually, ever closer, until she could feel its approach.

Before long, hot breath brushed her cheek—fingers crawled over her shoulder… “What are you doing?”

Yanagihara Shizuko brushed off the hand on her shoulder and stood up. No matter how frightened she was, she was no young girl. She would not simply submit. “Trying to run away? But there’s no escape route.” “Go ahead and scream if you want.” “But this is a cellar in the depths of the earth.” “No one will come to save you.” An indistinct voice venomously spat out words as it closed in relentlessly on her fleeing form. It was a ghastly game of cat and mouse in the darkness.

Yanagihara Shizuko tripped over something and collapsed. The monster pinned her down, trying to subdue her. Neither could see the other’s face—a battle of touch in the darkness. The mere thought of that lipless face—a raw red membrane—nearly touching her cheek filled Yanagihara Shizuko with such terror that her vision began to dim. “Help me! Help me!” Pinned down, she screamed in a faltering voice. “Don’t you want to see Shigeru?” “If you want to see him, you’d better behave.”

But Yanagihara Shizuko did not stop resisting.

Like a cornered mouse lunging at a cat instead, with that ghastly, desperate strength, she tried to thrust her opponent down. When she realized this was impossible—shameful as it was—she suddenly sank her teeth into the opponent’s fingertip where it touched her mouth and refused to let go. The monster let out a scream. “Let go! Let go!” “Damn you! Let go, or else…” Just then, from above the ceiling came once again Shigeru’s anguished sobs.

Crack, crack—the cruel sound of a whip rang out. “Strike, strike! More! Strike harder!” “I don’t care if the brat dies!”

An indistinct, chilling scream—like a curse—burst from the monster’s mouth. “Do you understand? As long as you resist, I won’t stop beating the brat. The harder you fight back, the more your child will suffer the agony of death!” Faced with this threat, even she could no longer keep her teeth clamped on the finger she was biting. And when her strength finally gave out—strangely enough—the crying from above fell silent.

Once again，the slimy tentacles of the monster lunged at her. Shuddering，she stiffened her body and repelled the attack that lunged at her— A bloodcurdling scream—

Rising—the child’s scream, the crack of a whip.

Ah, I realized—the monster was directing his accomplice upstairs through some means. He made him torture or stop at will, manipulating the pace and intensity freely—turning it into a weapon to torment Yanagihara Shizuko.

If I resisted—however indirectly—it meant tormenting my beloved child, as though demanding his death. Ah, what should I do? Such a cruel instrument of torture could not exist elsewhere in this world. Yanagihara Shizuko burst into loud sobs like a child. All wisdom and discretion had been exhausted.

“You’ve finally given in, haven’t you? Fuh-fuh-fuh… It had to end this way. All that squirming’s just wasted effort.”

Unbearable pressure. The tempestuous sound of breathing roaring in her ears. Scalding breath... In that instant, Yanagihara Shizuko felt an indescribable turmoil. For she had a faint memory of the body odor emanating from the thing now pressing down on her. He’s by no means a stranger. Far from it—he was a man she had once been intimately close to.

When she realized it was someone she knew, she shuddered even more intensely. That it teetered on memory's brink yet remained maddeningly unreachable proved profoundly unnerving.

Strange Visitor

The day after Shigeru was kidnapped and Yanagihara Shizuko went missing, a strange visitor came to the masterless Hatayanagi household. Mitani had temporarily returned to his lodgings, and after the relatives who had rushed over upon hearing of the incident had also left, the mansion remained with only Steward Saitou and the servants. The police were of course devoting their full efforts to searching for both individuals’ whereabouts, but with no leads to speak of—it was like grasping at clouds—there was no reason to expect good news to arrive abruptly.

Needless to say, they had investigated Kitagawa Hospital, which was mentioned in the fake summons letter, but as expected, it had just been discovered that the hospital had no connection whatsoever to the incident.

A strange visitor arrived that evening, and since he claimed to have confidential matters to discuss regarding the recent incident, Steward Saitou had him shown to the parlor and met with him. The visitor was a thirty-five or six-year-old man wearing a business suit, unremarkable in any particular way, who introduced himself as Ogawa Shouichi. But even as Saitou pressed him, Ogawa still would not broach the main topic. He kept repeating trivial small talk endlessly. Losing patience, he used a get-well call from an acquaintance of Yanagihara Shizuko as an excuse to step away briefly—a decision that proved disastrous.

When the old man returned to the parlor and looked around, the guest who had introduced himself as Ogawa was nowhere to be seen. When he asked the student stationed at the entrance whether he had left, there was no indication of his departure. The most conclusive evidence lay in his shoes still being removed. There was no conceivable reason he would leave barefoot.

Since it was during an incident and there was an unsettling aspect about it, the old man ordered all the servants to thoroughly search every room.

Then, they discovered that the door to the Western-style room on the second floor—which had been the late master Mr. Hatayanagi’s study—was locked from the inside and would not open.

That couldn’t be right. Since it was strange, they searched for the key, but recalling that door required no special locking, they remembered the key had been kept in the desk drawer inside the room. Presumably, someone had entered the study and used the drawer key to lock it from within.

When they pressed their eyes to the keyhole, sure enough, it appeared that a key had been inserted from the other side—the hole was blocked, and nothing could be seen.

“There’s no choice.” “Let’s set up a ladder from the garden and look through the window.” Thus it was decided, and they all moved to the garden, where a student received orders, set up a ladder, and climbed up to the second-floor window.

Since it was already twilight, the room viewed through the glass appeared as if shrouded in thick fog, making it quite difficult to discern anything clearly.

The student pressed his face against the glass and peered in endlessly. “Try opening the window.”

From below, Steward Saitou called out.

“It won’t open,” “it must be locked from inside.” The student said this but nevertheless tried pushing up on account of prudence—to his surprise—the glass-paned door slid smoothly open without any resistance whatsoever.

“Huh, that’s strange.”

Muttering to himself, the student straddled the window and disappeared into the room.

When viewed from below, the window through which the student had entered gaped open blackly like a giant monster’s mouth, exuding an uncanny aura. The group below, trembling with a kind of foreboding, strained their ears and stayed silent in turn.

After a while, from the gaping black window came an indescribable scream—a bloodcurdling “GYAAH!” as though someone were being strangled to death. When they heard the burly student let out a wretched scream—like the honk of a goose—Steward Saitou and the others shuddered at the thought of what horrors might be unfolding inside, lacking even the courage to climb the ladder. “Hey! What happened?!”

From below, another student bellowed loudly. For a while, there was no response, but eventually, the student’s face appeared dimly white in the pitch-black second-floor window that looked like a monster’s mouth. He brought his right hand up to his face and stared at his fingers like a nearsighted person. Why was he engaging in such an absurd act? While they were still processing this thought, he suddenly began waving his right hand around like a madman and blurted out something strange.

“Blood, blood, blood! Blood is flowing!” “Blood is flowing.”

“What are you saying? Are you injured?” Steward Saitou asked impatiently. “No. Someone has collapsed there. Their whole body is soaked through. They’re covered in blood.” The student answered in a flustered stammer.

“What? You’re saying a blood-covered person has collapsed there? Who is it? Isn’t it the earlier guest? Hurry up and turn on the light! What are you dawdling for?”

Bellowing, the resolute old man began climbing the ladder. The student followed behind him. The women gathered in a cluster beneath the ladder, exchanging pale glances while maintaining their silence. When the old man and student had clambered through the window, the lights had already been lit, revealing the room's horrifying sight at a glance. The late Mr. Hatayanagi had been an antique enthusiast who lined his study with aged Buddhist statues, and even after his passing, they all remained exactly as they were.

At the feet of a grotesque jet-black Buddhist statue—its arms spread wide as if barring the way, unrecognizable as any known Buddha—lay a man in Western clothes, drenched in blood. It was indeed the man who had introduced himself as Ogawa—the earlier guest.

The face was half-stained with blood—an expression of death throes and agony. The white shirt’s chest bore copious bloodstains. Fingers clawed at empty air.

The old man and the two students stood frozen, unable to speak for some time, but eventually, one of the students muttered with a baffled expression. “This is strange. Where did the culprit come from, and where did they escape to?”

The door to the room remained locked from the inside. Although the window wasn’t latched, unless one were an acrobat, it would be impossible to enter or exit through this high second-floor window. But what was even stranger were the actions of the man who had called himself Ogawa. Why had this stranger come up to the second-floor study without permission? Moreover, having even locked the door from the inside—what could he have been doing? As for the perpetrator, the victim’s identity, and the murder motive—all were utterly unknown.

This was the first murder incident in this story. But what a senseless, utterly baffling murder incident it was!

Steward Saitou did not touch the corpse at all and, first of all, decided to inform the police.

One of the students opened the door and ran to the telephone room.

The two who remained behind had the maids in the garden remove the ladder, closed the window and fastened the latch, locked the door from the outside, and withdrew downstairs. In other words, from that point on, Ogawa’s corpse remained completely sealed inside the study for some time.

About thirty minutes later, officials were dispatched from the Kōjimachi Police and the Metropolitan Police Department. When they saw that among their number was Inspector Tsunekawa from the investigative division—known as the famous detective—it became clear that the authorities were taking the series of strange incidents at the Hatayanagi residence quite seriously.

The police officers, after hearing the general circumstances from Steward Saitou, decided to first inspect the scene and, guided by the old man, went up to the second-floor study. "I took utmost care not to disturb anything in the room." "We did not move the corpse or touch a single item, of course." "We merely glimpsed that ghastly body before retreating in haste."

Steward Saitou said such things as he turned the key and opened the door. The people, imagining the bloody scene, hesitated slightly before peering into the room. Because the electric lights had been left on, they could see every corner of the room at a glance.

“Hmm, isn’t this the wrong room?”

The first to step inside was the judicial officer from Kōjimachi Police Station, who muttered in bewilderment and turned to face the old man. It was an oddly bizarre question.

The group, finding it strange, proceeded to enter the room one after another. “What?!”

Even Saitou Roujin, their guide, let out a shrill scream. The corpse from earlier had vanished without a trace.

There was no mistaking the room. The blood-drenched man had been sprawled before that black Buddhist statue. No other room contained such an icon. The old steward rushed to the windows in panic, examining the latches of both sealed panes—yet found nothing amiss. An impossibility had transpired. The corpse could only have dissolved into air or melted away—no rational explanation remained.

The old man wore a face like he’d been tricked by a fox while restlessly scanning his surroundings— “It couldn’t be that all three of us shared the same dream! Besides myself, those two students clearly witnessed the corpse.”

he apologized profusely, as if the disappearance of the corpse were his own blunder.

Inspector Tsunekawa asked the old man where the corpse had lain and examined the carpet there. “You were not dreaming. “Here—there was a clear bloodstain.” He pointed to the spot on the carpet.

Because the carpet’s pattern was a murky black, it wasn’t noticeable at a glance, but when touched, a red substance still clung to one’s fingertips. The police officers, struck by this utterly bizarre incident with intense professional tension, divided their efforts to thoroughly search both the interior and exterior of the room but found nothing noteworthy.

“Please gather all the servants.” “There might be something they saw.”

In response to Inspector Tsunekawa’s request, all the servants were summoned and gathered in the downstairs parlor. Two live-in students, Wet Nurse Onami, and two maids. “Oki isn’t here. Does anyone know where she went?”

Steward Saitou noticed and inquired. The maid Oki was nowhere to be seen. “If you’re asking about Miss Oki,” one of the maids remembered and answered, “she went out to the garden earlier after hearing Sigma bark fiercely—said she’d check on the doghouse. But that was quite some time ago.” Since his recent injury, Sigma had been treated and kept tied at the garden doghouse. Oki had always doted on this dog—hearing its cries must have drawn her out to comfort the ailing animal.

Acting on Saitou Roujin’s orders, one of the live-in students went out to search for Oki in the back garden where the doghouse was located, but after some time came running back to the parlor screaming something.

“Something terrible has happened! Oki has been killed! She’s collapsed in the garden! Please hurry and come here!”

Upon hearing this, the police officers, startled, followed the student to the back garden. “Look! There it is!” When they looked where the student pointed, there on the lawn of the garden, quite some distance from the doghouse, lay a woman on her back, illuminated by the pale moonlight.

Sorcery Illuminated by the moonlight, the one who had collapsed was the maid Oki. Had the unfathomable murderer swiftly claimed a second victim? While the live-in student, creeped out, was hesitating, Inspector Tsunekawa, accustomed to such incidents, swiftly rushed to Oki’s side, lifted her upper body, and called her name loudly.

“It’s all right. Please rest assured. This person has no injuries anywhere. She’s only just fainted.” At Inspector Tsunekawa’s words, everyone sighed in relief and closely surrounded the maid.

Oki, who had finally regained consciousness, looked around her surroundings for a while, then seemed to remember something, and her pale, beautiful face assumed an indescribable expression of terror. “Look... It was there. He was peering out from within that thicket.” When she—her face a mask of terror—pointed with trembling fingertips toward the pitch-black grove’s shadow, even the burly police officers felt a chill run down their spines, as if cold water had been poured down their collars.

“Who was it? Who was peering?” Inspector Tsunekawa urgently pressed. “That... that... Ahh, I was so scared...” Pale moonlight, a pitch-black grove, the shadow of something monstrous. To speak of what she had seen at that terrifying scene was too dreadful. “There’s nothing to fear. There are so many of us here. Please tell me quickly—it’s crucial for the investigation.” Inspector Tsunekawa sensed an inevitable connection between Ogawa’s missing corpse and what Oki had witnessed.

Pressed, Oki finally began to speak. Because Sigma was barking so much—thinking his wound might be hurting and feeling sorry for him—I went to check on him by the doghouse. But true to his nature as a fierce dog, he wasn’t barking from pain. Had he spotted something suspicious? From afar, he was glaring at that shadowy grove mentioned earlier—since Sigma remained tied to his doghouse—and barking valiantly. Oki instinctively peered through the thicket the dog was fixated on. Then,

“Ahh, even remembering it makes me shudder. There was a terrifying thing there—something I’d never seen in all my life.” “It was human, then?” “Yes... but it might not have been human. Like a skeleton from a picture, with long teeth fully bared—a smooth, featureless face without nose or lips, and eyes bulging perfectly round.” “Ha ha ha ha! You’re so terrified of nonsense you must’ve seen a phantom. How could such a monster even exist?!”

The clueless police officers dismissed Oki’s words with a laugh, but before their laughter could fade, Sigma’s terrifying growl rang out once more. “Look! It’s barking again.” “Ahh, I’m scared!” “Couldn’t he still be hiding there in that darkness?” Oki, terrified, clung to Inspector Tsunekawa.

“This is odd... Have someone inspect that area as a precaution.”

The Judicial Officer ordered his subordinate patrolman. And then, just as a patrolman was about to step into the grove. "Wa... wa... wa... wahahahaha!"

With a scream-like cry that defied description, Oki buried her face in Inspector Tsunekawa’s chest. She saw the monster again.

“There—on the wall!”

At the patrolman’s voice, the gaze of the group converged on the patch of sky diagonally beyond the grove. There it was—there it was. On top of the high concrete wall, crouching and staring fixedly this way—the monster. Half-lit by the moon, its grinning face was exactly as Oki had described—a living skeleton. If this monster were Ogawa’s killer, it should be carrying the victim’s corpse—yet here it was, unencumbered and alone. So, had it already hidden the corpse somewhere?

But whether this guy was the killer or not—what with his grotesque face and being a suspicious character prowling another’s estate at midnight—they couldn’t let him escape unapprehended. “Hey, stop!”

The police officers, shouting in unison, rushed to the base of the wall.

The monster—posing like a mischievous child taunting “Come get me”—let out a sinister “khee-khee” before vanishing to the other side of the wall. Some scaled the wall, others circled around the gate, and Inspector Tsunekawa along with two police officers gave chase to the monster. Only the judicial officer from Kōjimachi remained within the estate to continue conducting interrogations. When they went outside the wall, under the moonlight they could clearly see the figure of the monster—wearing a black bird-hunting cap and a short black cloak flipped open—running about another block ahead through the mansion district devoid of pedestrians.

Dear readers, you are already aware that this monster’s left hand and right leg were prosthetic. With that disabled body, without even using a cane, he ran on and on—lumbering and stumbling in the same manner as when he had once descended the long stepped ladder at Shioyu Hot Springs. Even a prosthetic leg, once accustomed to, was not to be underestimated. The police officers ran gripping their swords. Tangled shadows, chaotic footsteps. A moonlit manhunt. The monster ran toward the nearby main street. It was still early evening; assuming that emerging onto the bustling avenue would lead to immediate capture had been a grave miscalculation.

At the corner they had turned, a single automobile lay in wait; no sooner had the figure of the monster vanished into it than the car immediately sped off. An empty taxi approached from straight ahead. Inspector Tsunekawa promptly called out to stop it and had the police officers board,

“Chase that car! I’ll double the fare!” he shouted.

Turning off the bustling main street into a desolate side road, the monster’s car veered through one lonely street after another, swerving wildly as it raced ahead.

Unfortunately, the pursuers were stuck with a dilapidated automobile—the most ill-suited choice possible. They had absolutely no power to overtake their quarry. They could barely manage to keep up without losing sight. Moreover, the police boxes they had been relying on were skillfully avoided by the monster as it deftly steered clear of them.

After driving from Jingu Gaien through Aoyama Cemetery for some time, they reached a desolate street lined with nothing but the high walls of mansions—where the car ahead came to an abrupt halt, and suddenly a black cloak darted out. The monster ran into a narrow alley.

In unison, the police officers got out of the car and rushed into the same alley. It was a narrow alleyway flanked on both sides by high concrete walls about ten feet tall. As far as the eye could see, for about a block’s length, there wasn’t a single gate—only walls stretching straight ahead. “Hey, this is weird! “Where did he hide? There’s not a shadow or shape of him anywhere!”

No sooner had a patrolman turned into the alley than he cried out in shock. A most bizarre incident occurred. From the moment the monster dashed into the alley until the police officers reached the corner was a mere few dozen seconds—not enough time for even the swiftest runner to get through the entire passageway. The moonlight was as bright as day; there wasn’t a single place to hide oneself. No—what was even more certain was the pedestrian sauntering this way from the far end of the alley just now. He appeared to be a local resident—strolling hatless in casual kimono—but his carefree demeanor made it seem impossible he had just encountered the monster.

“Hey! Did you see a guy running your way just now?” When a patrolman called out loudly, the man stopped in surprise, but— “No, no one came by,” he replied. The police officers, making strange faces, looked up at the high concrete walls on both sides. Without any handholds, it was impossible to climb the ten-foot-high wall. Moreover, though the police officers didn’t know it, a one-legged monster with a prosthetic limb couldn’t possibly perform such a feat.

Even if its form was terrifying, as long as it remained visible before their eyes, things were still manageable. When they realized that it had vanished like smoke under the pale moonlight, a sudden chill ran down their spines. It was sorcery. Demonic sorcery. But in this modern age, could such an absurd thing exist? “Ah, you there—wait a moment!” Inspector Tsunekawa called out to stop a passerby who was about to pass by.

He had thought of something truly bizarre—that the monster might have changed its appearance in an instant, disguised itself as a pedestrian, and slipped away nonchalantly. "Huh? Is there something you need?" The man turned around as if startled. The inspector peered unceremoniously into his face, but of course, it was a young man with well-featured looks bearing no resemblance to the monster. From his physique to his clothing, there was not a single point of resemblance. First of all, as evidence that this young man wasn't the monster: both his left hand and right leg were intact, with no prosthetic devices attached.

No—there was even more conclusive evidence. For when Inspector Tsunekawa, as a precaution, asked the man his name, he gave a truly unexpected answer. “Me? My name is Mitani Fusao.”

Upon hearing this, a patrolman from Kojimachi Station who was part of the pursuit exclaimed in surprise.

"Ah, so it was Mr. Mitani. Do you live around here?" "Yes, I’m staying just up ahead at Aoyama Apartments." "This person is an acquaintance of the Hatayanagi family—you know, that Mr. Mitani who disguised himself as Mrs. Hatayanagi and went to retrieve the child during the Ueno Park incident the other day." The patrolman recognized the young man and introduced him to the group. Inspector Tsunekawa had also heard Mitani’s name. "Today as well, I was at the Hatayanagi residence until evening and have only just returned home to finish my meal and bath." "Even so, you all are still involved in the Hatayanagi case…"

“That’s correct. There’s been another bizarre murder case, and we’ve cornered the monster suspected to be the culprit here, but…”

Inspector Tsunekawa briefly explained the particulars. “Ah, as for that monster—Ms. Shizuko once saw its figure at Shiobara Hot Springs.” “So that really wasn’t a hallucination after all.” “There’s no doubt it’s been involved in this case from the very beginning.”

“Hoh, so that had occurred?” “Then we must capture that monster all the more urgently.” “But how in blazes did it disappear? We haven’t the faintest notion.”

“No.” “I have an idea about that.”

Mitani looked up at one of the concrete walls and changed his tone. "There is a strange house beyond this wall." "Since I often pass through this area, I've been keeping an eye on it—it always appears locked up like an empty house, yet sometimes in the middle of the night, light leaks out. It's truly an odd place." "There are even those who claim to have heard weeping and shrieking voices, to the point where the neighborhood calls it the monster house." "Could it be that the monster somehow scaled this wall and slipped into what they now call the monster house?" "Might that place not be a den of villains?"

In hindsight, the police officers' chance encounter with young Mitani outside the wall was the end of the devil's luck.

At any rate, they decided to investigate the monster house Mitani had described. Leaving one patrolman stationed at the wall as a precaution, they—with young Mitani leading the way—detoured around to the front entrance of the house: Inspector Tsunekawa, another patrolman, and Mitani himself.

Mansions with similar gate designs - stand-alone structures of modest size - stood lined up in a row. The monster house occupied one end of this lineup. The gate stood wide open.

The three entered through the gate without hesitation, and when they pulled open the lattice door of the entrance, it opened with a rattle, offering no resistance.

Inside was pitch black. Even when they called out, no one came out.

Indeed, it was a strange house. Though it was still early evening, what recklessness this was! If this were truly a den of villains, that would make it all the more brazen. Or was leaving it gaping open like this part of some deeper scheme? After all, they couldn’t simply charge in blindly. As the group hesitated in the entranceway, a faint sound of choked sobbing drifted from somewhere deep within.

“Someone is crying.” “It sounds like a child.” Inspector Tsunekawa pricked up his ears. “Ah, that voice—could it be Shigeru Hatayanagi?”

Mitani suddenly noticed and whispered. "Shigeru?" "That's Mrs. Hatayanagi's child, isn't it?" "That's right." "If this is indeed the culprit's residence, then both the child and Mrs. Hatayanagi must be confined somewhere in this house... Let's force our way in." Inspector Tsunekawa resolved to take improvised measures. "You go outside the gate and arrest anyone who tries to flee."

He ordered the patrolman beside him and, together with Mitani, ascended the entrance steps. They groped their way through room after room in pitch darkness, but there was no sign of anyone. They resolutely decided to split up and go through each room one by one, turning on the electric lights. Inspector Tsunekawa finally stepped into the innermost parlor last, but since every room, every single one, was empty, he assumed this one would be just another vacant space and casually twisted the switch—!

In the blink of an eye, a black wind-like entity crossed the room and darted into one of the corridors. “Th-The villain!”

At the inspector’s voice, the suspicious man stepped over the threshold and whirled around. That face! It was that skeleton-like bastard who had been laughing atop Hatayanagi’s wall. The Man Without Lips.

“Mitani, it’s him! He ran that way! Catch him!” Inspector Tsunekawa shouted as he rushed into the corridor and chased after the monster. “Where? Where?”

Mitani’s voice was heard from the dead-end room in the corridor.

A figure dashed out. Inspector Tsunekawa collided with young Mitani in the middle of the corridor. "That skeleton-like bastard. Didn't you pass by him?" "No, no one came to this room."

The monster indeed turned left down the corridor. In that direction lay only the room from which Mitani had emerged... The monster vanished completely once again in an instant.

It was the devil’s sorcery yet again!

The two of them walked around from room to room like madmen. Every sliding door was thrown open; cupboards and closets—every conceivable hiding place—even the corners of the toilet were searched.

The wooden shutters had been tightly sealed, so there was no worry of anyone escaping through them. If they tried to flee, there would be noise, and undoing the latch would take time.

After searching in vain, the two stood rooted in a certain room, exchanging glances for a while, when suddenly Mitani’s face turned pale and he whispered.

“Listen—can you hear? That’s definitely a child’s crying.” From somewhere drifted a languid weeping sound—faint and fainter still. The two men strained their ears, muffled their footsteps, and crept forward guided by the whimpers.

“It seems like it’s coming from the kitchen area.” Mitani said as he walked in that direction.

But when they had checked the kitchen earlier, there had been nothing unusual. The lights had also been left on since then.

“That can’t be right.” While Inspector Tsunekawa was hesitating, Mitani had already stepped over the kitchen threshold. At the same moment came an extraordinary scream—“Ah!” When Inspector Tsunekawa hurried over in surprise, he found Mitani standing frozen, deathly pale and staring at a corner of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” Cutting off the inspector’s questioning voice, Mitani answered in a whisper so faint it was barely audible. “That’s him. “He took off this floorboard and crawled under the floor.”

The kitchen’s wooden floor had a lift-up lid for storing charcoal—the usual kind. Inspector Tsunekawa bravely rushed over and lifted the lift-up lid to look. “Ah! A basement!”

Under the board was, unexpectedly, a concrete staircase. That section alone was box-like, cut off from the rest of the space under the floor, so the monster could not escape outside. He must have gone down to the basement. He was already a rat in a trap. The two of them cautiously descended the pitch-dark staircase. Leading the way, Inspector Tsunekawa gripped the hilt of his sword. At the bottom of the stairs was a door, its gap leaking a faint light. When they saw how suddenly louder the crying had grown, they knew the child was indeed beyond this door.

Somehow, the key had been left inserted in the keyhole. Inspector Tsunekawa swiftly turned it and opened the door. The two of them, shielded by the door, peered into the room. At the same moment, cries of surprise and joy erupted from both outside and within. In the room, illuminated by the faint lantern light, Yanagihara Shizuko and Shigeru were embracing each other. Mitani Fusao rushed in; Yanagihara Shizuko clung to him. But Inspector Tsunekawa, paying no heed to this emotional scene, wore a dissatisfied expression and glanced around the room restlessly. The crucial culprit was nowhere to be seen.

Outside the staircase they had just descended, there were no exits anywhere. The monster that had clearly fled here once again vanished without a trace. When they asked Shizuko, she said the thief had brought Shigeru to this room last night and left, never showing his face again. Shigeru had been crying out of hunger from not being fed all day and terror. Inspector Tsunekawa removed the lantern from the wall and checked the staircase from top to bottom, but there were no hidden doors or escape routes anywhere.

In the end, they had succeeded in recovering the kidnapped Hatayanagi mother and child, but the arrest of the culprit had ended in complete failure. When they questioned the two police officers stationed at the front gate and outside the rear wall, they were told that no one had left the house. They kept the watchmen at their posts, summoned additional officers via a nearby telephone, and conducted an exhaustive search from that night through the following day—not only throughout the mansion grounds but even scouring the neighboring gardens down to the last corner—yet naturally they could not find the culprit, nor even a single footprint.

How had the monster, a disfigured cripple, managed to scale a ten-foot concrete wall? (There were no utility poles or trees nearby that could serve as footholds.) And when he had been cornered by Inspector Tsunekawa and Mitani inside the mansion, where could he have hidden himself in an instant? There were no such hiding places at all. Furthermore, how could the monster that had clearly vanished into the basement not have been there? All of it was an utterly unsolvable mystery.

The Famous Detective

The uncanny occurrences were not limited to the Man Without Lips having vanished thrice at the mysterious house in Aoyama.

On that same evening—who exactly was Ogawa Shouichi who had suddenly visited the Hatayanagi residence? Why had he entered the late Mr. Hatayanagi’s study without permission and locked it from the inside? And who had killed him? How had the culprit managed to escape from a room locked from within?

Even more baffling than all these mysteries was this strangest of strange occurrences: why had Ogawa's blood-soaked corpse, which had been lying fallen in the study, been carried out—by whom, and to where? Inspector Tsunekawa considered that the Man Without Lips was Ogawa’s killer and that this fiend had carried the corpse out from the study and hidden it somewhere—indeed, if that sorcerer were responsible, he might well have accomplished this impossibility. But where had he hidden the corpse? When that bastard escaped over the Hatayanagi family’s wall, he was completely alone. Thus, though the corpse should have been hidden somewhere within the mansion grounds, the judicial officer from Kōjimachi who remained afterward thoroughly searched every nook and cranny—both indoors and out—yet failed to discover not only the corpse itself but even anything resembling a clue. One had to call it truly mysterious.

Be that as it may, thanks to Inspector Tsunekawa’s efforts, they had safely recovered Hatayanagi Shizuko and the boy Shigeru—a blessing above all else. When they returned to the mansion, Shigeru developed a fever from terror and exhaustion and took to his bed. Shizuko, too, could not forget the indescribably repulsive appearance of the Man Without Lips or the slimy sensation of his gums. For a couple of days, she shut herself in a room, scarcely showing her face to anyone out of shame and frustration.

Inspector Tsunekawa questioned both of them thoroughly about matters that should have served as leads in the criminal investigation, but ultimately nothing beyond what the reader already knew was discovered. As for the person who had whipped Shigeru, nothing could be ascertained beyond "a man with his face wrapped in black cloth." Young Mitani came to visit every day. When he did not come of his own accord, Yanagihara Shizuko would grow too impatient and summon him by telephone. Even among relatives, there was no one close enough to intervene directly, and Saitou Roujin—though an honest and good-natured old man—proved useless in such circumstances. O-Nami the wet nurse was a talkative, honest, tearful woman devoid of other merits. Setting aside romantic considerations, Yanagihara Shizuko ultimately had no one to rely upon but young Mitani.

A couple of days passed without any particular incidents. But it was unthinkable that the demon, having had its prey snatched away, would simply lick its wounds and retreat. Before long, inexplicably strange things began occurring around Yanagihara Shizuko once more. She noticed the monster’s face stealthily peering at her—sometimes at her bedroom window, sometimes in the mirror of her dressing room, and even from behind the door of the parlor. No one could figure out where he was coming from or how he was getting in, nor when he was making his escape. Even when the housemen gave chase as swiftly as they could, they were never able to catch him.

The police had exhausted all means in their search for the culprit, but even the esteemed Inspector Tsunekawa found himself nearly powerless against this sorcerer. Mitani, unable to bear watching his lover grow more emaciated day by day, finally devised a last-resort plan one day.

He obtained Yanagihara Shizuko’s agreement and visited the “Kaika Apartments” in Ochanomizu. There lived the famous amateur detective Akechi Kogoro.

Mitani had not only heard rumors about this famous detective through newspaper articles but also had the means to obtain a letter of introduction. When he visited, fortunately, the famous detective had all his related cases settled and was safely idle, so Mitani was gladly welcomed.

The amateur detective Akechi Kogoro had rented three front-facing rooms on the second floor of the Kaika Apartments, using them as both a residence and an office. When Mitani knocked on the door, a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy with apple-like cheeks, wearing a high-collared uniform, appeared to answer it. He was the famous detective’s young apprentice. Even to readers well-acquainted with Akechi Kogoro, this boy was making his first appearance; but beyond that, the detective agency had gained another peculiar assistant. Ms. Fumiyo—a beautiful young woman.

The circumstances of how this beautiful detective assistant had come to be there, the nature of her relationship with Akechi, and other such details were thoroughly documented in a detective story titled *The Magician*. However, Mitani—having heard rumors beforehand—could recognize at a glance that this was the famous amateur detective’s renowned lover. Akechi was leaning against the large armchair in the parlor, puffing on his favorite Egyptian cigarette, Figaro. Beyond that purple smokescreen were his famous tangled mop of hair, a beardless face with an oddly charming, almost Eurasian appearance, and yet sharp eyes.

The beautiful Ms. Fumiyo flipped the hem of her well-suited Western-style dress and cheerfully entertained her guest. Her birdlike cheerful laughter filled the solemn detective office with an atmosphere as vibrant as a newlywed’s home.

Mitani sipped the tea Ms. Fumiyo had prepared and recounted in detail everything that had happened since Shiobara Hot Springs, withholding nothing. “Everything is utterly incomprehensible.” “Impossible things are happening everywhere.” “I cannot believe in something like sorcery.” “Moreover, these are all matters that can only be interpreted as sorcery—there’s simply no other explanation.” Mitani said sullenly.

“Ingenious crimes always appear like sorcery.” Akechi had been listening to Mitani’s account with a peculiar smile constantly playing on his lips but at last spoke. “By the way—who do you think that Man Without Lips is?” “Do you both truly have no idea at all?”

Akechi asked in a tone that seemed to see through what lay hidden in the depths of the other’s heart. “Ah—could it be that you too have noticed that?”

Mitani flashed a look of terror, his eyes searching Akechi’s expression as he spoke. “To tell the truth, I haven’t spoken of this to anyone yet, but I harbor a dreadful suspicion.” “Even if I try to brush it away, that nightmare-like suspicion clings stubbornly to a corner of my mind and won’t leave.” He went that far, then suddenly fell silent and looked around. Fumiyo had also withdrawn to the adjacent room, leaving just the host and guest in the parlor.

“There’s no one listening.” “And what is this suspicion of yours?” Akechi urged him on. “Well, for example...” Mitani, with a somewhat hesitant look, said, “How many days would it take for severely burned skin—from sulfuric acid or something—to heal?” “Wouldn’t half a month be sufficient?”

“That’s right. About half a month would be sufficient.” Akechi answered in a tone that seemed to find it irresistibly amusing for some reason. “Then, a certain terrifying conjecture becomes possible.” Mitani continued speaking with a pale face. “At first glance, the culprit behind Shigeru’s kidnapping and ransom demand appears motivated by money, but in reality, I believe financial gain is secondary—their primary objective was to obtain Shigeru’s mother.” “As proof of that, even then, there was a condition that the ransom had to be delivered by Shizuko herself.”

“I see, I see.”

Akechi, greatly intrigued, nodded in agreement.

“By the way, that monster-like man appeared at Shiobara Hot Springs exactly half a month after Okada Michihiko—the one I mentioned earlier—left the inn.”

Mitani lowered his voice and spoke in a resolute tone. “But didn’t Okada throw himself into the waterfall basin and commit suicide out of heartbreak?”

“That’s what the world believes.” “However, Okada’s corpse wasn’t discovered until over ten days after his death, and it was merely settled based on surface-level consistencies—his clothing, belongings, approximate age, and physical build.”

“Ah—so the face… its skin had already broken down by then?”

Akechi placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “That’s correct. As it flowed down the river, having collided with rocky edges, the face had become almost entirely red and bald.”

“So, in other words, your theory is that the corpse that flowed down the river was someone else wearing Okada’s clothes, and the real Okada survived after being doused with sulfuric acid or something, giving him a monster-like face—is that what you’re saying?” “Moreover, he disguised his intact limbs as prosthetics and assumed the identity of a fictitious person with no legal existence—so to speak. Having become a demon of unrequited love, he achieved his devilish love.” “That’s a psychology beyond common comprehension.”

Akechi tilted his head and muttered as if to himself. "That’s because you don’t know the man called Okada." "He’s a lunatic." "His profession was that of a painter, but artists—those sorts have inexplicable feelings beyond our imagination." Mitani recounted that Okada, upon leaving the inn, had fabricated photographs of Mitani and Shizuko as corpses and left them behind.

Akechi listened in silence. “His love was terrifying in its intensity.” “It was also Okada who challenged me to the poison duel.” “But that’s not all.” “That guy’s behavior during his month-long stay at the hot spring inn—how he stalked Ms. Shizuko—was so deranged that even remembering it sends chills down my spine.” “He seemed like a beast driven solely by lust.” “I can only conclude that man had been in love with Ms. Shizuko long before, and deliberately followed her to that hot spring solely to create an opportunity to approach her.”

Mitani, burning with hatred, continued speaking feverishly. “But the bastard’s objective isn’t merely to get his hands on Ms. Shizuko. For him to go through the trouble of preparing a fake corpse, enduring such hardship—even burning his face—just to vanish from this world… there must be a deeper scheme at play.” “For example, something like revenge?” “That’s right. When I think of that, it terrifies me so much that greasy sweat oozes out all over my body. The bastard is trying to take revenge on me. He is trying to exact revenge without any reason.”

However, it later became clear that Okada Michihiko was not merely scheming evils far more terrifying than Mitani had imagined—he was an utterly depraved demon. “The reason I came to consult you is not only to resent the extreme humiliation inflicted on Ms. Shizuko but also because I was terrified of that revenge.” “That bastard is the devil incarnate.” “You may find this laughable, but I saw it with my own eyes.” “That bastard’s inexplicable disappearance—there’s no way to explain it except as sorcery, don’t you agree?” “He seems like an extremely eerie creature—one that has strayed into this world from some entirely different realm.”

“Do you know Okada’s former address?”

When Mitani’s story reached a lull, Akechi inquired.

“I received a business card at the hot spring.” “Anyway, I seem to recall it being somewhere around Shibuya, but much further out in the suburbs.” “You still haven’t checked there yet, have you?” Ah, right—there was the option of investigating Okada’s former address. Mitani felt a twinge of shame at his oversight. “No—I suppose I’ll have to go there eventually as well.” Akechi said with a smile. “However, first and foremost, I want to see the current thieves’ den. “How your so-called sorcery was performed.” “If we investigate that, it naturally follows that the thief’s true identity will be revealed.”

“If it’s not inconvenient, would you be so kind as to go to Aoyama immediately?”

Mitani looked up at the famous detective. Akechi found this case extremely intriguing; without putting on any airs, he promptly agreed to accompany him.

However, just as they were about to depart, a very ill-omened incident occurred. As Akechi was preparing to go out and had just finished leaving instructions with Ms. Fumiyo about matters during his absence, Mitani—who had stepped out into the corridor ahead of him—discovered a single sealed letter peeking out from beneath the door’s gap. Someone must have silently slipped it in.

“Ah, it looks like a letter.” He picked it up and handed it to Akechi.

“I wonder who it’s from. I don’t recognize this handwriting at all.”

Akechi muttered to himself as he broke the seal and read through the letter. As he read on, an uncanny smile began to form on his face.

“Mr. Mitani. The thief already knows that you came here.” Akechi said this and held out the letter, which bore the following terrifying message.

“Akechi, you’ve finally decided to enter the fray, I see. This gives me something truly worth working toward. But mark my words—I’m not like those petty villains you’ve handled before. As proof, I already know you’ve just taken on this case.” “Then that bastard was eavesdropping outside our door?” Mitani turned pale.

“Eavesdropping would be impossible. I never speak loudly enough to be heard outside the door, and you were keeping your voice very low too. The thief likely followed you here, confirmed your entry, and discerned that I had taken on this case.”

“Then that bastard might still be lurking around here.” “And isn’t it possible he might start following us again?” The more Mitani worried, the more Akechi smiled reassuringly. “If he comes tailing us, it’s actually advantageous.” “Since it would save us the trouble of searching for his whereabouts.” He led the way encouragingly and got into the taxi waiting at the entrance.

On the way to the mysterious house in Aoyama, they kept watching the rear window constantly, but could not discover any automobiles tailing them. Could it be that the thief had anticipated their destination and was already lying in wait? Dangerous. Dangerous. Wasn't it an overly reckless act to charge into that monster-infested house unarmed with just two people? The two of them abandoned their car a short distance away and walked toward the mysterious house, bathed in the mild sunlight of a late autumn day.

The closed gate had a formidable lock hanging on it, perhaps installed by the police. Bathed in the harsh light of day, the mysterious house appeared utterly ordinary—nothing more than an empty building.

“Without a key, we can’t get in.”

Mitani looked at the lock.

“Let’s go around to the back—to the part of the wall where the thief disappeared.” Akechi had already started walking in that direction.

“But there’s absolutely no way we can get in from the back,” Mitani insisted. “There’s no rear gate, and besides, the wall is far too high.” “Yet the thief did enter from there,” Akechi countered calmly. “There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to do the same.” Akechi naturally harbored no belief in sorcery.

They detoured around the row of mansions, emerged onto a broad reconstruction road, then turned into the problematic passageway flanked by high rear walls. “Here we are.”

“That’s right.” “As you can see, there’s no way to enter the grounds from here except by propping up a ladder and climbing over.” “No matter how skilled a high-jumper you are, you can’t leap up to this tall wall.” “Moreover, since the top is covered with shards of glass embedded into it.” “That night was a moonlit night.”

“It was a moonlit night as bright as day.” “Moreover, there was absolutely no time to set up a rope ladder.”

The two of them walked back and forth along the passageway while exchanging such conversation. Akechi looked up at the concrete walls on both sides, gazed at the ground, then suddenly dashed out to the wide main road and surveyed the vicinity—but with his usual peculiar broad grin, he uttered something strange. “If the thief entered from here, then even if it’s invisible to our eyes, there must be an entrance somewhere—for instance, one so bizarrely constructed that we might be staring right at it without noticing a thing.…”

“Surely you don’t mean to say there’s a hidden door in this wall?” Mitani was surprised and gazed at the other man’s face.

“The police would have thoroughly checked for hidden doors, and from where I’m standing, I don’t see anything like that here.”

“Then what other method could there be?” Mitani’s expression grew increasingly strange.

“Whether I can do it or not, let me try imitating the thief and enter from here once.” “Won’t you chase after me from behind, just like you did at that time?”

At a time like this, Akechi would not be making jokes. Moreover, he intended to demonstrate using the same sorcery as the thief. He intended to try to pierce through a concrete wall with absolutely no entrance. Mitani was dumbfounded yet wore an expression of intense intrigue as he decided to comply with the famous detective's instructions for now. Mitani positioned himself about ten ken down the main road, while Akechi stood at the corner where it turned toward the location in question.

At Akechi’s signal, the two men began running simultaneously. Akechi vanished around the corner. Gasping for breath, Mitani reached the spot where Akechi had been standing. Then, when he suddenly glanced toward the wall, he cried out “Ah!” and froze in place.

In the straight passageway that stretched for about a block, there was no trace of anyone. The exact same thing as the previous night had occurred. Akechi Kogoro had vanished completely.

“Mr. Mitani! Mr. Mitani!”

A voice called out from somewhere. As he looked around restlessly, a rhythmic clapping signal—undoubtedly—echoed from beyond the high concrete wall.

Mitani approached where the voice had come from, strained over the wall, and listened intently. For a while, he heard nothing, but soon there came a strange clank from behind him. Though he had been focusing his attention on the other side of the wall, the sound suddenly came from the road behind him instead. Thinking *Huh?*, he turned around—and what did he find? There stood Akechi Kogoro, having abruptly appeared. Mitani made a face as though he’d been bewitched.

Under a clear and cloudless midday sky, an utterly inexplicable miracle occurred. The sun was shining. Akechi’s shadow lay jet-black upon the ground. It was neither a dream nor an illusion. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

Akechi began to laugh.

“Do you still not understand?” “Well, it’s a ridiculously simple trick.” “The more splendid the magic trick, the more anticlimactic its secret becomes.” “You are under an illusion.” “Even though you’re seeing it right before your eyes, you fail to realize it.”

Mitani lowered his eyes and casually looked at Akechi’s feet. There on the ground was a round iron lid approximately two feet (60 cm) in diameter. It was one of those sewer manholes that had recently become conspicuously common throughout Tokyo.

“Ah, that’s it?” “A manhole—what a clever idea. We walk over this iron lid without ever noticing it. On the reconstruction roads, these are everywhere. People fresh from the countryside surprisingly tend to notice them. But we Tokyoites have grown so accustomed that we pay them no more mind than stones on the road. In other words, they’ve fallen into our blind spot.”

As he listened to Akechi’s explanation, Mitani—as though he had finally noticed that point—interjected. “Even so, it’s strange for there to be a manhole in such a narrow alley.” “That’s precisely it,” Akechi continued, “I too found it odd earlier. Upon closer inspection, this iron lid differs from those on the main road over there in several ways. Look here. There’s a central shaft here. If you simply remove this clamp, the entire mechanism swivels smoothly on its axis—it’s engineered to rotate completely.”

Akechi said, pushing down on the iron lid and rotating it halfway. It was a hole just large enough for one person to pass through. “In other words, this is a private manhole.” “There’s no sewer below—instead, a narrow tunnel leads through to the inside of this wall.” “It’s simply camouflage for the entrance of an escape tunnel.” There’s even a story about a thief who set up a private red postbox on a street corner and stole important documents. Because we don’t always accurately remember where postboxes are located. Manholes are no different. Even if there were one completely unnecessary manhole added, even the laborers who did the construction work might not have noticed.

The two passed through the narrow hole there and emerged on the inside of the wall. The tunnel led beneath the floor of a small storage shed within the garden. A portion of the floorboards was designed as a removable panel. If they restored the entrance’s iron lid to its original state, fastened the clamp, and fitted this removable panel into place, no one would ever realize this was an escape route. “Seeing that they constructed such an elaborate escape route suggests those villains may have been plotting some grandiose scheme. Their carefully prepared hideout has been discovered, so that bastard must be absolutely furious.”

Akechi wore his characteristic smile. They didn’t truly believe thieves were hiding within the mansion grounds, yet they couldn’t help but feel an eerie unease.

Eventually, the two opened the kitchen’s sliding door and stepped into the dimly lit earthen area. Beneath the wooden floor there lay the underground cellar where Shizuko had been confined. Nude female group statue Mitani stood in the earthen area and listened intently for a while. Sensing no signs of movement, he finally relaxed and stepped up onto the wide wooden floor of the kitchen, removing the removable panel there. “The underground cellar is beneath this.” “However, without some kind of light…” “I have a lighter.” “Anyway, let’s go down and take a look.”

Akechi ignited the lighter with a snap and descended the stairs to the basement. When they finished descending the narrow stairs, a sturdy door stood wide open. The space beyond was a pitch-dark underground cellar resembling a concrete box. Holding the lighter close to the wall and swinging it around in a full circle, Akechi found the familiar lantern and lit it. The underground cellar became dimly lit.

Having done that, he returned once more to the stairs and began meticulously surveying the area, but eventually extinguished the lighter and called out to Mitani, who was still hesitating over the hole.

“You should come down and take a look. Let’s examine it carefully together again.” Encouraged by his voice，Mitani timidly began descending the stairs.

When he descended about halfway, though the light was dim, the cellar’s interior came into full view at a glance. “Mr. Akechi, where are you?” “Mr. Akechi!”

Mitani shuddered and involuntarily let out a loud cry. For when he looked around, Akechi’s figure had vanished as if erased.

He managed to suppress his urge to bolt outside, hurried down the stairs, searched inside the doorway, and peered restlessly around the narrow cellar. There was no sign of anyone.

A graveyard-like silence. The gloomy reddish-brown light of the lantern. Before his eyes rose the figure of that terrifying monster from that certain night. A lipless face grinning with nothing but teeth.

Mitani, feeling as if cold water had been poured down his spine, hurriedly rushed out of the cellar and began climbing the stairs. Then, from somewhere—no figure visible—only a voice: “Mr. Mitani…” came through. Startled, he froze mid-step,

“Where are you?” “Where are you?”

He demanded in a near-shout. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Right here!” With a snap, the lighter flared above Mitani’s head. When he looked up, there was Akechi’s figure clinging spider-like to the stairway ceiling. “This explains the villain’s sorcery,” he said. “Look. “These thick crossbeams on both sides support the ceiling. “If one braces hands and feet against them, those passing beneath would never notice.” Akechi leapt down from the ceiling while brushing his palms,

“In other words, the villain descended from this hiding place and fled outside at the very moment you all entered the inner cellar. After some time had passed, no matter how much you searched this area, it was only natural that no one was there. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! How utterly simple—isn’t this just the secret behind a magic trick?” When he considered this explanation, Mitani had to admit it made perfect sense. At the time, they had been flustered, and with it being nighttime, the darkness had been even deeper than now. It was only natural they’d failed to notice the villain’s quick thinking.

“Where did the villain who fled from here go?” “Needless to say—from the storage shed by the back fence, through an underground passage, to that manhole we know.” “There was a guard on watch, but since he—like you—was likely staring only at the fence, slipping out through the hole when an opening presented itself would have been simple for them… This is the secret behind what you call sorcery.” The two further examined the mansion corridor where the mysterious thief had supposedly vanished, but even there, it was not entirely impossible to use the shadows cast by the lights to conceal oneself.

First came the bizarre murder in the Hatayanagi study, followed by the corpse's disappearance, then the discovery of the monster whose pursuit revealed its vanishing through that manhole—this layering of mysteries had made even ordinary events take on the semblance of sorcery. But now that the manhole, the cellar ceiling's hiding spot, and the villain's tricks had been so effortlessly exposed, even disappearances like those in the corridor conversely seemed hardly worth investigating anymore. Mitani had listened to Akechi's explanation with only half his attention.

Now, when they had finished inspecting the mansion and stepped outside, Mitani wore a look of satisfaction at the mysteries having been smoothly unraveled, while—strangely enough—Akechi, who had solved them, bore an unreadable expression of bewilderment. "What's wrong?" So concerned was Mitani that he asked. "No, it's nothing."

Akechi, regaining his composure, answered while making his usual grinning face. “But to be honest, I must say I feel as though I’ve collided with something inexplicable.” “It’s terrifying.” “It isn’t the villain’s ingenious tricks.” “It’s that I was able to unravel those tricks so effortlessly.” He stared steadily at Mitani’s face.

“Why is that? I don’t quite understand what you mean.” Mitani said, staring into the other man’s eyes.

The two men, bathed in the mild autumn sun, for some reason spent a while gazing at each other’s faces. It was an oddly eerie scene.

“No, it’s nothing to concern yourself with. I’m sure there will be an opportunity to explain everything in detail someday. Instead, why don’t we go visit Okada’s former residence now?”

Akechi changed his demeanor and said nonchalantly.

But this incomprehensible conversation contained a significance of grave importance. The look of bewilderment Akechi showed at that moment was sufficient proof that he was by no means an ordinary detective. Readers are kindly requested to keep this trivial event in memory henceforth. In any case, fortunately, Okada’s business card was in Mitani’s card case, so by means of that, they decided to visit his former residence.

The place where the taxi stopped was a desolate suburb west of Yoyogi Training Grounds, still bearing vestiges of Musashino. It took considerable effort to find it, but they ultimately managed to locate the atelier where Okada had once lived.

Amidst a thicket of wildly overgrown weeds stood a strange, pointed-roof Western-style house painted blue. It had been built purely as an atelier. They tried to enter, but both the doors and windows were tightly shut. It was likely still unoccupied. Upon hearing that a lone house in the middle of the fields—situated about half a *chō* away—was the landlord of this atelier, the two went to visit it. “If you are going to rent out that house, I would like to take a look at it once.”

Akechi said this to create a pretext.

“Are you gentlemen also painters or sculptors?” The landlord was a country bumpkin in his forties who appeared avaricious. It seemed Okada had indeed dabbled in sculpture as well. “We were indirectly acquainted with the late Mr. Okada—we’re in the same line of work, you see.” Akechi was talking nonsense.

The landlord stared intently at the two men’s appearances for a while, then came out with a strange remark. “That house has its reasons for costing a bit more, you see.” “When you say expensive…?” It was strange that the rent would be high for an inauspicious atelier where a drowned man had once lived—one that had remained vacant for so long. “Well, the rent itself isn’t particularly high, but there’s a condition attached.” “There’s a large sculpture that Mr. Okada left behind.” “I’d like you to take that along as part of the deal.”

According to the landlord’s account, this atelier had originally been the owned residence of a certain sculptor, which he had purchased and converted into a rental property. Okada had been its tenant from the very beginning for roughly two years, but he was an extremely solitary man—strangely enough, he seemed to have neither relatives nor close friends. Even when the police notified them of his death by drowning, there was no one to claim his body, so ultimately the landlord took charge of everything, from arranging the funeral to matters concerning the burial.

Such being the case, all the items Okada had left in the atelier had reverted to the landlord’s ownership, but among them, there was said to be a rather expensive sculpture.

“Just how much is it worth?” When Akechi casually inquired, to his surprise,

“I’ll let it go cheap—two thousand yen.” was the landlord’s reply. When asked whose work it was, he of course replied that Okada had made it. For a work by the unknown Okada, two thousand yen was an exorbitant price.

“Well, you see, unless I explain it, you wouldn’t understand.”

The landlord was quite talkative. “Well, right after Mr. Okada’s funeral was over, a merchant came by, you see. He insisted I sell it to him, so when I asked how much he’d pay, he opened with two hundred yen.” “I have no idea what that thing is worth, but since that person seemed so determined, I started haggling. When I said I couldn’t sell it for that, he kept raising the offer—300 yen, 350 yen—until he finally settled on 400 yen.”

“Because I thought this was a tremendous money-making opportunity, you see. Heh heh... I got greedy, you see. But even so, I stubbornly refused to sell.” “Even that merchant seemed stumped and left once, but well, thinking he’d surely come back before long—sure enough, he visited again the next day and started upping the price fifty yen, a hundred yen each time until it reached a thousand yen.” “Given how things were going, not knowing how high it might climb, a strange stubbornness came over me, and I kept holding out. Then, every time he came—which was at least every three days—he gradually raised the price until it reached two thousand yen.” “I finally struck a deal, you see.”

“However, even though he’d promised to come collect it the very next day when he left, half a month had already passed without any word from him since.”

“Since you’re so kind as to want to rent it, I’d be more than willing to let it out—but that sculpture needs moving first. It’s a monstrously big thing—you simply couldn’t work there with that left standing. “But then, I can’t just leave a two-thousand-yen item out in the rain either—it’s quite the pickle. “How about this? “Why don’t you take a good look at that sculpture yourselves? If you think it’s worth anything... perhaps you might consider buying it? “Makes no difference to me who takes it off my hands.”

The landlord grinned slyly as he seemed to compare Akechi and Mitani’s faces. Since both men were dressed in fine attire, this greedy old man likely intended to skillfully talk them into making a deal. The price of two thousand yen must also be considerably inflated. But no matter how he thought about it, it was strange that such a high-priced buyer would appear for Okada’s work. There had to be some reason behind it. “In any case, could you show me that sculpture once?”

Akechi Kogoro, not without interest, proposed the matter of the two-thousand-yen work.

The landlord guided the two men into the atelier, opened two or three windows, and brightened the room. The space appeared to measure about ten tsubo with a high ceiling resembling a temple hall. Amidst easels, half-painted canvases, sculpting materials, chunks of plaster, broken frames, chairs missing legs, and tables strewn about every corner, an enormous structure—something like a festival float—occupied nearly a third of the room.

“This is the sculpture in question.” As he spoke, the landlord removed the white cloth that had been draped over the enormous object. What appeared from beneath the white cloth was an astonishingly large-scale group of plaster nude female statues. “Wow, this is something… But what a crude figure!” Mitani shouted in surprise.

It was a truly startling group of statues. Given this configuration, considering the labor involved, it might indeed be worth two thousand yen. On a mountainous pedestal lavishly built from plaster, eight life-sized nude female figures—some reclining, others crouching or standing—swarmed in dizzying profusion, their hands interlaced and legs entwined. The meager light seeping through sparse windows cast intricate shadows; crude though they were, these forms created a strangely eerie atmosphere reminiscent of a haunted mansion.

Even so, that someone would seriously come to buy such an absurd object was strange no matter how one thought about it. To begin with, even two hundred yen would have been too much for such a crude lump of plaster resembling a child's prank.

“What kind of man was this merchant who came to buy it?”

When Akechi asked, the old landlord grimaced and, "Well, he was a strange fellow, you see." "I also think that, if at all possible, I'd like you to purchase it."

“What do you mean by ‘strange fellow’?” “A terrible cripple, you see—he had one arm and one leg disabled, wore large black glasses—maybe due to poor eyesight—and on top of that, hid his nose and mouth with a mask. His speech was terribly unclear, and given how nasal it sounded, he might’ve been a noseless fellow.”

Hearing this, the two men involuntarily exchanged glances. He was the spitting image of that Man Without Lips. But why would he want such a worthless plaster statue so desperately? There had to be some deeper motive behind it.

The smile vanished from Akechi’s lips. It was a sign that his keen intellect had begun working furiously. “What was Mr. Okada thinking when he made such a large statue? Didn’t he tell you anything?” Akechi asked while meticulously inspecting each of the nude statues one by one. “Mr. Okada never mentioned anything about exhibiting it at a show. No offense, but you painters and sculptors do things that us ordinary folks can’t begin to fathom.”

The landlord said with a wry smile, not mincing his words. “When was this completed?” “Well, I don’t understand that part, you see.” “To begin with, Mr. Okada was such an eccentric that he wouldn’t even speak to us when we met on the street. But even when he was home, he’d shut every single window, lock the entrance door from the inside, and keep the electric lights on during the day—truly a peculiar man.” “He must have done his work by electric light as well.” “We’ve never once seen the windows of this house open.”

The more they heard, the stranger things became. If Okada was indeed such a man, then Mitani’s notion that Okada was none other than the Man Without Lips could not be dismissed as mere wild fancy. “That strange man set a price on this statue, yet he still hasn’t come to collect it—it’s odd, don’t you think?”

When Akechi said this, the old landlord became agitated,

“Well, it is two thousand yen after all,” “He might not have been able to secure the funds yet.” “But it’s certain this person genuinely wanted it.” “I’m absolutely not lying about this,” he protested. “I’m not doubting you,” Akechi exchanged glances with Mitani, his enigmatic smile surfacing as— “That man must have reconsidered.” “He may never come to claim it, no matter how long we wait.” “Mr. Mitani, this holds remarkable interest for us.”

he said meaningfully. When Mitani heard this, he felt an indescribable sensation like a cold wind and shuddered violently. “Mr. Mitani, are you familiar with the detective story called *The Six Napoleons*? It’s about a man who smashes every Napoleon plaster statue he finds. Everyone thought him mad, but in truth, a valuable gem had been hidden inside one of those statues. To find it, he kept shattering every statue made from the same mold.”

Akechi said while rhythmically tapping the shoulder area of one of the nude statues in the group with his fingertips.

“I’ve read that story.” “But surely there’s no reason gems would be hidden in these group statues.” “There’s no need to create such an absurdly large group statue just to conceal small jewels.” Mitani laughed at the amateur detective’s whimsical idea. “No, I’m not saying what’s hidden in plaster statues must always be gems.” “For some people, I think there must be things more valuable than jewels—things that couldn’t be concealed unless within such a massive group statue.”

Into the studio, which had the air of a temple hall, dusk crept unnoticed through the barely opened windows. The pure white nude women, their skin’s shadows fading, seemed to melt into a dreamlike twilight gray.

“Take a look. Among these crude sculptures, there are three statues—so exquisitely crafted that they far surpass the others. I had noticed that all along.” Akechi pointed at each of the three nude women one by one as he spoke. Indeed, now that he mentioned it, behind five crudely sculpted nude women, three lifelike figures crouched in their respective poses as if hiding.

As dusk concealed the intricate details of the rough-hewn skin, the three lifelike figures emerged all the more vividly.

Was it a phantom conjured by dusk? “When you look at them like this… sculptures really are such eerie things.”

Even the unfeeling country landlord must have sensed something uncanny, for he muttered ominously in a low voice.

The three stood motionless in silence as the dim light closed in around them. Their motionless figures appeared as though three more bizarre statues had been added to the group of eight.

“Oh no! Stop!” “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Suddenly, the landlord let out a shrill scream and rushed to Akechi’s side.

But it was already too late. Akechi had kicked one of the nude statues around the waist with such force. It was no wonder the old landlord had gotten angry. A complete stranger had kicked a two-thousand-yen product without any warning. And that precious plaster statue had been chipped. “Have you lost your mind?” “What kind of madness is this?” “Now, pay up!” “The merchandise is ruined! I won’t accept a single penny less than two thousand yen!”

The landlord grabbed Akechi by the collar as if to seize him and shouted. One of the nude women had an area around her waist chipped away by four or five inches, leaving her in a pitiable state. From beneath the chipped plaster, something like a dusky cloth was peering out eerily, resembling fish entrails or the like. Akechi crouched beside it, oblivious to the landlord’s curses, intently examining the cloth-like material at the core of the plaster statue. When he finally stood and turned toward them, his expression had become startlingly severe.

“I wanted to understand why such a crude sculpture could be worth several thousand yen.” “If something like this were to fetch an unthinkably high price by common standards, one can only conclude its value lies not in the plaster statue itself, but in whatever is concealed within.” “Now then—as I mentioned earlier—the hidden object might be something truly valuable like jewels, or conversely, something utterly worthless yet holding an extraordinary secret that must never be seen by others.”

“Hoh, so what exactly do you claim is inside here?”

At Akechi’s meaningful words, the landlord somewhat quieted his anger and inquired with evident suspicion.

“You’ll understand if you look.” “Well, examine that chipped part.”

As instructed, the landlord—just as Akechi had done moments before—no sooner began fiddling with the dusky cloth fragments using his fingertips than— “Gah!” With a scream, he leaped back. In the dusk, his face turned ghostly pale, drained of all color. “Do you understand now why such a thing found such an exorbitant buyer?” “Didn’t you realize that masked peculiar merchant was the man who committed this horrific murder—Okada Michihiko?” “Didn’t he look familiar to you somewhere?”

“Eh? What did you say?” “So… Mr. Okada didn’t die in Shiobara after all…” “He likely pretended to be dead to deceive the authorities’ eyes.” “Given that he had committed such grave sins, it’s hardly unreasonable that he had to feign death.” “It’s all too much—I can’t make heads or tails of any of this.” “So you’re saying that Mr. Okada—the one who pretended to be dead—disguised himself and came to buy these sculptures he made himself?”

The landlord cried out in a voice hoarse with terror. "There are various circumstances that make it impossible to think otherwise." "So, what in the world is inside this thing? That strange-smelling, squishy thing... it's really..." Even though he knew full well what it was, he couldn't help but ask.

“It’s a woman’s corpse. Moreover, three corpses are hidden here.” “Lies! Lies! No matter how you look at it—such nonsense…” Even the stubborn old landlord contorted his face as if about to burst into tears, waving his hands wildly as he shouted.

“There’s no difficulty in testing whether it’s a lie or the truth.” “This’ll show you.” No sooner had he spoken than Akechi kicked the second and third nude statues with his hard-soled shoes. Pale Tentacles Thud, thud—the heels of shoes rang out in quick succession, and thin plaster fragments scattered in all directions.

However, almost simultaneously with that, a third uncanny sound struck their ears—as if echoing the now-shattered plaster. Akechi had only kicked twice, yet mysteriously, the sound had echoed three times. Moreover, accompanying the third sound, what clattered and scattered across the wooden floor were not plaster fragments but sharp, gleaming shards of glass. Because the sounds—the shattering plaster and this new noise—occurred almost simultaneously, they could not immediately discern the source of the disturbance. An uncanny bewilderment gripped them until Akechi hastily rushed to a window and peered out into the dusk, finally understanding what had transpired.

Someone threw a pebble through the window from outside. Fragments of shattered window glass scattered. “Brats!” “The children keep gathering in the vacant lot behind here—it’s impossible to keep them away!”

The landlord said irritably. “He’s a quick one. There’s not a trace of him left.” Akechi muttered as he came back from the window, then suddenly noticed a white object at his feet and picked it up. It was a pebble wrapped in paper. When he unfolded it, something was written in pencil.

“Won’t you stop meddling when warned?” “This is your second—and final caution.” “Something will happen that you’ll regret too late to undo!” It was a warning from that monster to Akechi. “Damn it all!” With a shout, Akechi threw open the window and rushed outside, only to return empty-handed moments later. “This defies all logic.” He muttered these words wearing the same uncanny bewilderment he’d shown earlier while investigating the mysterious Aoyama house. This case had a double layer, he felt—as if he’d glimpsed its sinister depths through some fleeting crack.

He circled the house and searched every corner, but the one who had thrown the stone was nowhere to be found. Though it was dusk, it wasn’t yet so dark that one couldn’t see. How could someone have fled across that open expanse in a mere twenty or thirty seconds? It was impossible. Yet another impossibility had been realized. Moreover, this latest impossibility was a mystery even Akechi had no means to unravel. “Because we exposed too much, the culprit couldn’t bear it anymore and pulled this prank,” he said. “But I’m the sort of man who—the more someone tries to stop me—the more I want to expose them.”

Akechi—what had possessed him?—picked up a sculpting hammer from the atelier’s corner and suddenly began striking indiscriminately at the three damaged nude women’s faces and chests. Plaster scattered in fragments. With each strike of the hammer, decaying flesh lay exposed beneath. Thus unfolded in the dusk-filled atelier a hellish tableau too gruesome to recount here in detail. All must be left to the reader’s imagination.

The author must confine himself to recording these facts: that within those group statues had been hidden the corpses of three young women; that each body had been wrapped in white cloth before being plastered over.

Needless to say, this matter was immediately reported to the local police and the Metropolitan Police Department, followed by the arrival of court officials—but that is a story for later. Having already seen all there was to see, Akechi and Mitani told the first-arrived police officers the full story of what had transpired, provided their names and addresses, and immediately sped off by car to the worrying Hatayanagi residence.

“I feel like the world has become something completely different from before—something terrifying,” said Mitani Fusao in the speeding car, not even attempting to hide his fear-twisted expression as he spoke like one pleading for Akechi’s deliverance. “All these events of the past few days seem like nothing but a long nightmare.”

“In the dark corners of the human world lurk evils so monstrous they seem like lies—no demonic poet’s imaginings could ever match the terrors of reality. I have often witnessed such things before. Just as an anatomist is constantly shown the insides of the human body—unknown to laypeople—I have been shown in full measure the filth and eeriness of this world’s innards. But even for someone like me, a terrifying experience like today’s is a first. It’s only natural that it seems like a nightmare to you.”

Akechi said in a subdued tone. “What could have driven Okada to kill so many women and hide them inside plaster statues? I can’t even fathom such a state of mind. Is he a madman? Or could he be what they call a murderous hedonist?” “Probably so. However, there is another reason why I find this case so terrifying. Behind the events that have come to light, I feel as though I can glimpse shadow-like things—something unknowable. I cannot grasp it. More than the Man Without Lips or the plaster statues of corpses—to be honest, I am terrified of those invisible, bizarre things.”

And then the two of them fell silent. The impression of the incident was too raw to say much.

Soon, the car arrived at the entrance of the Hatayanagi residence. Yanagihara Shizuko had been keeping Shigeru close by her side, guarded by burly students, and secluded in a back room in a semi-sick state, but upon hearing that Mitani Fusao had brought the famous Akechi Kogoro with him, she regained some vigor and came out to the parlor to meet them. Saitou Roujin and the servants, at Mitani’s arrangement, came before the detective and greeted him.

As it was exactly the appointed time, dinner was prepared. Akechi Kogoro, thinking that investigating the mansion would require considerable time, decided without hesitation to accept the meal and called his apartment at Kaika Apartments to inform them of this. Ms. Fumiyo answered the phone, but at that time, there had still been no unusual occurrences at the apartment. Then, before taking their seats for dinner, he decided to first inspect the aforementioned second-floor study and, guided by Mitani and Saitou Roujin, went up there.

The state of the room had not changed in the slightest from when a man named Ogawa had been killed and his corpse had disappeared. At first glance, what set this study apart from an ordinary one was several old-fashioned Buddha statues lining one wall. A high-ceilinged splendid Western-style room; a large desk adorned with carvings; gloomy oil paintings of apparent significance hung along the walls—the overall impression was somehow antiquated and mystical. Guided by Saitou Roujin, Akechi Kogoro approached where Ogawa had collapsed and examined bloodstains on the carpet. But raising his head abruptly, he gazed at the bizarre Buddha statue directly before him—and with an “Oh!”, stared at it intently for a long time.

A strange Buddha statue—legs spread and hands raised, standing defiantly, about the size of a child—and beside it, a tarnished metal seated statue resembling a miniature Daibutsu, roughly three shaku tall. What Akechi was staring at was the strangely expressionless, smooth face of that seated statue.

“Didn’t you all notice?”

Finally, Akechi turned back to Mitani Fusao and Saitou Roujin and spoke. There was, for some reason, a deranged quality to his tone that startled those who heard it. “Could it be that something is amiss with that Buddha statue’s eyes?” Mr. Saitou asked with a strange look.

“Yes,” Akechi replied. “To me, the eyes of this golden Buddha appeared to blink. Did you all see it too?” “No… But that Buddha statue might indeed blink,” Mr. Saitou said with complete earnestness, uttering what sounded like a joke.

“Why is that? Can such an absurd thing really exist?” Mitani interjected in surprise. “There’s been such folklore—something like a superstition—for quite some time. The late master used to say that when he stayed in this room late at night, he would often see it blink. Though I’m old myself, I can’t bring myself to believe in such superstitious things. But the late master was a deeply devout man and revered it as a sacred Buddha.”

“Strange things do happen, don’t they? And were there no people other than your master who saw that?” Akechi inquired. “The servants and others occasionally reported such things, but I ordered them not to spread trivial matters,” replied Saitou Roujin. “It would be undesirable for rumors of it being a haunted house to spread.” “So it wasn’t just my imagination after all.”

Akechi, seemingly deeply intrigued by this bizarre superstition, drew close to the Buddha statue and earnestly examined its eyes, but found nothing out of the ordinary. No matter how one thought about it, there was no reason a cast-metal Buddha statue would blink. However, just as Akechi was crouching beside the Buddha statue like that, the room suddenly plunged into pitch darkness. The lights had gone out.

At the same moment, there came a terrifying scream of “Agh!” The thud of someone collapsing. “Mr. Akechi, what happened?”

Mitani’s voice resonated shrilly in the darkness.

“Quick, get a light!” “Does anyone have a match?”

But there was no need for matches. At that very moment, an eerie electric light suddenly brightened the room. When they looked, Akechi was lying collapsed before Buddha statue. It was exactly the same spot where Ogawa had been murdered the previous night. Old Man Saitou, making that association, was startled, wondering if Akechi too had met the same fate. Mitani rushed over and lifted amateur detective up.

“Are you injured?” “No, I’m all right.” Akechi brushed off Mitani’s hand and stood up energetically, but his face was deathly pale. “What happened?” “What has occurred?” Old Man Saitou asked nervously.

“No, it’s nothing at all. There’s no need for concern. Now then, let’s go over there.”

Without offering any explanation, Akechi took the lead and left the room. The other two, having no desire to remain in such an eerie place either, followed after Akechi. “Mr. Saitou, please lock the door.”

When they stepped out into the hallway, Akechi lowered his voice and spoke.

Old Man Saitou locked the study door from the outside, just as Akechi had instructed. In other words, they had effectively locked something invisible inside that room. “Could you lend me that key for a while?”

Since Akechi said this, Old Man Saitou handed over the key and asked quizzically. “What on earth happened…?” “We haven’t the slightest idea what’s going on.” “Mr. Mitani, you didn’t see anything either?” Akechi did not answer the old man and asked Mitani. “Since the lights had gone out, there was no way I could have seen anything.” “What happened?” Mitani too wore a suspicious expression.

“I believe the key to solving the mystery of this case lies within this room.”

Akechi merely let slip a meaningful remark and said nothing more. Before long, the three of them sat down at the dining table that had been prepared downstairs. The host was Shizuko. Shigeru too took his seat beside her. No particular topics came up during the meal. They were all deliberately avoiding any discussion of the unpleasant criminal incident. There was just one detail that must not go unrecorded: when Akechi inquired, "Was there a power outage earlier?", both Shizuko and the servants responded, "The electric lights never once went out." This meant the darkness that had fallen over the second-floor study earlier resulted not from a power failure—someone must have flipped the switch in that room.

When the meal ended, everyone returned to the parlor, settled into chairs that looked comfortable, and exchanged sporadic, subdued conversation—when a student servant entered and announced there was a telephone call for Mr. Akechi. When they looked, Akechi’s figure had already vanished from the group—when had he slipped out?

Thinking he might have gone to the washroom, they waited a short while, but there was no sign of him returning. “Since he has the key to the second-floor study, perhaps he went up there alone.” Old Man Saitou remarked.

They promptly sent a student servant to check, but found that Akechi was not there either.

“This is strange, isn’t it? Anyway, have that telephone connected here.” Under Mitani’s instructions, the desk telephone in the parlor was connected.

"Hello? Mr. Akechi has just stepped out somewhere at the moment. Is there some urgent matter?" When Mitani called out, a childlike, high-pitched voice answered. "I’m from Mr. Akechi’s office! Please get him quickly! Something terrible has happened!" "Ah, are you that boy?" Mitani recalled the lovely young assistant of Akechi’s he had seen that afternoon at the Kaika Apartments. "Yes, I am Kobayashi." "Are you Mr. Mitani?"

The boy remembered Mitani’s name well.

“Yes. We’ve looked everywhere for Mr. Akechi but can’t find any trace of where he went. But you said ‘terrible’—what happened?” “I’m calling from a public telephone right now. Ms. Fumiyo has been kidnapped by someone! I’m sure it’s the one who sent the threatening letter during the day!” “Huh? Do you mean Ms. Fumiyo?” “The person you also met—Mr. Akechi’s assistant.” Ah, the villain had launched a counterattack from an unimaginable direction. It was a cowardly plan to steal away the lover, torment the detective, and thereby force him to withdraw from the case naturally.

“So, where are you now? How was Ms. Fumiyo kidnapped?”

Mitani, panting heavily, called out into the telephone. "I'll come there. I can't give you the details over the phone, and besides, I'm worried because Mr. Akechi is nowhere to be seen."

With those words, the boy detective Kobayashi hung up the phone. Mitani informed Shizuko and Saitou Roujin of the details and decided to search for Akechi regardless.

The servants split up and searched not only inside the house but even the garden; however, strangely enough, there was no sign of Akechi anywhere. There was no way he would leave without a word. Yet another human disappearance incident. Not only had there been the recent corpse of the man named Ogawa, but now even the detective had vanished within this mansion. The Hatayanagi mansion increasingly felt as though it was transforming into an eerie haunted mansion.

Old Man Saitou suddenly remembered handing the key to the second-floor study to Akechi. The student servant had said earlier that no one was there, but Akechi might have locked the door and been investigating the room.

To confirm this, the old man climbed the dimly lit second floor alone and approached the room in question. When he looked, the study door stood half-open with light seeping out from within.

"Oh! This is strange!" "I definitely gave Mr. Akechi this door’s key." "There shouldn’t be any duplicate keys outside." When I consider it... Mr. Akechi might still be inside this room!

Thinking this, he entered the room and looked around, but it was still empty. In the hollow, temple-like room, only tight-lipped Buddhist statues stood eerily lined up. Akechi had said something like all the mysteries of this crime were hidden in this room. Moreover, given that the door was open, he must have entered this room at least once. And then what had he done? Had he too followed the same path as Ogawa’s corpse and vanished somewhere?

After meticulously searching every corner and confirming that neither Akechi nor even the corpse was hidden anywhere, the old man tilted his head quizzically and walked to the door to leave the room.

Then, at that very moment, the lights went out again abruptly. The faint light from the corridor barely illuminated the area beside the door, leaving the old man’s back engulfed in darkness that seemed ready to pounce. Since the light switch was immediately next to the door, within the old man’s field of vision, it was certain no one had touched it. In other words, the lights went out on their own, like a ghost.

Mr. Saitou involuntarily turned around and braced himself against the unseen enemy in the darkness.

“Who’s there? Who is it there?”

There shouldn’t have been anyone there, but the eeriness compelled the old man to shout out. However, as if in response to his voice—as though he had summoned a demon—a human presence stirred within the vast darkness. Peering into the gloom, he felt as though a shadowy figure, like smoke, had darted past the window on the far side. “Who’s there? Who is it?”

The old man let out successive screams that resembled shrieks of terror. Within darkness there existed deeper darkness—a jet-black shadow resembling a human form seemed to gradually approach through this layered gloom. Even Old Man Saitou—normally unflappable—succumbed to such overwhelming eeriness; he had closed the door and braced himself to flee when suddenly a cheerful laugh resounded from within that black void.

At the same moment, as if by prior arrangement, the room brightened. An unseen hand had twisted the switch once more. There stood revealed in the blazing electric light - the monster's true form. "Y-You...!" The old man gaped and cried out. The figure standing there was Akechi Kogoro, who had left not a trace despite their exhaustive search moments earlier. "This is unbelievable! Where on earth have you been hiding?!"

Old Man Saitou looked Akechi up and down intently and asked. "I wasn’t hiding anywhere at all." "I’ve been right here all along." Akechi smiled and answered. But that was an absolute lie. No matter how elderly he might be, there was no way he could have overlooked a single person; moreover, the student servant had already come to search this room once before.

All the windows were sealed. It was unthinkable that Akechi had been hiding outside. So he was of course inside the room. But where could such a hiding place be? Inside the Buddhist statues? There wasn’t nearly enough space for a person to hide. First of all, how could anyone possibly get into cast metal or wooden Buddhist statues? That said, the absence of hidden doors in both the walls and floor had been thoroughly investigated by the police during the Ogawa corpse disappearance incident, so it was known.

“No, it’s nothing at all. It must have been your eyes playing tricks on you.”

Akechi left the room nonchalantly. The old man, having no choice but to leave the mystery of Akechi’s disappearance unresolved, relayed the details of the phone call from Kobayashi Shounen.

“Eh? Ms. Fumiyo...?” “Taken by the villain?” Even Akechi could not maintain his usual smiling countenance at this sudden dire news. When he rushed down to the guest room below, the people gathered there—having searched fruitlessly and converged unexpectedly—were startled by Akechi’s abrupt appearance and bombarded him with questions from all sides, but he had no leisure to answer them. Seizing the young man Mitani, he instead began interrogating him about the phone call’s circumstances.

At that moment, Kobayashi Shounen came rushing in by taxi. The people who had been waiting impatiently led him into the guest room as if taking him by the hand.

Thus, the story shifts to the kidnapping of Ms. Fumiyo; however, as for the bizarre events that had occurred in the second-floor study, their mystery remained entirely unsolved at present. For what reason had the man named Ogawa sneaked into that room? Who had killed him? Where had the corpse gone? Then there were the earlier mysterious flickerings of electric lights, Akechi’s disappearance, and his sudden reappearance. Akechi seemed to have already uncovered the secret, yet for some reason he refused to say a single word about it. Perhaps it was not yet the time to speak. And so, leaving the secret of the study untouched for now, the story had to proceed to the pressing matter of the whereabouts of Akechi Kogoro’s female assistant.

Now then, according to what Kobayashi Shounen—led into the guest room, his apple-like cheeks flushed crimson and his breath coming in gasps—had recounted…

Around five in the evening, a car came to pick up Ms. Fumiyo, claiming to have been sent by Akechi. In Akechi’s handwriting,

“There is an urgent matter. I request your immediate presence.” Since she had a simple letter stating this, she got into the car without any particular suspicion.

But Kobayashi Shounen—whether due to some premonition or not—could not shake his unease about the threatening letter from the thief earlier that day and the caution Akechi had given upon leaving. He tried to stop Ms. Fumiyo, but she wouldn’t listen, and as he stood there distressed, watching the departing car, fortunately, an empty taxi happened to pass by. Kobayashi Shounen, suddenly stirred by a childlike detective spirit, stopped the taxi and decided to follow Ms. Fumiyo’s car.

Fumiyo’s automobile had stopped directly in front of Ryōgoku Kokugikan, where the chrysanthemum doll exhibition was underway. Because Kobayashi Shounen’s taxi had fallen behind by approximately half a chō, by the time he brought his vehicle to a halt at the same spot and alighted, Fumiyo’s form was already nowhere visible in the vicinity.

When he caught and questioned the driver who had brought her there, the reply was that Fumiyo had just been led into the Kokugikan by the man who had given the driver the letter. Upon hearing the description of the man’s appearance—which did not resemble Akechi at all—Kobayashi Shounen grew increasingly suspicious. He bought a ticket, entered the venue, and asked everyone one after another: the girl at the ticket gate, the chrysanthemum-doll attendants, the shopkeepers, and others. While they remembered a beauty in Western dress matching Fumiyo’s description passing through, no one knew where she was.

By the time he circled the venue and reached the exit, no one had seen Fumiyo, and even the ticket attendant said no Western-dressed woman matching that description had passed through for about an hour. In other words, Fumiyo must still be somewhere inside the venue. There, Kobayashi walked back from the exit toward the entrance, searching through crowds of spectators as he went, but he simply could not find her. It was strange that Akechi would summon Fumiyo to such a place—if there had been urgent business, he could have simply called instead of sending a car. Moreover, failing to find Fumiyo despite her conspicuous clothing suggested something far from ordinary.

Thereupon, Kobayashi Shounen, using a public telephone outside the Kokugikan, searched for the number of the Hatayanagi residence that he had memorized and tried calling. As expected, he found out that Akechi was at the residence. Therefore, he had promptly come to discuss post-incident arrangements. “The man who summoned Ms. Fumiyo must be one of Okada’s subordinates.” “There’s no way Okada would show his face in such a crowd.”

The young man Mitani had conclusively identified Okada Michihiko as the perpetrator this time. “Oh, what should we do? Because we asked for your help with our case, we’ve subjected Ms. Fumiyo to such an ordeal. What a terrible thing that man has done!”

Shizuko, her already troubled brows furrowing deeper, muttered sorrowfully and resentfully. “Ms. Fumiyo knows my handwriting well.” “For her to have been deceived, the villain’s forged letter must have been exceptionally skillful.” “Chrysanthemum dolls… Ah, exactly the sort of idea he’d conceive.” “The villain may very well be using Kokugikan as a base to plot some horrific crime.” “Between the corpse-filled statues in the atelier, the Buddha figures on this second floor, and now Kokugikan’s chrysanthemum dolls—his crimes cling unnervingly to these doll-like forms.”

Akechi stood up with a deeply concerned look. “I must go to Kokugikan immediately to investigate. We may already be too late to stop whatever ordeal that murderer is subjecting Ms. Fumiyo to.”

Even as he spoke, he had already gone out the door, accompanied by the boy Kobayashi.

“Mr. Mitani.” “Please secure the second-floor study.” “Please close and lock the door securely, and ensure no one enters there.” “Please strictly instruct the servants as well never to set foot in that room.” “If things go wrong, something that could endanger human lives might occur.”

Akechi walked down the corridor with Mitani seeing him off and repeatedly cautioned him about it.

The Woman Detective

For Ms. Fumiyo, orders from her lover Akechi Kogoro were absolute. She owed gratitude for being saved from the deadly hands of that mysterious thief once called the Magician. And then there was love. For what reason? To what end? Such things weren't meant to be questioned. If it was Akechi's command - she'd have leapt into flames. Even had Kobayashi Shounen tried stopping her - she wouldn't have stopped. Without hesitation she boarded the waiting car. Even upon learning their destination was unexpected Kokugikan - she showed no suspicion. As detective assistant long accustomed to strangeness - this seemed routine work.

At the front of the Kokugikan, when she got out of the car, an unfamiliar man was waiting for her. He had two tickets ready and, taking the lead, entered through the ticket gate.

A black suit, a black overcoat, a black soft hat. An all-black, somber attire. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and pulled down the brim of his soft hat to hide his face, while large black glasses and a mask covering down to his nose obscured his features. His tottering walk suggested a very old man, yet an undeniable vigor lingered in his bearing that no amount of concealment could erase. He cut an utterly bizarre figure. “You are Ms. Fumiyo, Mr. Akechi’s assistant, correct?” “I’ve been collaborating with Mr. Akechi on this case. He’s currently surveilling someone inside and can’t break away, so I came to retrieve you. This is a critical arrest operation.”

After passing through the ticket gate and walking a short distance, the man introduced himself through his mask in a highly muffled tone. Fumiyo returned a polite greeting and,

“As I thought… Ms. Hatayanagi’s…”

she inquired.

“Of course, that’s it. But we haven’t informed the police yet. We must keep it secret from these people too. If a large crowd of spectators makes a commotion, we’ll only end up letting the bird escape, you see.”

The man lowered his voice, adopting a tone that suggested this was nothing short of a crisis.

The electric lights had just been turned on; the lingering sunlight and electric lights were canceling each other out in that hour of ominous twilight. Within this, the figure of a man resembling a monstrous black bird appeared utterly sinister.

“Then please let me meet Mr. Akechi quickly.”

Fumiyo suddenly recalled the "Man Without Lips." She had not heard the conversation between Mitani and Akechi at the office that day, so she did not know as much about this monster as you readers do; yet whether through remembered newspaper articles or some vague intuition, she felt the man standing before her now might be that very phantom thief. "No need to hurry," he said. "Mr. Akechi has the thief under surveillance. He’s practically caught already. Though for this next part, I must beg your assistance." The masked figure leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "It concerns feminine charms, you understand? Fortunately, our target doesn’t know your face. With your help, we’ll draw him quietly from this crowd—no need for vulgar commotions."

The two walked deeper and deeper along the plank-paved narrow path that spiraled like a snail’s shell, exchanging hushed whispers. On either side, chrysanthemum dolls displayed various scenes, exuding an eerie and grotesque aura rather than beauty. And then came the suffocating fragrance of chrysanthemums.

Fumiyo was gradually ceasing to believe the man’s words. Terrible suspicions swarmed and surged like black storm clouds within her heart. However, even so, she was not the type of coward who would try to flee. She was none other than the daughter of the notorious phantom thief “Magician.” She was, so to speak, a Japanese-style female Vidocq. If this man were the infamous Man Without Lips, she might just pull off an unexpected triumph. Rather, she welcomed this opportunity.

A strategy to feign being ensnared while instead outwitting the enemy had already welled up within her breast at this very moment. As they proceeded, each chrysanthemum doll stage grew more elaborate. Vermilion-lacquered railings stood resplendent, while a five-storied pagoda soared so high it forced necks to crane. A waterfall plunged down a cliff of dozens of yards; an artificial mountain range stretched vast; dim cedar groves and bamboo thickets clustered; a great pond mirrored the scene; in the valley depths below—lush foliage growing as though wild, chrysanthemums exuding fragrance, and countless lifelike dolls.

Within that vast iron dome, they ascended and descended through a labyrinth of winding paths; some sections became pitch-black groves like Yawata’s impenetrable thicket, complete with mirror devices that made phantoms appear and vanish—even ghosts had been crafted there.

If one were to seek in modern Tokyo that uncanny charm—a nostalgic reminiscence akin to the panorama halls, diorama halls, mazes, and even Asakusa’s Twelve Stories, which had perished several years ago, all of which once flourished in the Meiji era—a cluttered allure where every corner seemed to hide some startling secret, it would likely be found in this Kokugikan’s chrysanthemum dolls. The grand building itself—absurdly large and old-fashioned, like the specter of a Chinese-style hat—was already a Meiji-esque grotesquerie.

Fumiyo, precisely because she had once been the daughter of the "Magician," could not help but marvel at the thief's brilliant cunning in choosing this location—though the man walking beside her now might well be that very thief. From Hugo’s hunchback who once dwelled in Notre-Dame Cathedral to Leroux’s Skull Phantom who lurked in the Paris Opera House—this place proved no less a realm of secrets. Beneath the single domed ceiling resembling an inverted bowl, space was divided into narrow maze-like paths so complex they could not be more so—twisting upward and downward, right and left. Yet this was not all. Here and there formed back alleys inaccessible to spectators. Places like a theater’s understage area; storage-like spaces heaped with discarded props.

Peering into the emergency exit doors scattered along the passageway, one could see staff members wandering like phantoms through the dimly lit backstage corridors—an ominous sight. If a vicious criminal were to flee into this maze, they could likely hide safely for one month or even two. With papier-mâché mountains, real forests, buildings serving as backdrops for chrysanthemum dolls—truly endless hiding spots—and countless life-sized lifelike dolls, one could even blend in as one of them and stand amid the dimly lit chrysanthemum thickets, feigning innocence.

Be that as it may, Fumiyo and the mysterious man were now passing through a scene from Yoshitsune Senbonzakura, flanked by mountains of cherry blossoms in full bloom—a tableau of lifelike dolls. "These lifelike dolls—they feel almost alive, don't they? So uncanny." The man spoke nonchalantly from beneath his mask. "Where on earth could Mr. Akechi be?"

Fumiyo had vaguely realized that the claim about Akechi being there was a lie, but she feigned concern and inquired. “It won’t be long now.” “It won’t be long now.”

Even as he answered this way, he inexplicably began to fidget. And he seemed preoccupied with the right coat pocket. He would reach his hand there as if trying not to let Fumiyo notice and check something inside.

Fumiyo pretended not to see yet was watching intently. Could this man be carrying a pistol? Amid the deafening roar of the motor pump sending water up the artificial waterfall, the realization that even a gunshot would go unnoticed made even her feel a creeping unease.

“Oh, this is incredible!” When the man cried out in surprise and she suddenly looked up, through the thicket of artificial cherry blossom branches, the pale face of the chrysanthemum doll Kitsune Tadanobu hovered right above their heads. “Oh, how frightening!” Fumiyo pretended to be more frightened than she actually was and staggered into the masked man. “There’s nothing to fear.” “It’s a doll.” “It’s a doll.” The man wrapped his arm around Fumiyo’s back, as if to embrace her.

“That’s enough.” “But I truly was startled.” Fumiyo moved away from the man and focused her attention on the tip of her left hand tucked into her coat pocket. In that instant, she had pulled out what he concealed there. By its texture alone, she knew it wasn’t a pistol— a metallic container slightly larger than a cigarette case. Careful not to alert him, she opened it within her pocket and probed with her fingertips until they brushed something startlingly cold—gauze soaked through with liquid.

She took her fingertips out of the pocket and brought them nonchalantly before her face. A strange, unpleasant odor... It was definitely an anesthetic. This was a far more terrifying weapon than a pistol. The villain clearly had no intention of killing the beautiful Ms. Fumiyo outright—he undoubtedly planned to render her unconscious with the anesthetic and then act upon her afterward.

It would be no trouble for me to hand this man over to the police. But then I wouldn't understand his true intentions. Just because he had anesthetic didn't necessarily mean he intended harm - what should I do about it?

“What are you thinking about?”

The man peered suspiciously into Fumiyo’s face. “No, it’s nothing at all.” “Well, I just need to…” Following Fumiyo’s gaze, a restroom door could be seen slightly set back from the passageway. “Ah, I see.” “Please do.” “Um, excuse me, but would you mind holding this for me?” Fumiyo took off the bulky fur coat and handed it to the man. The anesthetic case had long since been transferred from the coat pocket to the handbag.

The man extended both hands and received the coat with great care. It was a discourteous manner, unbecoming of Ms. Fumiyo's usual demeanor. But in truth, this was a strategy to keep the man's hands occupied so he wouldn't notice the missing case while she was in the restroom. As for entering the First Restroom, she had no actual need to do so. It was merely to switch the case's contents in a place beyond the man's sight.

She hid in the restroom, swiftly discarded the clump of anesthetic-soaked gauze, tore a handkerchief in its place, soaked it in water from the sink, stuffed it into the case, assumed an innocent expression, and returned to the man’s side. “Thank you very much.” Pretending slight shyness as she took back her coat from him, she needless to say slyly slid the case into his coat pocket in that very moment.

When they walked side by side for a bit longer, they came to a section of the corridor wall where a sign reading "Emergency Exit" was posted.

“This way.” “Mr. Akechi is waiting inside here.” With those words, the man pushed a small hidden door that matched the wall’s pattern—unlocked as expected—and it opened without resistance. Beyond the door stretched a dim corridor resembling a theater’s backstage abyss.

In that corridor there was another small door, and passing through it led to a bleak little room about six tatami mats in size. On one wall, a multitude of switches formed rows while bundled cables snaked about in tangled masses—it became clear this was the electrical room controlling all the building’s lights. Though called an electrical room, since all lights were activated when the hall opened and most could be deactivated at closing, the electrician had no need to remain stationed there.

The masked man waited for Fumiyo to enter the room, shut the door with a snap, pulled a key from his pocket—how he had obtained it was unclear—and locked the bolt. “Oh, what are you doing? But Mr. Akechi isn’t here at all!” Fumiyo put on a look of great surprise and stared at the man’s face. “Fuhuhuhu, Mr. Akechi, you say? Did you really think that person was here?” The man laughed eerily as he sat down on an empty box lying there.

The man laughed eerily and, with perfect composure, sat down on an empty box lying there. “Then why would you…”

Fumiyo stood before the electrical wiring and asked in a trembling voice, as though unable to bear the terror. “I just wanted to have a proper face-to-face talk with you.” “This here’s my hideout.” “Nobody’ll interfere.” “I bribed the electrician proper—even if he comes sniffing around, he won’t lift a finger for you.” “Fuhuhuhu… Even the great lady detective looks shocked. What a sweet little hideout I’ve got!” “When things get hot, I just flip this switch—plunge the whole place into pitch black—and poof! No catching me then.”

The man licked his lips as he stared intently at his beautiful prey, like a cat toying with a mouse. “So… you are, perhaps…” “Fuhuhuhuhu, seems you’ve caught on… but it’s already too late…… Just as you’ve guessed, I’m the man you’ve all been searching for.” “I’m the man your meddlesome husband Akechi Kogoro has been hunting so desperately.” “Then… you’re the one who slipped that dreadful letter under the door during the day…”

“It’s me. …You see, I’m fulfilling the promise I wrote in that letter.” “I’m a man who always keeps his promises, you know.”

“So, what do you intend to do?” Fumiyo stiffened and glared at the man. “Well, what should I do?” The man said with an utterly delighted look, “I just need to teach that Akechi bastard a lesson. I’ll take you hostage and torment him. But you see…” His voice dropped as he leaned closer, “When I look at your beautiful face and body… another desire wells up within me.” Fumiyo started, her body tensing as she pressed back against the switchboard and fell silent.

The man peered through his black glasses, looking her up and down as though savoring her well-tailored Western outfit, yet still said nothing. A breathless staring contest stretched interminably. “Hohohohohoho.” Suddenly Fumiyo burst into laughter as if unhinged—this time startling the man into gaping at her face. Had Fumiyo truly gone mad? Even now, she began a carefree prank.

She grabbed the handle of the main switch that controlled all the building’s lights and began toggling it on and off chaotically, treating it like a toy. Crackling, pale sparks scattered.

The man saw this and let out a startled cry, suddenly lunging forward to seize Fumiyo. "You bastard, what are you doing?"

The man grappled Fumiyo from behind, peered over his shoulder at her face, and spoke with hot breath.

“It’s nothing.” “Just a little…”

Fumiyo answered calmly while being held tightly. "You bastard—you're laughing." "How can you laugh?" "Are you saying someone's coming to rescue you?"

“Yes, probably…”

“Damn you! Had you made arrangements with someone? Had everything been prepared?”

Because Fumiyo remained perfectly composed, it was the man who began to feel uneasy. "You don't know Morse code, do you?"

Fumiyo was still laughing.

“Morse code, huh.” “So what?”

The man asked in surprise. “Bringing me into the electrical room was your mistake, wasn’t it?” “Why do you say that?” “I know Morse code.” “Damn you! So that was…?”

“That’s right—S-O-S. I don’t think there isn’t a single person among the thousands of spectators who couldn’t read that simple distress signal.” Earlier, her toggling of the switch on and off had not been a meaningless prank—it was indeed a distress signal. The lights throughout the venue crackled, flashing SOS over and over. “For a little girl, you pulled off quite the clever move. “……But do you think I’d crumble over something like that?”

He could no longer afford to hesitate. The man took out a container of anesthetic from his pocket—this was his final recourse.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Fumiyo deliberately feigned surprise. “I’ll shut that pretty mouth of yours. I’ll turn you into a doll that can’t move a muscle.”

The man took out a sodden mass of white cloth from the container and suddenly tried to cover Fumiyo’s mouth. He hadn’t noticed in the slightest that it had long since been replaced with a fake.

Even if Fumiyo had remained still, there would have been no particular danger, but seizing this opportunity to see the man’s face, she began resisting fiercely. A bizarre apache dance unfolded between the masked monster and the Western-clad beauty.

Fumiyo’s supple body slipped through like an alluring beast, darting about evasively, while the man pursued her with labored breath.

But a woman’s strength could not hold out indefinitely—finally, Fumiyo was driven into a corner of the room.

She crouched down there.

In front of her face, four hands tangled frantically. Finally, a cold white mass pressed against her mouth and nose. At the same time, her hands found purchase on the man's mask. With all her strength, she yanked hard. The cord snapped, leaving the mask clutched in her hand. The lower half of the man's face lay exposed. "Ah!" Fumiyo cried out in shock beneath the pressed cloth. What had she seen? A lipless crimson-bald visage? Yet she should have anticipated this. That such a sight could startle her now seemed strange.

Be that as it may, to escape this crisis, she had to feign unconsciousness for the time being. The thief was absolutely convinced that what he had pressed against her face was anesthetic. Fumiyo closed her eyes and went limp, ceasing to move. “You really made me work for it.” Muttering to himself, he reattached the mask’s string, hid his face, tucked the seemingly lifeless Fumiyo under his arm, opened the door, and vanished into the dimly lit corridor.

*Phantom Dolls*

In the open space before what was called a multi-tiered return stage, hundreds of spectators were looking up at the barefoot dance performed by girls belonging exclusively to this hall.

In place of socks, plump fleshy bare feet coated in flesh-colored powder bounced up in unison before the spectators like the pistons of a textile machine—springing mechanically—in perfect synchronization.

In the middle of the dance, the lights suddenly went out.

At first, no one suspected anything. Because this spectacle with its swiftly changing backgrounds would turn off the lights with every scene shift, the spectators thought, “Ah, they must be changing the background again.” However, the stage showed no sign of moving, and the dancers remained frozen in place while only the lights flickered on and off in unison like ghostly apparitions. The dancers’ dumbfounded expressions looked so comical that the spectators erupted into an uproar.

But that, too, was fleeting; the lights that had been crackling on the verge of going out flared brightly, and nothing more occurred. The dance was resumed. The spectators, reassured, once again became engrossed in watching the girls' bare feet.

But among those spectators, there was a single young man who had realized the meaning behind the recent flickering lights and felt profoundly uneasy.

He no longer had eyes for the beauty of the bare feet. He turned pale, looked around restlessly, and walked all over the place searching for staff members. In a corner of the spectator seats stood a man in uniform and cap—a venue staff member. The young man grabbed the man and stammered. “Where is the lighting crew for this stage?” “Please let me meet that person.” “We don’t allow meetings during work hours.” The man answered curtly and turned away.

“No.” “I must meet them!” “Something terrible is happening.” “You probably think the electric lights going out was just a power failure, but that’s a dreadful signal.” “A distress signal calling for help.” The staff member stared fixedly at the young man’s flushed face before shuffling away in silence. He must have thought him a lunatic.

The young man, having no other choice, grabbed bystanders standing nearby and tediously explained the meaning of the electric light signal, but no one paid him any heed. “Shut up, bumpkin!”

The enthusiastic spectators, angered by the disruptive chatter, began shouting. The young man had nowhere to turn. He finally burst into tears and ran toward the exit, yelling something incomprehensible. Had Fumiyo’s hard-earned idea thus ended in vain? Indeed, inside the venue, there remained not a single person among those who understood the signal.

But outside, in an automobile speeding toward Kokugikan, was Akechi Kogoro. Naturally, he stared at the illumination shining on that enormous dome from the window of the speeding car. At that moment, their car had only just reached the vicinity of Hamacho, but the dome of Kokugikan remained visible from any distance. Against the pitch-black sky, radiating out around the enormous dome—shaped like a Chinese hat—bizarre stars were lined up in a row.

Ah, what a terrifying sight it was. Those stars flickered on and off rapidly in unison, keeping a certain rhythm. SOS... SOS... over and over. Akechi Kogoro immediately grasped the terrifying meaning of it. In the dark sky, Ms. Fumiyo’s writhing, gigantic phantom flashed intermittently. “Driver, full speed!” “I’ll take responsibility.” “Forty, fifty miles—give me all the speed you can!” Akechi Kogoro felt almost physical pain as he shouted.

At that very moment, in the Kokugikan office, Manager S, who was overseeing this event, grew increasingly flustered by the mysterious phone calls flooding in one after another. The first call came from a telegraph engineer at a shipping company who was currently on leave. “From my second-floor window, I have a perfect view of Kokugikan’s illuminated dome. Just now, those lights flickered strangely. “Did you notice? “They repeated SOS three times—the distress signal used by shipwrecks calling for rescue. “It might be some electrician’s prank, but this seems too elaborate for mere mischief. “Or has some extraordinary incident occurred? “I felt compelled to notify you.”

he explained. After some time came a reprimanding call from the Water Police Station about the same matter, followed—evidently after someone had reported it—by a scolding from the local police station as well. Such was the situation.

Akechi Kogoro arrived and presented his card to Manager S right in the middle of that commotion.

Manager S, realizing this was no ordinary matter, turned pale and, in any case, ushered the famous amateur detective into the office.

Akechi explained the details and requested to inspect the electrical room, so Manager S personally guided him there himself; however, by then, the room stood empty, devoid of any abnormalities. When Akechi himself tracked down the electrician and pressed him with exhaustive questioning, the man finally broke down and confessed to having accepted a large sum of money from a peculiar masked man in exchange for lending out the electrical room’s key.

“As I thought, something occurred in this room.” “The one who sent that signal was likely the trapped victim.” “I know that the victim—the woman named Fumiyo—was versed in telegraphic techniques.” Akechi darkened his brow with worry and spoke irritably.

Suddenly, the commotion grew more intense.

A phone call was immediately made to the police, and the staff members—some dashing to the exits to keep watch over entering and exiting spectators, others rushing about the vast venue searching for anyone matching the suspect’s description—sprang into action. Soon, several police officers from the local precinct rushed to the scene, but after discussion—since it was already nearing the 9 o’clock closing time—they decided to divide tasks and strictly guard each exit until all spectators had left. At 9:30, not a single spectator remained; they had all left. The vendors at the venue’s shops, the actors, the stagehands, and nearly all other lower-level staff members had also gone home.

But, strangely enough, neither the masked man nor the Western-dressed woman who appeared to be Fumiyo showed themselves at any of the exits. Those remaining were Manager S, about twenty key staff members, ten police officers, Akechi, and Kobayashi Shounen.

After strictly locking all entrances and emergency exits, a police guard was stationed at each one. Having done that, the remaining twenty-odd people once again assigned their respective areas and thoroughly searched every corner of the venue, but not even a shadow of a person could be found anywhere. “Given that even after searching this thoroughly we haven’t found him, the villain must have already gotten outside.” “If he’s blended into that large crowd of spectators, no matter how carefully you keep watch, it’s possible he slipped through unnoticed.”

Old Inspector Tsunekawa, who had brought along the police squad, said in a resigned manner. "No, I can't quite agree with that." Akechi objected. "The villain deliberately lured Ms. Fumiyo here." "Having gone to such lengths to bring her here, we must consider this Kokugikan building particularly suited for committing some crime." "Taking her into the electrical room couldn't have been their ultimate goal." "As you know, he's a murderous fiend." "Even if the villain escaped from here, the victim—or rather...the victim's corpse—must be hidden somewhere within this venue."

As a result of further discussion, they decided to change their approach this time: the police officers would gather at each exit and entrance while only Akechi and Kobayashi stealthily made their rounds through the vast venue, listening intently. They pretended to have abandoned the search, waiting for the culprit to let down their guard and either reveal themselves or make a sound so they could capture them. By then, local workmen who had heard the commotion had crowded into the office, so pistols were prepared through their efforts just in case, and both Akechi and Kobayashi each concealed one in their pocket before setting out for the final search.

The electric lights were still on, but the brighter they shone, the more unnervingly desolate and eerie the deserted venue became—its cavernous emptiness amplifying the unease. Now every corner of the space belonged to hundreds of dolls. One could imagine them stealthily yawning or whispering amongst themselves when unwatched. Walking through their midst as mere intruders, the two humans felt scrutinized and judged by those lifeless forms—a sensation that prickled their skin with creeping dread.

When one stared intently, every doll—each in its own pose—seemed to breathe furtively and even blink. Had someone asked them about the villain’s whereabouts, they might have replied: “Look—isn’t he right there?” Kobayashi Shounen—inexperienced in criminal pursuits—could not suppress the terror crawling up his spine no matter how he steeled himself. He clenched the pistol in his pocket and pressed close behind Akechi’s back as they walked, drawing resolve from his mentor’s presence.

Before long, the two entered the dimmest part of the venue—a spot surrounded by towering rows of trees and a bamboo grove. Precisely because it was artificial, it felt unnervingly more frightening than an actual forest. Moreover, from unexpected shadows beneath the trees, vivid doll heads would peer out with eerie grins, as if they had wandered into a haunted mansion. In that forest’s depths, Akechi—who had been walking ahead—suddenly stopped and peered into the darkness beyond. The boy too halted abruptly and, peering fearfully through the gloom, realized something dimly visible—a strange object—was standing upright in an odd place.

That area was unmistakably a stage for chrysanthemum dolls modeled after a kabuki play—yet there stood an army officer bundled in a heavy winter coat and fur-lined hood pulled snugly over his head leaning lightly against a towering cedar tree where no such figure should have been. Thinking “This is strange,” yet assuming it couldn’t possibly be alive he tried to pass by nonchalantly—when suddenly like clockwork machinery jerking into motion—the officer blocked Akechi’s path seized his hand in an instant then pressed close to whisper something sharply into his ear.

Kobayashi Shounen shuddered and instinctively recoiled, but when he looked, the officer doll continued floating like the wind, walking ahead. Akechi made no attempt to seize it and calmly followed behind.

Though he couldn't make sense of what was happening, the boy, reassured by Akechi's demeanor, followed along behind him regardless.

After walking a short distance, they came upon the eerie scene of "Seigen Anshitsu."

Amidst a row of cedar trees in near-total darkness stood a tattered, soot-stained hermitage. In the garden’s ground overgrown with weeds, Princess Sakura’s doll crouched with a pale, terrified expression, only her face dimly illuminated by an electric light.

The officer doll stopped in front of Princess Sakura. In the darkness, his faint shadow could barely be seen raising its right hand and pointing at something. It was also due to the ominously flickering, extremely dim electric light. Also, this must have been because the doll was exceptionally well-made. The face of Princess Sakura, frightened by the ghost of Seigen, looked as if it were alive. No, to put it more accurately, it bore an uncanny resemblance to the deathly visage of a real human.

It was not merely trembling in fear. It was the expression of agony from death throes. It was the expression of a woman who had been cruelly murdered at the moment of death. Kobayashi Shounen saw something terrifying—a sight that filled him with such agony, it felt as though his heart were pushing up into his throat. In his sheer terror, he had seen something so horrifying that even reporting the discovery to Akechi felt too daunting.

Princess Sakura’s kneeling torso was completely wrapped in chrysanthemum leaves, yet there was something about its appearance that seemed different from the other dolls. The surface was not smooth. The torn-off chrysanthemum branches had been clumsily draped over it—in some places densely clustered, in others gaping like bald patches.

From those gaps, something crimson glimmered intermittently. It was unmistakably the fabric of Western clothing. It was strange that the doll was meticulously dressed in Western clothing beneath its chrysanthemum costume.

No, that’s not all. From beneath Princess Sakura’s bulky jet-black wig peeked the russet hair of a modern girl. Could it be that the villain killed Ms. Fumiyo and skillfully disguised her as a doll? Kobayashi Shounen felt as though he were being tormented by a nightmare. If that weren’t the case, there was no reason for a chrysanthemum doll to be wearing Western clothes beneath its chrysanthemums or hiding differently colored Western-style hair beneath its wig. Moreover, wasn’t that Western clothing exactly the same color as Ms. Fumiyo’s outdoor attire?

The boy, with eyes riveted in extreme terror as he stared at the doll, grabbed Akechi’s arm. Though Akechi naturally perceived the boy’s terror, at that moment he had discovered something far more significant—something so pressing he could not attend to Kobayashi’s fear. Where the strange officer doll was pointing, in the depths of the hermitage stage’s darkness, a white paper lantern stood dimly. The lantern was now gradually transforming into something else entirely.

It was easy to imagine this was the mirror trick commonly used in haunted house attractions. One might have expected the white paper lantern to blur into Seigen’s ghostly form—but... As the lantern dissolved into haze, something took its place: a human face materialized faintly. The disguise was unmistakably Seigen. Bushy unkempt hair, mouse-gray robes—this was undeniably the Seigen known from kabuki plays. Yet Seigen should have had lips.

The face of the person who had just appeared had no lips. He looked exactly like a skeleton. Ah, what an ingenious hiding place! No matter where they searched, there should have been no trace of the thief. He had been impersonating the ghost of Seigen in the darkness deep within the bamboo thicket. The idea of likening Fumiyo to Princess Sakura and disguising himself as Seigen bore a bone-chilling display of the criminal's warped pride.

“Move without making a sound. Stealthily approach.” “Take your pistol.” “But don’t shoot.”

Akechi brought his mouth close to Kobayashi Shounen’s ear and whispered in a voice so faint it might not have been there at all.

The two crossed the fence and entered the bamboo thicket. The opponent was reflected in the mirror. They couldn't quite pinpoint where the real one was. On the other hand, this provided the advantage that the dimness on their side couldn't be seen from the opponent's position. All they needed to do was mind the sound. As the lipless Seigen advanced, he floated eerily in mid-air, drifting closer and closer.

An ingenious contrivance. As they advanced through the darkness, they came upon a large, pitch-black box-like object just before the mirror. The villain stood inside that box—his figure appearing and vanishing on the mirror’s surface through the automatic flickering of electric lights. The enemy was standing right before them, separated only by a single wooden panel of the box. A rat in a trap.

However, at that crucial moment, something very clumsy occurred. Kobayashi Shounen, unaccustomed to such situations, tripped over something and leaned against the black box.

It wasn’t that they had made any noise, but the box had swayed ever so slightly. The thief, his nerves honed to a razor’s edge, couldn’t have failed to notice. No sooner had the shadow of the monster in the mirror made an unnatural movement than the real terrifying face peered through the gap between the mirror and the box. In an instant, the black box swayed unsteadily and toppled toward Akechi. The bamboo thicket flared into brightness. The box had fallen face-up, exposing the electric light that had been rigged inside.

Akechi’s shoulder was struck by the corner of the box, causing him to stagger involuntarily. Seizing that moment, the monster leapt through the air and lunged at Kobayashi Shounen.

At the same moment, Kobayashi—now overthrown—must have pulled the trigger, for there came the report of a pistol: Bang... The monster did not flinch in the slightest. Not only did he not flinch, he bit into Kobayashi’s right hand, wrested away the pistol, aimed it, and began inching backward toward the passage. Akechi immediately steadied himself and attempted to pursue the thief, but upon seeing the still-smoking muzzle of the pistol and the thief’s desperate expression poised to fire, he found himself unable to recklessly close the distance or retrieve the pistol from his own pocket.

While Akechi hesitated, the monster pulled out the Princess Sakura doll cleanly from its chrysanthemum robe and tucked it under his arm. In the commotion, the wig fell off, revealing—as expected—the Western-style hair of a modern girl. The clothing matched Fumiyo’s crimson outdoor attire exactly. “Ah! Ms. Fumiyo!” Kobayashi Shounen’s scream.

Once again came the terrifying report of a pistol. The villain fired a single warning shot and vanished - leaping over the fence into the darkness of the cedar-lined path. It was over in an instant. Of course Akechi immediately took off in pursuit. But this was a dim cedar grove, beyond which stretched the labyrinthine chrysanthemum doll displays. There were countless hiding places and escape routes. Where had the monster disappeared? Not a shadow nor silhouette remained.

The mysterious military officer doll was no longer visible in the vicinity. Before long, police officers startled by the gunshot rushed over and searched for the thief’s whereabouts together with Akechi. But given how elaborately decorated the place was, there was no way they would find him quickly.

However, no matter how much he fled and hid, it was certain the thief couldn't take a single step out of the building. Every last exit had been left under strict guard.

The search was persistently continued. They lifted papier-mâché rocks, tore up plank floors, and scoured every nook where someone could hide.

And then, just as the futile search continued for nearly an hour, a shrill scream echoed from somewhere.

“Hey! Hey!” came a voice shouting at full volume—it was Kobayashi Shounen. Wondering what had happened, the group rushed toward the voice and found Kobayashi standing in a dim corridor outside the chrysanthemum doll exhibit, frantically pointing at the ceiling while muttering as if delirious: “Ms. Fumiyo! Ms. Fumiyo!” From that vantage point, the interior of the massive dome ceiling became fully visible. Something dangled faintly from the radial steel beams supporting the structure—a small, indistinct shape. It was unmistakably human. Moreover, it was a woman dressed in Western clothing.

To evoke the feeling of a blue sky over the entire chrysanthemum doll stage, a single expanse of sky-blue cloth had been stretched taut; though there were no direct light rays, a faintly bluish, mist-like glow blurred the enormous dome ceiling into a strange dreamscape. If one stared fixedly at the absurdly large iron framework spreading out radially like umbrella ribs, they would begin to feel dizzy and lightheaded. The immense height and vastness evoked an inexplicable terror.

Near the top of those steel beams, a single woman in Western clothing dangled like a bean. From the color of the Western-style clothing, it was immediately clear this was the Princess Sakura doll the thief had tucked under his arm and fled with earlier. Princess Sakura was none other than Ms. Fumiyo. The thief had carried the unconscious Ms. Fumiyo to an extraordinary height and made her perform a hair-raising acrobatic feat.

But why would he come up with such an absurd idea? Carrying a single person up to such a height was no ordinary task. Why did he have to go through such pointless trouble?

At the apex of the dome ceiling gaped a perfectly round hole, beyond which a separate small roof was attached in the shape of a tower. In other words, it was a type of ventilation hole. The thief might have tried to take Ms. Fumiyo through that ventilation hole to the roof above. Though they couldn’t fathom what he meant to do after taking her out, seeing Ms. Fumiyo dangling there left them no choice but to think so.

Given that the thief had gone out of his way to try to carry her out, Ms. Fumiyo was not killed. She had merely lost consciousness temporarily. For even the most beautiful girl would have no use for a corpse. The entire group of pursuers had roughly pieced together the situation in that manner.

But the thief’s intent—going to the trouble of carrying her all the way there only to abandon his purpose midway—was unfathomable. “The thief had left Ms. Fumiyo hanging there and was resting to recover from his fatigue.” “Because I shouted at him then, he got startled—left Ms. Fumiyo as she was—and fled all by himself.” Kobayashi Shounen explained breathlessly.

“Where to?” “Out onto the roof?” One of the police officers shouted.

“Yes, he crawled out through that round hole.” “Is there no one who can climb up there and rescue the woman?”

The leading police officer looked back at the pursuit team members and barked. Among the pursuers were two or three workmen who frequented Ryōgoku Kokugikan. “I’ll give it a shot.”

No sooner had a spirited man in a happi coat pushed through the crowd and stepped forward than he was already scaling a nearby pillar, leaping from its top to the steel framework, and commencing a splendid acrobatic display.

If Akechi had been present, he surely would have stopped this workman, but for some time now, he had vanished—his figure was nowhere to be seen. Neither the police officers nor even young Kobayashi noticed it at all, so consumed were they by their fervor.

The young man swiftly climbed halfway up the long steel beam, but perhaps finally fatigued, his speed gradually began to slow. No wonder. By that point, it was a perilous spot where one might as well be crawling headfirst along the ceiling. At that moment, something terrifying occurred. From the round ventilation hole at the top, a small face peeked out for an instant. Just as a snake raises its head between stone walls. It was the thief. He was still positioned directly above the ventilation hole, observing the situation.

The crowd, overwhelmed by the sheer eeriness, couldn’t help but let out an involuntary “Ah!” The monster’s face, like a snake’s head, no sooner flashed a glimpse than it withdrew; no sooner flashed another glimpse than it withdrew again. If that face—the lipless face—could have been shown in close-up like in a motion picture, it would surely have been even more terrifying; but fortunately, it was at such a dizzying height. Only a pale glimmer flickered in and out of sight.

But the thief had a ranged weapon. Taking aim at the ascending young man, he could shoot him down effortlessly. “Hey, be careful! He’s watching from above! Watch out for the pistol!” When someone shouted, the voice reverberated terrifyingly through the dome ceiling, fading away as “Woo-ooh, woo-ooh.”

The young man glanced down briefly but, with a look that said "What’s the big deal?", kept climbing upward.

Inch by inch, the distance between him and Ms. Fumiyo closed until he finally came close enough to reach her. Though the monster no longer showed his face, he might have been lying in wait outside the pitch-black hole, ready to gun down the young man in one shot should he lay hands on Ms. Fumiyo's body.

The reckless workman, disregarding such concerns, entwined his legs around the steel beam, released both hands in the manner of a fireman’s ladder acrobatics, and snatched Ms. Fumiyo into mid-air.

Ahh, at any moment—at any moment—wouldn't a pistol's bang echo, and the body of the young man holding Ms. Fumiyo somersault and plummet dozens of yards to the ground below? The crowd clutched their sweaty hands, held their breath, and stared at the ceiling until their necks ached. Just as predicted, from the round hole above, the monster's upper body slid into view upside down. His right arm slowly stretched downward. At its tip gleamed a pistol. Though too distant to see clearly, the way his arm was positioned left no doubt.

“Ah, a pistol! Look out!” An involuntary cry rose in unison. The young man seemed to notice it and finally showed surprise; no sooner had he writhed violently while dangling from the steel beam than—ahh, what reckless madness—he thrust Ms. Fumiyo’s body forward like a shield toward the thief.

At the same moment, bang…—the report of a pistol echoed through the dome ceiling.

“Agh!”

A terrible scream—

The crowd jolted and involuntarily turned faces away. But they could not look away. The more terrifying it was，the more eyes were irresistibly drawn toward it.

They saw something whizz through the air and plummet like an arrow. It was something red. It was Ms. Fumiyo. The pitiful girl spun round and round, gaining speed with each moment until she became like a crimson rod. In an instant, she collided with the blue fabric-covered ceiling of the chrysanthemum doll exhibit, shattered through it like a cannonball, and a squelching, eerie sound rang out. “It’s the pool! She fell into the pool!” Someone shouted and was already rushing down the stairs toward that direction. The whole group stampeded after them.

In the sky, the young workman remained dangling from the steel framework, unharmed. He showed no signs of injury. He had merely been startled by the pistol and ended up dropping Ms. Fumiyo. When they looked up at the monster, he remained there upside down, face thrust forward, glaring at the young man while letting out an eerie, cackling laugh that faintly reached their ears. The valiant young man, infuriated by his unexpected blunder, showed no intention of fleeing; instead, he displayed fearsome fighting spirit and charged fiercely toward the monster.

The people on the ground ran down the stairs, surged through the hallway, and rushed into the chrysanthemum doll exhibit.

Through the winding path, they ran frustratingly and hurried to the spot where Ms. Fumiyo seemed to have fallen.

In the center of the venue stood an artificial waterfall, followed by a shallow pool at its basin. The spot where Ms. Fumiyo had fallen corresponded precisely to that location. As they ran along the maze-like winding narrow path toward it, they felt as though they were struggling through that thick, viscous nightmare—running and running yet never breaking free.

The murderer’s audacious act of scaling the dome ceiling while clutching his victim. It wasn’t impossible. But what an inconceivable, preposterous scheme! Even stranger was how the beautiful girl had dangled from the dome’s apex, only to be flung down like discarded trash and smashed to pulp. It resembled a lunatic’s delusion. The sheer outrageousness nearly compelled laughter.

The crowd could not believe what they had clearly witnessed with their own eyes moments earlier. They felt there must be some kind of outrageous mistake. Eventually, they reached their destination: the pool. And upon seeing the very thing they had deemed utterly unthinkable unfolding there before them, they froze in shock as though realizing it only then.

The artificial waterfall was no longer flowing because the motor had been stopped.

Death-like stillness; an artificial gorge arranged with such profundity; tin-crafted grotesque rocks; shadows of ancient trees with intertwined branches—there, a black pool without a single ripple eerily returned the silence.

In the center of the pool, with her pale face turned upward, Ms. Fumiyo’s corpse floated quietly. Her crimson dress splayed open like a grotesque lotus flower; in the black water, her smooth upper arms gleamed translucent, her hair drifting like uncanny seaweed—a beautiful, somber oil-painting tableau. When they suddenly glanced toward one bank, there stood a figure on a large black rock, half-hidden among the dense thicket of trees. She was a beautiful woman wearing a khaki military uniform and a winter coat. Because she had removed her hood, her abundant hair and beautiful face were fully exposed. The true identity of the bizarre officer doll from earlier was this beautiful girl.

She stood pale and with closed eyes, appearing to mourn the woman’s corpse floating in the pool. This too was a bizarre figure within the scene. Since she did not move even slightly, the people did not notice her presence for some time. In this venue teeming with dolls, a motionless person was often mistaken for one of them. But among them, only Kobayashi Shounen—as mentioned earlier, Akechi Kogoro was not present—saw the woman in military uniform. Ah—he noticed the officer doll from earlier, and now clearly saw its beautiful face fully exposed.

“Ah! Ms.Fumiyo!” “It’s Ms.Fumiyo!”

His face flushed crimson with joy, and he suddenly rushed toward the woman in military uniform. “Oh, Kobayashi!” The girl opened her eyes with a start at the voice, recognized the other person, spread her arms as if to embrace the boy, and cried out.

“You were alive after all.” “Yes, I’m alive indeed!” “I thought so too. “I was certain there was no way someone like that could have gotten you.” The two of them rejoiced in their unexpected reunion beneath the ancient trees atop the bizarre rocks of this artificial great gorge, like siblings who had been searching for each other.

The people were utterly dumbfounded by this bizarre spectacle. They couldn’t make heads or tails of what was happening. One of the hall staff members, puzzled by the strangeness, went splashing through the shallow pool to examine the corpse of the woman they had believed to be Fumiyo.

“What the...? It’s a doll! Look! This is the dancing doll that was on display at Stage Six, I tell ya!” He grabbed the corpse’s neck and spun it round and round to demonstrate. When had Ms. Fumiyo been replaced with a doll? How had the villain and everyone else come to mistake it for the real thing? The fact that Ms. Fumiyo had swapped the white cloth soaked with anesthetic in the villain’s pocket with a water-dampened handkerchief had been noted earlier. In his frenzy, the villain failed to notice this at all. Assuming Ms. Fumiyo had been anesthetized, he devised an insane trick to fashion her unconscious body into the Sakurahime doll.

And while he himself was entering the box in front of the mirror to disguise himself as the Seigen doll, Ms. Fumiyo—who had in fact remained conscious—quietly slipped out of the Sakurahime doll’s body, fetched a dancing doll that had been displayed on a nearby stage, dressed it in her own clothes, placed Sakurahime’s wig on its head, buried it within the chrysanthemum robes, and thus substituted herself. Inside the box, the villain who had been playing the role of Seigen never even dreamed that such a thing would happen and remained completely unaware of it.

Ms. Fumiyo was a female detective. She would not simply flee. She ran to the Battle of Liaoyang stage, hid an officer doll behind a rock, stripped off its coat to disguise herself as a female officer, concealed herself in the grove of ancient cedars in front of Seigen Anshitsu, and kept watch on the villain. At that moment, Akechi and Kobayashi Shounen arrived, triggering a pistol disturbance that forced the villain to flee. However, unable to bear abandoning Ms. Fumiyo—whom he had gone to such lengths to secure—the villain ran off with the Sakurahime doll tucked under his arm, unaware it had already been replaced with a mere dummy.

Though he had realized it was a dummy midway, this time he turned it to his advantage, intending to shock his pursuers. Since the lightweight doll posed no difficulty, he hoisted it up the steel frame, dangled it from the summit, and mocked the people below. That was how it had happened.

Now, the stage shifted once more to the dome above. Thoroughly duped by Ms. Fumiyo’s dummy and even receiving a bullet’s “greeting,” the young workman—being after all a notorious daredevil—shouted “Damn it!” and, fully aware his opponent wielded ranged weapons, charged fiercely toward the villain.

At the round hole at the summit, the villain’s figure was no longer there. Having abandoned the perilous upside-down position, he must have fled to the broad dome roof. The young man proceeded smoothly and swiftly across the dizzying steel frame—a structure that would make even an acrobat tremble—and crawled out through the summit hole onto the roof.

A large spherical dome with a gentle slope. The footing was now secure. “Come on!” He assumed a stance and scanned his surroundings, but the villain’s figure was nowhere to be seen—where had he hidden? The illumination bordering the roof was bright, but since it shone upward from below, its flickering made discerning distant objects impossible.

A gunshot rang out suddenly. A bullet cut through the night air, grazing past an ear. “Damn you!” The young man poised to leap toward it in his frenzy, but noticing a figure in Western clothes crawling sluggishly like a giant snake a short distance ahead— “Gotcha!” He pounced in one leap. On the great spherical dome, two masses of flesh desperately grappled in a life-or-death struggle. “Bastard! Bastard!” A cry of fury soared through the black night. Leaving their shouts echoing high above, the two grappling figures tumbled across the dome roof—slowly at first, then with mounting speed until at last, with bullet-like velocity, they sliced through the wind and plummeted beyond the roof’s edge in an instant.

Moreover, compounding the utter strangeness, it appeared yet another person remained on the roof—and from behind the two plummeting figures, a raucous, uncanny laugh reverberated through the darkness.

Flying Demon

Though it was late at night, trams and automobiles still passed each other on the main street in front of Kokugikan; nearby shops were conducting business with their electric lights blazing brightly; and there was no shortage of people coming and going along the sidewalks. The figures of police officers continuing their imposing watch at the chrysanthemum doll exhibit’s entrance, and the unusual figures darting about inside the hall—naturally, those passing by could not help but take notice. One by one, then in pairs, a massive crowd had formed before Kokugikan before anyone knew it.

Thereupon, from the high dome roof came resounding shouts of abuse. From the sky they had looked up at in surprise came a rain of grappling humans.

“Agh!” As shouts rose up, those with weaker nerves screamed in panic and fled, so the crowd surged back and forth, left and right. Had the two who fell from the roof landed directly on the ground, they would certainly have died—but that building had complex protrusions beneath its roof. They fell onto one of the protrusions while still grappling with each other. They survived. However, they lacked the strength to rise immediately. Both of them lay collapsed there, their voices raining down with cries of “Bastard! Bastard!”

If they continued fighting in that narrow shelf-like space, the loser would surely plummet headfirst to the ground this time and lose their life. Though the sea of spectators could not see the figures of the men, the sound of their mutual cursing made it clear that the two were still locked in perilous combat. Voices shrieking “Danger! Danger!” surged like a storm. Before long, the news spread throughout the hall, and a group of people came rushing out like an avalanche—they were the police officers, staff members, workmen, and others who had been pursuing the villain inside the hall earlier. Among them were Ms. Fumiyo in an unusual military uniform and Kobayashi Shounen.

A long ladder was brought out from inside the hall and placed against the shelf-like area where the two were fighting. Two or three craftsmen vied to be first as they scrambled up the ladder and restrained the two who were still grappling. One was undoubtedly the brave young man from earlier; the other should have been the villain. However, strangely enough, that villain was, “Bastard! Bastard!”

And there he was—berating the young man with evident irritation. As for the young man, all his earlier vigor had vanished; he lay limp, letting himself be berated. “Hey—what’s wrong with you?”

When they jabbed his back and asked, the young man replied in a disappointed tone,

“That person isn’t the villain.” “He’s Mr. Akechi, our ally!” “I’ve only just now realized that.”

He groaned.

Indeed, now that it was mentioned, there was no mistaking him—it was none other than Detective Akechi, who until moments ago had been leading the pursuit inside the hall. “The villain should still be on the roof! Capture him at once!” Akechi grimaced as he issued commands. “Because this man made a colossal blunder, my plan lies utterly ruined.” No wonder Akechi had cursed him as a bastard again and again. All his painstaking plans—to single-handedly ambush the enemy from behind and capture the villain on the roof—had now gone completely awry.

Thereupon, as they rescued Akechi and the young man, a large-scale search of the roof was conducted by selecting nimble individuals on another front. Those who were free continued to keep watch over every possible location inside and outside the hall where the villain might descend, without leaving the slightest gap.

But the villain was nowhere to be found. Once again, an inscrutable mystery occurred. The large-scale search continued until midnight, but they found nothing. In the end, they decided to keep the same number of guards on watch and wait for dawn.

Now, when dawn broke, it was discovered that the villain had been hiding in a truly unexpected place. He had been suspected of having vanished into thin air—and vanished he truly had. He had concealed himself not upon the roof, but in the boundless sky high above it.

The large-scale search had ended in vain, and by the time dawn broke, most of the police officers and hall staff had been replaced by new personnel. When Akechi Kogoro fell from the roof, he sustained a bruise around his shoulder and was completely unable to continue his activities, so Ms. Fumiyo and Kobayashi Shounen accompanied him and retreated to the office for the time being. Though unexpected interference had allowed the villain to escape, they had managed to rescue Ms. Fumiyo from his clutches—thus achieving half their objective.

Now at the scene, as dawn broke and the sky above the dome began to pale, the villain's hiding place was discovered with surprising swiftness. As they realized how night's darkness could so blind them, the people couldn't help feeling newly grateful for the sun's presence. The villain they had searched for so exhaustively yet failed to find was now spotted in dawn's light with absurd ease—a single glance sufficing. Yet what a preposterously ingenious hiding place it had been. The people had never imagined the villain would try escaping somewhere higher than the roof. They had carelessly dismissed that possibility altogether.

The Kokugikan, with its enormous dome serving as a sufficient landmark, had no real need for such a thing. Yet the publicity-obsessed manager had opted to use an advertising balloon as a substitute for a signboard. The airship-shaped balloon was moored high in the sky above the dome roof, its bulbous hull boldly emblazoned with the four black characters “Chrysanthemum Exhibition” to ensure visibility from even the greatest distances. The thick hemp rope tethering the balloon ran from the ground behind the hall, along the edge of the dome roof, and rose straight up into the sky.

The villain had climbed up the hemp rope from the roof and ascended to the advertising balloon. From all four sides of the balloon’s belly, numerous thin ropes converged like those of a kite and connected to the thick rope from the ground. At the center of those thin ropes, the villain lay comfortably sprawled in a hammock. Ah, what an outlandish hiding place this was! In the entire history of the police force, this monster was undoubtedly the first criminal ever to flee into the skies.

According to what we knew, this villain was supposed to be wearing prosthetic limbs. With his disabled body—one that could barely crawl through the Kokugikan’s ceiling—how had he managed to climb that long rope high into the sky? In all likelihood, to avoid having his true identity—the one preceding his hideous visage—exposed, and to make his entire body appear as that of another person, the criminal had been covering his healthy limbs with sham prosthetic limbs.

Be that as it may, in front of the Kokugikan, a terrifying crowd had formed in the blink of an eye—twice the size of the previous night’s. No sumo tournament or spectacle could have drawn such multitudes at this early hour. Moreover, the crowd kept swelling by the minute. The police squad assembled at the balloon mooring site behind the hall. There stood a large winch-like device for winding up the rope. Several officers gripped both ends of it and turned the wheel with rhythmic heave-hos. One sun, two sun—one shaku, two shaku—the balloon above began gradually descending under the pull of the coiling rope.

Noticing this, the crowd on the front side rejoiced and raised a triumphant war cry of “Serves you right!” “What an utter fool.” “If he climbs up there, he’s bound to be found, and once he’s found, he’ll be pulled down for sure, don’t you think?” “Look! Before long, he’ll be dragged down without any effort at all.” While enjoying the unexpected spectacle, the spectators mocked the villain’s foolish act one after another. The police and the hall staff shared the same view. They were convinced the villain might as well have been arrested already.

However, it soon became clear that the people’s overly optimistic assumption was a grave mistake. The villain still had a final desperate measure left to him.

The rope was steadily shrinking. The villain clinging to the balloon was, whether he willed it or not, being reeled in one shaku at a time into the enemy’s grasp. The monster remained perfectly still, showing no signs of fluster or agitation; from the ground, it seemed he might have collapsed into sleep, exhausted from his all-night activities. But he was not sleeping—just like the police officers laboring to bring down the balloon, he too worked diligently. Unnoticed by those below, he ceaselessly moved his right hand to continue his task.

It was a life-and-death race: whether the balloon would reach the ground first or he would finish his strange task first.

The balloon seemed motionless, yet before anyone realized, it had drawn near to twice its size above the crowd’s heads. As the distance closed, the gigantic pale brown monster seemed to swell inexorably larger and larger with creaking groans. Eventually, it was pulled down until it grazed the very edge of the dome roof. He was as good as theirs now. Poor thing—what must the villain be feeling now. In the crowd’s hearts, even a faint sense of sympathy welled up—like watching a mouse caught in a mousetrap.

“Ah! What’s he doing?”

Finally, a single police officer noticed the villain’s strange movements and shouted. "He’s frantically moving his right hand. Something’s glinting!" "It’s a knife! He’s cutting the rope with a knife!" "He’s cutting the rope with a knife!" "He’s getting away! Hurry, hurry! Before he cuts the rope—" The police officers looked up at the balloon that had drawn near and shouted in unison. Upon hearing this, the people working the winding mechanism redoubled their efforts, increasing their speed as they hauled in the rope.

The balloon collided with the edge of the roof and swayed gently. The villain’s hammock shook unnaturally. At the same moment, the last fiber of the thick rope snapped with a pop, and the balloon—like a madman violently shaking its rear—soared into the vast sky.

With the recoil, the winding device spun wildly out of control, and several police officers attached to it were flung off—some struck by the falling rope and sent tumbling. “Whoa—” A collective roar rose—no splendid river-opening fireworks could rival this fantastical balloon spectacle. The citizens of Tokyo, caught up in the commotion, verged on frenzy as they applauded the villain’s daring acrobatic feat. The rumor spread through the streets like a gale, and spectators continued to pour in, turning both sides of Ryōgoku Bridge into an unseasonable river-opening throng.

As far as the eye could see, every roof was swarming with people. With no wind to hinder it, the villain’s balloon ascended straight upward, rapidly gaining altitude. Shrinking swiftly until it resembled a child’s rubber plaything, it finally disappeared into the low-hanging white clouds.

The ones delighted by this perfect piece of sensational nonsense were the society reporters. At that cry of “There!”, they grabbed their cameras as automobiles raced toward Ryōgoku Kokugikan. Some rushed to Akechi’s apartment; others dashed to the Hatayanagi residence for interview transcripts. After all, the man was an unprecedented fiend who had brutally murdered several young women and encased them in plaster. That fiend had ascended via balloon. Could there ever be another incident as sensational as this in the world? “A plane! Use a plane to chase him!”

Everyone had thought of it. What a magnificent thriller this was! Their hearts raced at the mere thought. And indeed, an airplane took off. The Metropolitan Police Department had restrained themselves from such measures as might be expected; however, a newspaper company rushed ahead in response to public sentiment and launched their own aircraft. The society reporter aboard that plane may have intended not to apprehend the criminal but rather to record an interview with this celebrity "Balloon Man" amidst the clouds of the vast sky.

Through the first radio news broadcast of the day, this incident was reported—of course in Tokyo, and nationwide.

“The balloon carrying the villain finally disappeared into the clouds…” This single line from the announcer sent a jolt through radio listeners nationwide. An event like a dream or fairy tale. That this came not from some radio drama but from a serious news report by a government-supervised broadcaster—one couldn’t help being shocked.

Wherever two people gathered, talk turned to the Balloon Man. Even those in the Yamate district gazed up at vacant skies, wondering if they might spy the balloon. Countryfolk too—the most impatient among them—created such an uproar that they packed trains bound for Ryōgoku Station solely to glimpse the spectacle.

The criminal had not necessarily planned to escape into the sky from the very beginning. Because he was surrounded by pursuers from all sides, he fled to the roof. Because the roof had also become precarious, as a last resort, he finally conceived the stunt of shimmying up the balloon’s rope. It wasn’t something he did by choice. For a criminal, he was an unlikely balloonist.

At the Criminal Affairs Department of the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, the key leaders gathered to discuss countermeasures.

Due to the extreme commotion, everyone present was quite tense; however, when they thought about it, the problem proved remarkably simple. There was no need to send up airplanes. There was no need to bring out firearms. If they waited patiently, the villain would be caught on his own. Given the advertising balloon’s defective gasbag, gas would inevitably begin leaking soon, causing it to gradually descend until it finally fell to the ground. All they needed was to make arrangements preventing his escape when it landed.

By now, the rumor of the Balloon Man spread nationwide. No matter how desolate a place it might land in, it could not escape notice. He became far too notorious to slip away unnoticed. For the police, as long as they issued directives to each police station in the surrounding prefectures, the villain was as good as captured. Thus, they decided to patiently wait for the balloon to descend. Meanwhile, the airplane from a certain newspaper company—cheered by crowds along both banks of the Sumida River and citizens swarming rooftops across the vicinity—soared high above Ryōgoku Kokugikan like a swallow, its valiant form vanishing into the clouds. Yet after ten-odd minutes, it was seen returning fruitlessly.

After all, newspaper reporters were not cowboys from a Western; they could not perform stunts like capturing the balloon-riding villain by throwing a lasso from an airplane. However, if they were to do something like shoot down the balloon, they themselves would become murderers.

As for what exactly he had been doing in the clouds… As the airplane broke through the thin clouds and emerged into the upper sky, there came into view a dreamlike advertising balloon floating distinctly. Having ascended as high as it could go, it was now drifting gently at the mercy of the wind through a sea of clouds.

For newspaper reporters, aiming their cameras first was standard practice. Even mid-air, this habit held firm. Judging the airplane’s position, they clicked away—some capturing wide shots, others tight close-ups. For reporters, this alone counted as a triumph. But once photos were taken, they wheeled toward the villain and roared. Though propeller noise drowned their voices—uncertain if he heard—they shouted anyway.

“Hey! Even if you keep that up, the gas’ll leak on its own, and you’re bound to fall, I tell ya!” “Aren’t you sleepy, huh?” “Aren’t you hungry, huh?” “Instead of suffering like that, why don’t you just stab the gasbag with a knife and come down already!” They continued shouting such things in fragmented bursts, over and over again. But whether the villain was dead or alive, he remained motionless, clinging to the balloon’s hammock. Could he not hear their shouts? There was no sign of him responding. Had he pushed his reckless courage to the extreme?

Since they could do nothing more, the airplane returned to the airfield for the time being, taking aerial photographs as a souvenir. The social pages of that evening’s newspapers were filled with articles about the “Balloon Man,” but among them, the bizarre photo spread from the newspaper company that had dispatched the airplane only served to further stoke the curiosity of readers across the capital.

“Balloon Man” “The Man Without Lips Murder Fiend” “The Corpses of Girls Encased in Plaster Statues”

Those eye-catching headlines in bold typeface drew extreme disgust from thoughtful readers while delighting curiosity-seeking gawkers with wild cheers. The sensational fact that an outlandish, grotesque novel was now being enacted here in Tokyo sent them into raptures.

But that was a story for a bit later; the scene returned once more to the skies over Ryōgoku.

Several hours after the balloon vanished into the clouds, just past noon that day, the phenomenon the Metropolitan Police Headquarters executives had anticipated occurred.

The defective balloon, like a cheap air pillow, grew heavier as gas leaked from somewhere unseen. And when it parted the clouds to reappear below once more, it was over Sumida River’s downstream reaches, in the skies above Kiyosu Bridge.

Carried by the north wind that had begun blowing around then, it had drifted far away from the skies above Ryōgoku Kokugikan before anyone realized. The balloon, as if being pulled by a rope, steadily drew closer to the ground. In the blink of an eye, with Hamacho Park at its center, the entire vicinity became a mountain of people. It was the exact same commotion as when the Zeppelin had arrived. The howling north wind, the crowd’s voices roaring *“Waaah! Waaah!”* as they swelled, the clouds racing—amidst it all, the balloon was blown sideways. By the time its massive form drew near to twenty meters above the ground, it had already passed south of Eitai Bridge and drifted into Shinagawa Bay.

“At this rate, it’ll reach as far as Odaiba before plunging into the water.” On the roof, people hung clustered like grapes and conversed.

The waiting police squad boarded the Water Police Station’s launch and raced down the Sumida River, propelled by the wind. A phantom balloon soaring through the sky, a launch cutting through the water. A chase of unparalleled strangeness began. The balloon crossed Tsukishima, making for Odaiba; the launch slipped beneath Aioi Bridge into Shinagawa Bay. The wind intensified further; the balloon became a giant cannonball.

No matter how swift the launch might have been, the airborne balloon traveled straight ahead while the waterway meandered, so the distance between them rapidly widened.

Aboard the launch was Inspector Tsunekawa of the Metropolitan Police Department—the renowned detective who had been involved in the Hatayanagi case from the beginning—serving as commander. In this critical moment, the absence of our Akechi Kogoro among the pursuers felt profoundly unsatisfying—but he had sustained injuries during the rooftop skirmish and was at that very time groaning with fever in his apartment bed, leaving no alternative.

But in his place stood Detective Tsunekawa. The genius he had demonstrated across countless criminal cases stood undeniable before the world. Moreover, the enemy now drifted isolated and exposed across the open sea—pitifully reliant on a balloon that had lost its buoyancy, with nowhere left to hide. This capture required no trouble from Inspector Tsunekawa; it was simpler than twisting a baby’s arm.

The launch left Tsukishima and ventured into the open sea. Looking out, they saw the villain’s balloon continuing its perilous flight five or six hundred meters ahead over the sea, grazing the crests of the waves. “Hey, you—that guy on the balloon hasn’t turned into a doll again, has he?” Inspector Tsunekawa turned to a nearby detective and said something abrupt. The fact that the phantom thief could be captured so easily felt somehow wrong. He’d had more than enough of the puppeteer’s sorcery.

But that was impossible. A doll couldn't possibly cut the rope, and in fact, the villain was visible struggling beneath the balloon. It wasn't a robot, and a doll couldn't possibly move like that.

*Sea Fire* The two men exchanged glances and shared an indescribably bitter smile.

“I must be out of my mind,” he said. “That guy... I just can’t handle him.” Inspector Tsunekawa wore a slightly embarrassed look. It was perfectly clear this wasn’t a doll. To even entertain the thought “What if...?” meant fearing his opponent. He must not bring shame to the name of Demon Detective. By the time they passed the mouth of the Sumida River, the pursuing fleet no longer consisted of a single police launch. Just as rubberneckers inevitably swarm when chasing a thief through town, so too did rubbernecking boats materialize on the water—three motorboats slicing through waves, racing against the police launch to reach the villain’s balloon first.

Of these, one appeared to be a racing boat—small in build and insanely fast. Even the police’s high-speed launch could not match this small craft and was overtaken in the blink of an eye. In the boat sat a man in a black suit, hunched over like a jockey or bicycle racer, crouched low over the handlebars and staring straight ahead without looking to either side. “Damn it! That bastard’s insanely fast!”

The police launch driver tried racing for a while but upon realizing he couldn’t overtake muttered irritably. “What’s that guy up to? He can’t possibly be an accomplice…”

A detective grew suspicious. "No way he'd pull such a reckless stunt," "No matter how fast that boat is, trying to rescue the thief and escape in this storm with such a tiny craft—it's beyond imagining." "...Just some amateur showing off." "They're do-gooders who get their kicks helping cops and fishing for praise." "You always get two or three of those types popping up."

The old constable from the Water Police Station deduced from years of experience and answered nonchalantly. The police launch, assisting motorboats—four speedboats in total—bravely charged forward like four sharp saws, splitting the wind-whipped, wave-tossed sea cleanly in two under the howling north wind. Meanwhile, the villain’s balloon, having passed beyond the first Odaiba, finally lost all buoyancy and floated its soggy, wrinkled gas bag upon the water’s surface like the corpse of a giant octopus.

At the moment of the crash, the villain hanging beneath it plunged into the water with a splash and gulped down a mouthful of seawater, but after thrashing desperately, he finally surfaced and managed to cling to a corner of the drifting gas bag. He was completely exhausted. Blown from the roof into the sky, drifting through the air for half a day—the place he fell was upon raging waves. Most people would have lost consciousness long ago, but being a monster, he still refused to yield.

The gas bag, at the mercy of the waves, was thrust up, pushed down, and swayed violently like a swing. The effort he exerted to cling to its slippery surface was no ordinary feat. Splash after splash, the waves crashed over him. In that instant, his hands slipped, and he was swiftly swept about one *ken* away. Thrashing desperately, he finally managed to cling to the gas bag once more. It was repeated mercilessly, time and again. Even a monster of the human world was wretched before the forces of nature.

But his formidable foes were not limited to the forces of nature. A more terrifying foe—the pursuing boats—had lined up their prows and were rushing straight in. While battling the waves, he glanced back furtively whenever he found an opening. Each time he glanced back, the enemy vessels had grown larger. The roar of the engines also grew steadily louder with each passing moment.

However, he still did not yield.

Persisting in his shamelessly desperate efforts, he finally clambered atop the gas bag, wobbled to his feet on its flat center, and brazenly braced himself to face the pursuing boats. The distance between the police launch and the leading small motorboat had somehow stretched to about two blocks. That abnormally zealous amateur pursuer now hurtled forward with such speed that its bow seemed ready to vault skyward, aiming straight for the grotesque villain who stood defiantly atop the balloon boat.

“Hey! Can’t you get more speed out of this thing? Can’t you catch up to that boat?” On the police launch, Inspector Tsunekawa barked impatiently at the driver. All the officers were gripped by an indescribable unease. Could that fellow aboard the speedboat actually be the villain’s accomplice? Were they rushing so recklessly to outmaneuver the police and rescue the thief? They couldn’t suppress the terrifying suspicion welling up inside them.

The motorboat rapidly closed in on the thief. When they were just one or two ken away, the waves prevented them from approaching as intended, and they could be seen being tossed about like a leaf. Approached only to be repelled, approached only to be repelled—and in the midst of this, no sooner had the boat's bow collided with the drifting gas bag than the thief nimbly leapt into the boat from his side. Ah! Just as they thought. That boat was an accomplice of the thief. Otherwise, there was no way the thief would have leapt into it from his side.

“Ah! This is bad! Hurry! Hurry!” “Hurry! Hurry!” On the moving launch, the police officers stomped their feet in frustration.

But what was that? If they were accomplices, there would be no reason for them to grapple so fiercely.

The thief had barely leapt into the boat when he suddenly lunged at the man in Western clothes at the helm. The man was not about to be defeated. When he stood up to confront him, a fierce struggle immediately erupted on the small boat. A bizarre scuffle unfolded inside the narrow boat swaying like a swing. Two figures grappled with each other, both clad in black Western suits. From their vantage point, their inability to clearly discern who was thief and who was ally only made their hearts race all the more.

The police launch, too, was moving at an extraordinary speed. In the blink of an eye, it was rapidly approaching the scene. But the struggle inside the boat ended even faster, resolved in the blink of an eye. No sooner had one man been struck down and vanished beneath the boat’s hull than the victor abruptly crouched into the driver’s seat and began steering the boat. The victor was undoubtedly the villain. It was unthinkable that there could exist a hero capable of crushing that monster one-on-one. The ill-fated fiendish thief was attempting to flee with that terrifying speed, exploiting the pursuers' boat.

No sooner had the boat started cutting through the waves than a sudden, terrifying incident occurred.

No sooner had a flame like a signal fire shot up over the boat than a tremendous noise came echoing across the waves. Why such an absurd incident had occurred—even afterward, they could never determine the cause—but gasoline had ignited, and its metal tank exploded with tremendous force. Flames engulfed the entire boat. Amidst the flames appeared the figure of the monster frantically plunging into the sea. At the same time, the boat shook violently and capsized.

Gasoline spread across the entire surface of the sea. People had never before or since witnessed such a bizarre yet beautiful spectacle. A sea fire! The raging waves became flames and blazed up.

For a while, they could not approach the capsized boat, but before long, the flames scattered across the sea like dispersing fireflies and vanished without a sound. Looking over, near the capsized boat was the figure of a person bobbing up and down. At the cry of “There!”, the launch raced toward the scene. They couldn’t tell whether the drowning person was friend or foe, but in any case, they couldn’t abandon them. They hurriedly brought the launch closer and, with two or three men’s help, pulled the person up. Who had they pulled up? Was it that terrifying lipless monster? No, it was not. But the moment he saw that face, Inspector Tsunekawa let out a frantic scream.

“Well now, this is that Mitani—the acquaintance connected to the Hatayanagi family,” Inspector Tsunekawa exclaimed. “I’ve met him several times and know him well.” So the owner of that speedboat had been Mitani himself—the youth so deeply entangled in the case? Given his involvement, it made perfect sense that he’d pursued the thief with such desperate intensity. Mitani appeared to have swallowed little seawater, for he soon regained full consciousness under the rescuers’ care. “Ah! Mr. Tsunekawa,” he gasped upon recognizing the inspector. “Thank you. I’m fine now—what about him? What became of that bastard?”

The first thing he asked about was the thief. “He might have been killed in the explosion just now.” “We are about to search for him now.” “But Mr. Mitani—why did you outmaneuver us and act alone?” “If you had waited for our launch, none of this would have happened.”

Because the young Mitani was unexpectedly composed, Mr. Tsunekawa inadvertently adopted a tone as if scolding him. "I'm terribly sorry. Because that bastard has repeatedly managed to slip away at the last moment until now, I ended up rushing, determined not to let him get away this time."

“But the thief instead lunged at you.”

"That's right. I relied too much on my own physical strength. I hadn't realized he was that strong. I was instantly struck by his blow and collapsed inside the boat. After that, I knew nothing. As for the boat exploding, this is the first time I'm hearing about it." "That might have been your good fortune. Since you knew nothing and stayed submerged without struggling when the boat capsized, you avoided burns and didn't swallow much water—but the thief must have sustained severe injuries."

Inspector Tsunekawa’s conjecture had been immediately proven correct. At that very moment, the police officers—who had been moving their boat slowly and searching the sea surface all along—finally discovered the thief’s corpse. The corpse was immediately hauled up onto the launch, but no matter how they tried to revive it, their efforts proved futile. Whether from the explosion or from thrashing about on the sea surface—the clothes had been mercilessly charred, and burns covered the limbs—but most strikingly, the face had transformed into a horrifying visage too ghastly to behold.

“It looks ghastly.” “To think it had been burned so horribly.”

The people could not bring themselves to look directly at that face. The already terrifying face—lacking both nose and lips—had been further burned and melted into a grotesque, unrecognizable mass, appearing utterly otherworldly. “Something’s off. Could this really be a human face?” As if suddenly noticing something, Inspector Tsunekawa uttered a strange remark. He seemed to have some thought in mind as he bent over the corpse and stared intently at its ghastly visage for a while, then suddenly reached out and pressed around the cheek area.

The moment he pressed down, he let go in surprise, but at the same time, an expression of great shock surfaced on his face.

“Ah! What in the world has happened here? We might have been completely fooled by that thief after all.”

He said this and looked back at the faces of the group. The people could not comprehend the meaning and could only blink their eyes.

“This charred thing isn’t a real human face, I tell you.”

Inspector Tsunekawa said something even stranger. Everyone involuntarily stared at the thief's terrifying face, but as they stared, they gradually seemed to begin grasping the meaning behind Mr. Tsunekawa's peculiar words. But could such a thing truly exist? It was an utterly grotesque notion. Before anyone realized, leaden rain clouds had blanketed the entire sky, and the launch kept rocking ceaselessly in the churning waves—almost rhythmically, like the pendulum of a great clock. As far as vision reached, black waves moved with tireless persistence, like countless monster heads.

The ghastly visage of the corpse lying in that boat—unthinkable as something of this world. From this morning’s fantastical thief’s escape to the unending series of bizarre incidents, people felt as though they were trapped in some grotesque nightmare that refused to end. They felt an indescribable terror so intense that greasy sweat began oozing from their pores. Inspector Tsunekawa resolutely placed both hands on the thief’s face and, putting all his strength into it, peeled off the skin with a sickening crunch. The grotesque face of a monster peeled away eerily.

Ah, what cruelty! To peel away the skin of a face—even if it was a corpse’s—like flaying the hide from a cow. The people started and instinctively closed their eyes. They imagined black blood gushing from beneath the peeled skin, revealing raw, unbearably hideous red flesh. However, no blood flowed, and no flesh appeared. What emerged from beneath the grotesque skin was an entirely different face. In other words, the burned, lipless face was none other than an exquisitely crafted wax mask.

The people, even after realizing it was a wax creation, could not help but marvel at how such a thing could have deceived the public for so long. But the art of wax craftsmanship had advanced in Japan to an extent beyond even what one might imagine. The way wax figures in shop windows appeared truly alive, and how wax crafts of sweets and fruits were indistinguishable from the real thing—these spoke to the eerie, chameleon-like nature of wax itself.

In fact, there are even instances where actors use wax masks—exact replicas of their own faces—to perform dual roles on stage. “This is the thief’s true form. For a long time, it’s this guy who’s been frightening us with that lipless face.” Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently at the thief’s face while holding the peeled wax mask. No one recognized that face. He was a thirty-five or thirty-six-year-old beardless man. He had no distinguishing features. Here and there on his face—burned by hot wax—strange mottling had appeared.

“Mr. Mitani, you remember Okada Michihiko’s face, don’t you?”

Inspector Tsunekawa asked. “Yes, I will never forget.” Mitani Fusao, looking as pale as a ghost, answered weakly. “So, is this man Okada Michihiko?” “No, that’s not right. I was utterly convinced it was Okada, so I did things like going with Mr. Akechi to investigate his atelier. I had convinced myself that Okada had burned his face with chemicals and was maintaining that terrifying disguise. However, this man is not Okada. He is a complete stranger.”

Mitani said with an expression of disbelief and confusion.

The situation abruptly transformed. The culprit was not Okada. Then what did that mean? The one who had created the plaster corpse statues in that atelier was undoubtedly Okada. So was this thief entirely innocent of that murder case? Had two entirely separate criminal incidents become entangled in Mitani’s mind?

Three Dental Impressions

Two days after the dramatic incident in Shinagawa Bay, Inspector Tsunekawa visited Akechi Kogoro’s sickroom.

Though called a sickroom, it was actually the bedroom of his combined office and residence in the Kaika Apartment. Due to a bruised shoulder, he had once suffered a severe fever, but now the fever had subsided, leaving only lingering pain from the injury as he had nearly regained his health. Akechi had already learned the general details through newspaper reports, but Inspector Tsunekawa proceeded to recount the sequence of events in even greater detail.

The amateur detective lay supine on his bed, occasionally interjecting with questions as he listened intently. At the bedside, Ms. Fumiyo remained constantly by his side, attending to all his needs. “Did you bring what I requested over the phone?”

Once he had finished hearing the details of the criminal’s drowning, Akechi asked impatiently.

“I brought it. I didn’t understand your reasoning, but since it was your request, I went ahead and took the impression anyway.” Inspector Tsunekawa placed a small object wrapped in white cloth on the bedside table. “However, such things will no longer be necessary. The criminal’s identity had finally been uncovered. In fact, I was about to inform you of that.” In this case, Akechi’s contributions had fully merited such treatment from the Metropolitan Police Department’s renowned detective.

“Did you find out who he really was?” “He was an extremely peculiar man. Medically speaking, he must be considered a pathological case. A little-known detective novelist called Sonoda Kokkou.” “Oh? A detective novelist?” “When the landlord saw the dead man’s photo in the newspaper and notified us, we immediately searched his dwelling. He’s truly a dreadful creature.” Sonoda Kokkou was a bizarre writer who published deeply unsettling short stories about once a year—just when people had begun forgetting him—emerging abruptly from obscurity to terrify devotees of the macabre.

The public, of course, and even the magazines that published his works knew nothing of where this man Kokkou lived or what he looked like. The manuscripts were always mailed from different post offices, and the manuscript fees were to be sent via poste restante at each respective office. Neither the landlord nor the neighbors had any idea that he was a detective novelist. They had only known that he was an eccentric bachelor who never socialized, always kept his door closed, and whose presence at home was uncertain.

“It’s a small detached house in a desolate corner of Ikebukuro, but when we inspected the interior, it was practically a haunted house.” “A skeleton hung in the closet.” “A doll’s head lay on the desk.” “The head was slathered thick with red ink.” “Every wall was covered with bloodstained ukiyo-e prints.” “That’s how it looked.” “Fascinating.” Akechi nodded vigorously.

“As for the books on the bookshelves, they were packed with works such as domestic and foreign criminology, history of crime, and true crime accounts.” “...The desk drawers were filled with a great number of unfinished manuscripts, and from the signatures on those manuscripts, we discovered that strange pen name—Kokkou.”

“I’ve read Kokkou’s novels before.” “I did think he was an exceptionally peculiar novelist.” “That fellow was a congenital criminal.” “To sate those urges, he wrote horrifying novels.” “When novels could no longer satisfy him, he naturally progressed to actual crimes.” “Disguising himself among Ryōgoku’s lifelike dolls or fleeing skyward in a balloon—such notions would scarcely occur to anyone but a novelist.” “Every element of this case bore the mark of a storyteller’s runaway fancy—outlandish beyond measure.”

“Have you investigated the manufacturer of the wax mask that the thief was said to have worn?”

Akechi asked. “I investigated,” replied Inspector Tsunekawa. “There are only four or five specialized wax craft workshops in Tokyo—we checked them all thoroughly. But none of them produced anything like that.” “Wax crafts don’t require particularly elaborate tools, do they?” “No—all you need is a mold, materials, a pot, and dye. He likely commissioned a specialist craftsman to make it secretly at his home,” the inspector explained. “After visiting one of these workshops myself, I realized even an amateur could manage it once they grasped the basics. The finished product was as thin as celluloid with just enough elasticity—and indistinguishable from a real human face when worn. A truly terrifying disguise tool when you consider it.” He leaned forward slightly. “He pulled it snugly down from his hairline all the way behind his ears. So well-crafted you wouldn’t notice it was a mask at first glance—no need for tinted glasses or other coverings.”

Such a bold disguise method was a first even for the seasoned Inspector Tsunekawa.

“Truly, every single aspect reeks of a novelist’s design.” “For practical police officers, these fantasy-driven crimes bordering on madness prove most troublesome.” “Still, thanks to your efforts, we’ve finally broken the fiend.” “A pity we had to kill him, but this concludes society’s uproar over the Man Without Lips affair.”

Inspector Tsunekawa’s tone seemed genuinely relieved. “It appears resolved for the time being.” Akechi said with a smile, making an odd remark. “Huh? What’s that?” Inspector Tsunekawa looked startled, “So you’re still... Ah, speaking of an accomplice?” “No, not an accomplice or anything of the sort. I’m considering the fearsome mastermind behind this case.” “But hasn’t that mastermind already died?”

“Somehow, I just can’t bring myself to believe it.”

Even the Demon Inspector was dumbfounded by Akechi’s utterly bizarre words. What on earth was this eerie amateur detective thinking? Was he suggesting the criminal had revived and escaped from the cemetery where he’d been temporarily buried?

“What do you mean by that?” Inspector Tsunekawa had no choice but to ask directly.

“This case appears far too complex to be resolved simply by a novelist’s death,” “Just consider the plaster corpse statue discovered in Okada Michihiko’s studio—” “However, that is an entirely separate crime.” “And Okada, the perpetrator, has long been dead.” “If we abandon this tempting notion that Okada survived and disguised himself as the Man Without Lips, there’s no problem whatsoever.”

“That may be a convenient interpretation for your side, but are you truly certain such simplistic resolution is acceptable? Just considering this example already reveals major contradictions. If we accept Okada as the criminal behind those plaster corpse statues—making him an exceptionally cruel type of deviant—how could such a man commit suicide like some pure-hearted youth merely over being rejected by Widow Hatayanagi?”

“So, are you still asserting that Okada and the Man Without Lips are one and the same?”

Inspector Tsunekawa retorted, his tone verging on calling the idea absurd and even tinged with scorn. “Furthermore, this case still has various difficult-to-solve mysteries remaining.”

Akechi did not answer the other’s question and continued talking. “For example, there is the mystery of the man who identified himself as Ogawa Shouichi and was murdered in the sealed study of the Hatayanagi residence.” “How did the culprit come and go?” “Why was he killed? And how did the victim’s corpse vanish without a trace?” “And why would that murderer return Ms. Shizuko to us so easily without inflicting a single injury after going to such lengths to kidnap her?” “At that time, if he had wanted to take her and escape, there would have been no difficulty.” “No—there’s something even stranger.” “I called the Shiobara Hot Springs Inn and learned from a maid that the monster who startled Ms. Shizuko at the hot springs truly had no lips.” “Since the maid who served the meal clearly saw it, there can be no mistake.” “However, if we suppose that the man who escaped via balloon this time was wearing a mask, does that mean these two are completely different individuals?” “If we enumerate them, there are still a great many points that remain unexplained.” “Even so—can we truly say this case has been resolved?”

“So you’re claiming Okada Michihiko survived somewhere and remains the true culprit?” “Perhaps… No, speculation is forbidden.” “We must base our judgment on definitive evidence.” “That evidence should arrive any moment… Ah! Here it comes.” “I’ve been impatiently awaiting this very thing.” Just then, footsteps echoed outside. The bedroom door creaked open to reveal Kobayashi Shounen’s apple-round cheeks peering through.

“Ah, Kobayashi, you’ve managed to obtain it, haven’t you?”

Akechi was reading the boy’s expression.

“Yeah, I found it way easier than expected.” “Just like we thought – it was that dental clinic nearby.” “When I asked, they handed it right over.”

The boy said cheerfully and presented a small paper package. Akechi received it, placed it on the table, and ordered Ms. Fumiyo to retrieve another similar package from the cupboard. Thus, on the table alongside what Inspector Tsunekawa had brought earlier, three small packages were now lined up. “Inspector Tsunekawa, please open those and examine them closely. If any two of them are exactly the same, the problem will be solved instantly. But probably…”

Inspector Tsunekawa, perceiving Akechi’s intention mid-sentence, hurriedly opened the package. One red rubber-like lump and two white plaster lumps. They rolled out from the three packages. All were human dental impressions. Among them, the red one was what Inspector Tsunekawa himself had taken from the Balloon Man’s corpse and brought here. “Is there a match?” While lying supine, Akechi asked impatiently. Inspector Tsunekawa was carefully comparing the three dental impressions, but

“There isn’t.” “All three are completely different dental impressions.” “You can tell at a glance.” he answered somewhat dejectedly.

After that, Ms. Fumiyo and Kobayashi Shounen earnestly compared them, but the conclusion remained unchanged. Not a single dental impression matched.

“Then, whose dental impression is this plaster one?” Inspector Tsunekawa asked, having mostly surmised the answer already. “What Kobayashi has just brought is Okada Michihiko’s dental impression.” “It took Kobayashi two days of work to uncover that Okada had been visiting a dentist, track down that doctor, and finally obtain this.” “And what about the last one?” “That is the true culprit’s dental impression.” “Huh? The true culprit’s dental impression?” “Did you know who the true culprit was?” “How on earth did you obtain it?”

Inspector Tsunekawa was increasingly dumbfounded by Akechi’s unexpected words.

“You’re aware I investigated the vacant house in Aoyama with Mr. Mitani? The villain’s hideout where Ms. Shizuko was confined.” Akechi explained. “I’ve heard about that, but…” “At that time, I discovered leftover biscuits and cheese in the cupboard of that vacant house. I stacked cheese on a biscuit, bit into them—leaving clear tooth marks—then quietly took them back and made a plaster cast.”

“But that being the culprit’s dental impression…” “Since that house had been vacant for over two months, no one else would have brought food there.” “Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru were frequently offered biscuits and cheese by the culprit, but they say they didn’t eat a single thing during their confinement.” “Based on their testimony as well, it is certain that these were the culprit’s leftovers.” “That was their food.”

At that time, Akechi had not said a word about the discovery even to his companion Mitani. He had merely muttered a mysterious riddle-like soliloquy. Why had he needed to hide it from Mitani? Akechi would not conceal things without reason. Could there have been some special circumstance there? “So, in other words, this is the dental impression of either the culprit or their accomplice.” “Because at that time, there must have been two of them in the vacant house.”

Inspector Tsunekawa finally understood Akechi’s explanation.

“That’s correct. However, if it doesn’t match either Okada Michihiko’s dental impression or that of the novelist who drowned in Shinagawa Bay, then they must still be alive somewhere. And they are likely planning even more terrible crimes.”

Inspector Tsunekawa still could not believe it wholeheartedly, as Akechi did. It seemed there was more to it than just dental impressions—Akechi likely knew various other things as well. “Then why did Sonoda Kokkou go through the trouble of luring Ms. Fumiyo out and escaping via balloon with such strange antics?” “Do you not acknowledge this fact, which is far more significant than things like dental impressions?” “Are you saying that he is not the culprit?”

Inspector Tsunekawa simply could not bring himself to accept the deranged novelist’s role in this. "He is not the true culprit." Akechi declared flatly. "He may be an accomplice. Or he may not be. In any case, a novelist remains a novelist; the true culprit must lie elsewhere." When the inspector heard this, he made a strange face. People had begun to suspect this man’s fever might have addled his brain. "I must appear to be saying something preposterous. That’s precisely it. The terrifying secret of this crime resides in the very fact that even you think this way. To any observer, the true culprit would undeniably seem to be that novelist. It was engineered to make them think so. It’s the culprit’s masterful trick."

Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently into Akechi’s eyes and sank into thought. Akechi’s words hinted at some terrible secret. He felt he was on the verge of understanding it. Just a bit more. Just a bit more.

Just at that moment, there came violent knocking at the door of the guest room one room over. Kobayashi Shounen went to answer it and returned immediately—in his hand was a special delivery letter. “From whom?” “There’s no sender’s name.”

The boy made a strange face and handed the letter to Akechi.

Akechi, still lying on his back in bed, opened the envelope, but no sooner had he read a few lines than a look of surprise flashed across his face.

An Unexpected Culprit

“Look.” “This is the definitive proof that the culprit is still alive.”

Having finished reading, Akechi handed the letter to Inspector Tsunekawa.

“Mr. Akechi, how fares your illness? That’s precisely why I warned you. Have I not sent you two warning letters already? Even the renowned detective had his moment of carelessness, did he not? Did you truly imagine I would let a prize like Ms. Fumiyo escape my clutches?”

“By the way, in a farcical turn of events, I have died, you see. I made a show of dying right before the world’s eyes. The corpse remains temporarily buried and lies in the ground.” “In other words, this is a letter from a dead man. But for a letter written by a ghost to actually get delivered—that’s rather peculiar, don’t you think?” “Now, the matter at hand remains the same warning. I genuinely wish for you to withdraw. While confined to your sickbed, you persist in detective work without learning your lesson. As a matter of fact, I know precisely what young Kobayashi has done since this morning. I want you to stop that. If you do not, this time your own life will be in peril.”

“By the time this letter arrives, another murder may already have occurred somewhere. No matter how you meddle, not one speck of my plans will change. Your agonizing won’t stop these crimes—it will only whittle away your own life. I don’t make empty threats. Withdraw from this case at once. This is your final warning.”

“He ridicules people with excessively courteous phrases.” “I have never before suffered such an insult.”

Akechi lay on his back, glaring at the ceiling with terrifying eyes as he groaned like a man muttering to himself. Inspector Tsunekawa could only marvel at how precisely Akechi’s words had struck home; utterly incapable of imagining the true nature of this phantom-like fiendish thief, he remained silent. But when he suddenly became aware of this silence after some time had passed, he spoke with visible irritation.

“By the time this letter arrives, another murder will have been committed somewhere—that’s what he’s announcing.” “That is an insult.” “We lack the power to prevent it.” “Murder will undoubtedly occur.” Akechi seemed to believe in the thief’s sinister power.

Just at that moment, the desk phone in the next room rang out piercingly. Ms. Fumiyo stood up, went over, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Akechi?” “This is Mitani.” “I’m at Hatayanagi now.” “Ah, you’re Ms. Fumiyo, aren’t you?” “Another horrifying event has occurred.” “Steward Saitou has been killed by someone.” “If Mr. Akechi’s condition permits, I would very much like to request his presence.”

When Fumiyo, startled, relayed that Akechi was still unable to get up, "In any case, please convey this matter. I will call on you later to provide a detailed explanation." With that, the call ended.

When Ms. Fumiyo returned to the room and reported the matter, Akechi raised his upper body on the bed, “Ms. Fumiyo, please get my clothes.” “I can’t stay like this.” After Mr. Tsunekawa and Ms. Fumiyo finally managed to restrain his impatience, it was decided that the inspector and Kobayashi would rush to the Hatayanagi residence.

“Then, once you arrive there, call at once to report developments.” Akechi lay down on the bed, compelled by the pain in his shoulder, yet his body still refused to fully concede.

Before long, word came that a car had arrived at the front entrance downstairs. Inspector Tsunekawa and young Kobayashi slipped one arm into their coats and dashed down the stairs. Then, the car carrying the two of them raced off toward the Hatayanagi residence at full speed.

When Inspector Tsunekawa and young Kobayashi arrived at the Hatayanagi residence, a deathly pale Mitani Fusao hurriedly greeted them and ushered them into a room.

“We were just now discussing the case with Mr. Akechi—he insisted that the thief was still alive and that the crime had not been resolved—but it was truly unexpected that this had been corroborated so quickly.”

Inspector Tsunekawa briefly recounted the matters: the warning letter from the thief, the subsequent phone call from this household, and how—since Akechi remained unable to go out—he had rushed over accompanied by young Kobayashi as a stopgap measure. “Are you saying the culprit forewarned today’s incident?” Mitani asked suspiciously. “Yes. While we were reading that letter, your call arrived as if prearranged.” “When you say ‘culprit,’ you mean that Man Without Lips fellow, don’t you?”

“Undoubtedly, it’s him.” “There’s no other way to think but that the guy who escaped via balloon was a substitute.”

“No, that can’t be!” Mitani, for some reason, wore an expression of anguish and perplexity,

“Old Man Saitou was killed entirely due to an accident.” “I can’t believe the culprit’s will is at work here.” “That person being the culprit’s accomplice… How could such an absurd thing exist?!”

Inspector Tsunekawa did not let Mitani’s strange words go unnoticed. “That person...? Then you already know who the culprit is?” “I do know.” “It’s entirely an accidental killing.” Mitani’s pale face twisted into a tearful grimace as he writhed in agony.

“Who is it? This culprit you speak of—” “The culprit you mentioned—”

Inspector Tsunekawa pressed closer.

“It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been here, none of this would have happened.” That Mitani Fusao was so distraught could only mean something extraordinary had occurred.

“Who is it? And has that culprit already been arrested?”

“She escaped.” “However, being a woman with a child, she cannot possibly escape completely.” “She will likely be caught soon.” “And she will have to stand in a terrifying court of law.”

“A woman with a child, you say? Then could it be…” “Yes. It’s Ms. Shizuko, the mistress of this house. Ms. Shizuko inadvertently killed Steward Saitou.” Inspector Tsunekawa was utterly dumbfounded by the completely unexpected culprit. “I presumed too much on Ms. Shizuko’s kindness. I was young. I became too complacent, thinking everyone was grateful for what little effort I’d made regarding the thief. It cannot be said that the old steward didn’t engage in behavior somewhat excessive for his position. Finally, the old man brought up that matter to Ms. Shizuko.”

Due to the Balloon Man’s drowning, everyone believed that the demon plaguing the Hatayanagi household had perished. When a major incident subsides, the minor incidents that had been hidden in its shadow become strikingly noticeable.

It was only natural that the old man bitterly recalled the improper relationship between Ms. Shizuko and young Mitani. That had finally erupted. The old man, using an external errand as a pretext, called Ms. Shizuko—who had been secluded alone in a room with Mitani since morning—to a separate chamber. Shizuko had likely surmised as much. Fearing that the servants might overhear, she led the way and entered the second-floor study.

The two of them continued their argument there for a long time. Their heated words were so intense that even a maid passing through the outer corridor happened to catch fragments of their exchange. Even after waiting endlessly, there was no sign of either coming downstairs, so the group began growing uneasy. "It’s so quiet... I can’t hear any voices at all." "What could be happening?" "This feels wrong."

The maid, who was fond of eavesdropping, came down from the second floor and reported to the group. In the end, Mitani gave instructions, and they decided to have the student go check. After the student knocked repeatedly, he softly opened the door—and there lay a horrifying scene. Shizuko crouched beside the old man’s corpse, clutching a blood-stained dagger with maddened eyes. The student who caught a glimpse of the horrifying scene jolted and froze in place.

Shizuko too seemed utterly shocked; for a moment, she stared at the student with eyes as cold and unfeeling as glass, wide open. Then, while slowly raising and lowering the blood-stained dagger in her hand, she began to grin awkwardly as if deeply embarrassed. The student gasped and felt terror so intense he wanted to flee. He was certain the mistress had gone mad.

“Madam! Madam!” He called out but could not utter another word.

The student slid down the stairs like a black wind without a sound and stood rigidly in place, his lips trembling violently, so the group instantly realized a violent incident had occurred. When they noisily rushed up to the study and looked, Shizuko remained in her original position, slowly, slowly raising and lowering the dagger.

When they looked at the victim, old man Saitou, he had perished easily from a single stab to the heart.

Shizuko was in a state of extreme agitation, half-mad with frenzy, so to calm her down by any means necessary, they led her down to her bedroom on the lower floor. She showed no signs of struggle and did not utter a single word. She indeed had no strength left to speak.

Due to the emergency report, the police arrived first, followed by prosecutors and preliminary judges. Given the succession of strange incidents surrounding the Hatayanagi household, it was only natural that they considered this sudden event extremely serious. The interrogations proceeded as per protocol. The study where the crime occurred had all its windows securely fastened; the boundary with the adjacent room was a thick wall, and the only entrance was the door opened by the student. It was absolutely impossible to imagine anyone other than Shizuko as the culprit.

Moreover, that Shizuko was the perpetrator had been proven by her own terrified demeanor. When questioned,

“I don’t know.” “I don’t know.”

She only answered in a tremulous voice, her teeth chattering, and though she did not directly confess, if she were not the culprit, she should have been able to give a clear response. Shizuko was in a corner of her room, holding Shigeru—who wore a sullen expression—and trembling violently, so the group never imagined she would attempt to flee. They inadvertently took their eyes off her and continued with their on-site investigation and questioning of the servants. However, when the investigation was completed and they returned to the room to take her into custody, Shizuko and Shigeru were nowhere to be found. Even after searching every corner of the mansion, they were nowhere to be seen. Even when they rushed outside to look, there was no trace of them anywhere around. As a woman, even taking her child along, she had daringly fled.

At the exclamation “There!”, the police officers called headquarters and requested reinforcements. They split up and set out to search. Such was the commotion.

The judicial officials also subsequently withdrew. The mansion fell silent as if after a storm, but even after about an hour had passed, there was still no word from the police. Shizuko had not been caught.

“However, how could a woman with a child manage to hide herself for long? It’s only a matter of time before she’s caught. And then prison. The courtroom. Moreover, when you trace it back, I am the one responsible for things turning out this way. I don’t know what to do. The reason I called Mr. Akechi was to explain my feelings and seek your advice. I just can’t bring myself to believe such an obvious fact. I can’t believe that Ms. Shizuko truly had any intent to kill.”

The young Mitani poured out his frustration with no outlet to Inspector Tsunekawa.

“This is truly unexpected. “Even I can’t believe Mrs. Hatayanagi would attempt murder. “But there was no one else in the room—or outside it. “And her gripping the murder weapon—that’s unfortunately irrefutable evidence.”

“That’s right. When it comes to evidence, there’s something even worse.”

Mitani licked his lips and continued speaking in a hoarse voice. “In the study, the maid overheard Ms. Shizuko and old man Saitou arguing...”

According to what that maid had clearly testified before the preliminary judge... "You're fired. Get out right now." Shizuko shouted in a shrill voice - words her usual self would never have uttered even in her wildest dreams. This alone made clear how violently the two had been arguing at the time. "I won't leave," Saitou retorted. "On behalf of your departed husband, I must warn you. No matter what happens, I will not back down."

It was the old man’s tensely trembling voice. “How dare you look down on me because I’m a woman! What are you saying?” “I can’t endure this any longer.” “I am a lunatic.” “Exactly as you say—I have gone mad.” “See for yourself what a lunatic will do.” “You’ll regret it when it’s too late.”

And roughly that kind of verbal exchange had been overheard by the maid. “When she said, ‘You’ll regret it when it’s too late,’ what did you think she meant by that? Did it seem like she was holding a dagger, threatening to kill him?”

When the preliminary judge asked this, the maid replied, “It did seem that way.”

the maid replied. “This is what happened. “In other words, it all adds up. “If you look at it, this murder case has both motive and intent.” Mitani gestured despairingly. Inspector Tsunekawa had no words of comfort. No matter how he considered it, all the circumstances spoke of Shizuko’s crime. In this situation, there was no way to escape. For a woman—though it may seem unseemly—the force of circumstances could be terrifying. It was not uncommon for a trivial quarrel to lead to unforeseen crimes; even women dared commit outrages surpassing men’s when driven by love.

They fell silent for a while. Mitani was lost in his own thoughts, while Inspector Tsunekawa was occupied with something else entirely. That "something else" was how to connect the thief’s warning letter that Akechi had just received with this incident, which had erupted as if coordinated with it. They appeared to have absolutely no connection. Yet, it also seemed that there must be some kind of connection. Even so, could there really be such an absurd thing as the lipless monster and Yanagihara Shizuko—the woman targeted by that fiend—being of the same ilk?

As Inspector Tsunekawa was lost in such thoughts, he noticed something lightly poking the area around his backside where he was sitting. When he looked to the side, the hand of the boy Kobayashi, sitting next to him, was reaching behind his back.

Thinking the boy was up to something strange, he looked at his face and saw him indicating something with his eyes—the confectionery box on the table. Inside lay pieces of yokan. When they looked closer, one appeared half-eaten, left behind by someone, with a clear bite mark indented into it.

He found the child’s observation rather amusing, but a child’s intuition should not be underestimated. If this dental impression were to match the culprit’s dental impression that Akechi had in his possession, he couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. “Mr. Mitani, this may sound like a strange question—but who left this yokan half-eaten? Do you know?”

When he asked just to be sure, Mitani made a strange face and thought for a moment, but—

“Ah, that was certainly Ms. Shizuko. “This morning, before that commotion happened, she bit into it while we were alone there. “It struck me as odd that someone who’s always so proper would do something like that today of all days, so I remember it clearly. “But what does that matter?” It was an unexpected answer.

Inspector Tsunekawa was startled. Ah—this was Ms. Shizuko’s dental impression. What would it mean if comparing this dental impression with the culprit’s revealed an identical match? As this thought struck him, an indescribable shudder welled up from the pit of his stomach.

“Ah, I can’t just sit here like this. It’s completely baseless, but I’ll go search for Ms. Shizuko. It’s better than sitting idle.” No sooner had Mitani muttered those words as if talking to himself than he unsteadily rose to his feet and, without offering a farewell, left his guests behind as he went off somewhere.

“Poor thing, he seems rather flustered.” Inspector Tsunekawa glanced at the boy Kobayashi and gave a bitter smile. “Shall we take that yokan with the dental impression back and compare them?”

The boy was engrossed in the dental impression discovery. “Very well. Take this and go back for now.” “Then explain the situation to Mr. Akechi.” “I’ll stay here a while longer to investigate.” “Contact me by telephone if needed.” Inspector Tsunekawa found himself swayed by Kobayashi’s fervor into permitting the dental comparison.

When the boy left, the inspector went up to the second-floor study and meticulously examined the scene of the crime, but found nothing noteworthy. All the windows were tightly shut. There was absolutely no place for a person to hide inside the room. In other words, at the scene, aside from Ms. Shizuko, there was no room for the culprit to have entered. Yet there was no reason for the old man to have committed suicide. No matter how much he thought about it, there was no culprit other than Ms. Shizuko.

After finishing his investigation of the study, he descended from the second floor and went out into the garden. There was no particular purpose. He had simply thought to view the entire building from the garden once.

However, no sooner had he descended into the garden and walked a short distance than he came across something strange. A dog as large as a calf lay collapsed in the corner of the garden. Needless to say, it was the pet dog Sigma. Its forehead appeared to have been struck hard, with blood oozing out. There was no way a dog killer could have entered the premises. Who on earth had killed this dog, and for what purpose? Finding it strange, he asked the houseboys and maids, but they all answered that they didn’t know. It was said that the dog had been kept tied up in its kennel all along, but since the wounds inflicted by the culprit some time ago had mostly healed, they had just released him from the chain that morning.

While they were occupied with such things, a call came from Akechi. It appeared that Kobayashi Shounen had already returned to the apartment’s sickroom. When he picked up the receiver, he heard Akechi’s slightly excited voice. He had gotten down from the bed and purposely walked to the desk telephone. Was there truly a matter so urgent that he had to come to the telephone himself?

“Hello? Mr. Tsunekawa? I compared the dental impressions. They match perfectly. If that is Ms. Shizuko’s dental impression, then we arrive at the strange conclusion that Ms. Shizuko herself is the phantom thief we’ve been pursuing.”

“Is that true?” Inspector Tsunekawa exclaimed in surprise, “I just can’t believe it. I feel there must be some mistake here.” “I think so too,” said Akechi. “What’s the evidence that that is Ms. Shizuko’s dental impression?” “It’s Mr. Mitani’s testimony. He stated it decisively.” “Mr. Mitani...” Akechi trailed off and appeared to be thinking for a moment before continuing: “By the way, there should be a pet dog named Sigma there. Is it still tied up at the dog kennel?”

Inspector Tsunekawa was startled. Hadn’t he just seen that dog’s corpse? Akechi was such a terrifying man. “They had released him from the chain this morning.” “However, that dog was killed by someone unknown at some point.” “What? Killed.” “Where?”

Why was Akechi so shocked? "I just discovered it lying in the corner of the garden."

“Ah, what a terrifying bastard. The one who killed it is the real culprit. Because in this entire world, there’s no one but that dog who truly knew the criminal. Even if human eyes get deceived by masks or disguises, a dog’s nose can hardly be tricked... My realization came a bit too late.” Akechi said in deeply regretful tones.

Mother and Child

The pitiable Hatayanagi Shizuko—who had become the perpetrator of the terrible butler murder and was even subjected to outlandish suspicions that she herself was the monster without lips—where in the world had she hidden herself? And in that lay yet another tale—a single episode of bone-chilling horror.

“In that case, you would be unable to face your late husband.” “There is also the matter of social propriety.” “The relatives are making a fuss.” “Well, first of all—you should be ashamed before your son who’s already six years old!”

The argument escalated, and the old man also spoke harshly.

When confronted like that, Shizuko—precisely because she was vulnerable—flared up. As her past conduct made evident, she was a woman ruled entirely by emotion—one who had lived indulgently under the extreme indulgence of an older husband. Once she set her mind to something, she would carry it through—she may have seemed strong-willed, but in truth, she was merely a spoiled child on a grand scale.

That she—having had her vulnerabilities exposed by none other than steward Saitou, and even subjected to scolding harsher than any she had heard from her late husband—seethed with frustration was only natural.

“Please leave right now. How dare a mere servant be so impudent!” Indecent insults gushed forth unbidden from her lips. True to the nature of a self-indulgent person, she had been blinded. She had been seized by a fit of temporary madness. The old man, whose eyes lacked discernment, would not easily retreat—for these were admonishments he had long restrained.

“I will not leave.” “Let us await your relatives’ assessment of which of our positions is correct.”

When told that much, she could no longer endure. Shizuko stamped her feet in frustration, seething with such resentment that she wanted to hurl every object within reach. Hateful, hateful damned old geezer—drop dead. Drop dead. Though she did not voice it aloud, the poisonous blood in her heart seethed so violently. The sight of that leather-faced geezer looming over her—using social propriety as an excuse to suppress her late master—made her grind her teeth. Every wrinkle on his forehead, every long eyebrow, every pale eye, every hawk-like nose, every denture-lined mouth—all of it seemed so detestable that she wanted to smash every last bit to pieces.

“Now, please leave. If you don’t, I’m prone to fits of rage—I can’t be held responsible for what I might do.”

Shizuko was now in such a state that she might even grapple with the old man.

“Ugh, you old geezer—looking at your face makes me sick!” “You damn old geezer!”

She pushed aside the old man and tried to leave the room. For his part, the old man desperately pushed back, fearing she might escape now. Though it was Shizuko who had been pushed back, to her it felt like a violent shove. "Oh! What are you doing to the master?"

Flushed crimson with rage, her head throbbing until her vision went pitch black, she could no longer distinguish anything at all. She was enraged enough to faint. She thought she might have pounced on the old man in her frenzy. She also thought she might have grabbed something and struck him down. Even afterward, when she tried to recall—her vision having gone dark in the throes of fury—she could not clearly remember what she had done. When she came to her senses, the old man lay stretched out before her. Upon his chest bloomed a crimson flower—the hilt of a dagger buried deep.

“Ah!”

Shizuko remained screaming, her legs stiffened, and she could no longer move. She didn't remember. She absolutely did not remember. But that the opponent lay stabbed through the chest was an undeniable fact. If I didn't kill him, then who else would do such a thing? "Have I gone mad?" Unable to believe the extremity of it all—could this be a hallucination of madness?—she rubbed her eyes with both hands and staggered clumsily to crouch beside the corpse.

“Oh, how pitiful… It must have been so painful for you.” Muttering these strange, madness-like words, she instinctively gripped the dagger’s hilt and pulled it from the wound. One of the students opened the door and peered into the room—exactly at that moment. As Shizuko frantically muttered delirious words, servants with pale faces came clamoring into the room upon being alerted by the students. When Shizuko saw Mitani’s eyes glaring accusingly at her from behind the crowd of faces, she finally burst into tears with a wail. For she had clearly understood this terrifying incident was neither dream nor illusion, but an irreversible reality.

The people wrested the blood-clotted dagger from her hand. They carried her—her waist muscles having gone limp—and moved her to the downstairs living room. Throughout this, she heard only the thud-thud-thud of a heart pounding like death throes. The clamoring voices around her registered as meaningless noise, utterly disconnected from herself. When she finally regained her senses after endless weeping, she found Shigeru sitting dejectedly at her side, his tear-streaked face mirroring her anguish though he understood nothing.

“Shigeru dear, Mother is…” Shizuko hugged her beloved child, sobbing and whispering. “I’ve done something unthinkable.” “Shigeru dear, you poor, poor thing… This will be the last time you see Mother.” “You’ll have to live all alone.” “Mother, don’t go.” “Where are you going?” “Huh? Why are you crying?” It was hardly surprising that the six-year-old boy could not fully grasp the situation.

Ah, it’s goodbye forever to this child too. If the police come any moment now—any moment—I will surely be taken away from this place. And the gallows are an inescapable fate. But will something so horrific as never again seeing my own child truly come to pass? I don’t want to part. I cannot bear to leave behind my child, my lover—everything—and go to die all alone.

“What happened to Uncle Saitou? “Is he dead?” Shigeru’s innocent question made it seem as though even this little child were accusing her—a thought so terrifying that it chilled her to the bone. “Hey, what’s wrong? “Did Mother kill him?”

Yanagihara Shizuko was startled and instinctively gazed at her child’s face. Ah! What a dreadful thing. That this innocent child had already sensed it with his eerie intuition—

“Mother killed him. And Mother will be killed too.”

Shizuko bit back her sobs.

“Who will?” Shigeru was startled and made his tear-drenched eyes wide and perfectly round.

“Who’s coming to kill Mother? I don’t wanna be killed! Hey, quickly, quickly—let’s escape! Mother, let’s escape!”

When the mother heard this, she made a choked “guh” sound deep in her throat and spilled tears in a steady stream.

“Will you run away with your mother, a murderer?” “Oh, you’ll run away?… But you see… it’s no use.” “Even if we run and run, there’s no escaping.” “Thousands upon thousands of people across all of Japan—every last one of them—are glaring around from every direction, trying to catch Mother.” “Poor Mother… But Shigeru will save you.” “That person—I’ll make them suffer!”

Held tightly in his mother’s embrace, Shigeru’s cheeks turned bright red as he strained with all his might.

Before long, Yanagihara Shizuko was summoned before the preliminary judge and questioned, but she lacked both the wisdom and the strength to defend herself effectively. She could only repeat, over and over, "I don’t know, I don’t know."

After the interrogation ended and she returned to the living room weeping together with Shigeru, the young man Mitani stealthily entered, avoiding notice. For a while, the two remained still gazing into each other’s eyes in silence, but soon the young man drew his face close to his lover’s and spoke in a whisper yet with intensity. “I don’t believe it. I’ll never believe you did it.” “What should I do? What should I do?”

Shizuko made no attempt to conceal the sadness welling up within her at her lover Mitani’s tender words—as though only now fully feeling their weight.

“Pull yourself together.” “You mustn’t lose hope.” Mitani looked around to see if anyone might be listening, then continued in the same whisper.

“I believe in your innocence.” “I know beyond doubt you’re not that sort of woman.” “But by any reckoning, there’s no room for defense.” “In that room apart from the victim and yourself, no one else was present.” “What’s more, you were clutching a bloodied dagger.” “Immediately before the incident occurred, you’d been engaged in a fierce quarrel with the victim.” “Every circumstance points unerringly at you.” “Both the examining magistrate and police superintendent appear convinced of your guilt.” “I beg you to consider carefully.” “Was there truly no one who might have slipped into the room at that moment?” “Can you conceive of any means by which this might be resolved?”

As she listened to Mitani’s fervent tone, she realized that in this vast world, this man alone was the ally she could depend on, and tears of gratitude overflowed. But regrettably, she could not offer an answer that would satisfy him. “I don’t know.” “I don’t understand in the slightest why such a horrifying thing occurred.”

She had no choice but to repeat the same words she had said before the detectives. “Ms. Shizuko, pull yourself together.” “This is no time for crying.” “If you remain still like this, once the interrogation upstairs is over, you will have to be taken away by the police.” “I can’t bear even the thought of sending you to prison and making you stand in court.” “Ms. Shizuko, let’s escape.” “Let’s escape—the three of us: me, Shigeru, and you—to the ends of the earth.”

At Mitani’s impassioned tone, Shizuko abruptly raised her face. “Oh, how could you say such a thing?”

So even this person believed I was the true culprit. If that weren’t the case, he would never have suggested running away.

“I don’t mind.” “Even if you were a true murderer, I couldn’t put you in prison or send you to the gallows.” “I will take half the blame and hide from the world with you.” “As for how we’ll escape, I’ve given it thorough consideration.” “There is a truly safe method.” “We can’t have someone coming in while we’re like this.” “Now, Ms. Shizuko, please make up your mind.”

Urged restlessly, Shizuko turned deathly pale. Her heart pounded like a rapid temple bell. “But…………”

Ah, it was no wonder her heart wavered. Even were she innocent, as a woman facing prison and gallows before her eyes, her desperation to push them away—if only momentarily—stood to reason. “Quickly—this way!” “I’ve secured an utterly safe hiding place.” “It may feel eerie, but stay hidden there together until midnight.” “Leave the rest to me.” “Trust me.” “Endure patiently—never surrender.” “Should we fail, I’ll claim full responsibility.” “I’ll testify I coerced your escape.”

Being told all that, how could a weak woman have had the strength to resist? Shizuko took Shigeru’s hand—neither mother nor child could bear to be apart even for an instant—stifled her footsteps, and timidly followed after Mitani while keeping watch over their surroundings. Fortunately encountering no servants along the way, they arrived at the storeroom beside the kitchen. When Mitani lifted the floorboard there and removed the stone lid covered with earth, to his astonishment, a gaping maw of a pitch-black cavern appeared from beneath.

“It’s an old well that’s run dry.” “There’s no danger.” “Please endure inside here for a while.” As he spoke, Mitani moved nimbly, bringing two large futons from somewhere and throwing them into the old well. In their state of constant anxiety over whether someone would come at any moment—whether someone would come—they had no time to question how Mitani had discovered this old well under the floor that even Shizuko, the mistress of the house, had known nothing about.

With Mitani’s assistance, Shizuko slid down into the not-very-deep cave with a scraping sound.

Below, two large futons were layered like thick cushions, so there was no worry of injury. Next, the boy Shigeru was lowered to the bottom of the well using the same method. “Well then, I will definitely come around one o’clock tonight, so please endure until then.” “Shigeru, don’t cry.” “There’s nothing scary at all.” “Trust in my ability and wait here safely.”

No sooner had Mitani’s whisper sounded overhead than soil clattered down, plunging the inside of the well into true darkness. The stone lid had blocked the exit. The pitiful mother and child, in a darkness where only touch remained, held each other tightly and trembled uncontrollably. They had no strength to think. Their plight was too dreadful for tears.

“Shigeru. Be a good boy now—there’s nothing to fear.” The mother was solely concerned about her beloved child. “I’m not scared, not one bit.” Yet the boy’s voice quivered with terror. The small body she held close trembled and convulsed like a pitiful puppy. As they calmed down, the cold at the bottom of the well seeped into their bones. And yet, what meticulous consideration Mitani had shown! In that hectic situation, it was remarkable he had managed to think of the futons. Thanks to that, in the bone-chilling cold of the old well’s depths, only beneath their feet remained soft and warm like a thick cushion.

Shizuko spread the excess part of the futon over Shigeru as well, wrapped another around her own shoulders, and devised a further way to endure the cold. But had she known what lay beneath those thick futons, far from feeling grateful, no matter how terrifying the punishment might be, she surely would not have remained hidden at the bottom of the well for even a moment longer. It was not that there was earth immediately beneath the layered futons. Between the futons and the earth lay a horrifying object. What that was would soon become clear to the readers.

That aside—what exactly was the escape method that young Mitani had devised? Although Shizuko and the others had hidden in the old well for the time being, they couldn’t remain in such a place for long. Eventually, they would have to escape from the mansion. At the gate was a watchman police officer. Within the mansion grounds, the servants’ eyes were watching. Even if they managed to leave the mansion safely, wherever they went, there were police boxes. There were neighbors watching. The fact that Shizuko was a wanted person had already spread throughout the neighborhood. How on earth did Mitani intend to escape?

After hiding Shizuko in the well, Mitani called Akechi, and as a result, Inspector Tsunekawa and Kobayashi arrived—this was described earlier. Even Inspector Tsunekawa failed to notice the old well beneath the storeroom floor, merely obtained the dental impression from the yokan and discovered Siguma’s corpse before withdrawing in vain.

From then until one o'clock in the dead of night—the time Mitani had promised Shizuko—no particular incidents occurred. Around eight o'clock, the large coffin ordered during the day under Mitani's instructions was delivered, and all they did was place old man Saito's corpse inside it. The coffin was enshrined in the spacious Japanese-style room downstairs, where incense and floral offerings were made, and the voices of family members and visiting mourners chanting sutras did not cease until late into the night. But around midnight, those people either departed or retired to bed, and in the pitch-darkened vast room with its lights turned off, only the old man's corpse was left behind.

Around what seemed to be one o'clock, a figure slipped into the dark hall like a shadow, making no sound. He groped his way closer to the old man’s coffin and slowly began to open its lid.

Hearse The man who slipped into the dark hall and opened the lid of the coffin containing old man Saito was，as the reader had likely imagined，young Mitani. But why on earth did he open the coffin lid of all things? Having opened it，what did he intend to do with the corpse inside?

In the darkness—a stench of decay that assailed the nostrils, a corpse frozen as cold as ice. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, a faintly emerging, terrifying dead man’s face became visible. Undeterred, Mitani abruptly pulled the old man’s corpse from the coffin, lightly tucked it under his arm, and soundlessly exited the room like a phantom, making his way down the corridor to the storeroom next to the kitchen.

After hiding the corpse in the shadow of objects, he lifted the familiar floorboard, removed the stone lid, and called into the well in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s. “Ms. Shizuko, it’s me.” “We’re moving to a different hiding place now.” “Please stay strong.”

Upon hearing Shizuko’s faint reply, he brought the small ladder from the storeroom and lowered it into the old well. Shizuko and Shigeru, encouraged by Mitani and with his assistance, were finally able to climb the ladder. “Shigeru, stay quiet. If you make even the slightest sound, the scary man will come to take Mother away.” Mitani most feared Shigeru bursting into tears. But the terrified six-year-old boy, like a stray cat, huddled his body, muffled his footsteps stealthily, and made no attempt to cry out.

Mitani had them stop by the washroom before stealthily leading them down the corridor to the coffin-filled hall. By then, not only Shizuko and Shigeru but Mitani as well had grown accustomed to the darkness, able to clearly see the state of the unlit room. “Now, you must hide inside this coffin. “It’s a large burial casket—it might be cramped, but it should fit both of you.” Hearing Mitani’s bizarre instruction, Shizuko recoiled in shock.

“Oh! Inside such a thing?” “No, this is no time for superstitions.” “Now, get in.” “There’s absolutely no other way to leave the mansion safely.” “The funeral is tomorrow afternoon.” “You just need to endure until then.” “Pretend you’re dead and stay hidden.” In the end, there was no alternative but to obey Mitani’s orders. Shizuko went first, with Shigeru lying over her legs inside the coffin. Mitani replaced the lid exactly as before.

Then, he returned to the storeroom, took up the ladder, restored the stone lid and floorboard to their original state, and disposed of old man Saito’s corpse. How he had disposed of it would soon be revealed. Now, the suffering of the two inside the coffin until the time of departure the next day went without saying, but young Mitani’s mental strain was no ordinary matter. From early morning, he never left the coffin’s side, and whenever even the faintest sound came from within, he would cough or make unnecessary noises to cover it up, with almost comical attentiveness. He drove nails into the coffin lid and took precautions to prevent anyone from peering inside—this goes without saying.

Although Mitani was ultimately responsible for this murder case—though none in the household clearly knew this fact—relatives and acquaintances had gathered yet many remained distant; since Yanagihara Shizuko’s kidnapping incident, Mitani’s role as de facto advisor to the Hatayanagi family positioned him as funeral chairman.

When the appointed time arrived, Mitani urged the people onward and hastened the coffin’s departure. As pallbearers lifted the coffin, he worried intensely they might notice something amiss—yet no such thing occurred. The large coffin concealing the living mother and child was safely loaded into the hearse waiting at the gate. After the funeral at the Hatayanagi family temple concluded with customary rites, the hearse headed toward the crematorium, accompanied by cars of close relatives. Murderer—dagger—bloodstains—police—courthouse—prison—gallows—lover—beloved child—the Hatayanagi family—wealth—the Man Without Lips… These notions, some terrifying and others dear, whirled through Shizuko’s mind like a dizzying maelstrom.

Yet she couldn't grasp a single coherent thought. As for what would become of her own fate from here on, she couldn't even begin to guess. In a mindless daze, she followed her lover Mitani's instructions. Clutching the pitifully helpless Shigeru tightly, she could only focus on not letting go for even an instant.

Hours in a pitch-black, netherworld-like well bottom—and no sooner had they escaped that than they had to creep down my house’s corridors like thieves, only to hide together, mother and child, of all places, inside the coffin where the corpse of old man Saito—whom I had just slain with my own hands—had lain until moments ago.

Though it was a sturdy coffin—Mitani had rolled paper into wedges when driving the nails, creating a narrow gap invisible from outside to prevent air shortage—even so, to lie motionless and silent in that cramped box for the long hours until departure... Ah, had the hellish torment to atone for her sins already begun?

The terrified Shigeru huddled against Shizuko’s hem, resolved not to let hell’s demons take Mother, clutching her kneecaps tightly while holding his breath and trembling violently without a sound—until he suddenly noticed his trembling had stopped and his breathing turned quiet. He had dozed off mid-tremor. His young body, unable to bear the strain of sleeplessness since yesterday, had fallen fast asleep within the terrifying coffin’s bed.

Shizuko felt envious of the innocent child while sensing a measure of relief. Even when she strained her ears, there was not a sound, and her eyes could not make out even the faintest glimmer of light. The coffin they hid in seemed to have been buried underground at some point—so thick was the layer of soil pressing down from above that she began to suspect all light and sound had been severed entirely.

As her mind grew calm, her paralyzed peripheral nerves began to function. And first came a faint corpse odor assailing her nostrils. "Ah—until just moments ago, that old man's corpse had been inside here. Moreover, I myself had cruelly killed him with my own hands." Belatedly, she became clearly aware of it. The same part of the board now touching her cheek might have had the corpse's cheek pressed against it until just moments ago. She might have been indirectly pressing her cheek against the old man she had killed.

The moment this thought struck her, an unspeakable terror ran through her body, making every pore at the nape of her neck stand rigid. In the blinding, absolute darkness, she felt as though vengeful spirits of the dead were constricting her entire being. She— "Ah!" With this scream rising in her throat, she nearly flung open the coffin lid and bolted out in panic. But if she screamed—if she tried to escape—her destruction would be swift and certain. She bit down hard on her teeth and forced herself to endure.

The eerie corpse odor pierced her nose with increasing intensity, becoming unbearable. Every nerve seemed to have transformed into nothing but olfactory sensation. Then suddenly, an uncanny memory revived itself in her nostrils. Oh! This wasn't the first time she'd encountered this smell. She felt certain she'd been inhaling this exact odor until mere moments ago. How peculiar. Where could she have smelled such a thing? ...Ah, yes. The well. It was inside the old well where they'd hidden until just recently.

While inside the well, in her excitement, she hadn’t been conscious of it—but now that she thought back, it wasn’t just the odor; beneath that thick futon, the bottom of the well was by no means flat. Something somewhat resilient yet far harder than cotton—an uneven surface—had pressed against her feet. What on earth had that been? When she connected it with the revived memory of corpse stench, she couldn’t help but shudder.

"But surely there couldn’t be… inside that well… It’s a delusion." "My nerves must be going mad."

Shizuko tried with all her might to dismiss that terrifying thought. She thought there was no logical basis for such a thing.

What she had taken for corpse odor suddenly transformed into a faint scent of roses. No sooner had she registered this than a lewd body odor—someone’s—wafted in. Her hypersensitive nose caused hallucinations.

Whose body odor was this? That suddenly provocative scent was unmistakably my Mitani’s.

However, ah—once again, that odor suddenly stirred an ancient memory in her nostrils. It was Mitani’s body odor, yet simultaneously carried traces of another man’s scent—someone she couldn’t quite place.

Who was it? Who was it? "Oh—that’s it! That’s his odor! Oh! That’s his odor!"

Yanagihara Shizuko was overwhelmed by this terrifying coincidence. “How could I have failed to notice that all this time?” It felt as though she had suddenly remembered something she had completely forgotten for many, many years. The darkness and silence within the coffin exerted a strange effect on her mind. Who on earth was this other man who shared exactly the same body odor as Mitani? Readers will recall that at the beginning of this tale, Shizuko was confined within the eerie house in Aoyama. In the basement there, when she was attacked by the Man Without Lips, she had sensed from his body—not for the first time—the body odor of someone she knew well. Readers will also recall this fact.

Although Shizuko had met the man many times, it had slipped her mind amid other matters until this very moment. Her sense of smell—now abnormally sharp—suddenly brought it back.

That was Mitani’s body odor. The lipless monster had possessed exactly the same body odor as the young man Mitani.

“Oh, what an absurd coincidence this is. Truly, truly, my nose must have gone mad.” Not only her nose—had even her mind gone mad? Overwhelmed by the sheer extremity of it all, Yanagihara Shizuko was seized by vague terror.

But, dear readers—were these two strange convergences of odor—the corpse odor from the well and the dual match between Mitani’s body odor and that of the Man Without Lips—truly nothing more than Shizuko’s delusions? Could it be that some dreadful secret lay concealed within them?

The night dawned amidst endless delusions and terror. Dim light crept into the coffin through a narrow gap. Before long, there came the sound of footsteps and voices.

Shizuko was jolted into awareness—Ah, she was still in this world. I must not move. I must not make a sound. Even breathing required caution, and she flinched at her own heartbeat’s rhythm. The hours until the coffin’s removal—how hellish they were for her. It felt as if they spanned a long, long lifetime. But finally, the sutra chanting concluded, and the time came to bear out the coffin. To transport it, laborers’ footsteps drew near; with a heave-ho, Shizuko and the others’ bodies shook violently.

At that jolt—Oh no, what should I do? Shigeru had woken up. The thought that if Shigeru were to make a sound, all would be lost sent a shudder through Yanagihara Shizuko. “Shigeru, Mother is here.” “There’s nothing to fear.” “There’s nothing to fear.” Since she couldn’t speak, she extended both hands and lightly tapped the cheek of her child lying below her, conveying her reassurance. Just at that moment, as the coffin shook violently once more, the laborers’ booming voices—

“This one’s heavy as a Buddha, I tell ya!” The sound of their straining reached her ears. Shizuko, startled by the fear that their substitution of the corpse might be discovered, shrank back, but the laborers showed no signs of deep suspicion, and the coffin was carried out just as it was. What passed for fortune? The laborer’s voice had silenced Shigeru, who had been on the verge of crying out. Though he was just a child, whether those words made him recall their terrifying predicament or not, he clung to his mother’s lap for dear life and did not move a muscle.

For a while, they floated through the air; then came the sensation of being lowered onto something with a clunk, the creaking sound of the coffin’s bottom shaking—they were placed inside the hearse.

Then came the engine’s rumble. The violent shaking of the moving car.

Yanagihara Shizuko let out a sigh of relief. It was probably safe to make a little more noise now. Inside the hearse, there was no one outside the coffin. Unlike in an ordinary car, the driver’s seat was supposed to be partitioned off by thick glass.

“Shigeru, are you uncomfortable? “There now, be a good boy and hold on just a little longer, all right?”

When she whispered softly, the boy clambered up over his mother’s stomach, straining to reach higher. Though it was dark and he couldn’t see, he wanted only to be near his mother’s face. In the narrow box, mother and child pressed together, sharing an awkward cheek-to-cheek embrace. To achieve this, the backs of their heads kept thudding against the coffin boards—excruciatingly painful, but such pain meant nothing. “Shigeru, you must endure. It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

“Mother, are you crying? Are you scared?” Shigeru, feeling his mother’s tears on his cheek, asked worriedly.

“No, I’m not crying. There’s nothing wrong anymore. Soon, Mr. Mitani will come to our rescue.” “When?” “Soon.”

Before long, the hearse seemed to arrive at the temple; the coffin was carried out, and yet another interminable sutra reading began.

Throughout that time, Yanagihara Shizuko was consumed by anxiety that people might notice them, but since Shigeru was behaving with almost adult-like wariness, nothing unusual happened, and soon the coffin was carried into the hearse again.

“Ah, how endless this waiting feels!” “But just a little longer now.” Yanagihara Shizuko wanted above all else to see her lover’s face. She believed that merely glimpsing him would make those terrifying visions from earlier vanish in an instant. The hearse began rumbling onward once more. “Mother, not yet?” Shigeru, unable to endure any longer, asked.

“Just a little longer, just a little longer.” Yanagihara Shizuko answered while pressing her cheek against her child’s. “Where are we going?” Shigeru appeared intensely uneasy about their destination. When asked, even his mother could not clearly grasp it. She could only imagine that Mitani would likely stop the car somewhere, retrieve the coffin, pry open its lid, and save them. “If—ah, if—something were to disrupt Mitani’s plans...might we not be taken straight to the crematorium?”

Yanagihara Shizuko was seized by a sudden, indescribable terror welling up from the depths of her heart.

Living hell.

Then, for a long time, the shaking in the darkness continued, and finally the car stopped.

Ah, finally—the time for rescue had come. Where could Mr. Mitani be? Should I try calling out? If I call, he will surely answer with that dear voice of his. Yanagihara Shizuko did not actually cry out, but with her heart racing in fierce anticipation, she waited poised for her lover’s hands to open the coffin lid.

Before long came the scraping, creaking sound of the coffin’s bottom board. At last, they were being unloaded from the ominous hearse. The ones pulling out the coffin were likely laborers Mr. Mitani had hired. No—perhaps he himself was among them, helping. The coffin was lowered outside the vehicle only to be immediately hoisted up again; after rattling about for some time came a gritty scraping from below, a resonant metallic clang, and the sensation of being set down upon some metal implement.

“Hmm, something’s wrong.”

Before she could even process this thought came a clang—a startling collision of metal against metal. At the same time, the surrounding noise abruptly ceased. It was a silence that clung to them like the depths of a tomb. "What’s wrong? Where are we?" The boy Shigeru, clinging so tightly to his mother’s neck that he began to sweat, fearfully asked. "Shh!" Yanagihara Shizuko carefully silenced Shigeru’s voice and continued listening intently for a while.

Could it be that Mitani's arrangements had gone awry? If so, where on earth were we? The hearse's destination was needless to say the crematorium. Ah—I realized this coffin had been sealed inside the crematorium's furnace. That clanging metallic sound must have been the iron door at the furnace entrance slamming shut. That was it. There was no longer any room for doubt. We were now inside the terrifying furnace.

She recalled attending a close relative’s funeral at the crematorium. Against gloomy concrete walls stood rows of black iron doors. “This here’s the station bound for hell, huh?” She remembered someone whispering that morbid joke. The sight of those terrifying doors truly felt like a “station to hell.” When they placed the coffin inside, the undertaker closed the iron door and locked it from outside. That awful clang, she realized now, had been identical to the metallic crash they’d heard earlier.

Though she did not know the exact details of what would happen next, she had heard that they would wait until nightfall to light the coal, and by morning, everything would be reduced to ashes.

Recently, in addition to that, convenient heavy oil incineration devices had been developed. It was said that as soon as a coffin was placed into the furnace, flames would shoot out from all sides, and while the mourners waited, it would turn to ashes before their eyes. But given that nothing unusual had happened so far, this was undoubtedly a coal furnace. Given how utterly silent and still it was, all the mourners must have gone home. The undertaker, having nothing to do until lighting the coal late at night, must have left somewhere.

Ah, she couldn't stay like this. Even if they were safe until late at night, now that they knew they were inside the furnace, how could they possibly remain still? The terror of being burned alive was so great that merely imagining it made her hair stand on end. Moreover, even her beloved child—even Shigeru, who had done nothing wrong—would have to suffer the same cruel fate. For nearly thirty minutes, she had been frantically going back and forth in her desperate deliberations, but from outside came not a single sound or sign of anyone.

Outside, even the gaps in the coffin lid that had once allowed faint light to seep through were now uniformly pitch dark—so dark that she could not see Shigeru’s face right before her eyes. The moment had finally arrived. If we remained still like this, both mother and child would be burned to death. It was no longer the time to idly wait for Mitani’s help. He must have encountered some truly unavoidable interference that had prevented him from coming here. “Now, Shigeru—don’t hold back! Flail your arms and legs and shout at the top of your voice. Shout ‘Help!’”

“Is it okay, Mother?” The boy responded in a timid voice, like a frightened stepchild. His eyes must have been as wide as a fox’s.

“Aren’t the police coming anymore?” Ah, how dreadful! In her terror of being burned alive, Yanagihara Shizuko had completely forgotten her own current predicament. She had been made to realize this by her six-year-old child. “You mustn’t.” “You mustn’t.” “You mustn’t make a sound.”

Could there be another situation in the world as excruciating and wretched as this? If they remained still, they would be burned alive alongside the coffin. They would have to suffer the great torment of a scorching hell while still breathing. For a woman clutching her beloved child to her breast—how could this possibly be endured?

If they screamed for help to escape this unforeseen calamity, they would surely be handed over to the police at once. Even without that, already suspected as the perpetrators, attempting such an audacious escape would itself become the most damning confession, leaving no possibility of evading punishment.

Ah, how dreadful! I’d be imprisoned. I’d face the gallows. And be separated from dear Shigeru. This child would become a pitiful orphan. No—it wasn’t just that. If the coffin’s secret was exposed, Mitani-san would surely receive severe punishment for aiding a felon’s escape. What should I do. What should I do. Whether I stayed still or tried to escape—it meant either burning at the stake or the gallows. No matter which way I turned, only pitch-dark death lay ahead.

“Shigeru. Are you scared of dying?”

She pressed her cold cheek tightly against his and tried asking gently in a whisper. “What happens when you die?”

Despite this, seeming to generally understand, the boy fearfully clung to his mother’s neck with his small hands. “We’ll go to a beautiful country in the clouds above together with Mother.” “Hold each other tightly and don’t let go.” “Yeah, I’m okay.” “If I’m with Mother, I can die.” Hot tears welling up seeped and spread between their tightly pressed cheeks. Yanagihara Shizuko’s throat made a strange sound. Even as she clenched her teeth, a sob welled up with such force it threatened to shatter them.

“Now, put your hands together and pray to God in your heart.” “Say, ‘Please take my boy to heaven.’”

Ah, what an appropriate prayer it was! They were inside the coffin. That coffin had been securely placed within the cremation furnace. In all of history, had there ever been a single soul who prayed to God in such a place? And merciless time marched relentlessly onward. An hour passed, then two, yet it was still only dusk. Wasn’t the coal supposed to be lit late at night after all?

“Mother, before I die, there’s something I want.” Suddenly, Shigeru Shounen said something strange.

When she heard that, Shizuko was startled. To avoid troubling his mother, how much he must have endured and endured. After all, it had been two days without food. Even Shizuko, an adult, was so hungry it hurt. It was no wonder the child, unable to bear it any longer, had finally spoken up. “Even if you want something, my dear, there’s absolutely nothing here.” “You’re such a good boy.” “Soon—very soon—when we go to heaven, there’ll be all the sweets and fruits you could ever want.” “Just a little more patience.”

“That’s not it!”

Shigeru spoke in an angry tone.

“But you must be hungry. You must be thirsty.” “Yes... I want Mother’s milk.” Shigeru finally said it with an embarrassed look. “Oh, milk... Mother won’t laugh at you. Of course. Come here. This might help you forget your hunger a little.” In the narrow, pitch-dark coffin—thudding his head and shoulders against it all the while—Shigeru finally clung to his mother’s breast. He had not yet forgotten how to suckle. Wrapping his soft tongue around the nipple, he began noisily suckling at the milk that would not flow, as if it were delicious. And with his other hand, he twisted and squirmed the free breast around.

Yanagihara Shizuko had long forgotten the nostalgic sensation of both breasts when she suddenly became dreamlike, forgetting her terrifying present circumstances altogether. Stroking her child’s back, she began singing an ancient lullaby in a low, sorrowful voice. For a time, the dreadful crematorium furnace, the cramped coffin, and the approaching “death” all vanished somewhere. Mother and child alike were steeped in a spring-like serenity—a trance-like state.

However, such a thing could not last long. Before long, both were dragged back to the terrifying reality and had to be tormented by pain and fear twice as intense as before.

The chilly night air penetrated even into the coffin; it must have grown late by now. Even so, where in the world could Mr. Mitani be? That things would come to this—even he could never have imagined it. He must be impatiently worrying about us by now. Or perhaps—could it be that he was speeding toward this crematorium by car to save us? The moment this thought crossed her mind, she almost felt she could hear the hum of an engine from somewhere far, far away.

“Listen here, dear.” “You can hear the sound of a car, can’t you?” “Mr. Mitani is in that car, you know.” Yanagihara Shizuko—believing this phantom sound—blurted out something bordering on madness and strained her ears harder. Audible—audible it was. But not an engine’s roar. A strange noise—closer now—rising from directly beneath Yanagihara Shizuko and her child. The gritty rasp of something cascading down. The metallic clang of iron meeting iron. Then faintly—the sound of a man’s voice singing.

Someone was singing a vulgar pop song—a man’s booming voice. Ah, I see now. The mortician was humming a tune as he shoveled coal into the furnace below with a shovel. The final moment finally arrived.

When she strained her ears—perhaps it was her imagination—she could even hear the roar of flames rising.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” “What’s that?”

Shigeru released the breast and asked hesitantly. Of course, being a whisper, there was no way it could be heard beyond the coffin and the double iron doors. “Shigeru, at last we can go to heaven.” “Right now, God is coming to welcome us.”

Even so, Shizuko's heart was on the verge of bursting from terror.

“God, where are you?”

“Listen, can you hear? That low, droning sound—it’s the flapping of God’s wings.” She was already losing her mind. Shigeru had been listening intently, but perhaps he too heard the faint sound of flames; suddenly clinging to his mother, he buried his face in her breast. “Mother, I’m scared! Let’s run away!”

“No, I’m not scared at all.” “Just a little while longer.” “If we endure just a bit more suffering, we’ll reach heaven.” “There’s my good boy.”

The roar of flames grew ever stronger with each passing moment. As this happened, the temperature inside the coffin gradually began to rise. It would not be long before the fire reached the wood. "Mother, it's hot!" "Yes, but it must grow much, much hotter still before we can reach heaven." Yanagihara Shizuko gritted her teeth and clung tightly to her child.

The heat was unbearable. The flames must have already reached the bottom of the coffin. With the crackling sound of splitting boards, a crimson light began flickering into the coffin through gaps in the lid like lightning from hell.

“Fire! Mother, fire! Hurry, hurry!” Even though it was impossible, Shigeru writhed and thrashed, trying to break through the coffin lid and escape.

The air inside the coffin had dried out completely, making it nearly impossible to breathe. What was even more terrifying was the scorching heat from the floorboards. Even Yanagihara Shizuko, who had resigned herself to her fate, could no longer endure it.

Ah, I see now. So that's how it was.

In the final moment, something flashed through Shizuko’s mind as vividly as flames.

Could it be that Mr. Mitani knew full well from the moment he put us in the coffin that it would be burned away in the crematorium furnace? Could it be that Mitani Fusao was none other than the Man Without Lips? How should I interpret this match in body odor?

Everything, from the very beginning, had been a meticulously planned evil scheme. Could it be that even old man Saitou’s mysterious death had been orchestrated through some demon’s clever trick to make everyone believe I was the perpetrator? Ah, how terrifying! Shizuko abruptly seemed to realize something. “If that is so, if that is so, now is not the time for me to die meekly. By any means necessary, I must escape this dire situation and clear the false accusation.”

She suddenly began struggling desperately with Shigeru to break through the coffin lid.

“Shigeru! Come on now—don’t hold back! Scream at the top of your lungs! Make sure that man outside hears you!”

And then, mother and child let out a terrible howl—Waaah!—that was neither a cry nor a scream, and began to kick and pound frantically against the coffin boards. But no matter how much they screamed, separated by two layers of thick boards and an iron door, and further drowned out by the roaring blaze of flames, their cries could not fully reach the outside. Moreover, from the mortician's perspective, they would never have imagined living people might be inside the coffin; even if faint voices were heard, there was no way to recognize them as such.

Ah, even in those moments, the fire had already burned through the coffin’s bottom, crimson flames licking along the hem of Shizuko’s kimono, and in the suffocating smoke, both mother and child had already lost even the strength to scream. A living hell—truly a living hell. It wasn’t anyone’s doing. Yanagihara Shizuko had committed murder. It was her lover Mitani Fusao who, using his quick wit, had helped her escape from the mansion using the coffin as the perfect hiding place. Had there been a single misstep, neither Yanagihara Shizuko herself nor even Mitani had realized that such a purgatory lay in wait.

Even if Saitou had been killed, it was something that had occurred without Yanagihara Shizuko herself knowing anything about it. Even if it could have been explained as an accident or similar—solely out of fear of the courts, fear of prison—her act of fleeing and hiding had instead plunged her into an inferno more gruesome than the gallows. The terror of fate. But Mitani was still Mitani after all. Despite having gone through such pains to help her escape, what on earth could have happened that even now there was no word from him?

Could it be that Yanagihara Shizuko's terrifying suspicion had been correct - that Mitani was none other than the most detestable devil imaginable? Had he calculated every step in advance and devised this coffin trick solely to subject her to the torments of this fiery purgatory? Though what grudge he bore against Shizuko remained unclear, his scheme must be said to have succeeded beyond measure. For such cruel suffering could scarcely exist elsewhere in all creation.

Be that as it may, Yanagihara Shizuko’s suffering had reached a point where even describing it here in writing was terrifying. The flames crept up the mother’s kimono hem and the child’s trousers with a sizzle, but trapped in that immovable box, when they mustered their strength to push up the lid, the charred and brittle bottom crumbled away with a crackle, leaving them unable to break free from the coffin. They could only cry and scream at the top of their voices. But now, even crying and screaming became impossible. The thickening toxic smoke choked their eyes, mouths, and noses with violent coughing; screaming was out of the question as they suffered through ragged, agonized breaths.

Pitilessly, young Shigeru—no longer able to recognize his mother—lunged at Yanagihara Shizuko’s chest as though she were a hated foe, digging beastly claws into her soft flesh and clawing, clawing relentlessly.

And, ah, what a gruesome sight. Unable to bear her child's torment, the mother, while groaning in her own death throes, desperately grabbed Shigeru's neck with both hands and tried to strangle him. Just then, as a clang sounded somewhere, the coffin shook like an earthquake with the splintering of boards breaking.

It was finally the end. Their living bodies would fall into the blazing fire and sizzle away into nothing. Oh God!... When she suddenly opened her eyes, however, to her astonishment, she had not yet died. Not only that, but before she knew it, the terrible heat and smoke had vanished, and staring down at her from the now-open coffin was none other than young Mitani.

The thought that this might be a hallucination from her death throes made her shudder.

“Ms. Shizuko, pull yourself together.” “It’s me.” “I’m truly sorry for putting you through such an ordeal.” It was Mitani’s familiar voice. It was the dear face of her lover. Ah, this was no hallucination. They had been saved. They had finally been saved. “The police surveillance was so strict that until this very moment, I hadn’t had a chance to slip away.” “How frantic I was.” “But I finally made it in time, and it turned out well.”

“Oh, Mr. Mitani!” Yanagihara Shizuko, with emotion surging through her chest, could do nothing but weep.

Grave Exhumation

And then, what had happened?

Yanagihara Shizuko and young Shigeru were led by Mitani, quietly slipped out of the crematorium, and departed for an unknown location. Mitani had sufficiently compensated the mortician attendants and ensured their silence; then, in place of Yanagihara and the others, he placed a human skeleton purchased from a medical specimen supplier into the coffin, ensuring no suspicion would arise during the bone-gathering process. Although Yanagihara Shizuko had once suspected Mitani in such a way, now that she had been rescued like this, it became clear that her suspicions had been entirely groundless. She had even gone so far as to confess honestly and apologize sincerely, saying she was truly sorry.

It goes without saying that the place they left the crematorium for was not the Hatayanagi residence. Then where on earth did they seek a hideout? And what sort of incident occurred there?

The hideout that Yanagihara Shizuko and the others sought was a place so bizarre and eerie, it was beyond all imagination. Moreover, the incident that occurred there was truly hair-raising—a horrifying, literally unprecedented event.

However, before recounting this, we must first devote some pages to the equally bizarre actions of our Akechi Kogoro, as a matter of due order.

On the day of Saitou Roujin’s funeral, Akechi Kogoro rose from his sickbed and was already busily working. Each time, he disguised himself as various people and frequently went out.

Two days after the funeral, Inspector Tsunekawa visited Akechi’s apartment. “You’re already up? Is that alright?” Inspector Tsunekawa, surprised by Akechi’s vigor, asked with concern. “No, I can’t just lie around in bed,” “Isn’t the case getting more and more interesting?”

Akechi offered the inspector a chair with his usual grin and said.

“When you say ‘the case’…?” “Of course, it’s the Hatayanagi case—the case of the devil without lips.” “Ah! So you’ve found some clue about the criminal’s whereabouts? On our end, we’re devoting all resources to searching for Mrs. Hatayanagi, the perpetrator of old man Saitou’s murder. Between the dental impression evidence and everything else—if we locate that woman and interrogate her—I believe the man without lips’ schemes will unravel too. Yet for a woman traveling with a child to evade capture so skillfully… We still have no leads whatsoever.”

Inspector Tsunekawa laid out the honest truth. “No, even I don’t know anything for certain yet.” “However, there are more than enough clues.” “Just following each one of those would be a tremendous task.” “I can’t just lie around in bed.” Upon hearing that, the inspector made a slightly unpleasant face. The police didn’t have nearly as many leads as that. But of course, due to his professional duty, he couldn’t bring himself to bow his head and ask Akechi to share the clues he had discovered.

“For instance,” Akechi, noticing the other man’s expression, broached the subject. “Those three female corpses from that atelier in Yoyogi we discussed—have you identified them?” “Ah, we’ve exhausted every investigative avenue on our end too, yet strangely still haven’t found any runaway girls matching those descriptions.” “Those three girls had decomposed so severely their faces became utterly unrecognizable—hadn’t they?”

Akechi suddenly said such a thing and stared intently at the other man’s face.

Inspector Tsunekawa,

“That was the case.” Though he had answered, he remained perplexed, unable to grasp Akechi’s meaning. “By the way, Mr. Tsunekawa. Since you’re here, there’s something I’d like you to see.” Akechi’s words took another abrupt leap. “Let me see it, then.” The inspector replied casually, never imagining it would be such a bizarre object.

Akechi rose from his seat and opened the door to the next room. It was his living room and study combined. “There it is.” Inspector Tsunekawa also stood up and came to the door, but when he peered into the study, even the formidable demon inspector was so startled that he let out an “Ah!” and stood frozen. There stood Yanagihara Shizuko and Shigeru—the very ones they had been desperately searching for—facing them. At a glance, he thought they might be Akechi’s assistant Ms. Fumiyo and Kobayashi, but in the next moment he realized they were not. When he thought, *Have I been outsmarted by this amateur detective again?* the inspector grew angry. And there was no need for such a theatrical display in the first place.

“Why do you…”

He blurted out without thinking, but the next words wouldn’t come.

“Ha ha ha ha ha, Mr. Tsunekawa, you mustn’t misunderstand.” “There’s no need to be so startled, Mr. Tsunekawa.” Akechi briskly approached Shizuko’s side and flicked her beautiful cheek area with his fingertips to demonstrate.

Unfortunately, Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but be surprised once again. Shizuko stood rigid, not moving a single muscle in her face even as she was subjected to such insults for Akechi’s sake. She was not alive. She was nothing more than an exquisitely crafted wax figure. “But when I think how realistic it is—enough to fool even you—it’s rather amusing,” he said. “Japan also has factories capable of producing such splendid wax figures.” Akechi grinned contentedly.

“I was surprised.” Inspector Tsunekawa also began to laugh, “But why did you have such dolls made? It’s a bit strange for a toy of yours.” “Why, it’s not a toy or anything like that. These serve a proper purpose.” “This isn’t a Western detective novel—would swapping dolls really be of any use?”

The inspector said in a sarcastic tone. Akechi’s outlandish methods were every one of them utterly infuriating. “This clothing—” Akechi ignored that and began his explanation. “Ms. Fumiyo bought off-the-rack cheap clothing and dressed them in it.” “She said the doll would be embarrassed if left naked.” “That’s because this doll isn’t just the head—the limbs and torso are also perfectly crafted to resemble the real thing.”

“Well, that’s impressive.” “It must have taken considerable effort.” “No, it was completed in three days.” “For the torso, they used whatever materials were on hand at the factory—only the neck was sculpted from multiple photographs, then cast in a mold and attached.” “I entrusted the sculpting to my friend Mr. K—he had his disciples assist him and finished it within twenty-four hours.” “He complained it was his first time attempting such work.”

“Is it really possible to complete something that quickly?” The inspector wore a look of disbelief.

“We worked like mad. Because we absolutely needed them by today. In return, we spared no expense.” Given that he needed them by today, Akechi undoubtedly intended to put these dolls to work any moment now—but what in the world was this man scheming? He sometimes started these childish tricks, but it was almost strange how they always worked. Inspector Tsunekawa was dying to ask about the dolls’ purpose but found no way to do so; however, since it would be irritating to bring it up now, he deliberately pretended not to make an issue of it.

“By the way, Mr. Tsunekawa, I have a favor to ask—it’s a matter somewhat beyond a private detective’s reach.” “Since it’s you, I’ll extend every possible courtesy.” “No, if it concerns the investigation, I’ll handle it myself.” “But what exactly is it?” “To be frank, I wish to exhume graves at the cemetery and inspect the bodies.” “The cemetery?”

The inspector looked puzzled and asked in return.

“Yes… about four cemeteries…” Akechi kept uttering increasingly bizarre statements.

“Four?” “What exactly are you trying to investigate?” “Whose corpse is it?” “The first is Okada Michihiko, who committed suicide by drowning in Shiohara.” “Indeed, since that corpse should be buried in Shiohara’s Myoun Temple Cemetery, there’s no reason it can’t be examined.” “But I don’t suppose it’s retained its original form by now.” “But even a skeleton should still have its teeth.” Inspector Tsunekawa finally understood Akechi’s plan. “Ah, I see.” “So you intend to compare the teeth of that corpse with the dental impressions of Okada Michihiko during his lifetime, which Kobayashi obtained from the dentist—is that it?”

“Yes, just to be thorough.” “Without confirming that, I simply cannot rest assured.” “Until I see a match between these two dental impressions, I cannot be certain that Okada isn’t the same person as the Man Without Lips.”

“Very well.” “This hardly seems like wasted effort.” “I’ll handle the grave exhumation procedures.” “But you did say four cemeteries earlier.” “Beyond Okada’s—are there other corpses we need to inspect?”

“Rather than corpses—or rather…”

Akechi gave a slight wry smile. "It's to confirm there are no corpses." "In other words, that the buried coffins are empty." "Wh-what? Are you saying corpses were actually stolen?" "Where?" "Whose corpses?" "I don't know whose." "We'll dig them up at random." What on earth would Akechi say next? This was sheer madness.

“You say it’s random, but how can you excavate without knowing which graves they are?” “No, I’m well aware of that. These days, cases of burying corpses around Tokyo are extremely rare, so it shouldn’t take much effort to find them.”

“So you’ve already located those graves, then. But whose graves are they?” “They belong to three young women. You see—those are the coffins of the poor girls encased in plaster at that atelier.” “But even calling them coffins—didn’t the municipal office already cremate those remains?” “No, I’m fully aware of that. What I want to excavate is the other cemetery—where they were buried prior to cremation.” “What? Are you saying those girls were buried twice?” Ah! Of course—how could I have been so blind? So the atelier corpses weren’t murder victims at all—they’d been stolen from graves elsewhere, already deceased girls used to fashion those grotesque plaster figures. “That’s your theory, then?”

Inspector Tsunekawa was more than a little surprised by Akechi’s imagination. “That’s correct.” “We must always look beyond superficial appearances.” “Because master criminals often employ such methods.” “The Man Without Lips is thought to be a sort of deviant who takes murderous pleasure.” “It’s been carefully staged to appear that way, but this might be the criminal’s clever act.” “And I’ve come to believe the perpetrator is actually neither a pleasure killer nor a psychopath.” "In this case, it seems an extraordinary number of people have been murdered." "But in reality, isn’t it possible the criminal has barely killed anyone at all? That’s the angle I’m pursuing."

Akechi’s words grew increasingly outlandish. “So, you’re saying this case isn’t a murder case?”

Inspector Tsunekawa asked in surprise. “If I had to say, it would be an attempted murder case.”

Akechi said from within the thickly billowing Figaro smoke.

“Attempted?” Inspector Tsunekawa exclaimed in shock, “But even setting aside those three girls, aren’t there still two more people who have been killed?” “Two? No, three. And those three might be entirely different from the individuals you’re envisioning.”

“Be that as it may. A murder was committed, wasn’t it?” Inspector Tsunekawa grew increasingly impatient at Akechi’s riddle-like words. “It is by no means an attempted murder.”

“Indeed, people were killed.” Akechi replied calmly, “However, the criminal has not yet achieved his true objective.” “The murders up to now were, to him, nothing more than a prelude.” “His true intention lies elsewhere.” “Mr. Tsunekawa, please remember this.” “The fact that I called this case an attempted murder.” “I believe the time will come when I can unravel it and show you.” Even when Mr. Tsunekawa pressed for this riddle-like explanation, Akechi refused to elaborate further. Moreover, even Mr. Tsunekawa did not expose his own incompetence by committing the folly of persistent questioning.

“Then I agree to the cemetery excavation.” “I’ll take care of the necessary procedures on my end.” “Of course, you’re free to attend as well.”

“Please, I must ask for your cooperation.” “However, Mr. Tsunekawa.” “This is simply about collecting and preserving solid evidence as a precaution—not that there aren’t other pressing matters to attend to.” “I’ll handle that first and then proceed to the cemetery.”

The conversation became strangely strained. It was an unavoidable situation where government officials and a private detective were both involved in the same case, and moreover, the latter’s skills proved superior. The next day, in accordance with their agreement, Okada Michihiko’s grave at Shiobara Myounji Temple was excavated. Court personnel, Mr. Tsunekawa from the Metropolitan Police Department, the local police chief, Akechi Kogoro, and others attended as witnesses. Judge S, who had known Akechi Kogoro since before his overseas trip and held considerable goodwill toward him, accepted the amateur detective’s proposal without reservation, allowing procedures to advance smoothly.

With each swing of the laborers’ pickaxes, soil was dug up, and from beneath emerged the crude lid of a coffin. The coffin had darkened from the dampness but retained its original shape.

The laborers, being skilled, pried open the lid without any hesitation. An overpowering stench struck their noses—a dreadful corpse, decayed, festering, half-melted and oozing. It was a sight too gruesome to behold. The laborers gently lifted the coffin out and exposed it to the harsh light of day. At the overwhelming grotesqueness, the people involuntarily averted their faces, but bound by duty, they could not flee. “The dental impression! Check the dental impression!” In response to Judge S’s words, Akechi took out the prepared dental impression (which he had obtained from a dentist and was that of Okada Michihiko during his lifetime) and handed it to a police officer.

“Open the corpse’s mouth.” The police officer commanded the laborers in an angry voice. But there was no need to open its mouth. On the corpse’s face, almost no flesh remained, and a long row of teeth lay exposed.

“Huh.” “Like this?” The laborers, bravely putting their hands on the skeleton’s clenched teeth, opened its mouth with a clatter.

The police officer squatted down, making a grimace as he fitted the plaster dental impression to the corpse’s teeth and examined them.

The attending people also huddled together and peered intently into the skeleton’s mouth. “Not a fraction of a difference,” declared the police officer. “They are exactly the same.” He exclaimed loudly with a triumphant look. Indeed, to anyone who saw them, the skeleton’s teeth and the plaster mold were completely identical. The eccentric painter Okada Michihiko—whom young Mitani had first suspected, and whom Akechi Kogoro along with the police had temporarily doubted—had truly died. It became clear that this drowned corpse with a distorted face was not someone whose body had been used as a substitute after he transformed into the Man Without Lips to commit evil deeds, but rather a pitiable figure who had taken his own life over unrequited love only to be falsely accused.

However, while this had cleared Okada of the false charge, on the other hand, new doubts now arose.

“The psychological leap by which Okada Michihiko—who proposed poison duels, altered Ms. Shizuko’s photograph to leave behind a terrifying corpse image as a memento, and even created those plaster statues of corpses in his atelier—committed suicide over such trivial matters like an innocent, naive youth unaware of the world seemed extremely unnatural.” “If we can clarify this point, then—and only then—I believe the mystery of the lipless monster will naturally unravel itself.”

The words Akechi had let slip to Judge S and Inspector Tsunekawa at Myōunji Temple’s cemetery would soon meet their moment of realization.

Be that as it may, the following day, another excavation was conducted at the cemetery of Saimyouji Temple in O Village, not far from the eerie atelier in Yoyogi.

For reasons unknown, O Village retained an old-fashioned burial custom of interment, and with each funeral held, fresh traditional earth mounds were erected in the vast cemetery of Saimyouji Temple.

Akechi Kogoro, having learned of this, visited Saimyouji Temple to investigate and discovered that there were young women’s corpses whose ages and burial dates precisely corresponded to those of the three girls from the atelier.

As they probed further, they even uncovered the fact that, according to the temple caretaker, shortly after burying the young women, a suspicious figure had been seen lurking around the cemetery late at night.

Even upon examining the cemetery’s condition, there was something oddly peculiar about it. Moreover, the absence of runaway girls corresponding to those three became a critical reason for today’s grave excavation. Now—what were the excavation’s results? To put it succinctly: Akechi’s conjecture had struck true. The three coffins they sought were found utterly empty.

No, to say they were empty wouldn’t be quite accurate—inside the coffins, there were no corpses, but instead, something strange had been placed.

“Oh, there’s a strange piece of paper dropped here.” One of the laborers picked it up from the bottom of the coffin and handed it to Mr. Tsunekawa. “Something’s written here. “It looks like a letter.” A letter inside the coffin—to whom on earth could it have been addressed? “Akechi Kogoro... Ah... Ah...” The inspector let out a shrill scream. “Mr. Akechi, this is addressed to you.” Akechi received it and read it; the letter’s contents were as follows.

Mr. Akechi Kogoro. The one who noticed this cemetery and would unearth this coffin was likely you. But truly regrettably, you were a bit too late. It was all over now. The person who stole the corpse from this coffin had already achieved his final objective. You had finally unearthed this coffin. But did you know what that meant? That person had carefully laid out his plan. The very moment Akechi Kogoro unearthed this coffin would be his end.

"You have already been given a death sentence. Know that any preparations or acts of hostility are utterly powerless against that person." "Again? This makes the third time I've received that bastard's threatening letters. What theatrical flair."

Akechi crumpled up the scrap of paper and gave a bitter smile.

Room of Evil

When the unpleasant cemetery excavation work reached a temporary conclusion, the court officials briskly withdrew. The local police party also split up and left to investigate the families of the pitiful girls.

Those who remained were Inspector Tsunekawa of the Metropolitan Police Department and Akechi Kogoro. “I have this strange feeling, as if I’m being carried along by you all.” Inspector Tsunekawa strolled toward the temple gate.

“You all?”

Akechi was smiling genially as usual.

“You and the Man Without Lips.” Inspector Tsunekawa was also grinning slyly. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! What absurdity are you suggesting now?” “You and that villain are colluding to toy with us. That’s precisely how it feels. Your deductions strike true as if guided by divinity. Moreover, for that scoundrel to not only foresee the cemetery’s excavation but leave a letter addressed to you within an empty coffin—such a feat would be impossible unless you’d schemed together in advance.”

The inspector said such things in a tone that made it unclear whether he was joking or serious, all while grinning slyly and gazing at Akechi’s face.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha! How delightful.” “The idea that I’m colluding with the Man Without Lips—if we follow Leblanc’s literary style, you could even imagine me playing dual roles: sometimes an amateur detective, sometimes transforming into a lipless monster, putting on a one-man show! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

Inspector Tsunekawa also finally burst into laughter.

“Speaking of novels, this crime is very much like something out of a novel.” “We’re rather ill-equipped for such things.” “The cast of characters, starting with the lipless monster, consists entirely of impractical sorts like painters and novelists.”

“That’s precisely it. The most accomplished criminals are always novelists. Take the letter in the coffin just now—it proves this culprit is an extraordinary novelist. First off, writing threatening letters to the detective you’re opposing isn’t something a practical person would do. When I received the first threat, I grasped his character. With that understanding, I adopted a novelistic mindset and applied my deductions.”

When he heard that, Inspector Tsunekawa looked deeply moved, “Ah, you are a born detective.” “What you just said is the definitive guide to detective techniques.” “For detectives to truly deduce effectively, they must possess the ability to fully immerse themselves in the criminal’s mindset—if the criminal is a scholar, the detective must become an equally accomplished scholar; if an artist, an artist; if a politician, a politician.” “But among today’s police officers, is there even a single person of that caliber?” “As for someone like me, I’m just working based on years of experience, and when faced with even slightly unconventional crimes, I end up completely at a loss, as you’ve seen this time.”

And he expressed heartfelt respect. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! You shouldn’t praise my fluke so effusively.” Akechi reddened his cheeks and said innocently. “But aren’t you afraid? His threats aren’t empty intimidation. The reason Ms. Fumiyo suffered like that was to demonstrate they’d carry out the threatening letter’s words. Shouldn’t we take precautions this time?” Inspector Tsunekawa said uneasily. “No, I’ve already made preparations on my end. This time I don’t intend to repeat such blunders... By the way, if you’re available, would you care to visit the Hatayanagi residence now? Since Mr. Mitani will likely be there, we could inquire about recent developments.”

“Ah, I was just thinking the same thing.” Thereupon, the two men had the car they had left waiting at the gate driven to the Hatayanagi residence in Tokyo. By the time they alighted before that imposing iron gate, it was already nearing nightfall.

The Hatayanagi household, where the master had died in prison and subsequently the wife and surviving child had gone missing, lay in an eerie silence, as deserted as an empty house.

When Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa arrived, young Mitani Fusao happened to be there and showed them to the parlor. “This house is supposed to be managed by relatives, but since they’re all people unfamiliar with the situation and nothing can be done about the servants, that’s why I’ve been making periodic rounds like this.”

Mitani spoke somewhat apologetically.

“By the way, have you had any word from Madam Hatayanagi?” Inspector Tsunekawa proceeded to ask.

“No.” “If anything, I was the one who wanted to ask *you* about that.” “How is the police investigation progressing?” “The police haven’t found a single lead yet.” “They truly escaped with remarkable skill.” “It’s simply unthinkable that this could be the work of a frail woman’s wit.”

Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently at Mitani’s face. “I am surprised as well. No one even saw those people leave this house.” Mitani, though he himself had let them escape, put on a convincing show of surprise. “This mansion is like a magician’s magic box, you know. At a glance, a magician’s box appears to have no mechanisms, but those in the profession know exactly where and what kind of tricks are hidden.”

Akechi suddenly brought up something strange. "So are you saying there's some secret mechanism in this building?"

Inspector Tsunekawa asked perplexedly. "If that weren't the case, there would be no way to explain either the disappearance of the corpse belonging to the man who called himself Ogawa Shouichi or Ms. Shizuko's mysterious vanishing." "But during Ogawa's incident, didn't the police search every corner of the mansion without exception—thoroughly examining every inch?"

“Well, that may have been an amateur’s way of searching. The secrets of a magician can only be understood by another magician after all.” “When you put it that way, it sounds as though you already know those secrets yourself.”

Inspector Tsunekawa, trembling with a certain premonition, could not help but ask in return. "Yes, to some extent." Akechi answered without altering his tone in the slightest.

“Then why had you kept silent about it until now? Such an important matter...”

Inspector Tsunekawa’s tone involuntarily turned fierce.

“No, I was waiting for the proper time,” Akechi replied. “Speaking rashly would only make them more vigilant.” “I see. And when exactly do you say this time will arrive?” “Today,” Akechi answered, his ever-present grin undiminished as he declared this crucial matter. “The moment has come at last to apprehend the Man Without Lips. The hour has arrived to reveal his true nature.” “Mr. Tsunekawa, in truth, I invited you here specifically to unveil that magician’s secret.” “Fortunately, Mr. Mitani’s presence makes this most opportune.” “Shall we three now go observe the mechanisms of this magic box?”

At the unexpected words of the amateur detective, both Mr. Tsunekawa and young Mitani were left dumbfounded, unable to utter a reply. “First of all, let us examine the second-floor study where Ogawa Shouichi was killed. As I’ve said before, the key to solving this case lies hidden within that Room of Evil.” Before long, the three of them stood before the collection of Buddhist statues in the Western-style study—the Room of Evil that had belonged to the late Mr. Hatayanagi.

Just then—what on earth?—a student entered carrying a large straw doll as tall as a person. "What's gotten into you? "What's the idea of bringing in such a strange thing?"

When he saw that, Mitani, startled, scolded the student. “No, it’s fine. “That was something I requested. Please hand it over here.”

Akechi received the straw doll from the student. “Actually, this doll will serve as today’s performer,” he declared, making yet another baffling remark. “A performance, you say?” Both Mr. Tsunekawa and young Mitani were left utterly dumbfounded by Akechi’s unexpected words. “Why this study became the focal point of this case—what sort of magician’s trickery lies hidden here—these matters are too intricate to explain verbally.” “The facts are so bizarre that mere explanation would strain belief.” “That’s why I conceived of reenacting the crime.” “I resolved to demonstrate it visually.” “Though I didn’t mention it earlier, bringing you here today, Mr. Tsunekawa, was part of my planned procedure.” “For this purpose, I prepared the stage thoroughly—even commissioning this straw doll to serve as our actor.”

Inspector Tsunekawa, thinking he might once again be made to gasp in surprise by Akechi’s antics, felt thoroughly exasperated. Watching such a play was not a very enjoyable role for him. “With an audience of just the two of you, the actor might feel underappreciated,” Akechi grinned and said. “However, since Mr. Tsunekawa here represents either the court or police, and Mr. Mitani represents the Hatayanagi family, there couldn’t be a more ideal situation than having you both as our audience. Moreover, if there are too many spectators, I worry the carefully staged bizarre drama might lose its horrific impact.”

Akechi, half-jokingly and while explaining, arranged three-legged chairs from the wall where the Buddhist statues in question stood lined up to the farthest corner of the room,

“Now, please take your seats here. This will be your seating for today’s performance.”

he beckoned the two men over. Given who they were dealing with, Mr. Tsunekawa and young Mitani couldn’t very well get angry and took their seats as instructed.

“Now then, the first act will be the scene of Ogawa Shouichi’s murder.” “So first, we must arrange the stage exactly as it was at the time.” Akechi began the preamble to his magic trick. “The furnishings of the room have not changed in the slightest from how they were at that time.” "The only thing missing is the murdered Ogawa Shouichi." “Therefore, I will have this straw doll play Ogawa’s role.”

He stood at the entrance holding the straw doll.

“Ogawa sneaked in through this door. Once inside, he locked it from the inside.”

Akechi pulled out the key that had been inserted in the keyhole from the outside and locked it from the inside. “Then, he stood before these Buddhist statues and began to do something.”

He propped the straw doll against one of the Buddhist statues. "Only this single window had its latch undone—all others were firmly secured." As he spoke, he closed the window tightly to match exactly how it had been at the time. Then he too sat down in a chair alongside the two spectators.

“Now, everything here is exactly as it was at that time,” he declared. “As for who killed Ogawa and how—I will now demonstrate this for you to see.” Outside the window, dusk was gathering. Within the vast estate grounds, not a single sound could be heard. Several eerie minutes passed. No matter who considered it, one could only conclude the intruder had entered through the window. There being no external passageway. Inspector Tsunekawa stared fixedly at the unlatched window. Then suddenly—with a rustling sound—the straw doll collapsed with a thud.

“There it is.” At Akechi’s shout, when they looked at the doll’s chest—Ah, where had it come from? A dagger had been thrust deep into the very core of the straw!

In the dimming room as dusk approached, as if shrouded in thick fog, the shapes of objects appeared blurred; all the more so, the straw doll lying there with a dagger thrust through its very core seemed like some strange creature, rendering the scene even eerier.

Even so, where on earth had that dagger come flying from? Into the room with its doors and windows tightly shut, a weapon without an owner suddenly materialized. It was a trick. But where was that magician?

Inspector Tsunekawa involuntarily stood up, rushed to the window without a latch, opened it, and peered outside. Because he felt as though someone might be hiding there. Mitani also followed suit and, from behind the inspector, apprehensively peered down at the dimly lit garden.

However, there was no sign of anyone on the bellows outside the window or in the garden below. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Mr. Tsunekawa, for someone to throw a dagger through a tightly closed glass window without breaking the glass—no matter how skilled a magician they are, that’s an impossible feat!”

At Akechi's laughter, Mr. Tsunekawa smiled bitterly and stepped away from the window. Then, intending to examine the dagger this time, he approached the straw doll, but after taking two or three steps, he gasped and found himself compelled to halt abruptly.

Was I dreaming? Or had what I just witnessed been a hallucination? Strange, so strange—when he drew near to look, there was nothing on the straw doll's chest. The dagger had vanished without a trace.

Mr. Tsunekawa glanced around restlessly. Nowhere could anything resembling a dagger be found. What suddenly caught his eye were the eerie Buddhist statues standing in a row.

He approached them and meticulously examined each one. However, the Buddhist statues seemed to have no mechanisms at all. Surely, it couldn’t be that the Buddhist statues had swung their arms and thrown the dagger. They were either wooden carvings with immovable limbs or gilded Buddhas seated in meditation.

So, was it a hallucination after all? Was it because the room was dimly lit that he had mistakenly perceived the fallen straw doll as having a dagger stabbed into it, driven by paranoid suspicion?

Utterly perplexed, the inspector squatted down over the straw doll and scrutinized its chest area intently. Just as he had thought.

Certainly, the straw was cut about an inch deep, showing where the dagger had been thrust.

“Look more carefully.”

Akechi called out from beside him.

What exactly was he supposed to be looking at? Puzzled, he stared vacantly at the straw doll's wound when something black began oozing from the injury. The black substance spread with a sizzle, like scorching paper. Ah—it was blood!

It wasn't black. It was a lurid bright red color. Because of the twilight, it had appeared black. The straw doll had been stabbed in the chest and was flowing bright red blood.

Inspector Tsunekawa brought the finger that had touched the wound up before his eyes and examined it against the light from the window. Just as expected, his finger was thickly smeared with blood. “Ha ha ha ha! No, it’s nothing at all.” “It was just a little touch to make the act more realistic—I had concealed a rubber ink bag in the straw doll’s chest.” “However, with this, you will clearly understand that Ogawa Shouichi—the straw doll—was stabbed in the chest.”

Akechi explained, laughing.

So, after all, that dagger was not a hallucination. “The murder weapon?” “What about the dagger?”

Inspector Tsunekawa involuntarily blurted out.

“Don’t you understand yet? I’ll reveal the trick soon enough. …Now, regarding how Saitou Roujin and the students found Ogawa Shouichi’s corpse—it was exactly like this.” “Ogawa had collapsed like this, bleeding from his chest.” “Of course, the murder weapon was nowhere to be found.”

Akechi continued his explanation. "The criminal didn’t show themselves, and even the murder weapon vanished without a trace." "However, Ogawa Shouichi had collapsed, bleeding from the chest." "This doll was also struck in the chest and collapsed." "The straw being cut and the red ink rubber bag being torn are the clearest evidence." "The doll was killed." "But by whom, and how?... Even you who witnessed it cannot clearly understand." "At the time, it’s no wonder that Saitou Roujin and the others found it so strange."

Even as they spoke, the room grew visibly darker. The individual strands of the straw doll’s straw had become indistinguishable. The dark Buddhist statues seemed to creak backward step by step, melting into the walls.

“How strange.” “I feel like I am dreaming.”

Mitani, for some reason, declared in an abnormally loud voice. Both Akechi and Mr. Tsunekawa turned in surprise to observe Mitani's face, but the encroaching twilight obscured his features, rendering his expression illegible. "Let's turn on the lights." "This darkness makes everything incomprehensible."

While muttering to himself, the inspector started walking toward the switch.

“No, please don’t turn on the lights. Please bear with it a little longer as it is. The real trick is about to begin. For that purpose, keeping the stage dimly lit proves more advantageous.” Akechi restrained Mr. Tsunekawa, “Now then, please return to your seat once more. I shall now finally unveil the secret behind Ogawa’s murder for your eyes.”

The two spectators were pushed back to their original chairs by Akechi.

“Now, when Saitou Roujin and the others discovered Ogawa’s corpse, they were shocked and notified the police.” “And so that no one would touch the corpse until the police arrived, they fastened the latches on the windows, locked the door from the outside, and all left the room.” As he spoke, Akechi closed the window that the inspector had opened exactly as described, fastened the latch, confirmed that the door was securely shut, removed the key from the keyhole, and put it into his pocket.

“With this, it is now in exactly the same state as it was at that time.” “The people had kept away from this room for about thirty minutes.” “During that time, something utterly impossible had occurred.” “In a room with no exits or entrances, Ogawa’s corpse had vanished.” “Mr. Tsunekawa, the first time you became involved in this case was that day, was it not?”

“That’s correct.” “From that day on, I have been possessed by a demon.” “In the mere ten-odd days since then, events had unfolded at a dizzying pace: the dramatic showdown at Ryōgoku Kokugikan, the Balloon Man’s gruesome death, the murder of Saitou Roujin, and Mrs. Hatayanagi’s disappearance.” “Moreover, each and every one of them was an unprecedented, outlandish—or even insane—mysterious event.” The inspector said in a resigned tone, as if to hide his embarrassment. “So, after Saitou Roujin and the others left this room, during the approximately thirty minutes before you police officers arrived, I will now demonstrate what exactly occurred during that time.”

Akechi continued his explanation undeterred. But despite his declaration of a demonstration, there was only Akechi as the presenter, two spectators, and a straw doll lying about in the room. Who on earth would perform this demonstration? The spectators, utterly bewildered, stared until their eyes ached into the room growing darker moment by moment.

Tick-tick-tick-tick—the sound of a pocket watch ticking off the seconds stood out so starkly in the profound silence.

Mr. Tsunekawa suddenly sensed something stirring somewhere in the room and jolted. There it was. Unmistakably a person. A pitch-black, malformed monster resembling the thumb-sized warrior Issun-bōshi crept slowly down the opposite wall, clinging to its surface. Thumb-sized warrior A hideous monster, concealed from head to fingertip in jet-black garments, descended from the ceiling, crawling down the wall like a black spider. Straining their eyes to look at the spot where he had descended, they saw that one panel of the coffered ceiling in the corner had become a gaping black hole, from which a thin cord was hanging. The monster resembling the thumb-sized warrior Issun-bōshi hung from the thin cord, used the shoulder of a Buddhist statue as a foothold, and skillfully landed on the floor without making a sound.

With only their eyes left uncovered and their entire face wrapped in black cloth, it was impossible to discern who they were. Though this pitch-black Thumb-sized warrior was undoubtedly one of Akechi’s so-called actors, seeing it descend from the ceiling like a spider into the dimly lit room filled with grotesque Buddhist statues made them shudder involuntarily. “Who is that?”

Mr. Tsunekawa inadvertently asked Akechi beside him. “Shh, be quiet.” “Watch closely what he does.” Restrained by Akechi, Mr. Tsunekawa held his breath. Mitani too kept his eyes riveted on the small monster, observing intently. They resembled two overgrown children utterly absorbed in watching an unusual magic trick. Issun-bōshi squatted over the fallen straw doll and watched it for a while as if confirming whether it had truly died. Once satisfied it had stopped breathing—he skillfully mimed this gesture—he abruptly tucked the straw doll under his arm, approached the entrance without making a sound, produced a duplicate key from his pocket to unlock the door, then disappeared into the corridor.

“Now, let’s follow him.” “We’ll see where he goes and witness it.” Akechi said in a low voice, took the lead, and dashed into the corridor. The two spectators, though they didn’t understand the reason, followed after Akechi regardless. The black Issun-bōshi, unaware that he was being followed, strode purposefully down the corridor. The strange thing was that no matter how hurriedly he moved, not a single footstep could be heard. Could he be wearing rubber-soled tabi?

In the twilight-drenched corridor, which resembled diluted ink flowing across a canvas, the small black monster glided soundlessly onward, the straw doll tucked under its arm—a spectacle so bizarre and terrifying it defied description.

At the end of the corridor was a narrow back staircase. The little demon vanished into the stairwell’s opening as though sliding in.

Descending the stairs and proceeding a short distance down the narrow corridor toward the back entrance, there was a storage room. Issun-bōshi softly opened the sliding door and slipped into the storage room.

With Akechi at the lead, the three following closely behind entered the small room and came to a halt along the wall beside the entrance.

The sliding door had been deliberately left open, allowing a faint evening light to seep through, yet within the storage room, discerning a human figure was barely possible.

Ah, this storage room.

Readers will recall. The old well where Yanagihara Shizuko and Shigeru had hidden themselves several days prior lay beneath the floor of this very storage room. Mitani Fusao, who knew about that well and had sheltered Yanagihara Shizuko and the others there at the time—what must he have been feeling now? This fearsome amateur detective knew about that old well. Could it be he had already suspected even the whereabouts of Yanagihara Shizuko and the others? It was only natural that Mitani, who had long been unable to bear his anxiety, began fidgeting restlessly.

Just as expected. The small monster placed the straw doll beside him and began lifting the floorboards. After painstakingly creating a hole approximately six feet square, he descended beneath the floorboards, pushed aside old straw bags, and began dragging away the heavy stone slabs covering the old well with labored grunts. Was he planning to enter the well? Or could there be some other purpose for this well? Issun-bōshi finally managed to remove the five heavy stone slabs. Beneath them lay two thick logs spanning the well's mouth. He removed those too. From the moment the monster began shifting the slabs, a choking stench had begun permeating the room. A nauseatingly sweet-and-sour odor of decay.

Mr. Tsunekawa immediately realized what kind of smell it was and was struck with utter astonishment. "Ah! What on earth?!"

Could it be that I had committed a grave blunder? Not noticing there was an old well here and being utterly ignorant of its contents—wouldn't this irreparably disgrace the name of the demon detective? No sooner had this thought struck him than he found himself unable to stay still. He seized Akechi's arm and barked: "You—what's inside that hole? What's this stench? You know, don't you? Out with it—what the hell is that?"

“Shh...” Akechi remained perfectly composed and pressed a finger to his lips. “You mustn’t disrupt the sequence of the performance.” “Please bear with me a little longer.” “Within thirty minutes, all secrets will be completely exposed.”

Inspector Tsunekawa still tried to insist on investigating the well, but just then, because the black monster made a strange gesture, he became distracted and fell silent. After completely removing the stone slabs, Issun-bōshi pulled down the straw doll that had been placed on the floor and abruptly threw it into the well. Then he laid the two logs back in their original positions and arranged old straw bags on top.

“Actually, those stones should have been restored to their original state as well, but to save time, he omitted just the stones.” Akechi explained in a whisper. The little monster ascended, fitted the floorboards into place, checked for any oversights by looking around, and then retraced its steps back to the second-floor study with soundless footsteps. It goes without saying that the spectators followed after him.

The monster that had returned to the study waited for the spectators to enter the room, locked the door, then meticulously inspected the surroundings before once again using the Buddha statue as a foothold to climb along the thin rope and smoothly ascend into the attic like a spider. And after he had vanished, the coffered ceiling panels were fitted back into place perfectly, just as they had been before.

“This marks the end of the first act.”

As he spoke, Akechi pressed the wall switch. The room suddenly lit up.

“The end of the first act?” “So does that mean there’s still a second act?” “In this way, Ogawa Shouichi’s corpse went missing. After that black fellow finished all this work, Mr. Tsunekawa, your police team arrived here—that’s the sequence of events.”

“Then, what about the dagger that killed Ogawa?” Mr. Tsunekawa, unable to wait any longer, asked a question.

“The dagger was thrown from the ceiling by Issun-bōshi just now.”

“I understand that part,” said Mr. Tsunekawa. “But how did the dagger disappear?” “Because it returned upward,” replied Akechi Kogoro calmly. “That heavy dagger had a sturdy silk cord attached… You see? The fiend devised this thoroughly—to avoid leaving evidence at the scene.” His voice sharpened with clinical precision: “He’d hurl it from above to kill his target and then reel it back using that cord—a mechanical sleight-of-hand.” A faint smile played on his lips as he concluded: “A sealed-room murder without criminal or weapon may sound fantastical… yet once dissected? It proves laughably mundane.”

Indeed, indeed—the mystery of the missing corpse was now clear. However, there still remained mountains of unanswered questions. "And the culprit? What on earth is that puny black creature?"

Inspector Tsunekawa posed his second question. “The one being portrayed by that black mask is a truly astonishing person that no one could have imagined.” “I also discovered it just two or three days ago, but it was such an unexpected person that I could hardly believe it was true.”

“So, in other words…” Mr. Tsunekawa pressed impatiently. “So you’re saying he’s the true culprit behind this incident?”

“The true culprit… Yes. In a certain sense.” “In a certain sense.”

Akechi was evasive in his words,

“Before I tell you who he is, there is still something I must show you.” “Now, the second act of tonight’s performance is about to begin.” he declared theatrically once more.

“The second act, you say?” “So there’s still more to this?” “Yes, and this demonstration is precisely the crucial scene I wish to show you all.” “Hoh, so that’s…” The inspector was considerably irritated by the amateur detective’s affected manner, but his desire to learn the truth left him no choice but to humor Akechi’s theatrics for the time being. “So, this time, I will show you the events that occurred within two or three days after the recent incident—that is, the Ogawa Shouichi corpse disappearance case.” “It was a truly bizarre and unfathomable murder case.” “However, this was a completely hidden incident—a crime that even the police and the Hatayanagi family were entirely unaware of.”

“Is this separate from Old Man Saito’s incident?” The inspector exclaimed in surprise. “No, it’s separate. Between Ogawa’s case and Saito’s case, another murder—unknown to anyone—was committed, and moreover, it took place in this very room.”

This prologue was indeed a great success.

The spectators, not a little excited, now waited eagerly for the opening of the second act.

“Now then, I shall extinguish the lights once more for a brief interval,” Akechi declared with theatrical gravity. “But first, I must warn you all—though an utterly bizarre murder will be vividly reenacted in this chamber tonight, remember this remains but a theatrical performance. Should any horrifying spectacle unfold, you must neither intervene nor cry out. Understood? Then…” With a sharp click, darkness swallowed the room as he concluded his prologue. Beyond the windows, night now reigned supreme, countless stars glittering coldly against the void.

As they wondered how they could possibly see the play in such darkness, a large circular light abruptly appeared on the opposite wall, and eerie Buddha statues loomed into view like images from a magic lantern. Akechi had, unbeknownst to everyone, prepared a flashlight and was projecting its circular beam onto the wall directly in front of them. The circular light gradually passed through the group of Buddha statues, reached the edge of the wall, and came to a stop before the entrance door.

When they looked, within that light, the door handle was slowly and cautiously turning. Someone was trying to open the door from outside.

As the handle stopped turning, the door itself began to open inch by inch, inch by inch, with extreme caution. The tiny black figure should still be in the attic. It was not him. If that was the case, then who on earth was this person now opening the door with such terrifying caution? Even Inspector Tsunekawa, who was called a demon, found his breath quickening from the welling curiosity and an indescribable fear. One sun, two sun, one shaku, two shaku—finally, the door was fully opened. The guy outside had a duplicate key.

The circular light on the wall, amplifying Akechi's pounding heartbeat through the flashlight he held, quivered rhythmically. Into that trembling light from the hallway outside slipped a bizarre figure. When they saw this, despite Akechi's prior warning, the two spectators couldn't help letting out a small cry of "Ah!"

The figure was dressed exactly like the infamous Man Without Lips—black fedora, black cloak, large tinted glasses, and a mask. The sinister figure crept forward through the circular light. As he advanced, Akechi's flashlight moved along the wall with him like a spotlight following a stage performance. It felt like watching a tracking shot in a film. The monster's eyes remained fixed on the section of coffered ceiling where the tiny figure had hidden as he walked. He clearly knew the passage to that strange attic.

Eventually, when he advanced to the middle of the front wall, he stopped before a seated Buddha statue and squatted down there, his gaze still fixed on the coffered ceiling. What on earth was he trying to do? As if it had been a signal, no sooner did a strange clank sound from that familiar spot in the ceiling than—with a whoosh—the terrifying Western dagger came hurtling like a silver rod toward the crouching monster.

Ah, the second murder! This is it!

By the time anyone registered what was happening, the masked man had flipped like an acrobat evading the dagger's arc—a movement too swift for eyes to follow. Even as he dodged, his hand shot out to seize the weapon's cord and tear it free with one sharp motion. "Agh!" An inhuman shriek echoed through the chamber. Clattering footsteps pounded across the ceiling boards as the disarmed tiny figure screamed and scrambled away in retreat.

The masked figure dragged the small table from the center of the room under the hole in the ceiling, stacked two chairs on top of it to create a foothold, nimbly climbed up, and leaped onto the coffered ceiling frame. Needless to say, during this time, the flashlight’s spotlight moved to follow the lead actor’s performance. For a while, within that circular light, the villain’s legs thrashed about wildly, until eventually, they too vanished into the hole in the ceiling.

The flashlight merely illuminated the corner of the ceiling in vain; the two actors remained vanished from the spectators' view into the pitch-black attic, showing no sudden signs of descending. For a short while now, the stage had been empty. Instead, a sound could be heard. A terrible noise, as if a rat were thrashing about wildly, came down from the ceiling.

Two monsters were chasing each other in the darkness.

Eventually, the noises stopped abruptly. The fleeing tiny figure was caught. For a short while, an eerie silence.

The monsters struggled. They fought silently without making a sound, drenched in sweat. The dreadful scene appeared vividly before their eyes. Stage director Akechi Kogoro was quite the showman. The two spectators held their breath and strained their ears. What on earth was happening in the attic? It was far too quiet. Which one had won? Then from the deathlike silence came a faint, faint moan—thinner than a thread.

One of them had been strangled. It was a hair-raising death rattle - that final scream of agony from life's edge.

As the thin voice, like a lamp flame going out, gradually weakened and melted into the darkness, an even more eerie silence returned.

Then, after interminable tens of seconds had passed, creaking footsteps could be heard from the ceiling, and soon after, a single thin rope began to descend slowly and steadily from the familiar hole. At the end of the thin rope was tied a limp human body. It was a corpse. The round beam of the flashlight slid down the wall along with the corpse, tracing an ellipse on the carpet.

The corpse avoided the chair and table serving as footholds to lie quietly within the white ellipse on the carpet. Just as he had thought. The smaller one had lost. The body lowered by thin cord was that hideous tiny figure.

Around the neck of the jet-black small monster coiled a single red cord like a terrifying wound. It was with that cord that he had been strangled.

Bordered by an elliptical light, the black corpse on the carpet, the crimson cord around its neck—it was a strange yet beautiful painting.

Before long, sliding down the same thin rope, the masked monster perpetrator smoothly entered the quiet scene. He crouched over the corpse for a while, examining it, but upon determining there was no risk of revival, he untied the thin rope binding the body, climbed up the foothold of chairs and tables, hid the rope in the ceiling, fitted the board back into the hole he had just descended from, then returned the now-unnecessary chairs and tables to their original places, meticulously erasing all traces of the crime.

Just when one might think he would next dispose of the corpse, that was not the case. The masked monster approached the seated Buddha statue he had stopped before earlier and suddenly pushed over the golden statue with all his might. With a deep, gloomy reverberation, the Great Buddha came loose from its pedestal and fell backward—the space beneath its bottom lay completely empty.

When they looked, on the remaining pedestal lay a small portable safe. The spectators too finally began to grasp what was happening. The two monsters had engaged in such a dreadful struggle over this portable safe.

The portable safe that the Great Buddha had hidden with its own body—there was no doubt that a vast amount of treasure had been concealed within it. The masked figure opened the safe's lid and divided the items inside into various pockets. Or rather, he made a show of putting them away.

“I will explain in detail later, but the safe contained a vast amount of jewels.”

Akechi explained. After removing the contents and leaving the safe as it was, the culprit attempted to lift the golden Buddha statue—larger than himself—back into place but struggled mightily. Then Akechi Kogoro, serving as narrator, went over to lend a hand and with some effort managed to restore it to its pedestal—a touch of humor in the proceedings. “In reality, the real culprit was much stronger. There was no assistance,” he added as an explanation.

Once that was done, the mysterious figure picked up Issunboshi’s corpse and left the room. Once again, the trio began their tailing. Inspector Tsunekawa remained relatively composed, but the young Mitani Fusao, in his amateur’s distress, was far from finding this theatrical display entertaining—he was utterly terrified. “Mitani, are you feeling unwell?”

Akechi suddenly noticed this and shone his flashlight into Mitani’s face.

“No, it’s nothing.” “It’s just… there have been so many strange things happening…”

Mitani said that and showed a smile, but his complexion was as white as paper. His forehead was even glistening with fine beads of oily sweat. “Pull yourself together. It won’t be long before everything becomes clear.” Akechi encouraged him, grasped the young man’s hand, and walked on as if pulling him along.

The monster’s destination was, as expected, that storage shed. He removed the lid of the old well in the same manner as Issunboshi had done earlier, then threw the corpse he had been carrying into it. But no, he only pretended to throw it in.

The bottom of the well The Issunbōshi monster found himself thrown into the old well through the exact same procedure he had earlier performed on Ogawa Shouichi (the straw dummy). But this didn't mean he had actually jumped in. Even if called a corpse, he was merely a theatrical one. He only pretended to be thrown in before nimbly leaping over the well's mouth to stand in the storage shed's corner.

The masked figure also went to the same corner, and the enemy comrades lined up amicably and waited.

“This marks the end of the second act.”

Akechi explained. He was still holding Mitani’s hand.

“So there’s still a third act?” Inspector Tsunekawa peered into the pitch-black old well, his nose twitching faintly as he asked. “Yes, there is a third act,” came the reply. “Though if you find it tiresome, I could simply describe it verbally instead.” “That would be preferable.”

The inspector immediately agreed,

“But before that, I want to investigate inside this well.”

He could no longer contain himself. “Well then, there’s a small ladder in that corner. Set it up inside the well and go down.” “I’ll lend you a flashlight.” With permission from the stage manager granted, the inspector promptly borrowed a flashlight, lowered the ladder, and entered the well. He had not expected at all that such a dreadful thing would be lying at its bottom. As he descended, the first thing illuminated by the flashlight’s beam was the straw dummy that had been thrown in earlier.

The inspector picked it up and threw it out of the well. Underneath that, as the reader knows, were the two futons Mitani Fusao had thrown in when hiding Yanagihara Shizuko. “Hey, could you give me a hand? These futons are impossible!”

From the bottom of the well, Inspector Tsunekawa’s voice echoed up.

Upon hearing this, the two mysterious figures who had been standing in the corner under Akechi’s instructions approached the mouth of the well and pulled up the futons that the Inspector was handing up from below, one by one. Now, what was beneath the futons? From the performance up to this point, Inspector Tsunekawa had already clearly understood that these were two human corpses. One had been conclusively identified as Ogawa Shouichi.

But what about the other one? As for that ugly dwarf-like figure—as for Ogawa’s killer—just who could they be? He wanted to confirm this as soon as possible.

Inspector Tsunekawa, keeping his foot on the lower rungs of a ladder tilted diagonally into the well, shone his flashlight and peered into the bottom. “Gah!” A scream. Even the inspector couldn’t help being startled. “What’s wrong?”

From the darkness above came Akechi’s voice; he too was peering into the well. “This….” The inspector brought the flashlight even closer to the bottom to show them. To look upon the corpses required prior resolve. However, no one could have imagined corpses like these. Over ten days in late autumn, decay had not yet distorted their forms beyond recognition. But a phenomenon more terrifying than decay or maggots had occurred in the two corpses. There lay two giants, two sumo wrestlers, curled and piled on top of each other.

The legs of the ladder had dug into one abdomen, causing that part to appear constricted by about nine centimeters. It was a bloated belly like that of a candy-sculpted raccoon dog.

It was the phenomenon of corpse bloating. The gas generated in their internal organs had inflated the corpses like rubber balloons with tremendous force. Their faces too had wrinkles stretched out and pores gaping open - swollen like babies from a land of giants and distended nearly to bursting.

“This must be Ogawa.” The person could be identified by their clothing. The inspector next shifted his gaze to the other corpse’s face, but the moment he saw it, even he let out a “Gah!” and instinctively tried to scramble up the ladder.

It was no wonder Inspector Tsunekawa had been shocked. The other corpse bloating there was by no means an unknown man. Far from unknown—the unforgettable key figure of this case lay pitifully sprawled, his massive body like an overinflated balloon.

Inspector Tsunekawa had once encountered that man in Shinagawa Bay. What he had seen then was a wax mask. But the monster now sprawled underfoot wore no mask. It truly had no lips. The nose was broken. The entire face glared red and hairless. Moreover, swollen to twice its living size, it presented a countenance utterly beyond description. Inspector Tsunekawa felt a strange, dazed stupor. He was overcome by peculiar unease, as though he could no longer trust his own vision.

It was his second encounter with the Man Without Lips—and there, in the trembling white beam of his flashlight at the bottom of the well, he had been caught completely off guard by the sight of that bastard’s corpse, swollen like a sumo wrestler. It was hardly unreasonable that Inspector Tsunekawa had involuntarily assumed the posture of fleeing.

“Who is this?” “What is this guy?”

Finally regaining his composure, Inspector Tsunekawa began to address Akechi outside the well.

He knew all too well of the Man Without Lips' existence. But no one knew where he was from or what that guy's name was.

“The guy who lived in the study’s attic and killed Ogawa Shouichi.”

Akechi answered from the darkness. Indeed, from that recent performance, he had come to understand that much. A straw effigy modeled after Ogawa Shouichi had been slain by a black-masked Issun-boushi. That Issun-boushi had then been strangled by a masked monstrosity. And both the straw effigy and Issun-boushi’s corpse had been cast into this well.

The straw doll was Ogawa Shouichi. If that were the case, then the remaining one—this lipless bastard—would correspond to the Issun-boushi from the play. That little monster had faithfully performed the role of the "Man Without Lips."

“So you mean the criminal we’ve been desperately searching for was hiding in this mansion’s attic?” Inspector Tsunekawa’s voice dripped with disbelief. “Then who exactly is this guy? And why of all places would he choose the attic of this mansion as his hiding spot?” He stood overwhelmed, unable to sort through the swarm of questions rising within him. “There’s nothing mysterious about this man hiding in the attic. After all, anyone’s home—particularly their own study—holds sentimental value.”

Akechi in the darkness answered nonchalantly. "You say 'my home'?" "His own study?" "By that... it somehow sounds like the Hatayanagi family is this guy's residence, but..."

Inspector Tsunekawa grew increasingly bewildered.

“That’s correct. This man is none other than the master of this house.” “Wh-Wh-What did you say?”

Inspector Tsunekawa’s frantic scream. “This Man Without Lips is none other than Ms. Shizuko’s husband, Mr. Hatayanagi Shouzou.” “That’s… that’s absurd! How could such a thing be possible? Hatayanagi Shouzou was supposed to have died of illness in prison two months ago.” “That is what was believed. However, he had returned to life. He came back to life beneath the earthen grave where he was buried.”

Inspector Tsunekawa climbed out of the well and shone the flashlight into Akechi’s face. “Is that true? You’re not joking, are you?” “It’s only natural that you find this surprising. He came back to life. But it was not a natural resurrection. It was all a scheme plotted by his associates.”

With a solemn expression, Akechi began to recount the bizarre facts. “This is no trivial matter. You knew that all along and kept silent until now?” Fueled by frustration at being outwitted by the amateur detective, Inspector Tsunekawa inadvertently adopted a harsh tone.

“No, I wasn’t deliberately concealing anything. “I only learned that yesterday myself.” As he spoke, Akechi lit the dusty lamp hanging from the storage room’s attic to brighten their discussion. Though a dim five-candlepower bulb, its sudden glow dazzled eyes grown accustomed to darkness. “The credit for uncovering that belongs to Ms. Fumiyo from my office.” “She skillfully manipulated one of Y Prison’s medical staff and finally extracted that information.”

Akechi continued his explanation. "I'm sure there will be an opportunity to discuss the details in due course." "Since the third act of our play still remains, I'll keep it brief: in short, the medical staff at the prison, the guards, and two or three inmate patients conspired together to make Hatayanagi Shouzou a dead man." He was indeed a rather gravely ill patient. However, he had not yet died. He had merely been in a state of paralysis indistinguishable from a corpse. "You are aware of curare, a deadly poison produced from plants of the southern seas, are you not?" "It's possible that such a drug was used." "In any case, through the arrangements of his associates, Hatayanagi Shouzou was able to exit the prison gates alive and unharmed." "And then, after that, he came back to life from the earthen grave where he had been buried." "He came back to life and became a fiend guarding the treasure he had stolen and amassed."

“This isn’t a novel—I can’t believe such things happen in Japanese prisons!”

Inspector Tsunekawa, unable to hold back any longer, interjected. “The Hatayanagi family is extremely wealthy. “The amount of money needed to guarantee the livelihoods of several people is nothing to them. “When presented with a fortune large enough to ensure a lifetime of comfort—is there anyone who wouldn’t be blinded? “……Hatayanagi—who had returned from the grave—since he would have been captured immediately had he kept his original appearance—endured excruciating pain and used sulfuric acid or something similar to burn and disfigure his face. “And having become a completely different person—that is—having transformed into the Man Without Lips—he reappeared in this world.”

“But this is strange.” “Hatayanagi’s sentence was indeed seven years—why didn’t he simply wait it out?” “There was no need to go so far as burning his face...”

Inspector Tsunekawa found Akechi’s explanation somehow unconvincing. “Inspector Tsunekawa, you haven’t forgotten the Sugimura Jewelry Store burglary case, have you?” Akechi was grinning as he suddenly brought up something strange. “Oh! The Sugimura Jewelry Store… I do remember it, but what about it?”

“It was last March, wasn’t it? When the safe at Sugimura Jewelry Store was broken into and two employees were brutally murdered—” “That’s correct. It was an extremely sophisticated crime. Unfortunately, we still haven’t managed to find any leads.” “Then there was the burglary at Hayase Clock Shop, the famous diamond incident at the Ogura Baron’s residence, the necklace theft from the Kitakoji Marchioness...” “Ah! So you’d noticed that connection too. Exactly. They all followed the same pattern. We’d been investigating under the assumption they were committed by the same perpetrator.”

Inspector Tsunekawa answered, slightly flustered.

“We have now apprehended that culprit.”

Akechi blurted out increasingly outlandish things.

“Wh-wh-where? Where?” “Where?”

Inspector Tsunekawa could not help but be flustered.

“Here,” Akechi pointed to the old well at his feet. “This is the jewel thief.” Waiting for Inspector Tsunekawa to grasp his meaning, Akechi continued: “For Hatayanagi, establishing phantom companies and committing fraud were merely surface-level legitimate businesses—in truth, he was a fearsome jewel thief.” “No, not just theft—he even committed the capital crime of murder.” “He had several accomplices.” “They were villains through and through—there was no telling when they might betray him and abscond with the precious jewels.” “Considering how informants might emerge, Hatayanagi—as their leader—couldn’t idly remain imprisoned for seven years.” “If his other crimes came to light and meant execution, feigning death or acid-burning his face became trivial acts.” “No—even that proved insufficient for his peace of mind. He fitted prosthetics onto his healthy limbs to mimic artificial ones, even disguising himself as a severely disabled man……”

Having transformed his countenance and been reborn as an entirely different man, when he returned to his home, a truly farcical incident occurred. He had been so consumed by terror of execution and obsession with the stolen jewels that he completely neglected to consider his beloved wife and child. Yet when he actually stood before his household gate—precisely because it was his cherished wife and dear child—even he grew ashamed of his own horrifically disfigured visage. He lacked the courage to commit the grave crime of prison escape……

For two months following his prison break, he had been hiding at a fellow criminal’s house in Fukagawa. —the name of that fellow criminal has also been ascertained—. And under cover of night, he would sneak into his mansion, catch glimpses of his wife and child, recheck the hiding place of the jewels, finding scant solace in these acts. Whenever Ms. Shizuko went to Shiohara Hot Springs, he would follow her there, stay at the same inn, and even go through the miserable effort of peeping at his own wife bathing through the bathhouse window……

The jewels he had stolen were hidden inside the Buddhist statue in the study, as you saw in the earlier performance. He devised various measures to prevent people from approaching it. The eerie arrangement of Buddhist statues served that purpose. He rigged a mechanism in the eyes of the golden Buddha statue containing the jewels so that when someone stood before it, the eyes would open automatically—another part of his scheme. Moreover, creating a darkroom in the attic as an emergency hideout, accessible by removing one of the coffered ceiling panels, was another of his ingenious ideas.……

He had been hiding at that fellow criminal’s house in Fukagawa for about two months, but recently could no longer feel secure with that arrangement.First was his obsession with jewels.He loved them like a madman.A man who lacked for nothing became a jewel thief for that very reason.He could no longer endure being separated from gems cherished more than wife and child.Moreover, he discovered one associate had discerned the jewels’ hiding place and sought to secretly claim them.Moreover, from Hatayanagi’s perspective, Mr.Mitani’s constant presence in that house must have bred anxiety.So like a thief he crept into his home concealed himself within the study attic’s hidden space—prepared long ago—and from there kept watch over the jewels……

His caution was not in vain. One of the associates he had suspected had, as expected, sneaked into the study one day and attempted to steal the jewels from inside the Buddhist statue. Hatayanagi had been lying in wait for it in the attic. The dagger with a string that had been prepared in advance proved useful. "That scene was exactly as you witnessed in the first act of the performance earlier." "Then, that associate who came to steal the jewels was—" Inspector Tsunekawa could not help but interject.

“That’s correct.” “It’s Ogawa Shouichi.” “Of course it’s an alias, but he was the despicable traitor who betrayed the leader.”

Third Act “I knew Hatayanagi Shouzou was a villain, but I never expected him to commit murder.” “Yet even accepting that, if we follow your theory that Hatayanagi is this case’s perpetrator—why would he stage something as abhorrent as kidnapping his own child and demanding ransom?” “There seems a fundamental contradiction in that psychological calculus.”

Inspector Tsunekawa inquired skeptically.

“That’s precisely it. The second act of tonight’s performance was a staged demonstration I prepared to clarify that very point. As you witnessed, Hatayanagi was killed by another bastard. Who do you suppose that man might be?” “I don’t know—other than that he seemed to be the one wearing glasses and a mask.” The inspector could only repeat what had been demonstrated earlier. The small black figure representing the Man Without Lips had indeed been slain by the masked assailant.

“Then, I will show you that person.” “You there, please remove your glasses and mask.”

Akechi called out to the actor in the black cloak who had been standing among the clutter of tools in the storage room.

Mr. Tsunekawa and young Mitani stared intently at the corner where damaged chairs and tables were stacked. A gloomy five-candlepower electric light eerily illuminated two black-clad figures—one large, one small. The mysterious figure in a black cloak and black soft hat, in response to the words, raised his face and first removed his large tinted glasses.

Merely by removing the glasses, it became apparent that the person had an extremely grotesque face.

The eyes were red as if scorched, eyelids short and eyelashes fallen out; from between them peered whitish eyes resembling those of a rotting fish, staring into empty space. Inspector Tsunekawa, startled by a certain premonition, involuntarily took a step forward. The young Mitani too seemed deeply disturbed; he turned deathly pale and muttered some incoherent nonsense.

The black-cloaked monster next tore off, as if ripping it away, the large mask that had been concealing half his face.

His entire face lay exposed under the reddish-brown electric light. Just as imagined, he had only half a nose. From cheek to jaw stretched a merciless red bald patch that shone greasily. And then the lips—ah, those lips! “Ah! The Man Without Lips!”

Inspector Tsunekawa shouted in a frantic voice.

Nothing made sense anymore. He felt like someone trapped in a nightmare. The inspector shone his flashlight into the old well just to confirm. There lay Hatayanagi Shouzou's bloated corpse—the lipless monster—exactly where it had been. It was as if soul-separation syndrome had manifested—two identical monsters now existed. Which was real? Which was the phantom? For Inspector Tsunekawa, this marked—to state it precisely—the third "Man Without Lips." First came Sonoda Kokkou's wax mask from Shinagawa Bay's fiery death; second lay Hatayanagi at the well's bottom; now before them stood this third monstrosity.

“So, this would mean that the lipless fellow killed the lipless fellow…”

He looked at Akechi in bewilderment.

“That’s correct.” “The lipless man killed the lipless Hatayanagi Shouzou.” “In other words, this case involved two lipless individuals who committed entirely separate crimes for entirely separate purposes.” “It was because we had been conflating them until now that we couldn’t grasp the truth of the case.”

“That such a thing—that two lipless freaks so closely resembling each other—could be involved in the same case is too absurd a coincidence.” Inspector Tsunekawa found Akechi’s explanation so childishly simplistic that he couldn’t bring himself to accept it.

“It was no coincidence. If both were genuine lipless men, your reasoning would be understandable, but one is a complete fake... Now, remove it.” Akechi turned halfway toward Inspector Tsunekawa and the remaining half toward the figure in the black cloak. Upon hearing this instruction, the figure in the black cloak—no, rather a woman—swiftly tore off her hat, reached behind her ears down to her chin, and suddenly ripped off her own face with a sickening tear... It had merely been an exquisitely crafted wax mask.

What appeared from beneath the mask was—though the two spectators had vaguely sensed it beforehand—the beautiful smiling face of Akechi’s female assistant, Ms. Fumiyo. “Yocchan, you should take off your disguise too.” Ms. Fumiyo gently addressed the small black-clad creature she had strangled in their theatrical performance. Then, the grotesque inch-high imp responded to her voice, unwinding the black cloth wrapped around his face with a flourish. “Ah, that was suffocating,” he muttered cheerfully.

“Ah, that was suffocating,” he said cheerfully to himself.

As the reader has no doubt surmised, that was none other than Akechi’s assistant, Kobayashi Shounen. “Ah, so it was you after all.” “Because your acting was so superb, when I heard that scream from the attic, I got chills.”

While praising the amateur actors, Inspector Tsunekawa took the wax mask from Ms. Fumiyo's hand and gazed at it for a while, but...

“Ah, Mr. Akechi, you’ve tracked down the craftsman who made the wax mask that Sonoda Kokkou was wearing.”

he said with some surprise. In his mind floated, like a phantom, the wax dolls of Shizuko and Shigeru that he had witnessed two days prior at Akechi’s apartment. “That is exactly as you have surmised.” “I tracked down that craftsman.” “And that doll—” Akechi began, then for some reason stole a glance at Mitani’s face. “I had this made along with that doll.” “Because the mold was properly preserved.” “Ah—are you asking whether we investigated the first client who commissioned that mask?” “I investigated it.” “Strangely enough, the client wasn’t Sonoda Kokkou at all, you see.”

“Who was it? Do you know the name?” Inspector Tsunekawa reflexively coughed.

“Of course, since they likely ordered it under a pseudonym, even if we knew the name, it wouldn’t help.” “I did manage to find out their appearance and build.” “However, that too is extremely vague.” “So there’s someone who ordered another one of those wax masks before you?” “In other words, were three of the same lipless masks produced?” Inspector Tsunekawa, true to form, struck at the heart of the matter. “However, aside from my order, they had only just made one.” “I also noticed that point, so I investigated all the wax craftsmen—there wasn’t a single person who had made another mask like that.”

“So, the mask I tore off Sonoda Kokkou in Shinagawa Bay—the one he was wearing—would be the very mask the culprit ordered.”

Inspector Tsunekawa looked at Akechi with an unconvinced expression. "That’s correct. That novelist, despite not being the culprit, was wearing the culprit’s mask. Therein lies the true culprit’s dreadful deception. However, I’ll explain that matter in detail later." Akechi then turned to face Fumiyo and Kobayashi.

“You must be exhausted. Change your clothes over there and get some proper rest,” he said.

Inspector Tsunekawa, at that moment, felt that Akechi’s and Fumiyo’s eyes had exchanged a meaningful, fluttering signal with their eyelids, which struck him as peculiar.

While seeing off Fumiyo and Kobayashi Shounen, who had restored the floorboard and were leaving the storeroom, Akechi said: "Now then—the third act of our play. As I stated earlier, this can be explained verbally once we speak." "We'll handle disposing of the corpse in the well tomorrow. Regardless, let us first depart from this disagreeable place."

With that, he urged the two onward and exited the storeroom. After shutting the storeroom door and retracing their steps down the corridor toward the parlor, they encountered O-nami the wet nurse along with veteran servants, all trembling anxiously as they awaited the party. They had been strictly forbidden by Akechi from ascending to the second floor or approaching the storeroom. When Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa settled into the parlor chairs, O-nami the wet nurse—her face gaunt with worry—entered bearing tea things, her demeanor keenly expectant of news.

“You may stay in this room, Nanny O-nami. In return, please ensure no one else enters here for a while. Also, make certain to instruct them not to peek into places like the second-floor study or kitchen storeroom without good reason.”

When Akechi spoke, O-nami conveyed the instructions to everyone in the corridor and hurried back. “Will Madam and the young master be saved?” “And… Madam… will she still have to go to prison?” Faithful as she was, more than anything she wanted to confirm this. “No, you needn’t worry. “Through Mr. Akechi’s efforts, we’ve established that the true criminal lies outside.”

Inspector Tsunekawa comforted her.

“But where on earth could Madam be hiding?” “Could it be that something irreparable has…” “That’s also taken care of.” “I know where Madam and the young master are.” “Both of them would never do something like commit suicide.”

Akechi answered reassuringly.

O-nami, upon hearing that, heaved a sigh of relief. "Huh? You know where Ms. Shizuko and the others are—how did you find out?" "And where on earth is that?" Hearing this for the first time, Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but be astonished. At the same time, he found Akechi’s flawlessly thorough, brilliant detective abilities to be almost terrifying.

“That’s correct. I should soon be able to show you Ms. Shizuko and the others safe and sound. However, before that, I must bring this play to its conclusion.”

Akechi began his explanation again, sipping the black tea O-nami had served. "The third act concerns Saitou Roujin's murder." "That too was naturally not Ms. Shizuko's crime, but rather the deed of that wax-masked monster who killed Hatayanagi Shouzou." "For you who know about that ceiling trick, there should be no need for detailed explanation—you must grasp the thief's cunning deception..."

At that very moment, that bastard was lurking in the ceiling space, plotting yet another terrible scheme. It might have been to intimidate any household members who entered there using that face of his as a ghostly camouflage for his crimes. In any case, he was lurking in the ceiling at that very moment by chance...

At that moment, Saitou Roujin and Ms. Shizuko entered, arguing vehemently. As he listened, the argument only grew more intense. At that point, he conceived a truly unconventional murder. He plotted to hurl that dagger from the ceiling, kill Saitou Roujin, and shift the blame onto Ms. Shizuko. And it succeeded flawlessly—...

Ms. Shizuko was enraged by the argument. She had become so agitated that she might have killed the old man. As if giving form to Shizuko’s emotional state, a dagger pierced the old man’s chest. The room was empty. There was no opening from which a dagger could have flown. Placed in such a bizarre situation, it was only natural that Ms. Shizuko would come to doubt herself—to suspect that she was indeed the culprit, that she had unconsciously stabbed and killed the man……

Then, the prosecutor and preliminary judge arrived, and a terrifying atmosphere—as if in a courtroom—began to permeate the air. "If there was even the slightest instigation from someone, it’s only natural that a timid woman would consider running away from home."

“Indeed, the reasoning is exceedingly well-structured.” “As for me, I can’t think of any other possibility.” Inspector Tsunekawa made a show of being impressed, but in the very next instant, his expression reverted to one of lingering doubt.

“But there are inconsistencies that don’t add up,” Tsunekawa pressed. “Why would the wax-masked criminal go through such roundabout methods? Where does that bastard’s true motive lie? When you see how he killed Hatayanagi Shouzou and stole the jewels, that seems to have been his objective. But if so, there was no need to go as far as killing Saitou Roujin too.” “No—killing Hatayanagi and Saitou wasn’t his true aim,” Akechi countered. “As I told you before, that bastard hasn’t yet achieved his purpose. The one he truly means to kill lies elsewhere entirely.”

“Who is it? This person you’re referring to—” “This person you’re referring to—” Inspector Tsunekawa—feeling as though he had been struck head-on once more—asked incoherently.

“It’s Ms. Yanagihara Shizuko. “And most likely young Shigeru as well.” Akechi stated bluntly. Inspector Tsunekawa had, until just a moment ago, been solely focused on arresting Shizuko as a murderer and heinous criminal. And yet, within about an hour, everything had been completely overturned—not only had Shizuko been proven innocent, but she herself had become the target of a terrifying murderer’s predation. Ah, what a nightmare! “This case, from the very beginning, had the sole purpose of killing Ms. Shizuko.” “All of the various other crimes—every single one—were merely a means to achieve that sole purpose.”

“Wait a moment.” Inspector Tsunekawa was not easily convinced. “That’s strange.” “Why would anyone go to such lengths to kill the frail Ms. Shizuko?” “At the very beginning—when they used young Shigeru as bait and confined her in the vacant house in Aoyama—they should have been able to kill her without any trouble.” “There was no need to go through such convoluted measures—framing her for old man Saitou’s murder and driving her into guilt—either…” “Inspector Tsunekawa.” “The reason I consider this case so grave is precisely that point.” Akechi suddenly assumed a solemn expression and stared fixedly at the inspector’s face through narrowed eyes. “The true culprit of this case is not human.” “No—a beast wearing human skin.” “A viper.” “Ah, what relentless tenacity!” “It’s the tenacity of a beastly world beyond what we ordinary people can even begin to fathom…”

“The culprit was toying with Ms. Shizuko like a cat plays with a mouse—kidnapping her beloved child, confining her in a basement, making her believe she was the perpetrator of a horrific murder—using every means possible to frighten, sadden, and torment her in small increments, all while plotting to ultimately kill her.” “For a culprit of this sort, killing the victim in a single blow would have been too wasteful.” “Sucking on it, licking it, inflicting small wounds—mercilessly toying with it before finally devouring it in a gruesome mess—that was his reasoning.”

Akechi spoke with genuine terror, his face pale and bristling. As he listened, even Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but shudder involuntarily.

“If that is indeed the case, we must rescue Ms. Shizuko as quickly as possible.” “Where is she?” “First of all, how could they have escaped from that strict watch and gotten out of here?”

Inspector Tsunekawa, growing impatient with Akechi’s composure, said irritably.

“Getting out of here required no particular difficulty.” “It was the coffin.” “The coffin holding old man Saitou’s remains served as the magic trick’s secret.” “Wh-what? A coffin?!” Inspector Tsunekawa, caught off guard, failed to conceal his startled expression. “There exists no alternative conclusion.” “The estate had been under airtight surveillance by officers and household staff.” “We’ve conclusively identified all individuals who entered or exited the premises that day.” “Beyond those persons, the sole object to leave was that coffin.” “Thus we must conclude Ms. Yanagihara Shizuko and young Shigeru concealed themselves within it to effect their escape.” “A matter of elementary arithmetic.”

“But can three people even fit in that coffin?” It was the Inspector’s rapid-fire retort. “Even if three can’t fit, there’s enough space for a woman and a child.” “Then what about old man Saitou’s corpse?”

“I’ll show you.” Akechi answered briskly and turned toward the wet nurse Oha.

“Nanny,” “You should know where old man Saitou is, right?”

Oha was taken aback and blinked rapidly.

“Me? No, how would I know such a thing?” “You don’t know? That can’t be right. Look at the coffins lined up in the inner parlor.” “Ah, do you mean those? Well, all three are empty. They’ve only just arrived from the funeral home. They said it was your doing, Mr. Akechi—what in the world could you all be planning? Everyone thought it was eerie and grew suspicious, you see.”

Oha was talkative. "Whether they're empty or not, let's go see."

Akechi, urging Inspector Tsunekawa, entered the inner room along with Oha—the three of them together.

Sure enough, in front of the tokonoma alcove, three plain wooden coffins were neatly lined up in an orderly manner. Since it was a room not often used daily, it felt desolate and gloomy in an indefinable way.

“Two are clearly empty.” “But only the one at far right contains something.” Akechi used this curious phrasing “contains something” as he approached the rightmost coffin and partially opened its lid for them to see. When Inspector Tsunekawa and the old woman peered inside, they found a human figure curled up within. The electric lamp’s light through the lid’s crack faintly illuminated one leathery, clay-colored cheekbone of this desiccated face.

“Oh! It really is Mr. Saitou.” “Oh my, oh my!” Oha muttered something incomprehensible and prayed to the familiar Buddha.

“Ah, I see. So this corpse had also been hidden in that well after all, hadn’t it?”

Inspector Tsunekawa said accusingly.

“That’s correct. It was on top of those two futons. If old man Saitou’s corpse had remained there too, the whole performance would have become overly complicated. Ms. Fumiyo and young Kobayashi moved this corpse out beforehand so we could reveal the trick in an orderly manner. After all, it needed to be placed in a coffin anyway.” Akechi offered this explanation, though there might have been another reason he wasn’t disclosing.

“So, the other two coffins were prepared for Hatayanagi Shouzou and Ogawa Shouichi, I take it?” Inspector Tsunekawa was deeply impressed by Akechi’s thorough arrangements.

“This concludes tonight’s performance.” “In other words, old man Saitou’s corpse served to draw the ominous curtain.” Akechi deliberately joked in a cheerful manner. “And now we will proceed to the real capture.”

Mr. Tsunekawa, like a hunting dog before its prey, perked up and barked. The moment had arrived for the Demon Inspector to reveal his true capabilities. "I'm worried about Ms. Shizuko and her child's safety." "Moreover, I can't stop thinking about the main culprit escaping." "This isn't the time for dilly-dallying!"

The Real Culprit

“Inspector Tsunekawa, have you forgotten? Earlier I guaranteed that Ms. Yanagihara and the others were safe.”

Akechi calmly restrained the impatient inspector. “That means you know where Ms. Yanagihara and the others are hiding, right?” “But what about the culprit?” “If the culprit discovers that hideout and attacks, what will you do?” “This is no time for delays!” “Now show us to that location!” Inspector Tsunekawa shouted indignantly at Akechi’s excessively leisurely manner.

“No, the culprit has long since gotten hold of Ms. Yanagihara and the others.” “First off—both letting them escape from here and preparing their hiding place—all of that was the culprit’s doing.”

“Huh? What did you say?”

The inspector was utterly dumbfounded and could not speak. “In that case, we must hurry even more—or Ms. Shizuko will be killed! What on earth do you intend to do?” “Of course, I intend to proceed with the culprit’s arrest. However, there’s no need to rush.” When he heard this, Inspector Tsunekawa calmed down slightly. For he had thought that someone of Akechi’s caliber would not be acting so leisurely without a well-laid plan.

“So, do you already know who the culprit is?”

“Yes, I know very well.” “You said that putting Ms. Shizuko into a coffin and helping her escape from here was also the culprit’s doing, didn’t you? First of all, I can’t quite grasp it—are you saying the culprit is someone from this mansion?”

“The one who helped Ms. Shizuko escape must have been someone she trusted completely.” “Such a person could only be Ms. Shizuko’s lover.” “In other words, the culprit behind this incident was Ms. Shizuko’s lover.” “It was Mitani Fusao.”

“Hmm…”

With that, Inspector Tsunekawa sank into deep thought. Akechi’s deductions often appeared quite outlandish at first glance, but upon closer examination, they were always logically coherent, without a single thread out of place. That Ms. Yanagihara’s lover—the very culprit targeting her life—seemed utterly preposterous, more an absurd fantasy than anything else. Yet for someone like Akechi, who would never blurt out such a claim without solid evidence... What a bizarre case this was. Mr. Tsunekawa could not understand, no matter how much he thought.

“Then why aren’t you arresting Mr. Mitani? He’s been sitting right here with us all along! I can’t make heads or tails of how the actual culprit—Mr. Mitani himself—could calmly watch this performance exposing his own crimes!” “No, that guy was far from calm. Didn’t you notice? When we were revealing everything in the storeroom, he turned deathly pale, had beads of sweat on his forehead, and was trembling uncontrollably.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, he did behave oddly.” “I’ll hear your reasoning later, but for now, interrogating Mr. Mitani is the quickest way.” “He should still be here.” “He has long since escaped.” “Earlier, on the way from the storeroom to this room, he disappeared.” “I think he probably went out into the garden through the corridor window.” Akechi was saying something nonchalantly. “Knowing that, did you keep silent? Did you let the culprit escape?”

Inspector Tsunekawa, unable to endure any longer, interrogated him with a fierce demeanor.

The more Inspector Tsunekawa grew heated, the calmer Akechi conversely appeared to become.

“Please rest assured. I know exactly where that guy is headed. Moreover, as a precaution, I’ve even had someone tail Mitani.” “Tailing, you say? Since when? Who?”

When Inspector Tsunekawa was taken aback, Akechi laughed,

“There’s no one else I would ask to do such a thing.” “It’s Ms. Fumiyo and Kobayashi.” “Those two may be a woman and a child, but they’re more agile than adults and quick-witted to boot.” “There’s hardly any worry they’ll lose sight of that guy.” “So this destination you know—where is it?” “A small factory in Meguro’s factory district.” “We’re supposed to get a call from Ms. Fumiyo confirming whether Mitani actually entered there.” “Ah—that might be it now.”

The live-in student entered and informed Akechi that there was a phone call. Akechi had the desk phone in the room connected and picked up the receiver. “It’s me, Fumiyo. That person did enter there after all. Please come quickly!” “Thank you. But what do you mean by ‘urgently’?”

“But that person somehow seems to have noticed we were following him.”

“Very well,” Akechi replied through the receiver. “I’ll go immediately with Inspector Tsunekawa.” His voice sharpened with urgency as he concluded: “Leave Kobayashi there—you handle that matter yourself.” After hanging up the desk phone’s receiver with a click, he turned toward Inspector Tsunekawa.

“As you heard—he’s indeed returned to Meguro’s factory district. Let’s go at once.” “Then I’ll arrange for backup officers to assemble there.”

Energized, Inspector Tsunekawa called the Metropolitan Police Department and the local police station after hearing the factory’s location from Akechi.

Approximately thirty minutes later, the two men got out of their car a short distance from the target factory and made their way on foot toward its front gate.

From within the darkness emerged Kobayashi Shounen, who had been waiting impatiently. “He’s definitely inside this factory, right?” Akechi whispered his inquiry. “It’s all right. There are no signs he has gone outside.” Assistant Kobayashi answered matter-of-factly.

Before long, five plainclothes and uniformed officers from the jurisdictional police arrived.

“You all, split up and keep watch on the front and rear of this factory.” Inspector Tsunekawa informed the five officers of Mitani’s appearance and demeanor and assigned them their posts.

And only Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa entered the pitch-dark gate.

Due to the darkness of the night, details could not be discerned clearly, but the so-called factory stood utterly dilapidated and ramshackle: its plank fence was riddled with corrugated iron patches, and though its leaning log gatepost still bore a small streetlight, whose faint glow... "Southwest Ice Manufacturing Company" ...allowed the characters on the signboard to finally be read. When they passed through the gate, there in the darkness loomed a black building like a monstrous giant. It was, of course, a dilapidated factory no better than a shack. No—it was the wreckage of a factory.

"What on earth could link a murderer and an ice manufacturing company?" Inspector Tsunekawa could not contain his suspicions, but he could not speak recklessly. He followed silently behind Akechi.

The entire building was pitch-dark, but when they went around to the side, light streamed through a single broken window. The two men crept stealthily toward the outside of that window. When they peered in—there he was! There he was! Mitani, that bastard, sat clearly visible in the desolate, filthy room, leaning against an old table while deep in thought. "Mr. Mitani! Mr. Mitani!"

Akechi called out from outside the window. Poor young Mitani must have been terribly startled. He jerked his face up and peered through the darkness beyond the glass, but could only make out a vague human shadow; he still hadn't realized it was Akechi.

“Who’s there? Who are you?!”

He was already poised to flee as he asked again in a shrill voice. “It’s me.” “It’s Akechi.” “Could you open this here for me?” Hearing this, Mitani’s face instantly drained of color. And without saying a word, he dashed toward the far door.

“Stop!” With a roar, Inspector Tsunekawa pushed open the window, leapt into the room like a bird of prey, and gave chase to the fleeing Mitani, seizing his coat. He was a demon inspector confident in his arrest skills. “Ah, it was you,” “I was making a huge mistake.”

Realizing he couldn’t escape, Mitani abruptly changed his attitude and, while telling a transparent lie, laughed brazenly. He was, after all, a vicious criminal.

“Misunderstanding? Hahaha! Even without any misunderstanding, you’d still have had to flee.” “We’ve come to arrest you as a murderer, you know.” The inspector forced Mitani back into his chair and stood before him like a hawk eyeing its prey. “Huh? A murderer? What are you talking about?” “Who exactly did I kill?”

“You—after watching Mr. Akechi’s performance earlier—are you still saying such things?” “You yourself are the Man Without Lips.” “The criminal who wore a wax mask to kill Hatayanagi Shouzou and hurled a dagger at old man Saitou!” The inspector barked imperiously. “Huh? Me?” “On what evidence do you make such claims?” He artfully assumed a baffled expression. “I’ll show you the evidence presently.” “But first, there’s one question I must ask.”

Akechi, unable to bear it any longer, interjected. “Besides Hatayanagi and Saitou, you also killed your own assistant—a writer named Sonoda Kokkou. That much is clear. But what about Okada Michihiko? What about that Okada who died in the plunge pool at Shiobara? I believe this was likely your doing as well.” “Well, I’m surprised. That’s preposterous! I don’t know anything.” Mitani looked increasingly taken aback. No, it wasn’t just Mitani. This single remark from Akechi considerably startled even Inspector Tsunekawa. Even Sonoda Kokkou and Okada Michihiko had fallen victim to Mitani!

“Okada did not commit suicide. When that man climbed to the waterfall’s brink, you seized your chance and pushed him from behind. After pushing him down, you waited for the corpse to surface downstream, then smashed his face with stones until it became unrecognizable as Okada.” “Well, well—it seems I’ve indulged in some drunken theatrics myself.” “Hahahaha! Drunken theatrics indeed! All that elaborate trickery—obliterating Okada’s face, dressing a decoy corpse in his clothes and tossing it into the plunge pool to fake his death—just to make it appear as though Okada himself were haunting you and Ms. Shizuko with revenge... And yet it had no effect on me whatsoever! Wasn’t it you who came specially to my office claiming Okada was alive and tormenting Ms. Shizuko? You never realized that while I pretended to believe you, I was actually watching your every move. Hahahaha! Nothing but drunken theatrics from start to finish!”

“Hmph. “And the evidence?” “If it’s just imaginary conjecture, anyone could come up with that.” “Surely no judge would accept that.” Mitani, now perfectly composed, lashed out at the two men. “You want evidence, do you?” “Well, if there’s any evidence, I’d certainly like to see it.” “Alright, I’ll show you that now.” “It’ll only be a moment of patience.” “Stay still.”

Akechi said while signaling to Inspector Tsunekawa with his eyes, “Please hold this man from behind so he doesn’t move. I’m taking a dental impression.”

Hearing this, Mitani turned pale and rose from his chair. He knew what the dental impression meant. But there was no time to escape. The moment he stood up, the inspector’s arms shot out from under his armpits and abruptly locked him in a headlock. Akechi wrenched Mitani’s immobilized face backward, forced his lips apart, pressed the prepared soft red rubber mass firmly against his clenched teeth, and swiftly took the impression.

“Now, Mitani, take a good look. This red one is the dental impression I just took of you. And this white one”—Akechi took out a plaster dental impression wrapped in cloth from his pocket—“is the true culprit’s dental impression left at the vacant house in Aoyama. If these two match perfectly, we’ll have physical evidence proving you’re indeed the true culprit. Now I’ll compare them side by side—look closely. See? Not a fraction of difference—they’re completely identical. With this alone, no matter how you plead your case, I’ll prove your guilt before the judge.”

Mitani, still held in a headlock, bit his lip resentfully. “Mitani, do you know why I suspected you were the real culprit?”

Akechi continued with a smile. "That previous act was part of it. That was intended not so much to show Inspector Tsunekawa as to test the reactions manifesting in your complexion and behavior." And it succeeded splendidly. "While watching the performance, didn’t you break into a cold sweat and start trembling uncontrollably?……" "So why did I decide to test you? What was the reason I began to suspect you?" "That’s because your trick was far too bold." "Inspector Tsunekawa and his men had cornered the Man Without Lips but lost sight of him in the alleyways near the strange house in Aoyama." "The mysterious figure vanished suddenly like smoke." "But in reality, he hadn’t vanished at all." "You were exactly there." "In that instant, you removed the cloak, mask, hat, and prosthetic limbs, threw them into the thicket inside the fence, reverted to your true face as Mitani, and with audacity, pretended to be casually strolling as you approached Inspector Tsunekawa and the others……"

“You’ve used this same method repeatedly. When you first came to visit me, a threatening letter had supposedly been thrown through the door gap. That wasn’t thrown in—you yourself deliberately dropped it there and pretended to pick it up.” “And again at the Yoyogi atelier—even the stone fragment that smashed the glass window—you first dropped the threatening letter there, then turned around and smashed the glass from the inside instead. At that time, seeing me desperately searching outside, you must have found it quite amusing…”

“The Shinagawa Bay balloon man incident followed the same pattern,” Akechi continued. “When I questioned Ms. Fumiyo, she said that balloon man looked different from our usual lip-less fiend. It wasn’t your true face either. That absurd spectacle was merely the deranged handiwork of your assistant—that delusional poet Sonoda Kokkou—whose madcap deviations spiraled out of control. Your sole objective had been Fumiyo’s abduction; you never ordered those theatrics—scaling Ryōgoku Kokugikan’s roof or fleeing by balloon. No doubt Sonoda panicked when his stunt went awry. The moment that balloon plunged into the sea, you raced to the scene by motorboat. Before police launches could arrive, you strangled Sonoda aboard that vessel, fitted him with that telltale mask, detonated the gasoline tank, then dove into the waves to save your own skin…”

Yamayama Saburou! “How about that?” “Is what I said wrong?”

Akechi addressed Mitani by an unexpected name. An expression of profound surprise spread across Mitani's face.

“Hahahaha, you needn’t be so shocked just because I knew your real name. How did I find out, you ask? This is how. Look. Here’s a photograph from your boyhood.” Akechi took out a card-sized photograph that had been tucked in his pocket notebook and showed it to Mitani. “See? You brothers are photographed here together so amiably. The one on the right is your elder brother Yamayama Jirou. The one on the left is you. I tracked this down from the photo studio in your hometown of S-town in Shinshu and brought it here.”

“Then, you…” Mitani’s Yamayama stared at the amateur detective’s face with a start.

“That’s right. I heard Ms. Shizuko’s personal history. This case has developed with Ms. Shizuko at its center. At first glance it may not appear so, but in truth, the criminal’s true objective has been Ms. Shizuko alone from the very beginning. Having noticed this, I resolved to investigate her past life. What I uncovered was your elder brother Mr. Yamayama Jirou - who pined desperately for Ms. Shizuko and took his own life. When I came to understand how fervent Jirou’s love had been, and consequently how devastating his heartbreak must have been, I attained clarity. If there exists anyone who ever bore resentment toward Ms. Shizuko in her lifetime, it could only be this Mr. Yamayama Jirou. Ms. Shizuko treated Jirou - with whom she had once even cohabited - with considerable cruelty. She now regrets it so profoundly that…”

“My method is to thoroughly investigate every single person who is even slightly suspicious without exception. I sent someone to Shinshu and had them investigate Jirou’s family—even obtained this photograph. It turned out Jirou’s entire family had died out, leaving only his younger brother Saburou, who’d committed misdeeds in his youth and run away from home. The moment I saw Saburou’s face in that photograph, I felt all secrets had become clear. Though the age differed, Saburou’s photographed face was exactly the same as yours, Mr. Mitani…”

Yamayama Saburou hung his head deeply, so overwhelmed he couldn't speak. When the inspector released his chokehold, he crumpled limply to the floor. Akechi's deductions had struck true with terrifying precision.

“Ah, you’ve admitted to all those crimes you committed. “You’ve no grounds left for defense. “Now confess—where did you hide Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru? “Where are they right now?”

Inspector Tsunekawa crouched down over the criminal and interrogated him impatiently.

“Here.” “They are inside this factory.”

Yamayama, after being subdued, spat out in a desperate tone. “So you’ve still got them locked up in some room! Now then—lead the way.”

Inspector Tsunekawa grabbed Yamayama’s right hand and proceeded to lead him.

He appeared resigned as he stood up unsteadily and, following instructions, took the lead out of the office. Needless to say, both Tsunekawa and Akechi followed close behind him while remaining vigilant against any attempt by the criminal to escape.

Yamayama hung his head and trudged down the pitch-black narrow corridor. The end of the corridor was the machine room. Were Shizuko and Shigeru truly safe? Akechi had vouched for their safety, but wasn't the machine room of an ice factory too bizarre a hiding place? Wasn't it already too late—had Yamayama Saburou, the avenging demon, already subjected them to some horrific ordeal?

The Final Murder

Yamayama entered the ice-making machine room and twisted the light switch with a click. The first things that caught the eye were two large electric motors, several copper cylinders of varying sizes, and multiple iron pipes snaking like serpents across the walls and ceiling. Though the machinery had ceased operation, a bone-chilling cold lingered faintly in the air.

“There’s no one here at all. Where are Ms. Shizuko and the others?” Inspector Tsunekawa looked around restlessly and said. “They’re here.” “You’ll get to meet them soon enough.” Yamayama wore an uncanny smile, “But before that, I will confess everything.” “Please listen to why I subjected Ms. Shizuko to such an ordeal.”

“No, I’ll hear that in detail later. First, produce Ms. Shizuko.”

The inspector suspected that the opponent was trying to buy time. “No, unless you listen to my story first, I cannot let you meet those people. There’s a reason I can’t.”

Yamayama was stubborn. “Very well. Make it brief.”

Akechi, seeming to have some thought, permitted Yamayama’s request.

“I am indeed the younger brother of Yamayama Jirou, who committed suicide over unrequited love.” “I am a villain.” “I neglected my home and did nothing but commit evil deeds.” “However, just because I am a villain does not mean I am devoid of love.” “No—I love more deeply than most.” “I was especially close with my brother Jirou and cherished a devotion for him that would brave fire and water……”

“I heard through the grapevine that my brother had fallen ill and rushed home to see him. My brother lay there utterly alone—no money for treatment, no friends to console him, wrapped in a grimy, wafer-thin futon, on the very brink of death…”

"He was killed by Shizuko." "How cruel Shizuko's actions were back then!" "How utterly wretched my brother's heartbreak had been!" "It's beyond words…"

"My brother had become a specter of heartbreak—filthy, unshaven, pallid and withered. He lacked even the strength to rise from bed; tears streaming down his face, he clawed at empty air and wailed—*I’m eaten alive by regret*. ‘Regret that I lack the strength to go kill her—to kill Shizuko.’ ‘That woman grew disgusted with wretched me—poor and disease-ridden—and became wife to that wealthy brute Hatayanagi.’ ‘Had that been all, I could have endured it.’ ‘What gnaws at me most… is that I—I spent three years obsessing over that trampling bitch… until I became this rotting shell.’ So my brother wept…"

“Shizuko was the sole love of my brother’s entire life—a treasure beyond compare in all the world. Yet that very lover cast him aside like worn-out sandals, spat upon him, and willingly wed herself to a swindling wretch twenty years her senior—a man both ancient and hideous……” “One day unbeknownst to me, my brother drank poison. In his death throes, he choked with gurgling coughs, spewed forth horrific gouts of blood, clutched my hand with his crimson-smeared fingers, and cried out in a voice fading to nothingness—‘This torment is unbearable!’” “‘Even death grants me no respite! Shall I not become a demon scorned by love itself to slaughter that woman? Shall I let her live?’” “—And until that voice dwindled to silence, he ceaselessly repeated those selfsame words of curse.”

“I clung to my brother’s corpse and swore—‘I will avenge you, brother. I’ll seize that woman’s wealth, defile that woman, and finally kill that woman. After all, I’m already branded a villain by the authorities. Whatever crimes I commit now make no difference—it’s fifty-fifty either way. Brother—in your place, I’ll live on as a demon of vengeance and see this revenge through.’ That was my oath...”

Yamayama Saburou (as Mitani Fusao) kept shouting in the gloomy machine room before Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa.

“I became a demon of vengeance, taking my brother’s place to target Shizuko’s family. For those preparations, I shrank from no pain or crime. The thefts I’d often committed before—I began carrying them out on a grander scale. The wax masks I commissioned? Even buying this factory? All financed with that ill-gotten money... In my first plan, I meant to kill Hatayanagi Shouzou—my brother’s romantic rival—but while I prepared, he died in prison. Only recently did I realize that death was his own meticulously crafted trick. Then another year slipped wasted away—I needed funds just to eat. But more than that... I burned my soul to make this revenge both spectacular and cunning—a memento for this world and an offering to my pitiful brother...”

“But at last, my preparations were completed. I acquired an ideal assistant—the mad writer Sonoda Kokkou. From then on, it was as you all know. I planned to kill an eccentric painter named Okada Michihiko and use him as my substitute. Moreover, just at that time, the Man Without Lips appeared at Shiohara Hot Springs. I had no idea that was Hatayanagi Shouzou, but to make the crime even more complex, I seized this opportunity to have a similar lip-less wax mask made and devised a ghost-story-like twist…”

"I made her scared, sad, and suffer to my heart's content. I bore no grudge against Steward Saitou, but if tormenting Shizuko required it, that decrepit old man's life meant nothing..." "I recently discovered unexpected prey. The miser in the attic—Hatayanagi Shouzou." I let out a cry of triumph. Outmaneuvering him instantly, I climbed to the attic and strangled him outright. Then I stole those jewels comprising over half the Hatayanagi family's wealth. ……