Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author's Words The protagonist of this story was a demon of the human realm, comparable to the Balkan legend of the "Vampire." There were instances where a once-buried corpse transformed into a vampire—night after night, it would wander out from graveyards, sneak into homes, suck the fresh blood of sleeping humans, and continue its uncanny posthumous existence. This was the legendary vampire. When victims awakened during the blood-sucking, a hair-raising struggle would ensue with the vampire; but most never woke at all, having their fresh blood drained night after night until they wasted away and died. To prevent these supernatural occurrences, when people dug up suspicious graves and opened the coffins, they found that corpses transformed into vampires had become plump and ruddy-complexioned, their nails and hair grown longer than at burial—making them immediately recognizable. When they determined it to be a vampire, they would impale the already-dead corpse once more with a wooden stake; at this, the vampire emitted an uncanny, anguished shriek and finally perished completely, fresh blood as though still alive gushing forth from its eyes, mouth, ears, nostrils, and skin pores.

The life of the human demon I intend to chronicle—emerging from some unknowable hidden lair to assail a beautiful woman with pallid tentacles, leaving her victims writhing in torment and wasting away from abyssal terror; the ferocious struggle between an amateur detective rescuing these pitiful sufferers and the demon; until at last, its true form laid bare and dark magic forfeited, it meets a hair-bristling demise—is none other than the biography of a "Vampire."

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

Duel On the low tea table sat two wine glasses, each filled to four-fifths capacity with a liquid as clear as water. They were filled precisely to four-fifths, as though measured with a precision instrument. The two glasses were perfectly identical in shape, their positions not a fraction of an inch off from the table's central point—as if aligned with a ruler. Even if some greedy child had stared wide-eyed while comparing them to see which glass offered greater advantage, he would surely have remained unable to choose, no matter how long he deliberated.

The obsessive symmetry of the two glasses—from their contents to their shape and positioning—created something profoundly uncanny. Now, flanking this table were two large wicker chairs—perfectly aligned, facing each other in perfectly symmetrical positions; seated upon them were two men, sitting with impeccable posture as primly as dolls.

It was the third-floor corridor of Shionoyu A Ryokan at Shiohara Hot Springs in early autumn—a season still weeks away from the vibrant hues of fall foliage. Outside the open glass doors stretched an unbroken expanse of green; below lay the long roof of the lightning-shaped corridor leading to the hot spring basin, while beneath thickly clustered tree branches, the Shikamata River’s current could be glimpsed intermittently. The ceaseless roar of rapids pierced like creeping numbness through one’s very brain. The two men had been staying at this inn continuously since summer’s end as hot spring cure guests. The first was a thirty-five- or thirty-six-year-old middle-aged gentleman with a pale, elongated face—so long it seemed stretched—and consequently a slender, tall build. The other was a twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old handsome young man—no, perhaps it would be more accurate to call him a beautiful youth. To describe him succinctly: a young man with features somewhat reminiscent of a Japanized Richard Barthelmess—intelligent-looking yet rather boyish. Both men had grown somewhat chilly and wore the inn’s quilted coats over their yukata.

Not only were the two wine glasses uncanny, but the appearance of these two men staring at them was also terribly strange. They were desperately trying not to show their inner turmoil, but their faces were pale, their lips bloodless and parched, their breathing labored—only their eyes fixed on the glasses shone with an unnatural intensity.

“Now, you will choose first. Take one of these cups in your hand. As per our agreement, before you arrived here, I had mixed a lethal dose of Jar into one of these... I am the preparer. I have no right to choose the cup. Because I cannot claim I didn’t leave some mark for you to notice.” The older gentleman spoke slowly and deliberately in a hoarse, low voice, to avoid his tongue tripping over itself.

The handsome young man opposite gave a slight nod and extended his right hand over the table. To choose the glass of terrible fate.

Two glasses that appeared exactly identical. Whether the young man’s hand shifted a mere two sun (about six centimeters) to the right or to the left—in that single instant’s whim of chance—would seal an irrevocable life-or-death fate from which no weeping or wailing could deliver him. From the pitiable young man’s forehead and the tip of his nose, beads of oily sweat began rapidly welling up.

His right fingertips flailed in the air, frantically trying to reach one of the glasses. But though his mind raced, his fingertips seemed to refuse obedience. Yet during this time, even the gentleman opposite had to endure a torment greater than the youth’s. He knew exactly which one was the “glass of death.” As the young man’s fingers wavered right and left, his breathing grew erratic. His heart throbbed wildly, as if it would burst.

“Hurry up!” The gentleman could no longer endure it and shouted. “You’re being cowardly. You’re trying to read which glass it is from my expression.” “That’s cowardly!”

When thus accused, he realized—though unconsciously—that he had shamefully been scrutinizing the faint changes in the other man’s expression in his desperate attempt to avoid the poisoned glass. Upon realizing this, the young man turned even paler from shame. “Please close your eyes.” He stammered. “You’re the cruel one, watching my fingertips move like that.” “I’m afraid of those eyes.” “Please close them. Close your eyes!”

The middle-aged gentleman closed both eyes without a word. He had realized that keeping their eyes open would only heighten their mutual torment.

The time had finally come when the young man had to take one of the glasses in hand. Though it was the off-season at the hot spring inn, there were still some onlookers. Dawdling any longer risked unwanted interference.

He resolutely thrust out his right hand.

……What a bizarre duel! But in this modern age where the state prohibits such things, this poison duel remained the only method remaining. If they were to employ old-fashioned swords or pistols, the victorious party who defeated their opponent would instead face punishment as murderers. That would hardly constitute a duel. Thus was this new era's poison duel devised. They had each properly prepared "suicide" notes in their pockets; once they drank their cups, they would return to their rooms, crawl into their futons, and quietly await the outcome as agreed. They had shown each other their suicide notes and confirmed that there was not a trace of deception.

The two men had encountered a fateful woman at that hot spring inn. They loved with a violence that choked them bloody. For them, this was likely an event that would occur only once in their entire lives. A romantic battle born of madness! Their stay at the hot spring inn was extended day after day. And one month later, the outcome had yet to be decided.

The woman had not been indifferent to either of them. Yet no matter how much time passed, she would not make a definitive choice. Nearly every hour, they were forced to alternate between sweet self-delusion and heart-rending jealousy. They could endure this agony no longer. If she would not choose, they had no recourse but to settle it themselves. For one to withdraw? Unthinkable. Then a duel it must be. "Let us duel gallantly to the death like knights of old!" Thus did these two love-mad fools reach their accord. A madness beyond all laughter...

Miya Fusao—for that was the name of the handsome youth—finally seized the glass on the right. He closed his eyes and raised the cold vessel from the table. There could be no undoing it now. As if fearing hesitation itself, he clamped the glass to his lips. His pallid face with shut eyes snapped ceilingward. The liquid streamed sleek between his teeth. His Adam's apple convulsed with a swallow.

A long silence. Then, a strange sound began to reach the ears of the young man Miya, who had closed his eyes. Amidst the roar of the mountain stream came another sound—the labored, asthmatic wheezing of someone struggling for breath. It was the sound of the other man’s breathing.

He started and opened his eyes. Ah! What is this? The middle-aged gentleman Okada Michihiko was staring piercingly at the remaining glass with eyes bulging out like a monster’s. His shoulders heaved unnaturally; his sweaty, earth-toned nostrils twitched eerily; his breathing—the death throes of a man on the verge of collapse—was rasping violently.

The young man Miya had never seen such a terrible expression of terror since the day he was born. He understood. He understood. He had won—the cup he had taken was not the poisoned one.

Okada staggered up from his chair as if to flee, but with tremendous effort managed to overcome himself. He slumped limply into the chair. In an instant, his earth-colored cheeks sank gauntly. Violent, sob-like breathing. Ah, what a miserable struggle this was! But he had finally taken the poisoned cup. Gradually, gradually, his trembling fingertips drew closer to his parched lips. The elder gentleman Okada Michihiko, though fully aware it was poison, had to take that glass—bound by a duelist’s stubborn pride.

But the hand holding the glass betrayed his stoic resolve, trembling so pitifully that the liquid within spilled out in thick drops across the tabletop. The young man Miya, utterly terrified by the liquid he had just consumed, showed no sign of noticing that Okada had drawn the bad lot. Even as he watched Okada’s agony, he remained convinced that his opponent was simply trembling before one of two possible misfortunes, just as he himself had done.

Okada would time and again muster his resolve to bring the glass to his mouth, but it would always come to an abrupt halt a mere inch from his lips. It was as though an invisible hand stayed him. "Ah, how cruel!" The young man Miya turned his face away and involuntarily muttered.

That mutter ignited the opponent's animosity. Okada’s face contorted in ferocious agony as he summoned his last reserves of strength and finally pressed the poisoned cup to his lips. In that instant—"Agh!"—a scream tore through the air. A clatter of shattering glass. The wine glass slid from Okada's hand, struck the veranda floorboards, and shattered into pieces. "What are you doing?"

Okada shouted, panting in fury. “Oh no, that was quite a blunder on my part. Have mercy on me.” Miya’s eyes reddened with inexplicable pride. What blunder? He had intentionally knocked over the other man’s glass. “We’re starting over. We’re starting over. I have no desire to accept favors from some greenhorn like you.”

Okada shouted like a spoiled child. “Ah, in that case—” The young man asked in surprise. “So it was you who drew the bad lot, wasn’t it? The now-broken cup contained the poison, didn’t it?” When he heard this, a “Damn it!” expression flashed across Okada’s face. “We’re starting over. There’s no such thing as a duel this absurd! Come on, we’re starting over!” “You’re a coward,” the young man Miya said with contempt. “By demanding a restart, you mean to make me take the poisoned cup this time, don’t you? If I had known you were such a coward, I wouldn’t have done that… I couldn’t bear to watch your agony. Moreover, the fact is I’ve already drunk the liquid. Whether it was poison or not, the duel had already been decided. If I don’t die even after several hours, it’s my victory; if I die, it’s yours. There was absolutely no reason you had to drink that.”

When considered, it undoubtedly was so. The purpose of this duel was love, not each other's lives. Once the duel was decided, there was no need to needlessly sacrifice the remaining life. That said, compared to his opponent who had been miserably saved, the young man Miya—having knocked down the enemy's cup—proved himself two or three levels more a man. It was a deed as dazzling as those found in tales of knights of old. Okada found this gallingly bitter. For him, being the elder, this was undoubtedly an unbearable humiliation.

But he ultimately lacked the courage to insist on a "restart," and with an awkward expression, fell silent. Weighing humiliation against life on the scales, he had found life more precious after all. At that moment, a click sounded from the room at the end of the corridor.

The duelists, absorbed in their contest, noticed nothing—yet there had been someone concealed behind the sliding door in the next room who had been eavesdropping on their exchange from some time prior. That person now emerged from their hiding place and walked into the center of the room.

Yanagi Shizuko! That was their lover—a figure of dazzlingly resplendent beauty.

Yanagi Shizuko. Ah, for this woman’s sake, it was no wonder that thirty-six-year-old Okada and twenty-five-year-old young man Miya had conceived such a bizarre duel—unthinkable in this modern age—and found it by no means unreasonable.

A plain-patterned kimono devoid of sheen. Upon the black ro crepe obi alone sat a boldly flamboyant embroidered design. An elegant yet alluring collar styling; the scent of Yatsuguchi. Though twenty-five in truth—the same age as young Miya—her wisdom far exceeded her years, while her beauty and childlike innocence made her appear no older than a maiden of nineteen. “I shouldn’t have come in here, should I?” Knowing full well everything yet feigning ignorance, she tilted her head and called out—lips like flower petals curving into a beautiful grimace—to salvage the two men from their stiffly glaring impasse.

The two men remained silent for a long time, as though they knew no way to respond. When Okada Michihiko realized Yanagi Shizuko had witnessed his current state, the compounded humiliations finally became unbearable. He abruptly stood from his seat, crossed the room with heavy footsteps, and walked toward the corridor on the opposite side. Yet at the sliding door where Shizuko had hidden moments before, he turned back to glare at the remaining pair and declared in an indescribably venomous tone, “Hatayanagi Widow, this marks our eternal farewell.”

With those strange words, he disappeared down the corridor. Who was this "Hatayanagi Widow" referring to? There was no one here except Yanagi Shizuko and the young man Miya, was there? Yet when she heard this, Shizuko's complexion changed instantly. "Oh... So he knew after all."

With a sigh, she muttered in a voice too low for the young man Miya to hear. “Did you hear everything we were talking about here?” Miya finally regained his composure and awkwardly looked up at the beautiful woman’s face.

“Well, it wasn’t intentional, you know.” “When I wandered in here without thinking—this is what happened.” “I simply couldn’t bring myself to leave.” A vivid flush spread across her cheeks too. To think such turmoil had erupted over her—even as she answered briskly enough with words, she couldn’t help burning with shame.

“You must think this all very strange, don’t you?” “No, why would you think such a thing?” Shizuko said solemnly. “I truly felt it was more than I deserved.”

She abruptly cut off her words and, pursing her lips into a tight line, stared off into empty space. She didn't want to show her tearful face. But before she knew it, her eyes gleamed with welling teardrops.

Shizuko’s right hand rested gently on the edge of the table. Slender, dimpled white fingers. Meticulously groomed, lovely peach-colored nails. The young man Miya, averting his eyes from his lover’s tears, gazed absently at those beautiful fingers when before he knew it, his face turned ashen, and even his breathing grew erratic. ……However, he finally went through with it. Resolutely, he gripped those dimpled white fingers from above.

Shizuko did not pull her hand away.

The two of them, avoiding each other’s gazes, focused entirely on their joined fingertips, and for a long while sensed the warmth of each other’s blood in each other. “Ah… At last…” The young man whispered, burning with exultation. Shizuko’s teary eyes brimmed with distant yearning as she smiled enchantingly without speaking a word.……

At that very moment—ah, what a turn of events. The sound of frantic footsteps in the corridor—the sliding door clattered open—and there loomed the ominously murderous face of Okada Michihiko, who had departed mere moments before.

Okada Michihiko, having entered and taken in the pair’s state, stood frozen, startled. For several seconds, an awkward glaring match persisted.

For some reason, Okada had kept his right hand tucked into the breast of his wadded coat since entering. He appeared to be hiding something in his breast pocket. “Can you fathom why I, who declared an eternal farewell and left moments ago, have now returned?”

He contorted his deathly pale face grotesquely and sneered. Neither Miya nor Shizuko knew how to make sense of this maddened demeanor and remained silent. During the prolonged eerie silence, Okada’s entire body convulsed twice with such violence it startled them. And gradually, his laughing face twisted into a miserable grimace. "I’m no good. I’m just a no-good man after all." He muttered in a feeble voice, as if talking to himself, "Please remember—that I’ve come back here like this a second time. Please remember this."

No sooner had he said this than he suddenly spun around and bolted from the room. “Did you notice?” Before they knew it, Miya and Shizuko had slipped into the tatami room and sat pressed tightly together, their bodies fused at every point.

“That man had been gripping a dagger inside his coat.” “Ah!” Shizuko pressed closer to the young man with an eerie look.

“Don’t you think that man is pitiable?” “That’s cowardly.” “Wasn’t it your truly manly resolve that saved that man’s endangered life?” “And besides…” Extreme contempt for Okada and, simultaneously, boundless admiration for Miya were vividly etched across her expression. That knocking over the poisoned glass would make such an impression was something even Miya had not anticipated.

As they spoke, their hands had unconsciously found their way back together once more.

The room had been temporarily used without permission from the inn for that strange duel—deliberately choosing the most inconvenient and secluded spot—and since it wasn’t anyone’s assigned room, there was no worry of maids coming in to attend to duties.

The twenty-five-year-old lovers, as innocent as children, cast aside all reason and were drawn into a world of rosy haze and 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 became aware, a maid was kneeling formally in the adjoining room, calling out to them.

As if waking from a dream, they awkwardly adjusted their postures. "What is it?"

Miya asked in an angry voice.

“Ah, Mr. Okada instructed me to deliver this to you both.”

What the maid held out was a square paper package.

“What could this be?... Looks like photographs.” Miya opened it with faint unease, but as he stared at its contents, Shizuko—who had been peering in from beside him—let out an eerie scream and leaped back from the spot in sheer terror.

It was two photographs. One was a man, one was a woman. But they were not ordinary photographs. Shizuko’s recoil was only natural. They were photographs of corpses that had been cruelly slashed and mutilated—so brutally that one would think there could be no more gruesome way to kill than this. To those accustomed to illustrations in criminology texts, the sight would not have been particularly extraordinary; but for Shizuko, precisely because these were photographs rather than mere fabrications, it evoked the same nauseating terror as beholding an actual mutilated corpse.

Both the man and woman had received deep slashes—so deep their heads nearly came off—and those wounds gaped open horrifyingly like mouths.

Their eyes were opened so wide with terror they seemed ready to burst from their sockets, and from their mouths, a copious flow of jet-black blood had streamed down their chins, staining their chests.

“It’s nothing. That man plays such childish pranks, doesn’t he?” As Miya spoke, Shizuko—driven by morbid curiosity—drew near again and peered at the ghastly figures. “But there’s something odd... To think they’re being killed while sitting so properly.”

When he looked as told, it was indeed strange. In photographs of brutally slain corpses, they are usually sprawled across a door plank or such—yet this corpse sat primly on a chair like a lifelike doll. Even with their necks severed, they faced perfectly straight ahead. Precisely because they were unnatural, it felt even more frightening. Both Miya and Shizuko felt an ice-cold chill crawl up their spines. As they stared, they began to feel an indescribably eerie presence slowly oozing out from within the photographs.

From behind the bloodstained, wound-covered backs, they felt something horrifying grinning at them.

“Ah! Oh no. You mustn’t look at this!”

Suddenly, Miya shouted and flipped the photographs over. Finally, he had come to comprehend their terrifying meaning. But it was already too late. "Oh... So it's true after all?"

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 Miya and Shizuko. When they recalled it, there had been a time when the three of them—Okada and themselves—had gone out for a stroll in town, found a photo studio, and taken several photographs: group photos, individual ones, and so on.

At that time, to the photographs they had exchanged with each other, Okada had skillfully added retouching, creating gruesome corpses. For him, a Western-style painter, such a task was trivial. Indeed, with just slight retouching, their countenances had completely transformed, revealing deathly visages that sent shivers down one’s spine. It was no wonder the two of them hadn’t recognized their own figures.

When they asked where Okada was, they learned he had briefly stated he was going to Tokyo, left his luggage behind exactly as it was, and hurriedly departed.

When they looked at the clock, they found nearly two hours had passed since Okada left—time slipping away as if in a dream.

Ah, what an ominous parting gift this was. If only this overly elaborate prank wasn’t the precursor to some terrible event.

The Man Without Lips

The lovers’ ominous premonition, unfortunately, was soon to be realized.

A terrifying event they had not even imagined occurred.

Approximately half a month after Okada Michihiko had left behind those eerie photographs and departed—he never once returned to Shiohara during that time—a most bizarre individual checked into the same inn where Miya and Shizuko were staying.

The extraordinary incident occurred as if he were a demon’s emissary—it erupted precisely on the day he arrived at the inn. It was undoubtedly a coincidence. Yet one could not help but sense some strange, fateful connection at play.

Since this individual would maintain crucial significance throughout the rest of the narrative, it became necessary here to document his distinctive characteristics with some particularity.

Though it was the season when autumn leaves were beginning to color and sightseers increased by the day, that day—partly due to the steady drizzle—might have been what one would call an ill-omened day, for Shio-no-Yu A-kan had an oddly small number of guests.

As evening fell, a single chartered automobile finally pulled up to the entrance.

From inside emerged what at first glance appeared to be a stooped old man over sixty, clinging to the driver’s arm as he descended. “A room with as few neighboring guests as possible.” The old man spoke brusquely in a nasal, indistinct voice that seemed to whistle through his nostrils, then stepped up onto the entrance platform. His legs seemed terribly feeble—even in the corridors he never let go of his cane. A limping, sniffling guest who unsettled the nerves. Yet from his custom-tailored haori coat down to every stitch of clothing, his attire was splendid enough that despite his disabilities, the inn staff treated him with utmost deference.

When he was shown to a downstairs room, before anything else, he asked this in words so unclear they had to be repeated multiple times. “Miss, is there a beautiful woman named Yanagi Shizuko staying here?” When they truthfully replied that she was indeed staying there, he grilled them relentlessly in a nasally muffled voice—asking where her room was located, what kind of relationship she had with the young man Miya Fusao—then forbade them from telling Shizuko and the others that he had made such inquiries. “This is hush money,” he declared, tossing down a ten-yen bill.

“What on earth is that?” “It gives me the creeps.”

After the old man finished his meal, the maid who had cleared away the tray stopped another maid in a corner of the corridor and whispered in hushed tones. "How old do you think he is?" "Well, of course he's over sixty." "No... In truth, he seems much younger than that." "But look at that pure white hair of his!"

“Yes, that’s precisely why it’s all the more peculiar.” “Even that white hair—who can say if it’s truly his own?” “And then there’s the tinted glasses hiding his eyes.” “Even in his room, he keeps a mask over his mouth.”

“And on top of that—prosthetic hand and leg, right?” “That’s right—his left hand and right leg aren’t his own.” “Even eating meals must be difficult with those.” “That mask—he did take it off during meals, didn’t he?” “Yes, he took it off.” “Oh my, I just shuddered.” “What do you think was under that mask?” “What was there?”

The other maid, as though shuddering herself, glanced around the shadowy corners of the dim corridor.

“There’s nothing. All of a sudden, there were just red gums and white teeth laid bare.” “In other words, he has no lips.” Strange as it may sound, the guest was half a human being. That is to say, half of his body was not his own.

What stood out most were his lips—though his nose was grotesquely sunken, exposing the red interiors of his nasal cavities directly to view, and his eyebrows left not even a trace. But what was most unsettling of all was that neither eyelid bore a single eyelash. It was only natural that the maids had suspected even the white hair on his head might be a wig.

Moreover, his left hand was a prosthetic hand, his right leg a prosthetic leg—a man whose only satisfactory part was his torso.

Later, that man—Hiruta Reizo was his name—would recount unsolicited how during the Great Kanto Earthquake fires, he had lost his limbs and suffered burns across his entire face; that he had miraculously survived such grievous injuries was something he seemed to boast about as a point of pride. This mysterious individual had refused an invitation to bathe earlier, claiming he had caught a cold—yet once the maid departed, he descended the long staircase toward the valley-floor bathhouse, his cane and prosthetic leg clunking against the wooden floorboards. Perhaps because he was accustomed to it, he descended with unexpected ease, skillfully adjusting his posture and moving briskly down.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he emerged onto the banks of the Kanamata River roaring with terrifying fury. There stood a gloomy bathhouse built from half-natural rock formations. Just when it seemed he might enter to bathe, he instead stepped from the corridor into the garden and peered stealthily through a glass window into the bathhouse interior from outside.

A misty drizzle, and because it was already nearing dusk, the steam-filled bathhouse interior appeared dim and blurry, like a scene from a dream.

Two pale forms writhing there. Miya Fusao’s sturdy muscles and Shizuko’s smooth skin. It was to observe the two of them unnoticed that Hiruta had come down. He had learned from the maid’s report that they were bathing. Though hot spring resorts typically segregated baths by gender, with no other guests present and Shizuko terrified of the echoing emptiness and dimness of that valley-floor-like bathhouse, it was young Miya Fusao who entered the women’s bathing area.

Due to the dimness and steam, even their pale forms mere feet apart remained indistinct—thus they felt neither particular awkwardness nor shame. The only sound was that of the valley stream swollen by the rain. Being far removed from the main building and with the bathhouse’s structure incorporating natural rocks as they were, it felt as though a man and woman in their natural state had been left utterly alone to face each other in a realm beyond human dwelling.

“There’s no need to worry about such things. It’s just a childish prank.”

Miya spread-eagled himself in the hot water.

“I can’t think that way. That person... even now, I feel as though they’re prowling about here like a shadow.” Shizuko’s pale form crouched upon the bluish-black boulder like a painted figure.

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?” “Pull yourself together.” “Ms. Shizuko.” “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Miya suddenly grew terrified that his lover might have gone mad and cried out. “Was it an illusion I saw? Look, something strange peered through that window!”

A deranged, dreamlike hollow voice responded. Miya was startled but forced a cheerful tone,

“There’s nothing here—see? Beyond this there’s only autumn leaves on those mountains. You’re not yourself today...” With that he abruptly cut off his words. At that same instant came Shizuko’s blood-curdling scream echoing through the cavernous bathhouse.

They saw it. Outside the small window facing the river—if only for an instant—they saw something too horrifying to describe. The creature bristled with bushy white hair, wore bizarre black glasses beneath which there was no nose, and half its face consisted solely of a crimson mouth baring sharp white teeth—a monstrosity unlike anything ever witnessed before. Overcome with terror, Shizuko forgot all modesty and decorum. With a splash, she leaped into the bathtub and clung to young Miya’s naked body.

In the beautifully clear water where the bottom was visible, two mermaids writhed and tangled together.

“Let’s get out of here. Quickly, let’s get out of here!”

One mermaid clung tightly to the other’s neck and, pressing her mouth to the ear, frantically whispered. “There’s no need to be afraid. It’s just your imagination. You must have mistaken it for something else.” Miya, still dragging the clinging Shizuko along, emerged from the bathtub, rushed to the small window, and flung it open with a clatter. “Look here. There’s nothing. We’re just overstraining our nerves.”

When told this, Shizuko gingerly stretched her neck over the young man’s shoulder and peered out the window.

Immediately below their eyes flowed the bluish-black waters of the Shikamata River. There, precisely where it formed a deep pool, the river flowing through that dusk-filled valley appeared all the more monstrous—already deep by nature, now swollen from days of rain.

And then, at that moment, young Miya felt Shizuko’s skin—pressed tightly against his buttocks—suddenly convulse with a violent jerk. “What?! What?!” When he looked at the riverbank she had been staring at and screaming toward, even young Miya could not help but let out a startled cry.

It was no longer a dream or illusion. The most realistic, inescapable calamity.

“A drowned corpse.” “There’s no need to be afraid.” “I’ll go check whether there’s any chance of survival, so please wait here.”

In the changing room, he swiftly donned his kimono and rushed out to the scene through the corridor, whereupon Shizuko followed right behind him, clad only in a single obi sash. “Ah, it’s completely hopeless. He didn’t jump in today.”

Indeed, the drowned corpse was grotesquely swollen, like a sumo wrestler. Since the face was turned downward, it was impossible to tell, but judging by the clothing, he appeared to be a hot spring guest.

“Oh! This kimono—I recognize it!” “You must surely…”

Shizuko’s voice trembled with emotion as she blurted out something strange. The drowned corpse wore a thin patterned silk unlined kimono. She recognized that kasuri pattern. “That can’t be!”

While doubting his own eyes, Miya could not rest until he confirmed the drowned corpse's face. He went down to the water's edge and, timidly using his foot, gave a firm push to the corpse drifting against the bank to see.

Then, the corpse—like a stage plank flipping—spun clean around and turned face-up. It turned with such eerie lightness that he shuddered, half-convinced it might still be alive.

Yanagi Shizuko fled far away, lacking the courage to look at the drowned corpse's face. Miya did look, but the sight proved too much for him—his stomach churned, and he couldn't bear to keep staring long. The corpse's face had bloated grotesquely, its features utterly transformed; moreover, perhaps having scraped against a rocky outcrop, nearly the entire visage lay mangled into a pulpy mess—an eerie spectacle too horrifying to endure looking upon twice.

Needless to say, Miya and Shizuko ran to call the inn staff.

There is no need to recount in detail the commotion over the drowned corpse that ensued. Of course people came from the police, and also from the courts. The commotion spread not only through Shio no Yu but across all of Shiohara; for two or three days, it was the sole topic of conversation wherever one went. The drowned corpse, even though its face was disfigured, was confirmed to be none other than Okada Michihiko based on his age, build, clothing, and belongings.

The investigation also conclusively established that it had been a drowning suicide.

In Kawakami, there are several famous waterfalls. Okada jumped into one of those waterfall basins and committed suicide. According to the doctor’s estimation, having been dead for over ten days, he had likely jumped into one of those waterfall basins on the very day he left the inn claiming he was going to Tokyo. Having sunk there, it was only due to the continuous rains and resulting flooding that his body had finally drifted to the back of the inn that day.

As for the cause of the suicide, nothing definitive was ever determined in the end. Rumors arose that it was apparently a failed romance. There were also those who speculated that Yanagi Shizuko had been the one in question. But no one knew the truth. The only ones who knew were Shizuko and young Miya. It seemed Okada had not first come to know Shizuko when he arrived at Shiohara. His love was something far more tenacious and profound. The reason he had come to the hot spring may not have been for recuperation, but rather simply out of a desire to get closer to Yanagi Shizuko. The extent of his suffering could be understood even from that madcap poison duel he had proposed.

Precisely because his love ran so deep and his torment so severe, it was only natural that despair drove him to the brink of madness. But while he carried a dagger in his pocket, 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 incident, young Miya and Yanagi Shizuko left this accursed land behind and boarded a train bound for Tokyo.

Though they were completely unaware, in another car of the same train rode an old man with his Tobi coat collar turned up, a shiny bird-hunting cap pulled low, his face concealed behind sunglasses and a mask. The man without lips! It was Hiruta Reizo. Ah, what sort of fateful connection did this mysterious figure have with Miya and Shizuko?

Now then, gentle readers, what you have just read may indeed be called the prologue of our tale. From this point onward, our stage shifts to Tokyo. And thus shall we witness—at long last—the curtain rising upon a crime of unparalleled strangeness.

The boy Shigeru

Even after returning to Tokyo, Miya Fusao and Yanagi Shizuko continued their delightful rendezvous, arranging meeting places every three days. While Miya, having graduated school but not yet secured employment, was living in a boarding house supported by his parents' remittances, Shizuko on the other hand seemed to have circumstances she found difficult to disclose—keeping even her address vague—so they refrained from visiting each other's residences.

However, as time passed, their passion showed no sign of waning—on the contrary, it only grew more intense—so they found themselves unable to prolong such an ambiguous state indefinitely.

“Ms. Shizuko, I can no longer endure these criminal’s secret meetings.” “Please clarify your circumstances.” “What exactly is this ‘Hatayanagi Widow’ you keep referring to?”

One day, Miya brought forth the question he had repeated many times since Shiohara with the determination that today would be the day. "The 'Hatayanagi Widow' was another name for Yanagi Shizuko—one that the deceased Okada Michihiko had inadvertently let slip." "Oh, why am I so timid?" "It must be because I’m terrified of being abandoned by you."

Yanagi Shizuko laughed as if joking, but her tone carried a hint of tears.

“Whatever your former life may have been, nothing like that could change how I feel. More than that—the way things are now—I feel like I’m just being played with!” “Oh...” Shizuko drew a sorrowful breath and remained silent for a moment. Then suddenly adopting a strange, desperate tone, she spat out bluntly: “I’m a widow.” “I’d already guessed as much.”

"And I'm a millionaire." “...” "And I have a six-year-old child." “…………” "There, see? You must be feeling disgusted now."

Young Miya, appearing not to know what to say, remained silent.

“I... everything will go away.” “Will you listen?” “Ah, why don’t you just come to my place right now?” “And won’t you come see my dear boy?” “That’s perfect. Yes, that’s perfect.”

Shizuko, her cheeks flushed an unnatural crimson from agitation and heedless of the tears streaming down her face, rose unsteadily to her feet and—without even ascertaining the young man’s intentions—abruptly pressed the call button on the pillar.

Before long, the two of them sat side by side on the automobile cushions in utter bewilderment and a maddened state of mind. Miya gripped Shizuko’s hand tightly, as if to declare, "Do you think something like that could ever change my heart?"

Neither of them spoke a word. But in their minds, an arabesque of tangled thoughts spun like a windmill.

About thirty minutes later, the car arrived at its destination. Before the two who had alighted stretched a wide stone pavement, granite gateposts, a tightly shut latticed iron gate, and an unbroken concrete wall.

On the gatepost’s nameplate was inscribed, as expected, "Hatayanagi." The room they were ushered into was a spacious Western-style parlor with subdued yet extravagantly luxurious furnishings.

The large armchair was not uncomfortable. Directly opposite Miya’s chair stood a deep sofa, against whose gaudily patterned velvet cushion Shizuko leaned limply, her alluring form draped over the rounded armrest. The boy in Western attire leaning his elbows on Yanagi Shizuko's knees and stretching his legs across the sofa was Mr. Hatayanagi's posthumous child—Shizuko's biological son, Shigeru-chan. Against the backdrop of the faded leather sofa’s backrest were Shizuko’s pale face, the gaudy cushion, and young Shigeru’s apple-red cheeks. It could have been viewed as a beautiful painting titled "Mother and Child."

Miya looked up from the two of them and gazed at the framed, enlarged photograph hanging on the wall above their heads. He was a rather unpleasant-looking man in his forties. “This is the deceased Hatayanagi, you see. It was improper of me to have kept such a thing hanging here.” Shizuko solemnly offered an apology.

“And then there’s Shigeru.” “Is this child too—like Hatayanagi—displeasing to your eyes?”

“No, absolutely not.” “Who could possibly dislike such an adorable Shigeru-chan?” “And he’s the spitting image of you.” “And Shigeru-chan must have taken a liking to Uncle too.” “See? Isn’t that right?”

As he said this, Miya took the boy’s hand, whereupon Shigeru smiled sweetly and nodded.

Outside the window, even here in the garden, the autumn foliage had taken on its crimson hues, and through the thicket of evergreens, the serenely warm sunlight shone bright, casting a faintly pale yet wistful glow over this dreamlike hour. Shizuko, caressing young Shigeru’s cheek, suddenly began recounting her personal history—yet given how the surrounding scene appeared, even this took on an air of some uncanny fable. However, transcribing her life story here in full would prove far too tedious; thus I shall confine myself to recording only those portions relevant to this narrative, summarizing them as succinctly as possible.

At eighteen, Yanagi Shizuko—having lost her parents and become a ward of distant relatives—was a girl who harbored, perhaps for those very reasons, a fervent attachment to money and the honors it could procure, to an uncommon degree.

She fell in love. But she discarded that love like a pair of worn-out sandals and married the millionaire Hatayanagi. Hatayanagi was of a different age. His features were also ugly. Moreover, he was a villain who thought only of slipping through legal loopholes for the sake of making money. But Yanagi Shizuko liked Hatayanagi. She loved the money he earned for her more than Hatayanagi himself.

But even for Hatayanagi, with his formidable ill fortune, retribution finally arrived. Having failed to slip through the legal net, he was charged with a terrible crime and had to become an inmate of a prison cell. While Yanagi 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 Yanagi Shizuko had relatives pressing for inheritance distribution, yet drawn by her vast fortune and the beauty of this still-young widow, suitors appeared one after another. Weary of the incessant nuisance and repulsed by their wealth-driven courtship, she entrusted Shigeru to a kind nurse and set out alone under a pseudonym for a carefree convalescent trip—though [this respite would prove short-lived].

There at the same inn, the young man Miya—knowing nothing of her true identity—developed intense feelings for her. That alone was appealing enough, but combined with his undeniably manly demeanor during that poison duel. For Yanagi Shizuko too, her growing feelings toward the young man Miya were by no means accidental.

“Do you fully understand what a greedy, fickle, wicked woman I am?”

Yanagi Shizuko, having finished her long confession, wore a resigned smile on her slightly flushed cheeks.

“What kind of person was that first lover of yours—the impoverished one? It’s not that you’ve forgotten him, is it?”

There was a slight, indescribably strange quality to Miya's tone.

“I was deceived by him. At first he said all the right things—promised to make me happy—but I never became happy at all. Not only was he poor, but he had a repulsive, bone-chilling disposition. But even though he did love me, the more he showed it, the more it made my stomach turn—I couldn’t stand it at all.”

“You have no idea what’s become of him or where he is now, do you?”

“Well, it’s a story from eight years ago, you know. Plus, I was still just a child back then.” Miya stood up silently, walked to the window, and gazed outside.

“So then—this is your ‘I’m done with you’?”

He gazed out the window and said in an expressionless tone.

“Oh!” Shizuko exclaimed in surprise, “Why would you say such a thing?” “It’s just that I… concealing my true circumstances from you had become unbearable.” "The fact that I, the wife of a convict who died in prison—a woman who even has a child—am carrying on like this with you had become terrifying to me." “With all that said, do you truly believe we can part ways now?” From Shizuko’s perspective, one might say it was precisely because they could not part that she had bared her circumstances. He was not the kind of man who would fail to grasp that.

She also stood up and went to stand beside Miya, looking out the window. The reddish-tinged sunlight cast long shadows from the standing trees across the beautiful lawn, where Shigeru—having slipped out of the room unnoticed—could now be seen playing with his beloved dog Sigma, whose body measured nearly twice the boy's size.

“Just like the child, you bear no guilt either.” “Given all that, my feelings toward you remain unchanged.” “Rather than that, your wealth terrifies me.” “Just like your first man, I’m nothing but a poor student type myself.” “Oh!” Yanagi Shizuko placed her hand on Miya’s shoulder—so close their cheeks nearly touched—and staring intently at his face as though silently exclaiming “Oh, thank goodness,” she smiled a smile of exquisite beauty.

Just then, from outside the estate's walls, came the sound of gaudy flute and drum music.

The first to notice that sound was Sigma. He seemed uneasy, pricking up his ears and gazing in that direction. Enticed by the dog's behavior, Shigeru too strained his ears to listen. The moment the music stopped near the gate, the chindonya's raspy voice began to echo faintly.

Miya and Shizuko saw young Shigeru suddenly run out toward the gate. Sigma also ran off, darting ahead and lagging behind as he accompanied his master. Outside the gate, a bizarrely dressed chindonya performer was bellowing the advertising slogans for a confectionery shop.

On his chest was a drum, with a box above it displaying samples of sweets. The kimono was a Japanese-Western fusion clown costume haphazardly patched together from yuzen-dyed merino fabric. On his head sat a papier-mâché comical doll's head—twice the size of a normal face—completely engulfing it. From that black cavern of a mouth emerged a harsh, booming voice.

The chindonya performer's voice—perhaps because the doll's head completely engulfed him—sounded nasally distorted like a cheap phonograph, rendering his words nearly unintelligible. But regardless of meaning, the song-like cadence proved amusing, and moreover, drawn by the novelty of that bizarre figure, young Shigeru dashed out beyond the gate and found himself approaching the chindonya performer. “Young master, look here—I’ll give you this candy. “Go on, eat up. “So delicious it’ll make your cheeks burst!”

While shaking the papier-mâché face in a comical manner, he offered the sample confections atop the drum. Young Shigeru, thinking this kind man resembled Santa Claus, happily accepted the sweet—though not particularly hungry—and immediately brought it to his mouth out of sheer novelty. “It’s delicious, isn’t it? Now then, this old man’s going to beat the drum, play the flute, and sing you the most amusing song you’ve ever heard!”

Hee-hoo-hee, thump-thump. The oversized comical face spun round and round atop his shoulders. The yuzen-merlin clown costume began dancing in a comically amusing manner, bob-bobbing up and down like a puppet on strings. While dancing, the chindonya performer gradually moved away from the front of the Hatayanagi residence. Young Shigeru, overwhelmed by the spectacle, found himself unconsciously trailing after it like a sleepwalker.

At the head was the dancing chindonya performer, followed by the adorable Western-clad Shigeru. And trailing behind them was Sigma, like a calf. A most bizarre procession walked on and on through the deserted mansion district.

Unaware of this, Yanagi Shizuko remained in the parlor. The chindonya's music gradually faded into the distance until it could no longer be heard, yet young Shigeru still did not return. She suddenly began to worry.

She called a maid and had her search the gate area, but neither Shigeru nor even his beloved Sigma could be found—no trace of them remained. It was somehow no ordinary feeling. Shizuko, Miya, and the servants all turned pale and searched every corner of the estate’s interior and exterior, but there was no trace of him anywhere. At that moment, Wet Nurse O-Nami—who had been out on an errand—returned and burst into tearful apologies, adding to the commotion. They had never imagined he might have been taken by the chindonya performer, but seeing how thoroughly they had searched without finding him, everyone’s thoughts now turned to the dreadful possibility of kidnapping.

Should they report it to the police? No, perhaps wait a little longer—as they vacillated in chaotic indecision, time continued passing mercilessly.

At length, as day turned to dusk and the outdoors grew dark, their anxiety only mounted. Yanagi Shizuko could no longer bear to stay still—could neither sit nor stand—for it seemed she could see young Shigeru's pitiful figure wandering through the unfathomable darkness while calling out for his mother, could hear his sorrowful voice echoing through the darkness.

After some time, as Yanagi Shizuko and the others—who had gathered back in the parlor and were exchanging anxious glances—remained there, a student rushed in deathly pale and in a panic.

“It’s definitely a kidnapping.” “Sigma has returned.” “This one fought loyally for the young master until he was this badly wounded.”

When she looked where the student pointed beyond the door, Sigma—calf-like in size—lay limp, his entire body soaked crimson, emitting pitiful moans. Gasping, labored breathing. A limp, dangling tongue; eyes that kept twitching white. In several places, gaping open—gruesome wounds. The moment Yanagi Shizuko saw the crimson mass sprawled in the corridor, a wave of dizziness washed over her—visions of her precious child suffering that same cruel fate somewhere far away—yet she barely managed to steady herself against collapse.

To her eyes, the blood-soaked Sigma’s gruesome gasping seemed nothing less than young Shigeru writhing in agony—a vision that persisted no matter how much time passed. The Hatayanagi household had an elderly man named Saitō who served in a steward-like role; however, as he was unfortunately absent, Miya made the call to the police in his stead, explained the circumstances, and requested a search for young Shigeru.

From the police came the reply that a patrol officer would be dispatched, but just as Miya concluded the matter—the receiver halfway between ear and cradle—another shrill bell rang.

Still at the desk telephone, Miya pressed the receiver to his ear once more and exchanged a few words—and as he did so, his face turned deathly pale. “Who is it? Where are they calling from?” Yanagi Shizuko asked breathlessly. Miya covered the mouthpiece and turned around, but hesitated terribly. “Is there something worrying? Never mind that—please tell me quickly.” Yanagi Shizuko pressed.

Yanagi Shizuko pressed. “I definitely recognize the voice. “It’s not a fake. “Your child himself is at the phone. “But…” “Wh-What did you say? “Shigeru is on the line? “But that child doesn’t even know how to make calls properly yet. “…But I’ll listen. That child’s voice—I know it best.”

Shizuko rushed over and snatched the receiver from Miya’s still-hesitating hand. “Yes? Can you hear me? It’s Mother.” “Are you Shigeru?” “Where are you?” “I—I don’t know where I am.” “There’s... there’s a scary man here... making a scary face... saying things...”

The voice abruptly cut off. Suddenly, it appeared that the frightening man had covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. “Oh! It really is Shigeru!” “Shigeru. Shigeru.” “Come now, speak quickly. It’s Mother.” “I’m your Mother.”

When she kept calling out patiently, after a while, Shigeru's faltering voice could be heard again. “Mommy... take me back.” “I’m... behind the library in Ueno Park... at twelve midnight... the day after tomorrow...” “What are you saying? There’s a villain beside you making you say such things.” “Shigeru.” “Just one word—one single word—tell me where you are now.” “Where are you?”

But the boy’s voice, as if deaf to all entreaty, ignored Yanagi Shizuko’s words and continued reciting horrors in a manner unchildlike for his years. "If you bring ¥100,000 in cash there—Mommy—I can come back." “¥100,000 in cash.” “It has to be Mommy.” “Ah! I understand! I understand! “Shigeru—stay calm. I’ll save you without fail.” “If you tell the police—we’ll kill your child.”

Ah, what a dreadful thing. "Wasn’t this 'child of yours' none other than Shigeru himself—the very boy speaking?" “Now, answer. “If you don’t answer—this child will meet a terrible fate.” As those words were ending—or perhaps before they had even fully ended—the sad wail of a child could be heard.

Fiendish Ardor

What a cruel and heartless deed! The abduction of boys and girls to extort ransom was a crime one often heard of, but forcing the kidnapped boy himself to utter threats of coercion, making them listen to his anguished sobs, and seeking to gouge the mother's heart—this constituted a devilish scheme without precedent. But for Shizuko, rather than condemning this devilish scheme, her very mind and soul were convulsed by the unspeakably terrifying circumstances of young Shigeru—uttering blood-curdling threats over the phone—leaving her no room for thought as she clung to the receiver in half-mad desperation, straining not to lose the voice on the other end.

“Shigeru. Don’t cry. “Mommy will do anything you say.” “I don’t begrudge money or anything.” “Understood.” “Tell them I agree—tell the person there I agree—but in return, make them promise to return Shigeru without fail.”

In response to that, from the receiver came a child’s voice—utterly devoid of emotion, as if reciting by rote—halting and faltering. “There’s no mistake on our side. If you alter even one thing from what was said before on your end—we’ll kill Shigeru.” And with a clack, the phone went dead. Even a six-year-old child must have understood how terrifying the words he was made to utter were. How intense must have been the demonic threat that forced him to recite those words in such an emotionless tone. The very thought made one’s hair stand on end.

While Miya, along with the wet nurse Onami and several maids, were attempting to console Shizuko—who lay collapsed in tears before the telephone—the judicial chief inspector from the Kōjimachi Police Station arrived accompanied by one plainclothes officer.

“It’s a common tactic—well, there’s no need to prepare any money. Just bring a newspaper bundle and go to the agreed location.” “Then exchange it for the child.” “We’ll take care of the rest.” “Of course we’ll apprehend the criminal.” “But if we went in right away, they’d get suspicious and flee—so you must make it look like you’re following their instructions exactly, bringing the money alone without police help.” “I’ve used this method before to successfully lure and arrest criminals.”

The Judicial Chief Inspector dismissed it as if it were nothing. “However, since the criminal will likely check the money on the spot, if they realize it’s counterfeit, won’t they do something violent to the child?” When Miya asked anxiously, the police officer responded with a laugh,

“We’ve got you covered. We’ll have several officers lying in wait near the scene—if anything goes wrong, they’ll rush out from all directions and apprehend them without hesitation. And remember—to these criminals, that child is valuable merchandise. Even if this plan fails, they’d never dream of harming their precious commodity.” He snorted derisively. “Ransom demands? That’s some antiquated crime from a bygone era. Only a complete imbecile would attempt such outdated tactics nowadays. Why, there’s scarcely been a single successful case using this method—you could count them on one hand.”

In the end, after discussions, it was decided that that very night, seven or eight plainclothes detectives would lie in wait beforehand in the shadows of the forest near the site, while on the surface Yanagi Shizuko would go alone to retrieve young Shigeru; but Miya Fusao, overly concerned for Shizuko’s safety, proposed an even more unconventional plan.

“Ms. Shizuko, please lend me your kimono.” “Let me go disguised as you.” “I have experience performing female roles in student theater.” “I can even get a wig without any trouble.” “In the pitch-dark forest—I can definitely pull it off.” “And if I go—why, I’ll bring Shigeru back with my own two hands.” “Please let me do this.” “I feel it’s too dangerous to send you.” Though some objected that such measures were unnecessary, Miya’s fervent wish was ultimately accepted, and he would take Shizuko’s place.

That night, Miya applied meticulous makeup to his beardless face, donned a wig, put on Shizuko’s kimono, and cross-dressed for the first time since his student theater days. He seemed fired up by this strange adventure and showed considerable interest in the cross-dressing itself. As might be expected from one who had proposed it himself, his disguise was so convincing he could only be mistaken for a real woman. “I’ll definitely bring Shigeru back. Please wait here with peace of mind.” He comforted Shizuko with those words as he departed—but at that moment, when they stood face-to-face in female guise, who could have foreseen that their exchanged glances would mark the beginning of a prolonged separation?

The cross-dressed Miya alighted from the automobile at Yamashita, passed through Yamauchi, and arrived at the darkness behind the library—all just a little before the appointed midnight.

The police box wasn't all that far, and the residential streets of Sakuragi-chō were visible right there—yet this particular spot was strangely pitch-dark, giving one the sensation of having wandered deep into a forest. The detectives—where were they hiding? True to their trade, even Miya, who knew they were there, couldn't sense the slightest trace of them. While keeping watch in all directions, he had been standing in the darkness for some time when a rustling sound of grass being trodden upon reached him, and two shadows—one large and one small, faintly visible in black—drew near. The smaller one was indeed a child. The other party had kept their promise and brought Shigeru—it seemed.

“Shigeru’s mother, is it?”

The black shadow called out in a whisper. “Yes.”

She answered in an appropriately feminine whisper. "You ain't forgotten what we agreed on, have ya?" "Yes." "Then fork it over." "Is that Shigeru there?" "Come here, Shigeru dear." "Not so fast—we swap first." "Hand it over now." As his vision gradually adapted to the dark, Miya could faintly make out their forms—the man clad in a hanten short coat and workman's leggings, face swathed in black cloth; the child in smart Western attire who was unmistakably Shigeru.

The boy appeared to have endured severe torture; even upon seeing his mother’s figure, he did not even utter a sound, remaining gripped by the shoulder by the man and shrinking in on himself. “That makes exactly ¥100,000—ten bundles of hundred-yen bills.” Miya presented the bulky newspaper-wrapped package.

Even so, it was an exorbitant amount of money. However strange it seemed to hand it over so easily, even for a beloved child's sake. Would he truly trust and take it?

However, even the thief appeared somewhat panicked; upon receiving the package, he pushed the child away without bothering to inspect it and suddenly fled into the darkness.

“Shigeru dear.” “It’s Uncle.” “In Mother’s place, I’ve come for you—it’s Uncle.” As Miya was pulling the boy close and whispering such things, from the direction where the thief had fled came an eerie scream followed by the thudding sound of something striking a tree trunk repeatedly.

“Got him!” “We’ve got the thief!”

One of the detectives who had been lurking in the shadows effortlessly captured the culprit. Shouts of “Waa!” arose from all directions; the sound of running footsteps.

The detectives lying in ambush all rushed to that spot.

The arrest was far too anticlimactic.

The group of detectives seized the thief and led him directly under the streetlamp that stood some distance away to see his face. Miya too took the boy’s hand and followed after them, but when he caught sight of the boy’s face in the bright electric light, he let out an involuntary “Ah!”—a strange cry of shock.

As the readers had imagined, the boy Miya had retrieved was a counterfeit bearing no resemblance 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. Miya led the unfamiliar boy and approached the group of detectives surrounding the thief. But what was this? There as well, something truly bizarre had occurred, hadn’t it?

“Hey, I didn’t know it was any bad deed! I was just blinded by ten yen and did what that guy told me to do.” “I’m just some guy who don’t know nothin’!”

The man had removed his mask and was earnestly making excuses. “I know this guy—he’s a novice beggar with a child who’s been camping out in these mountains. That kid dressed in Western clothes is this guy’s son.”

One detective corroborated the man’s statement. “So you were supposed to receive the cash in exchange for the fake child, then take it to that man who hired you waiting somewhere else—that was the arrangement, right?”

Another detective glared at the beggar and barked.

“Hey, I ain’t got nothin’ to do with receivin’ no money! He just said when a woman brings a square package, take it and chuck it somewheres.” “Now that’s strange. So the thief’s side knew full well the money package was newspaper, eh?”

It was all so strange—like being ensnared in some sort of cunning illusion.

“You remember his face, don’t you? What did he look like?”

Another detective inquired. "I don't know nothin' about that. He was wearin' big black glasses, had a mask on, then covered his face with his coat sleeve while he was talkin'..." Ah, this appalling guise!

The reader had likely recalled a certain individual by now. “Hmph. Was he wearing a tombi coat?” “Huh, he was wearin’ a new high-quality one.” “Age?”

“Wasn’t exactly clear, but he was ’bout sixty – old geezer.” The detectives took this beggar with a child to the police station and subjected him to even harsher interrogation, but learned nothing beyond what they had already learned at Ueno Park. Miya, who had even gone to the trouble of cross-dressing and naively set out, couldn’t help but feel thoroughly awkward. He perfunctorily bid farewell to the detectives, jumped into a passing taxi, and returned to the Hatayanagi residence.

When he returned, an even more astonishing incident awaited him. "The mistress went out earlier due to a letter from you." Those were the student servant's words. "A letter? I have no recollection of writing such a thing. If that letter remains here, please show it to me." Miya's heart pounded violently from intense anxiety as he shouted. The letter the student servant had retrieved was in an unmarked, ordinary envelope with ordinary paper - upon which someone had skillfully imitated Miya's penmanship to write the following.

Ms. Shizuko: Please get in this car and come at once. Shigeru has been injured and was just carried to the hospital. Come quickly. Ueno, Kitagawa Hospital, Miya.

Upon reading it, Miya turned deathly pale, suddenly rushed into the telephone room by the entrance, and frantically called the police station.

The Kitagawa mentioned in the letter was indeed a real hospital, but it was perfectly clear that Shizuko had not gone there.

So where, and in what terrifying ordeal, must the poor woman be entangled by now? Shizuko, startled by the forged letter, was in such a frantic panic that she hadn’t noticed at all where or how the car she was riding in had been traveling; but when the car stopped and she got out to look, she found herself in a completely unfamiliar, desolate town where there was no building resembling a hospital. “Driver, this isn’t the right place. Where is this hospital you mentioned?”

By the time Shizuko asked in surprise, the driver and his assistant had already alighted on either side and seized her arms. “The hospital must have been some misunderstanding. The Young Master is here in this house.” While coolly uttering this transparent lie, the driver kept pulling Shizuko forward. They passed through a small gate, opened a pitch-black lattice door, and climbed what seemed to be an entrance step. After traversing two or three unlit rooms and descending an odd staircase, they arrived at a cramped chamber damp with earthen smells.

There was only a small lantern casting light; though details remained indistinct, the concrete walls without pillars and the reddish-brown edges of tatami mats gave the unmistakable impression of an underground prison. Everything happened with such suddenness that she found no moment to even contemplate crying out for help. "Shigeru? Where is my child?" Though aware she'd been deceived, Shizuko hadn't yet abandoned all hope and let slip this futile question.

“You’ll get to see the Young Master soon. “Just stay quiet and wait here for a while.” The driver and his assistant left the room in an arrogant tone, having dismissed her—the clanging shut of a sturdy door, the clanking of a key turning in the lock. “Oh, what do you intend to do with me?”

Shizuko ran up to the door while shouting, but it was already too late. No matter how she pushed or pounded, the thick wooden door didn’t budge an inch. As she crumbled onto the hard, cold tatami edge and remained still, the night air pressed in relentlessly—the underground vault’s graveyard-like, indescribable silence. As Shizuko’s mind settled, the full horror of her circumstances became clear to her. Even though her mind had been so consumed with Shigeru that she’d had no time to consider her own peril, she couldn’t help but feel it rather strange—how had she been led into this place so easily?

Suddenly noticing something, she strained her ears. From somewhere above came the sound of a child crying. In the depth of the profoundly still night, a lonely weeping—faint, intermittent, yet unceasing. It seemed a young child was being tortured. How could she mistake the voice of her own beloved child? That was unmistakably Shigeru's crying. If that weren’t the case, it couldn’t possibly resonate so piercingly in her chest. “Shigeru. You... you are Shigeru, aren’t you?” Yanagi 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.” Whether her voice—screaming like a madwoman, all shame and decorum forgotten—had finally reached him, in that instant when the crying abruptly ceased, there suddenly resounded a scream of such heightened pitch it seemed to flay the flesh. The tone sounded as though it were crying “Mother! Mother!”

Amidst this came crack-crack—strange noises. Ah! The poor child was being whipped.

But in that very moment, something far more terrifying to Shizuko than Shigeru’s cries was stealthily drawing near.

In the door’s upper section—the same door through which the drivers had exited—there was a small peephole, and now its cover was slowly beginning to open. As the pitiful child’s cries subsided slightly, her attention—which had been fixed on the ceiling—dissipated, and in that same moment, what caught her eye was an uncanny transformation occurring on the door’s surface. Shizuko jolted upright and gazed fixedly at the peephole as it opened little by little, inch by inch. In the reddish-brown glow of the hand lantern faintly illuminating the door’s surface, a thread-like black gap appeared—then gradually widened into a crescent moon shape before finally gaping open as a pitch-black hole.

Someone came to look through it. “Please let me see Shigeru.” “Don’t torture that child.” “In exchange, I don’t care what you do to me.”

Yanagi Shizuko shouted with all her might.

“Do you truly mean you don’t care what’s done to you?”

Whether due to the intervening door, a muffled yet booming voice answered. The tone felt so eerily chilling that she found herself utterly unable to form her next words. "If you plead this desperately," came the distorted words through the barrier, "I might let you meet Shigeru—but surely these aren't empty promises?"

No sooner had the barely intelligible voice spoken than a human face abruptly appeared in the round peephole. The moment she saw it, Shizuko—overwhelmed by terror—let out a stifled gasp that was neither a cry nor a scream, covered her eyes with her sleeve, and prostrated herself.

For there, once again, appeared the indescribably terrifying vision she had seen long ago at Shiohara Hot Springs. A face entirely sagging, a nose red and collapsed, long teeth bared in a lipless mouth—an unearthly monstrosity, grotesquely ugly beyond anything of this world.

Before long, she felt a chill gust at the nape of her neck as she lay prostrated. The door must have been opened.

Ah—step by step, he was drawing nearer. The moment this realization struck her, a terror that left her unable to sit still or stand took hold—yet her body had frozen stiff, making escape impossible. She couldn’t so much as rise to her feet—she couldn’t even lift her face. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare.

Though Shizuko did not see it, the figure who opened the door and entered was a bizarre individual concealed from head to toe in a black mantle. From the mantle's billowing shape and the glimpses of bare skin through its gaps, he appeared to be wearing nothing beneath but his own nakedness. The man loomed over Shizuko and spoke once more in an indistinct voice: “Now I’ll test whether your words are truth or lies—right this instant.”

As he said this, he lightly tapped Shizuko's back—but in that motion, his left wrist brushed against her cheek.

Yanagi Shizuko felt a terror—a shudder that made her heart skip a beat—at the porcelain-like hardness and coldness of his wrist against her skin. “Who are you? Why are you subjecting us to such cruelty? Tell me why!” Yanagi Shizuko raised her desperation-contorted face and shouted in a strained voice. When had he blown out the lantern? The room was now plunged into utter darkness. Even the monster’s whereabouts could only barely be discerned by its strange breathing sounds.

The captor maintained an ominous silence.

In the darkness, something blacker than blackness faintly squirmed; an abhorrent breathing gradually, gradually drew nearer until she could feel its approach.

Before long, hot breath against her cheek, the sensation of fingers crawling over her shoulder... "What are you doing?" Shizuko brushed off the hand on her shoulder and stood up. No matter how frightened she was, she was no helpless child. She would not simply submit. "Trying to run? But there's nowhere to run." "Go ahead and scream." "But this is an underground cellar in the depths of the earth." "No one will come to help."

The indistinct voice venomously spoke while closing in on her as she fled. In the darkness unfolded a horrific game of demonic tag. Yanagi Shizuko tripped over something and collapsed. The monster loomed over her and tried to crush her in its embrace. A blind struggle of touch—faces unseen in the blackness. That lipless face—a raw red membrane—might at any moment touch her cheek. The mere thought filled Shizuko with such dizzying terror she felt she might faint.

“Help! Help!” Pinned down, she cried out in a faltering voice.

“Don’t you want to see Shigeru? If you want to see him, you’d better behave.” But Shizuko did not stop resisting. With the savage, life-or-death force of a cornered mouse turning on a cat, she tried to push her assailant down. When she realized this wouldn’t work—shameful though it was—she desperately sank her teeth into the assailant’s fingertip that had brushed against her mouth and refused to let go.

The monster let out a scream.

“Let go! Let go! You damn beast! If you don’t…” At that very moment, from the direction of the ceiling, the boy Shigeru’s choking sobs once again reached her ears. Crack, crack—the cruel sound of a whip. “Beat him! Beat him! More! I don’t care if the brat dies!” An indistinct, chilling howl of a curse gushed from the monster’s mouth. “Do you understand? As long as you keep resisting, I won’t stop torturing the brat. The more violently you resist, the more your child will suffer the agony of death!”

Being told this, even she could no longer keep her teeth clamped on the finger.

And when she listlessly lost her ability to resist, strangely enough, the crying from above also ceased.

Once again came the slimy feelers of the attacking monster.

Shuddering, she stiffened her body and warded off the onslaught— "A bloodcurdling scream!" A rising shrill scream; the crack of a whip. Ah, I understood! The monster was directing his accomplice above through some method. He made them intensify or halt the torture at will—controlling its rhythm with complete mastery—wielding it as a weapon against me. If I resisted—even indirectly—it meant demanding my beloved child die through this torment. Ah, what was I to do? Such a cruel instrument of torture could not possibly exist elsewhere in this world.

Shizuko, like a child, raised her voice and burst into tears. It was because both wisdom and discernment had been exhausted.

“Finally surrendered, have you?” “Hff hff hff... Just as expected.” “Struggling is nothing but wasted effort.”

Unbearable pressure. Storm-like breathing sounds echoing at her ears. Hot breath... In that instant, Shizuko felt an indescribable bewilderment—for there lingered a faint memory tied to the body odor of the thing now pressing down upon her. "This man isn't some stranger," she thought. "Far from it—he's someone I was once intimately close with." The realization made her shudder all the more violently. That she seemed on the verge of remembering yet remained frustratingly unable to grasp it felt profoundly uncanny.

Strange Visitor

The day after young Shigeru’s kidnapping and Shizuko’s disappearance, the masterless Hatayanagi household received a strange visitor.

Miya had temporarily withdrawn to his lodgings, and after the relatives who had rushed over upon hearing of the incident had left, the estate contained none but steward Saitō and the servants.

The police were of course devoting their full efforts to searching for the two missing persons, but with no leads whatsoever—a search akin to grasping at clouds—there was no reason for good news to suddenly arrive. Needless to say, they had investigated Kitakawa Hospital mentioned in the counterfeit summons letter, but as anticipated, it had just been confirmed that the hospital bore no relation to the incident. The strange visitor came that evening, but since he claimed to have confidential information about the recent incident, steward Saitō showed him to the parlor and met with him.

The visitor was a thirty-five- or thirty-six-year-old man in a business suit with no distinguishing features, who introduced himself as Ogawa Shoichi. Yet despite Saitō’s urging, he showed no sign of broaching the main subject. He kept endlessly repeating mundane small talk. Losing patience and using the opportunity of an inquiry call from one of Shizuko’s acquaintances as a pretext, [Saitō] had temporarily excused himself—that had been the mistake.

When the old man returned to the parlor, the guest who had introduced himself as Ogawa was nowhere to be seen. When he asked the student attendant at the entrance whether Ogawa had left, the reply came that there was no sign of his departure. The most conclusive evidence lay in the shoes still sitting where they had been removed. There was no conceivable way he could have left barefoot.

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

Then, they discovered that the door to the second-floor Western-style room—which had been Master Hatayanagi’s study—would not open, as though locked from the inside. That couldn’t be. Finding this strange, they searched for the key, but since that door normally didn’t need to be locked, they recalled that the key had been kept in the desk drawer inside the room.

Presumably, someone had entered the study and locked it from the inside using the key from the drawer. When they peered into the keyhole, sure enough, it appeared that a key had been inserted from the opposite side—the hole was blocked, and nothing could be seen. “There’s no help for it,” declared Saitō. “Let’s set up a ladder from the garden and look through the window.”

With that decided, the group moved to the garden, and one student, having received his orders, placed the ladder and began to climb up to the second-floor window.

As twilight had already fallen, the interior visible through the glass was as though shrouded in a deep fog, making it quite difficult to discern anything clearly.

The student pressed his face against the glass and kept peering. “Try opening the window.” From below, old man Saitō called out.

“It’s no good. “It must be locked from the inside.” The student said as much, but just to be sure, when he pushed up on the glass door, it slid open smoothly without any resistance. “Oh—this is strange!”

The student, muttering to himself, stepped over the windowsill and disappeared into the room. From below, the window through which the student had disappeared gaped blackly open like the maw of some gigantic monster, casting an inexplicably eerie pall over those watching.

The group below, trembling with a kind of premonition, strained their ears and remained silent.

After a while, an indescribable scream—a strangled “Gyaaah!”—came echoing from the blackly gaping window. When they heard the burly student let out a miserable, goose-like shriek, Saitō and the others shuddered to imagine what horrors were unfolding inside—so much so that none dared climb the ladder. “Hey! What’s going on up there?” From below, another student bellowed at the top of his voice.

For a while, there was no response. Then, dimly white against the pitch-black second-floor window that resembled a monster’s maw, the student’s face appeared. He brought his right hand up to his face and stared fixedly at his own fingers like a nearsighted person. Why on earth was he engaging in such an absurd pantomime? As they wondered, he suddenly began shaking his right hand wildly like a madman and blurted out something strange. “Blood, blood, blood! Blood is flowing.”

“What are you saying? Are you hurt?” Old man Saitō asked with growing impatience. “No! It’s not me! There’s someone collapsed! They’re soaked through and through! They’re covered in blood!” The student stammered incoherently. “What? You mean there’s a blood-soaked man collapsed there? Who is it? Isn’t it that guest from earlier? Turn on the lights at once! What are you dawdling for?” Bellowing, the resolute old man had already begun climbing the ladder. The student followed after him. The women huddled together under the ladder, exchanging pale-faced glances as they remained silent.

By the time the old man and the student had climbed over the windowsill, the lights had already been turned on, and the terrifying state of the room became apparent at a glance. The late Mr. Hatayanagi had been an enthusiast of antiques and had displayed old Buddhist statues and such in his study, but even after his death, they all remained exactly as they were. At the feet of a grotesque jet-black Buddhist statue—its arms spread wide in an imposing stance, its origins indeterminable—lay a man in Western clothes, drenched in blood. It was indeed the man who had identified himself as Ogawa—the visitor from earlier.

A face half stained with blood, contorted in the agony of death throes. The white shirt’s chest—copious bloodstains. Fingers grasping at empty air.

The old man and the two students remained rooted to the spot, for a time utterly unable to speak—until at length one of the students, his face twisted in bewilderment, muttered: “This is strange. Where did the culprit come from and where did they escape to?”

The door at the room’s entrance remained locked from the inside. Though 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 was the behavior of the man who had called himself Ogawa. Why had this stranger come up to the second-floor study without permission? Moreover, why had he even locked the door from the inside—what had he been doing? The perpetrator was of course unknown, as were the victim's identity and the motive for the murder—everything remained shrouded in mystery.

This was the first murder case of this story. But what an incoherent, utterly unfathomable murder case it proved to be!

Old Man Saitō did not touch the corpse in the slightest and resolved first to notify the police. One of the students flung open the door and sprinted toward 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 as well, and withdrew downstairs. In other words, from that point onward, Ogawa’s corpse remained completely sealed within the study for some time.

About thirty minutes later, officers from Kōjimachi Police and the Metropolitan Police Department arrived on the scene. The fact that among their number was Inspector Tsunekawa of the Investigative Division—renowned as a brilliant detective—made it clear that the authorities were taking the series of bizarre incidents at the Hatayanagi residence quite seriously. After hearing the general circumstances from Old Man Saitō, the police officers decided to first inspect the scene and proceeded to climb up to the second-floor study under the old man’s guidance.

“We took utmost care not to disturb anything in the room in the slightest.” “The corpse was naturally left untouched; not a single item has been moved.” “We had only just glimpsed that ghastly corpse before fleeing in panic, you see.” While uttering these explanations, the old man turned the key and opened the door. The group hesitated momentarily, envisioning a blood-drenched scene as they peered inside. Since the lights had been left on, they could survey every corner of the room at a glance.

“Hmm, this isn’t the right room, is it?” The judicial officer from Kōjimachi Station, who had stepped in first, muttered suspiciously and turned back to face the old man.

Somehow, it was a bizarre question. The group, finding it strange, proceeded to enter the room. “What?!” Even Old Man Saitō, their guide, emitted a shrill cry.

The corpse from earlier had vanished without a trace. There was no way they could have mistaken the room. The blood-soaked man had been lying in front of that black Buddhist statue. In the outer room, there was no such Buddhist statue. The old man, flustered, ran to the window and checked the latches on the two sealed windows, but there was nothing amiss.

Something utterly impossible had occurred. The corpse must have melted away or evaporated—there was no other way to explain it.

The old man wore a look of utter bewilderment, restlessly glancing around as he— “It can’t be that all three of us had the same dream. Apart from myself, the two students also clearly witnessed the corpse.” He cringed apologetically, as though the disappearance of the corpse were his own blunder. Inspector Tsunekawa had asked the old man where the corpse had lain and was examining the carpet there when— “You weren’t dreaming. Here, there are clear traces of blood that flowed.”

He pointed to the section of carpet. Though the carpet’s jet-black pattern made it indiscernible at first glance, touching the spot left a reddish residue on one’s fingertips. The police officers, their professional instincts heightened by this bizarre turn of events, combed every inch of the room and its surroundings—yet found nothing conclusive. “Gather every servant,” ordered Inspector Tsunekawa. “Someone may have witnessed something.”

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

Old Man Saitō noticed and inquired. The figure of the housemaid Oki was nowhere to be seen. "If you're asking about Miss Oki, earlier she heard Sigma barking furiously, said she was going to check the doghouse, and went out into the garden." "But it’s been quite some time since then." One of the maids answered as she recalled. Since his injury the other day, Sigma had been receiving treatment and was tied up in the doghouse in the garden. Oki had always doted on this dog dearly, so upon hearing its cries, she must have gone to comfort the injured dog.

Acting on Old Man Saitō’s orders, one of the students went out to the backyard where the doghouse stood to search for Oki, but after a short while came rushing back into the parlor shouting something.

“It’s terrible! Miss Oki’s been killed! She’s collapsed in the garden! Please hurry!”

Upon hearing this, the police officers were startled and rushed after the student to the backyard.

“Look, over there!” Following where the student pointed, they saw a woman lying sprawled on her back on the garden lawn, some distance from the doghouse, illuminated by pale moonlight.

Dark magic? Illuminated by the moonlight, the figure lying collapsed was Oki, the housemaid. Had the unknowable murderer claimed their second victim in rapid succession? While the student recoiled in horror and hesitated, Inspector Tsunekawa—accustomed to such incidents—had already dashed to Oki’s side. He lifted her upper body and called her name loudly. “There’s no need to worry. She hasn’t been injured anywhere. She’s merely fainted.” At Inspector Tsunekawa’s words, the group sighed in relief and crowded closely around the housemaid.

Finally regaining consciousness, Oki looked around for a while, but soon, as if remembering something, an indescribable expression of terror rose to her pale, beautiful face.

“There... over there. “It was peering out from that thicket.” When she pointed with a terrified expression—trembling fingertips directed toward the shadow of the pitch-dark grove—even the burly police officers felt a chill run down their spines as if cold water had been poured down their collars.

“Who is it? Who was peeking?” Inspector Tsunekawa pressed urgently. “That... that... Ah, I was so scared...” Pale moonlight, a pitch-black grove, the shadow of something monstrous. To speak of what she had seen at that dreadful scene was too terrifying. “There’s nothing to fear. There are so many of us here, aren’t there? Out with it already—this is crucial for the investigation.”

Inspector Tsunekawa had come to believe there was an inevitable connection between Ogawa’s missing corpse and what Oki had witnessed. Pressed, Oki finally began to speak. Since Sigma was barking so furiously—thinking his wound must be hurting—she had gone to check on him by the doghouse out of pity, but true to his nature as a fierce guard dog, he wasn’t howling from pain. Having likely detected something suspicious, he was bravely barking at the shadowy grove from afar (since Sigma remained tied to the doghouse).

Oki involuntarily peered through the thicket that the dog was staring at. Then— “Ah, even remembering it makes me shudder. There was something terrifying there—something I’d never seen since the day I was born!” “So it’s human?” “Well... it might not be human. Like a skeleton from a picture—long teeth bared, no nose or lips, just a flat face with eyes bulging round.” “Ha ha ha ha! Nonsense! You’re so terrified you must’ve seen a phantom. There can’t possibly be such a monster!”

The oblivious police officers dismissed Oki’s words with a laugh, but before their laughter could fade, once again, Sigma’s terrifying growl rang out.

“Look, he’s barking again. Ah, I’m scared. Could he still be hiding in that darkness?”

Oki, terrified, clung to Inspector Tsunekawa.

“This is odd. Someone should check that area just to be safe.”

The judicial officer commanded his subordinate police officers. And just as one police officer was about to step into the grove— “Wah! Wah! Wah! Wahwahwah!” With a cry that was neither quite a scream nor anything else, Oki buried her face in Inspector Tsunekawa’s chest. She had indeed seen the monster again. “Ah! There! On top of the wall!”

At the police officer's voice, everyone's gazes snapped toward the sky beyond the grove. There it was—there! Perched atop the high concrete wall, crouching motionless while staring directly at them—a monster. Half-lit by moonlight, its smirking face matched Oki's description perfectly—a living skeleton. If this creature were Ogawa's killer, it should have been carrying the victim's corpse. Yet here it stood alone and unburdened. Had the body already been hidden somewhere?

But whether this fiend was the culprit or not—what with his bizarre visage and being a suspicious figure prowling through another’s estate at midnight—they had no choice but to apprehend him. “Hey, stop!”

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

The monster, in the manner of a mischievous brat goading "Come on out," had no sooner let out an eerie "Kee-kee" cackle than it vanished beyond the wall. Some scaled the barrier while others circled through the gate—Inspector Tsunekawa and two officers plunged into pursuit of the creature.

The Kōjimachi judicial officer alone remained within the estate to continue the interrogation. When they stepped beyond the wall into the moonlit mansion district—deserted and still—the monster came into sharp relief about a block ahead: black hunting cap pulled low, short cloak billowing behind as it ran.

Dear readers, you are already aware that this monster’s left hand and right leg were prosthetics. With that disabled body—without even using a cane—he scrambled and stumbled as he ran. It mirrored how he had once descended the long stepped ladder at Shio no Yu Hot Spring. Even a prosthetic leg, once accustomed to it, became no trifling thing. The police officers ran while clutching their sabers. Tangled shadows and chaotic footsteps echoed around them. A moonlit manhunt unfolded. The monster raced toward the nearby main street. It was still early evening; to assume that emerging onto that bustling thoroughfare would mean instant capture proved a grave miscalculation.

At the street corner they had turned, there was an automobile lying in wait. No sooner had the figure of the monster vanished into it than the car immediately sped off. An empty taxi was just approaching from the opposite direction. Inspector Tsunekawa promptly hailed it and had all the police officers board,

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

The monster’s car veered off the bustling main street into one desolate district after another, twisting and turning through lonely streets as it raced like some winged creature. Unfortunately for its pursuers, they rode in a handpicked rattletrap of an automobile. They stood no chance of overtaking their quarry. Mere pursuit without losing visual contact strained their limits. To compound matters, every police box they might have relied upon was being deftly circumvented by their prey. After driving from Jingu Gaien through Aoyama Cemetery for some time, they reached a desolate avenue flanked by nothing but high mansion walls. Just as the lead vehicle jerked to a stop, a black cloak came billowing out. The monster plunged into a narrow alleyway.

Seizing the moment, the police officers got out of the car and rushed into the same alley. It was a narrow alleyway flanked by high concrete walls about ten feet tall on both sides. 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, something’s wrong! Where did he hide? There’s not a trace of him left!” A police officer had no sooner turned into the alley than he cried out in shock. An extremely bizarre thing had occurred. From the moment the monster dashed in until the police officers reached the corner was a mere few dozen seconds—not enough time for even the fastest runner to traverse this alley.

The moonlight was as bright as day; there wasn’t a single place to hide.

No—what was even more certain was the pedestrian sauntering toward them from the far end of the alley at that very moment. He appeared to be a local out for a stroll—hatless and dressed in a casual kimono—but his carefree demeanor made it impossible to believe he had crossed paths with the monster. “Hey! Did anyone come running your way?”

When a police officer called out loudly, the man stopped in surprise, but— "No, no one came this way."

he replied.

The police officers made puzzled faces and looked up at the high concrete walls on both sides. Without any handholds, scaling a ten-foot-high wall was impossible. Moreover, though the police officers didn’t realize it, a one-legged monster with a prosthetic limb shouldn’t have been capable of such a feat. No matter how terrifying its form had been, it was still preferable while visible before their eyes. The moment that figure vanished like smoke under the pale moonlight, a shudder of dread ran through them.

It was dark magic. It was demonic dark magic. But in this modern age, could such an absurd thing exist?

“Ah, you there! Wait a moment!” Inspector Tsunekawa stopped a passerby who had just been walking by and was about to pass them. He came up with a truly bizarre idea. He thought that the monster might have instantly changed its appearance, disguised itself as a pedestrian, and was nonchalantly making its escape. “Huh? Is there something you need?”

The man turned around in surprise. The inspector peered boldly into the man's face, but needless to say, he was a youth with handsome features bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the monster. From his physique to his clothing, there wasn't a single point of resemblance. First of all, as proof that this young man was not the monster, both his left hand and right leg were fully intact, with no prosthetic limbs attached. No, no—there was even more definitive proof. For when Inspector Tsunekawa, just to be thorough, asked the man his name, he gave a most unexpected reply.

“Me? My name is Miya Fusao.”

Upon hearing this, a police officer from Kōjimachi Station who was part of the pursuit exclaimed in surprise. “Ah, it was you, Mr. Miya! Do you live around here?” “Yes, I’m staying just up ahead at Aoyama Apartment.” “This person here is an acquaintance of the Hatayanagi family. You know, he’s that Mr. Miya who disguised himself as Mrs. Hatayanagi and went to retrieve the child during the Ueno Park incident the other day.”

The police officer recognized the young man and introduced him to the group. Inspector Tsunekawa had also heard Miya’s name. "I was at the Hatayanagi residence until evening today and just returned to finish my meal and bath. Even so, you’re all here because of the Hatayanagi case after all…" "That’s right. There’s been another strange murder case—we chased the monster we believe is the culprit this far, but…" Inspector Tsunekawa briefly explained the details. "Ah! That monster—Ms. Shizuko once saw its figure at Shiobara Hot Spring. So that wasn’t an illusion after all. There’s no doubt it’s been involved in this case from the very beginning."

“Ah! So such a thing occurred,” said Inspector Tsunekawa. “In that case, we must apprehend that monster all the more. But how on earth did it vanish? I haven’t the slightest clue.” “No—” Miya interjected, “I have an idea about that.”

Miya looked up at one of the concrete walls and changed his tone.

“There’s a strange house beyond this wall. Since I often pass through this area, I’ve been keeping an eye out—the doors are always shut tight, making me think it’s vacant, yet sometimes in the dead of night, light seeps out. It’s a truly peculiar house. There are even people in the neighborhood who claim to have heard crying and screaming—enough that they call it a monster house. Could it be that the monster somehow scaled this wall and entered what they’re calling the monster house? Might that not be the den of villains?”

In hindsight, the police officers' chance encounter with young Miya outside that wall marked the demon's downfall. In any case, they decided to investigate the monster house Miya had mentioned. Leaving one policeman behind at the wall as a precaution—with young Miya leading—Inspector Tsunekawa and another officer detoured around to the front entrance of the house.

Detached residences with similar gate designs—each not especially spacious—were lined up in a row. The so-called monster house stood at one end of this row.

The gate stood wide open. The three of them entered through the gate without hesitation. When they pulled the lattice door at the entrance, it opened with a rattle, offering no resistance.

Inside was pitch dark. Even when they called out, no one emerged. It truly was a strange house. Though still early evening, what shocking carelessness! If this were truly a den of villains, such negligence made even less sense. Or could leaving it wide open be part of those bastards' cunning plan? Being seasoned investigators, they couldn't charge in recklessly. As the group hesitated in the entranceway, faint sobbing drifted from somewhere deep within.

“Someone’s crying． It sounds like a child．” Inspector Tsunekawa strained his ears． “Ah! Could that voice be Hatayanagi Shigeru?”

Miya suddenly noticed and whispered.

“Shigeru?” “That’s the Hatayanagi Widow’s child, isn’t it?” “That’s right.” “If this is indeed the criminal’s residence, then both the child and the Hatayanagi Widow 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 apprehend anyone trying to escape.” He ordered the officer beside him to station there and, together with Miya, ascended the entrance steps. They groped their way through room after room in utter darkness, but detected no trace of anyone. The two resolved to divide their tasks and go around turning on each room’s lights one by one.

Inspector Tsunekawa finally stepped into the innermost tatami room, but since every room—every single one—was empty, he assumed this one too would be vacant and casually twisted the light switch— In the blink of an eye, a black wind-like figure crossed the room and darted into a hallway. “Ah! The villain!”

At the inspector’s voice, the suspicious man turned around nimbly as he stepped over the threshold. That face! It was that skeleton-like figure who had been laughing atop the Hatayanagi family’s wall. The lipless man.

“Mr. Miya, that’s him! He’s heading your way! Apprehend him!” Inspector Tsunekawa bellowed as he dashed into the hallway in pursuit of the monster.

“Where is he?” “Where is he?” Miya’s voice came from the dead-end room in the hallway.

A figure came rushing out. Inspector Tsunekawa collided with young Miya Fusao in the middle of the hallway. “That skeleton-like bastard. You didn’t pass him, did you?” “No, no one has come into this room.”

The monster had indeed turned left down the hallway. In that direction lay only the room from which Miya had emerged, with both sides flanked by tightly closed storm shutters and walls. Once again, the monster had vanished in an instant. It was the devil’s sorcery yet again! The two men ran about like madmen from room to room. Every last sliding door was thrown open; they rifled through cabinets and closets, searched every conceivable hiding place down to the corners of the toilet. Since the storm shutters had been tightly closed, there was no concern about anyone escaping through them. If they tried to flee, they would make noise, and it would take time to remove the latch.

The two of them, having searched in vain, stood rooted in a certain room and stared at each other for a moment, but suddenly Miya’s complexion changed as he whispered.

“Listen! Do you hear that? "That must be a child’s crying voice.” From somewhere indeterminate came a languid weeping sound, seeping through faintly—ever so faintly. The two men strained their ears, muffled their footsteps, and pressed forward guided by the plaintive cries.

"It seems to be coming from the kitchen area somehow." Miya said as he walked toward that direction.

However, when they had checked the kitchen earlier, there had been nothing unusual. The lights were still on from when they had checked earlier.

"But that can't be right." While Inspector Tsunekawa hesitated, Miya had already stepped over the kitchen threshold. At the same moment came an extraordinary cry—"Ah!" When Inspector Tsunekawa rushed over in surprise, Miya was standing frozen, his face deathly pale, staring at a corner of the kitchen. "What’s wrong?"

Cutting off the inspector’s questioning voice, Miya answered in a whisper so faint it was barely audible. “It’s him. He took off this floorboard and went into the crawlspace.”

The kitchen’s plank flooring was one of those common lift-up lids used for storing charcoal and such.

Inspector Tsunekawa bravely dashed over and lifted up the floorboard to look. "Ah! A basement!" Beneath the floorboard was, unexpectedly, a concrete staircase. That section alone had been structured like a box, sealed off from the crawlspace—the monster couldn’t escape outside now. He must have gone down to the basement. He was 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, with a faint light seeping through its gap. When they saw how abruptly the crying had grown louder, they knew beyond doubt that the child was on the other side of this door. Strangely enough, the key remained inserted in the keyhole. Inspector Tsunekawa swiftly turned it and opened the door. Using the door as a shield, the two men peered into the room. At that very moment, cries of shock and elation erupted from both sides—outside and within.

In the room, illuminated by the pale light of a lantern, Shizuko and Shigeru were embracing each other.

Miya, the young man, rushing in; Shizuko clinging to him.

However, Inspector Tsunekawa, paying no heed to this touching scene, wore a dissatisfied expression as he restlessly surveyed the room. But the crucial figure of the thief was nowhere to be seen.

Outside the staircase they had just descended, there were no exits anywhere. The monster that had unquestionably fled here had vanished yet again. When they questioned Shizuko, she said the thief had brought Shigeru to this room last night and left without ever reappearing. Shigeru had been crying from hunger after going all day without food and from terror. Inspector Tsunekawa took down the wall lantern and inspected the staircase from top to bottom, but found neither hidden doors nor secret passages anywhere.

In the end, they succeeded in recovering the kidnapped Hatayanagi mother and child, but the arrest of the culprit ended in utter failure.

Even when they questioned the two officers keeping watch at the front gate and outside the rear wall, the answer was that no one had left the house. They kept the watchmen in place, used a nearby telephone to call for backup officers, and from that night through the next day conducted an exhaustive search—not only of the entire estate but even the neighboring gardens—yet they could find neither the culprit nor even a single footprint.

How did the monster, with his maimed body, manage to scale a ten-foot concrete wall? (There were no utility poles or standing trees nearby that could serve as footholds.) Moreover, when he had been cornered by Inspector Tsunekawa and Miya inside the estate moments earlier, where could he have concealed himself in an instant? There had been no hiding places of that sort whatsoever. Furthermore, why hadn't the monster—who had clearly vanished into the basement—been there? Everything remained an utterly insoluble enigma.

The Great Detective

The mystery was not limited to the lipless man having vanished three times at the strange house in Aoyama. Who exactly was Ogawa Shōichi, who had suddenly visited the Hatayanagi residence that same evening? 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 that locked room? But the most baffling mystery of all was this: why had Ogawa’s blood-soaked corpse, which had been lying in the study, been carried out—by whom, and to where?

Inspector Tsunekawa believed that the lipless man was Ogawa’s murderer—that bastard had carried the corpse out from the study and hidden it somewhere—and indeed, if that sorcerer was behind it, he might have accomplished this impossible feat. But where had he hidden that corpse? When that bastard escaped over the Hatayanagi family’s wall, he had been completely alone. Thus though the corpse should have had to be hidden somewhere within the estate, despite the judicial director from Kōjimachi—who remained behind at that time—searching every nook and cranny both indoors and out, not only was the corpse nowhere to be found, but they couldn’t discover anything resembling a clue either. This truly had to be considered mysterious.

Be that as it may, the fact that Yanagi Shizuko and the boy Shigeru had been safely recovered through Inspector Tsunekawa’s efforts was the greatest blessing of all. Upon returning to the estate, the boy Shigeru took to his bed with a fever from terror and exhaustion, while Shizuko—unable to forget the indescribably repulsive visage of the lipless man and the slimy sensation of his gums—remained secluded in a single room for two or three days out of shame and frustration, scarcely showing her face to anyone.

Inspector Tsunekawa questioned both of them extensively about potential leads for the criminal investigation, but ultimately discovered nothing beyond what the readers already knew. As for whoever had whipped Shigeru, they could determine nothing more than that he was "a man with his face wrapped in black cloth." The young man Miya came to visit every day. When he didn't come of his own accord, Shizuko would grow impatient and summon him by telephone. Though they were relatives, none were close enough to intervene directly, and Old Saitō—being nothing more than an honest and amiable old man—proved useless in such circumstances. Wet Nurse O-Nami was a woman with no other merits beyond being talkative, honest, and easily moved to tears. Setting aside any romantic relationship, for Shizuko there was ultimately no one to rely on but the young man Miya.

Two or three days passed without any notable incidents. But the demon who had lost its prey was not one to simply suck on its fingers and slink away. Before long, indescribably strange things began occurring around Yanagi Shizuko.

She noticed that face of the terrifying monster peering stealthily at her—sometimes in her bedroom window, other times within her dressing room mirror, even behind the parlor door at moments. Where he came from, how he entered, when he slipped away—no matter how swiftly the servants gave chase, they could never catch their quarry. The police had exhausted every investigative method at their disposal, but even Inspector Tsunekawa—for all his renown—found himself nearly powerless against this sorcerer.

Miya, unable to bear watching his lover grow more haggard with each passing day, finally devised a last-resort plan one day.

He visited the "Kaika Apartment" in Ochanomizu after obtaining Yanagi Shizuko's consent. It was there that the famous amateur detective, Akechi Kogoro, resided. Miya had not only heard rumors of this famous detective through newspaper articles but also had the means to obtain a letter of introduction. When he went to visit, fortunately enough, the famous detective had all his related cases settled and was safely suffering in idleness, so Miya was joyfully welcomed.

The amateur detective Akechi Kogoro rented three front-facing rooms on the second floor of the "Kaika Apartment," using them as both his residence and office.

When Miya knocked on the door, a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy with apple-like cheeks, wearing a high-collared uniform, appeared to answer. He was the famous detective’s young apprentice. For readers well-acquainted with Akechi Kogoro, this boy was making his first appearance; moreover, the detective agency had gained another peculiar assistant—a beautiful girl named Miss Fumiyo. The details of how this beautiful detective assistant came to be here, what sort of relationship existed between her and Akechi, and other such matters were all thoroughly recorded in a detective story titled *The Magician*; but Miya, having heard rumors beforehand, could immediately affirm at first glance that this was the amateur detective’s famous lover.

Akechi was leaning against a large armchair in the parlor, smoking his favorite Egyptian cigarette called Figaro. Beyond that purple haze of smoke was his famous tangled mop of hair, his beardless face with its somehow charming mixed-race-like features, and those sharp eyes of his. The beautiful Miss Fumiyo flipped up the hem of her well-fitted Western dress and cheerfully entertained the guest. Her bright, bird-like laughter filled this solemn detective agency with a vibrant atmosphere reminiscent of a newlywed household.

Miya sipped the tea Miss Fumiyo had poured for him and recounted in detail everything that had happened since the incident at Shio-no-yu Hot Springs, withholding nothing. “Everything is utterly incomprehensible.” “Impossible things are happening everywhere.” “I can’t bring myself to believe in something like sorcery.” “And yet, there’s no way to interpret these things except as sorcery.”

Miya said sullenly. "Clever crimes always appear like sorcery." Akechi had been listening to Miya’s story while wearing a perpetually peculiar smile, but finally opened his mouth. "By the way, who do you think that lipless man really is? Don’t you have any idea at all?" Akechi asked in a tone that seemed to pierce through what lay hidden in the depths of the other man’s heart. “Ah! Could it be... you’ve realized that as well?”

Miya’s face contorted in terror as he spoke, his eyes intently reading Akechi’s expression. “To tell the truth, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I have a terrible suspicion. No matter how I try to shake it off, this nightmare of a suspicion clings to the corner of my mind and won’t leave.”

He said up to that point, then suddenly fell silent and looked around. Fumiyo had also withdrawn to the adjoining room, leaving the parlor occupied solely by the host and guest.

“There’s no one listening.” “And your suspicion is…?”

Akechi urged him to continue. “Well, for instance—” Miya hesitated before asking, “How many days would it take for skin severely burned by something like sulfuric acid to heal? Wouldn’t half a month be sufficient?” “That’s right. About half a month, I suppose.” Akechi answered in a tone that suggested he found it irresistibly amusing for some reason. “Then, a certain horrifying supposition holds true.” Miya continued talking with a pale face.

“At first glance, the culprit behind Shigeru’s kidnapping and ransom demand appears motivated by money,” Miya continued, “but I believe financial gain was merely secondary—their true aim was to obtain Shigeru’s mother. As evidence, even then there was a condition requiring Shizuko herself to deliver the ransom.” “I see,” Akechi responded, nodding with keen interest. “That monster-like man appeared at Shio-no-yu Hot Springs exactly half a month after Okada Michihiko—the man I mentioned earlier—departed from the inn.”

Miya lowered his voice and said in a resolute tone. “But didn’t that Okada throw himself into the waterfall basin and commit suicide over his heartbreak?”

"That’s what people believe," Akechi replied. "However, Okada’s corpse wasn’t found until over ten days after his death. They simply identified it through superficial matches—his clothing, personal belongings, approximate age, and physique." "So the facial skin had already deteriorated?" Miya pressed.

Akechi placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “That’s correct. As if it had struck rocks while being carried down the river, the face had become almost raw and scraped.” “So, in other words, your theory is that the corpse that came down the river was someone else wearing Okada’s clothes, while the real Okada survived with a monster-like face after being doused in sulfuric acid or something like that, correct?” “Moreover, he disguised his intact limbs as prosthetics and became, so to speak, a phantom person with no legal existence in this world. Having become a demon of heartbreak, he fulfilled his devilish love.”

“It’s a psychology common sense can’t conceive of.”

Akechi tilted his head and muttered as if to himself.

“That’s because you don’t know the man called Okada.” “That guy is a madman.” “His profession was that of a painter, but artists in general have feelings we can’t even imagine—utterly inscrutable things.”

Miya recounted that Okada, upon leaving the inn, had fabricated and left behind photographs of Miya and Shizuko's corpses.

Akechi listened silently. “His love was terrifying in its intensity. “It was Okada who challenged me to a poison duel. “But that’s not all. “The way he stalked Ms. Shizuko during his month-long stay at the hot spring inn was so deranged that even remembering it makes me shudder. “He was like a beast consumed by lust. “I can only conclude he’d been infatuated with Ms. Shizuko long before, and deliberately followed her to that hot spring just to seize an opportunity to approach her.”

Miya, burning with hatred, continued talking frantically.

“But the bastard’s objective isn’t merely to obtain Ms. Shizuko. For him to go through such lengths—fabricating a fake corpse, enduring such suffering, even burning his face to disappear from this world—there must be a far more profound scheme at play.”

“For example, something like revenge?”

“That’s right. When I think about that, I’m so terrified my entire body breaks out in greasy sweat. That bastard is trying to take revenge on me. He’s attempting to exact baseless revenge.” However, it later became clear that Okada Michihiko had been plotting far more terrible evils than Miya had ever imagined—the man was a fiendish demon beyond all morality. “The reason I came to consult you was not only out of resentment for the extreme insult inflicted upon Ms. Shizuko but also because I was terrified of that revenge. That bastard is the devil incarnate. You may laugh, but I saw it with my own eyes. That bastard’s inexplicable disappearance—there’s no other explanation but dark magic! That bastard seems like some kind of eerie creature that strayed into this world from an entirely different realm.”

“Do you know Okada’s former address?”

When Miya’s story reached a lull, Akechi inquired. "I received his business card at the hot spring. As I recall, it was somewhere in the Shibuya area—quite far out in the suburbs." "You still haven’t investigated that place yet, have you?" Of course—there had been the possibility of investigating Okada’s former address. Miya felt a twinge of shame at his oversight. "No, I suppose I’ll have to go there eventually."

Akechi said with a grin. “However, first and foremost, I would like to see the thief’s current lair." “How was your so-called dark magic carried out?” “If we investigate that, the thief’s true identity will naturally become clear.” “If it’s not inconvenient, would you mind leaving for Aoyama right away?” Miya looked up at the famous detective as he spoke.

Akechi had taken a keen interest in this case and, without any pretense, immediately agreed to accompany him. However, just as they were about to depart, a most ill-omened incident occurred. Akechi was preparing to go out and leaving instructions with Fumiyo regarding his absence when Miya, who was about to step out into the corridor first, discovered a sealed letter peeking out from beneath the door. There was no doubt someone had slipped it under without a word.

“Ah, it looks like a letter.”

He picked it up and handed it to Akechi.

“Who could it be from? I don’t recognize this handwriting in the slightest.”

Akechi muttered to himself as he opened the envelope and read through its contents. As he read on, an uncanny smile began to surface on his face.

“Mr. Miya, the thief already knows you came here.”

As Akechi said this, he presented a letter bearing the following terrifying words: "Akechi-kun, so you've finally decided to enter the fray. Now I'll have something worthy of my efforts. But mark my words. You see, I'm rather different from those petty villains you've handled before. As proof - I already know perfectly well you've just taken on this case." "So you mean that bastard was eavesdropping outside our door?"

Miya turned pale. “Eavesdropping would be impossible. I never speak loudly enough to be heard outside doors, and you kept your voice equally low. The thief likely tailed you here, confirmed your visit, and deduced I’d taken on this case.”

“Then that bastard might still be lurking around here. And perhaps he might even follow us again.” The more Miya worried, the more Akechi instead grinned. “If he tails us, all the better. That would save us the trouble of searching for that bastard’s whereabouts.”

He led the way in an encouraging manner and boarded the taxi waiting at the entrance. On their way to that eerie house in Aoyama, they kept constant watch through the rear window but couldn’t spot any pursuing cars. Had the thief anticipated their destination and gotten there ahead of them? Dangerous—so dangerous. Wasn’t charging into that monster house unarmed, just the two of them, an act of sheer recklessness?

The two abandoned their car a short distance away and walked toward the eerie house, bathed in the warm sunlight of a late autumn day. At the tightly shut gate hung a formidable lock, likely installed by the police. Bathed in clear daylight, the eerie house appeared as nothing more than an ordinary vacant building. "Without a key, we cannot get in." Miya stared at the lock.

“Let’s go around to the back—to the spot at the wall where the thief vanished.”

Akechi was already walking in that direction. "But there's absolutely no way to get in from the back." "There's no back gate, you see, and besides, the wall is very high." "However, the thief did enter from there." "There's no reason we can't get in either." Akechi naturally didn't believe in dark magic. Detouring around the row of mansions, they emerged onto a wide reconstruction road before turning into the passage in question, hemmed in by high walls at the rear.

"This must be the spot."

“That’s right. As you can see, there’s no way to enter the premises from here other than by setting up a ladder and climbing over. No high-jumping expert, no matter how skilled, could leap up to this tall wall. Moreover, the top is studded with shards of glass.” “That night was a moonlit one, wasn’t it?” “It was a moonlit night as bright as day. Moreover, there was absolutely no time to set up a rope ladder.”

The two continued exchanging such conversation as they walked back and forth along the passage. 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 then, with that uncanny grin of his, he said something peculiar. "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 bizarre that we might be staring right at it without realizing…"

"You don't mean to suggest there's a hidden door in this wall?" Miya stared at the man's face in astonishment. "The police must have thoroughly checked for hidden doors. Looking at it now, I can't imagine anything like that exists here." "Then what other method remains?" Miya's expression grew increasingly bewildered. "Whether possible or not, let me attempt to imitate the thief and enter from here. Would you mind chasing after me just like you did then?"

At a time like this, Akechi would not be joking around. Moreover, he intended to demonstrate using the same dark magic as the thief. He intended to attempt piercing through a concrete wall that had absolutely no entrance. Miya was dumbfounded, yet with an air of intense curiosity, he decided to go along with the famous detective’s proposal for the time being.

Miya positioned himself about eighteen meters down the main road, while Akechi stood at the corner where the main road turned toward the location in question.

At Akechi’s signal, the two started running at the same time. Akechi vanished around the corner. Miya, panting heavily, dashed to where Akechi had stood. Then, with a swift look toward the wall, he cried “Ah!” and froze.

In the straight passage that stretched for about a block, there was not a soul in sight. Exactly what had occurred on that previous night was happening once more. Akechi Kogoro had completely vanished. “Mr. Miya! Mr. Miya!”

Somewhere, a voice called out. As he looked around restlessly, a clap-clap—the sound of hands signaling—distinctly echoed from beyond the high concrete wall. Miya approached where the voice had come from, strained to look over the wall, and listened intently. For a while, he heard nothing—until finally, from behind him came a clank—a strange metallic sound. Even though he had been focusing his attention on the other side of the wall, a sound unexpectedly came from the road behind him instead. Thinking "Huh?", he turned around—and what did he find? There stood Akechi!

Miya looked utterly bewildered.

Under a cloudless sky, in broad daylight, an utterly inexplicable miracle occurred. The sun was shining. Akechi's shadow was cast jet-black on the ground. It was neither a dream nor an illusion.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Akechi burst into laughter.

“Still don’t understand? Well, it’s an absurdly simple trick. The more amazing the magic trick, the more disappointingly simple its secret turns out to be. You're under an illusion. Even though you’re looking right at it, you don’t notice it.” Miya lowered his eyes and casually looked at Akechi’s feet. On the ground there was a round iron lid about two shaku in diameter. It was one of the sewer manholes that had recently become noticeably more common throughout Tokyo.

“Ah, so that’s it?” “Using a manhole—what a clever idea! We walk over this iron lid without ever noticing it. These are found everywhere on the reconstruction roads. People who’ve just arrived from the countryside tend to spot them surprisingly often. But we Tokyoites have grown so accustomed to them that we pay them no more heed than rocks littering the road. So to speak, they exist in our blind spot.” As he listened to Akechi’s explanation, Miya finally seemed to grasp the point and interjected.

"Even so, it's strange for there to be a manhole in such a narrow alleyway." "That's precisely the point," Akechi continued. "I thought the same earlier. When I examined it closely, this iron lid differs from those on the main road over there." "Look here." "There's a central pivot shaft. If you just undo this fastener here, the entire mechanism rotates smoothly on its axis." As he spoke, Akechi pressed the iron lid and rotated it halfway around. The hole was just wide enough for one person to pass through.

“In other words, this is a private manhole. There’s no sewer beneath—just a narrow tunnel leading through to the other side of this wall. It’s simple camouflage for the entrance to a secret passage.” There’s even a story about a thief who set up a private red postbox on a street corner and stole important documents. For we do not always accurately remember where postboxes are located. The same applies to manholes as well. Even if there were an extra, completely unnecessary manhole, even the laborers who installed it might not have noticed.

The two men passed through the narrow hole there and emerged on the inside of the wall. The tunnel led to beneath the floor of a small storage shed within the estate. A section of the floorboards was designed as a trapdoor. If one were to restore the iron lid at the entrance to its original position, fasten the clamp, and fit this trapdoor back into place, no one would ever realize this was a secret passage. “Judging by how they went to the trouble of creating this secret passage, the culprit must have been plotting some extremely elaborate nefarious scheme." “Now that their carefully prepared hideout has been discovered, that bastard must be absolutely fuming.”

Akechi wore his usual smile. Though he didn't believe there could possibly be a thief hiding within the estate grounds, he couldn't help feeling an eerie sense of unease.

Eventually, the two of them slid open the kitchen's sliding door and stepped into the shadowy earthen-floored entryway. Beneath the wooden floor lay the infamous underground cell where Shizuko had been confined. A Group Statue of Nude Women

Miya stood in the earthen-floored entryway and listened intently for a while. Detecting no signs of disturbance, he finally stepped up onto the broad wooden floor of the kitchen with an air of relief and removed the trapdoor there.

“The infamous underground cell lies beneath here. But without some sort of light…”

“I have a lighter,” said Akechi. “Let’s go down and investigate.” He snapped the lighter alight and descended the basement stairs. At the foot of the narrow staircase lay a sturdy door left wide open. Beyond it stretched a pitch-black underground cell resembling a concrete box. Holding the lighter close to the wall, he circled it once and found the familiar lantern. Akechi lit the lantern, filling the cell with dim light.

After setting it down, he returned once more to the stairs and carefully surveyed the area. Then, extinguishing the lighter, he called out to Miya, who was still hesitating above the opening. “You should come down and see for yourself. Let’s take another good look together.”

Encouraged by the voice, Miya timidly began descending the stairs.

When he descended about halfway, the dim light allowed him to take in the entire underground cell at a glance.

“Mr. Akechi, where are you? Mr. Akechi!” Miya shuddered and involuntarily let out a loud cry. When he looked around, Akechi’s figure had vanished as if erased. He wanted to dash outside but managed to restrain himself; he raced down the stairs, searched inside the doorway, and paced restlessly around the narrow underground cell. There was no sign of anyone anywhere. Graveyard-like silence. The gloomy lantern’s reddish-brown light. Floating before his eyes was the figure of that terrifying monster from that night. A lipless grin of exposed teeth.

Miya, with a chill running down his spine, hurriedly fled the underground cell and began climbing the stairs. Then, from somewhere—though no figure could be seen—only a voice came: “Mr. Miya…”

came the voice. Startled, he stopped in his tracks,

“Where are you? “Where are you?” He demanded in a shout. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Right here!”

With a snap, the lighter flared to life above Miya’s head. When he looked up, there was Akechi’s figure clinging spider-flat to the stairway ceiling.

“This is the thief’s dark magic! “Take a look.” “On both sides here，there are thick crossbeams supporting the ceiling.” “If you brace your hands and feet against these，anyone passing below won’t notice a thing.”

Akechi jumped down from the ceiling while brushing off his hands, "In other words, the thief came down from this hiding place and fled outside just as you all entered the inner underground cell." "Once some time had passed, no matter how thoroughly you searched this area, naturally nobody would be found." “Ha ha ha ha! How utterly anticlimactic! Isn’t this just a magic trick’s secret?” When Miya considered it, everything indeed aligned perfectly. Back then, he had been panicked—it was nighttime too, far darker than now. There was no helping that he’d failed to notice the thief’s quick-witted ploy.

“Where did the thief who fled here go?” “Needless to say, it’s the storage shed by the back fence—through the underground passage to that manhole we know.” “There were police officers keeping watch, but since they—just like you—were staring at nothing but the fence, slipping out through the hole when an opportunity arose would’ve been child’s play… This explains your so-called ‘dark magic.’” The two further inspected the mansion’s hallway where the mysterious thief had vanished, but even there, they found that one could indeed evade detection by using shadows cast by lamplight.

First came the bizarre murder in the Hatayanagi family's study; then the corpse's disappearance; upon discovering the monster and giving chase, its vanishing through that manhole—with these mysteries accumulating one after another, even mundane occurrences must have taken on an air of dark magic.

When the manhole, the hiding spot in the underground cell's ceiling, and the thief's tricks had been so easily exposed, conversely, things like the disappearance in the hallway now scarcely seemed worth investigating. Miya listened to Akechi's explanation almost distractedly.

Now, when they had finished inspecting the mansion and stepped outside, Miya wore an expression of satisfaction at the mystery being smoothly solved—yet strangely, it was Akechi, who had unraveled the enigma, that bore an indescribable look of perplexity. "Is something wrong?" Miya asked with such concern. "No, it's nothing."

Akechi regained his composure and answered with his usual smile. “But to be perfectly honest, I feel as though I’ve collided with something… something utterly unfathomable.” “It’s terrifying.” “It’s not the thief’s clever trick.” “The fact that I was able to unravel that trick so effortlessly.”

He stared fixedly at Miya's face. "Why is that? I don't quite understand what you mean." "I don't grasp what you're getting at." Miya also said while staring fixedly into the other's eyes. The two men basked in the bright autumn sunlight and, for some reason, spent a while gazing at each other's faces. It was somehow an uncanny scene.

“No, it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll have an opportunity to explain everything in detail someday. Instead of that, why don’t we go visit Okada’s former residence now?”

Akechi changed the subject and said nonchalantly. But this incomprehensible conversation held a profound significance. The look of bewilderment Akechi showed at that moment was sufficient to prove he was no ordinary detective. Readers should keep this trivial incident in mind for a long time to come. Be that as it may, since Okada’s business card was fortunately in Miya’s card case, they ended up visiting his former residence.

The taxi came to a stop in a lonely suburb west of Yoyogi Parade Ground, an area that still retained vestiges of Musashino.

It took some effort to find it, but in the end, they managed to locate the studio where Okada had once lived.

Amidst the thickly overgrown weeds stood a Western-style house with a strange pointed roof, painted blue. It had been built purely as a studio. They tried to enter, but both the door and windows were securely locked. It must still be vacant. About half a block away stood another solitary house in the middle of the fields, which they heard belonged to the landlord of this studio, so the two went to visit it.

“If you intend to rent out that house, I’d like to inspect it first.” Akechi tested this approach to establish rapport. “Are you gentlemen also artists—painters or sculptors?”

The landlord was a man in his forties—a seemingly greedy country bumpkin. It appeared that Okada had also done sculpture. "We're indirectly acquainted with the late Mr. Okada. We're in the same line of work, you see." Akechi spouted nonsense.

The landlord scrutinized their appearances for a while, then came out with an odd remark. "That house has its circumstances—it comes at a slightly higher cost, you see." “When you say ‘high’...?” An ill-omened studio where a drowned man had lived—and one that had remained vacant for so long at that—being expensive was strange.

"Well, the rent itself isn't particularly high, but there's something that comes with it." "There's a large sculpture that Mr. Okada left behind." "I’d like you to take that along with it." According to the landlord’s account, this studio had originally been the owned residence of a certain sculptor, which he had purchased and turned into a rental property. Okada had been its first tenant for about two years, but he was an extremely solitary man—strangely enough, he seemed to have neither relatives nor close friends. 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, arranging everything from the funeral to matters concerning the grave.

As a result, all items Okada had left behind in the studio became the landlord’s property—but among them was said to be a rather valuable sculpture. "How much would you say it’s actually worth?" When Akechi casually inquired—to the landlord’s astonishment—

“With a generous discount, it’s two thousand yen.” That was his reply. When asked whose work it was, he replied that it was of course Okada who had made it. The work of the unknown Okada being priced at two thousand yen was exorbitant. “Well, you see, I’d have to explain that for you to understand.”

The landlord was quite talkative. “Well now, right after we finished Mr. Okada’s funeral service, this merchant came calling—insisted I hand over that sculpture no matter what! When I asked what he’d pay for it, he starts off at two hundred yen.” “Truth be told,” he continued with a greedy glint in his eye, “I hadn’t a clue what that hunk of plaster was worth! But seeing how desperate he was for it—well! We haggled back and forth till he upped his offer again and again—three hundred yen... three-fifty... finally settled on four hundred!”

"I thought this was going to be one hell of a moneymaker, you see. Heh heh... Got a bit greedy myself, I did. But still, I dug my heels in and wouldn't sell. Even that merchant must've hit his limit—he left once. But I knew he'd come crawling back, sure enough. Next day there he was, driving up the price again—fifty yen here, a hundred there—until we hit a thousand. With things heating up like that—who knew how high it'd go?—I got this stubborn streak and kept holding out. Then before you know it, he started showing up every three days like clockwork, nudging the price up each time till we landed at two thousand yen. 'I'll take it!' I finally said."

“However, he promised to come pick it up tomorrow and left like that—it’s already been half a month—but there’s been no word from him since. Since you’re so kindly wanting to rent it, I’d very much like to oblige—but to lend it out, that sculpture’s got to be moved somewhere. It’s a terribly large piece, you see—with it left there like that, you absolutely couldn’t get any work done. But then again, I can’t just leave a 2,000-yen item out in the rain—it’s truly a predicament. What do you say? If you could take a look at that sculpture with your own eyes—if it has any value, would you consider purchasing it? As far as I’m concerned, it makes no difference who I sell it to, you see.”

The landlord grinned slyly while looking between Akechi and Miya as if comparing them.

Since both men were quite well-dressed, this greedy old man must have been scheming to skillfully talk them into a business deal. The price of 2,000 yen must have been quite inflated. But no matter how one looked at it, it was strange that a buyer willing to pay such a high price would appear for Okada’s work. There had to be some underlying reason for this. “Anyway, could you show me that sculpture once?” Akechi, not a little intrigued, brought up the matter of the two-thousand-yen work.

The landlord guided the two men into the studio, opened several windows, and brightened the room. At first glance, it was a room resembling a high-ceilinged temple hall spanning about thirty square meters. Easels, half-finished canvases, sculpting materials, chunks of plaster, broken frames, chairs with missing legs, and tables lay scattered in every corner. Amidst this clutter sat an enormous object—nearly occupying one-third of the space—that gave the impression of a festival float.

“This is the sculpture.” As he spoke, the landlord removed the white cloth that had been covering the enormous object. What emerged from beneath the white cloth was a gasp-inducingly massive plaster-cast group statue of nude women.

“Wow, this is fantastic! But what a clumsy doll!” Miya cried out in surprise. It was truly a startling group of statues. Considering the labor involved alone, it might indeed have been worth two thousand yen. On a mountain-like pedestal abundantly made of plaster, eight life-sized nude women statues—some lying down, others crouching, still others standing—intertwined their hands and crossed their legs in a frantically clustered mass.

The meager light entering through the narrow windows created complex shadows, and crude though it was, the sculpture imparted a strangely eerie sensation reminiscent of a haunted house. Even so, that someone would seriously come to purchase such an absurd contraption remained inexplicable no matter how one considered it. To begin with, even two hundred yen seemed excessive for such a misshapen mass of plaster resembling a child’s careless doodle.

“What sort of man was this merchant who came to buy it?” When Akechi inquired, the landlord grimaced and said: “Well now, he was a peculiar fellow indeed.” “Truth be told, I’d much rather have gentlemen like yourselves purchase it.” “What do you mean by ‘peculiar fellow’?” “A dreadful cripple—disabled in one arm and one leg. Whether his eyes were bad or not, he wore enormous black sunglasses, and hid his nose and mouth behind a mask.” “His speech sounded all nasal and muddled—might’ve been missing his nose entirely.”

Hearing this, the two men involuntarily exchanged glances. He was the spitting image of that infamous lip-less monster. But why on earth was he so desperate to get his hands on such a worthless plaster statue? There had to be some deep underlying reason.

The smile vanished from Akechi’s lips. It was a sign that his keen mind had begun working intensely. "What could Mr. Okada have been thinking when he made such a large statue?" "Didn't he tell you anything?" Akechi inspected each of the nude figures meticulously as he inquired. "There didn’t seem to be any talk of him submitting it to an exhibition or anything like that." "I beg your pardon, but the things you painters and sculptors do are utterly beyond the comprehension of us ordinary folks."

The landlord said with a wry smile, not mincing his words. “When was this completed?” “Well... I can’t quite say about that.” “You see, Mr. Okada was such an eccentric that even when we passed each other on the street, he wouldn’t say a word. But even at home, he’d shut every single window, lock the entrance door from the inside, and keep the electric lights on even in broad daylight—truly a peculiar man.” “He must have done his work by electric light as well.” “To the point where we had never once seen the windows of this house open.”

The more they heard, the more bizarre the details became. If Okada had indeed been such a man, then Miya’s theory that Okada was the lip-less man could not be dismissed as entirely far-fetched. “It’s strange that this peculiar man set a price on the statue but still hasn’t come to collect it.”

When Akechi said this, the landlord became frantic— "Well, it is two thousand yen after all." "He might be having trouble raising the funds." "But I assure you this person genuinely wanted it." "I’m certainly not speaking nonsense here," the landlord said defensively. "I’m not doubting you,"

Akechi exchanged glances with Miya, his usual enigmatic smile playing on his lips as he—

“The man must have changed his mind. Perhaps no matter how long we wait, he may never come to collect it. Mr. Miya, this is a matter of great interest to us, isn’t it?” he said meaningfully.

When Miya heard that, he felt an indescribable, cold wind-like sensation and shuddered violently. “Mr. Miya, are you familiar with the detective novel called ‘The Six Napoleons’?” “It’s about a man who goes around smashing every last one of Napoleon plaster statues to pieces.” “Everyone thought the man was insane, but in reality, a valuable gem had been hidden inside one of the Napoleon statues, and he went around smashing every plaster statue of the same model he could find in order to retrieve it.”

Akechi tapped the shoulder area of one of the nude figures in the group statue with his fingertips as he spoke.

“I’ve read that story before. But surely there’s no way jewels are hidden in this group statue. There’s no reason to create such an absurdly large group statue just to hide a small jewel.” Miya laughed at the amateur detective’s fantasy. “No, I’m not saying that what’s hidden in plaster statues is always limited to jewels. For some people, there are things more valuable than jewels—things that couldn’t possibly be hidden unless within such a large group statue, I should think.”

Into the studio that felt like a temple hall, dusk had stolen in through the barely opened windows. The snow-white nude figures, their skin's shadows fading, seemed to dissolve into a dreamlike twilight gray. "Take a look," "Among these crude statues, there are three exceptionally well-crafted ones that outshine the rest." "I noticed them some time ago." Akechi pointed at each of the three nude women in turn as he spoke.

Indeed, now that he mentioned it, three lifelike women were crouching behind the five crudely made nude figures, each holding their own pose. As dusk concealed the rough-hewn details of their skin, these three figures—their forms so vividly lifelike—emerged starkly before them. Was this some specter born of twilight? “Looking at them like this… Sculptures really are such unnerving things.” Even this unfeeling country landlord must have sensed something uncanny, for he muttered these words in a low, ominous voice.

The three of them stood motionless in silence as the faint gloom closed in around them.

Their appearance was such that it seemed as though three even more bizarre figures had been added to the group of eight statues. "Ah, stop! What the hell are you doing?" Suddenly, the landlord let out a shrill scream and rushed toward Akechi. But it was already too late. Akechi violently kicked the waist area of one of the nude statues. It was no wonder the old landlord was furious. A complete stranger had kicked the 2,000-yen merchandise without any warning. And that precious plaster statue had broken.

“You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you? How dare you resort to such violence? Now then, you’ll pay for this! The merchandise is ruined! I won’t have a single penny shaved off the two thousand yen!” The landlord grabbed Akechi by the lapel and bellowed. One of the nude figures had nearly a foot broken off around her waist, leaving her a pitiful sight. From beneath the broken plaster, something resembling a dark cloth was eerily visible, like the entrails of a fish or some such thing.

Akechi squatted beside it, completely ignoring the landlord’s curses, and fervently examined the cloth-like material at the statue’s core. But when he finally stood up and turned around, his expression had become alarmingly severe. "I wanted to know why such a shoddy statue could be worth several thousand yen. If such a shoddy thing were to attract an unreasonably high bidder by common sense standards, one can only conclude that its value lies not in the plaster statue itself, but in the item concealed within it. Don’t you agree? Now, as I mentioned earlier, the concealed item could be something truly valuable like jewels, or conversely, something utterly worthless yet containing an extraordinary secret that must never be seen by others."

“Oh, so what exactly do you claim is inside this, sir?” At Akechi’s meaningful words, the landlord somewhat calmed his anger and inquired with evident suspicion.

“You’ll understand if you look. Now, inspect that damaged part.”

As instructed, the landlord—just as Akechi had done earlier—poked at the darkened cloth fragments with his fingertips when— “Gah!”

With a scream, he leapt back. In the dusk, his face turned as pale as a ghost’s. “Do you understand now why such a thing found such an expensive buyer? Didn’t you realize that the masked merchant was the man who committed this terrible murder—Okada Michihiko? Didn’t he look familiar to you somewhere?” “Huh? What are you saying? So... Mr. Okada didn’t die in Shiohara after all…”

“He likely faked his death to deceive the authorities’ watchful eyes. Having committed such monumental crimes, it was inevitable he’d need to stage his demise.”

"I... 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 exclaimed in a terror-hoarsened voice. "There’s no other way to think of it—various circumstances point to that conclusion." "So—what on earth is inside this? "That squishy thing with the strange smell… 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, there are three corpses hidden here.”

“Lies! Lies.” “No matter how you look at it, such an absurd thing…” Even the notoriously stubborn old landlord contorted his face into a look on the verge of tears, waving his hands frantically as he shouted.

“There’s no difficulty in testing whether it’s a lie or the truth. This should do it.”

No sooner had he spoken than Akechi once again kicked the second and third nude statues with his hard-soled shoes.

Pale Tentacles Thud, thud—the heels of his shoes rang out in rapid succession, and slender plaster fragments scattered in all directions.

However, almost simultaneously with that, a third strange sound—as if echoing the splitting plaster—struck the ears of those present. Akechi had only kicked twice, yet strangely enough, three impacts reverberated through the air.

Moreover, with the third sound, what clattered and scattered across the wooden floor was not plaster fragments but sharply glinting shards of glass. Because that sound and the cracking of plaster occurred almost simultaneously, for a while, they couldn’t discern where the sounds had originated, leaving the group in an uncanny state of bewilderment. But when Akechi suddenly rushed to a window and peered into the dusk outside, the truth of the matter finally became clear.

Someone threw a pebble through the window from outside. What scattered were fragments of shattered window glass.

“Those damn brats!” “Those brats keep gathering in the vacant lot out back—they’re impossible to control!”

The landlord said irritably. "He’s quick. Not a trace left of him."

Akechi muttered as he returned from the window, then suddenly noticed something white at his feet and picked it up.

It was a scrap of paper wrapped around a pebble. When he unfolded it and looked, something was written in pencil.

"Didn't I tell you to cease your meddling? Won't you stop even when ordered? This is the second, and final warning. Something will happen that you can’t undo even if you regret it!"

It was another warning from the monster to Akechi. “Damn it!”

No sooner had he shouted than Akechi flung open the window and rushed outside, only to return empty-handed after a short while.

“How strange,” He wore the same uncannily perplexed expression he’d shown earlier after investigating the haunted house in Aoyama, muttering to himself. This case had layers upon layers—he felt he’d glimpsed just a sliver of its unsettling depths. He circled the house and combed every corner, yet found no trace of whoever had thrown the stone. Though dusk had fallen, visibility remained sufficient. How could they have vanished from that open expanse in mere seconds? Impossible. Yet another impossibility had occurred. What’s more, this time it defied even Akechi’s deductive powers.

"You see, we probed too deeply, so the culprit couldn't stand it any longer and resorted to this mischief. But I'm the sort of man who, the more they try to stop me, the more I want to dig deeper." What came over Akechi? He picked up a sculpting hammer from the corner of the studio and suddenly began striking—faces and chests alike—the three damaged nude women.

Plaster scattered in all directions. With each blow, the nude woman’s rotting flesh became exposed.

Thus, the hellish scene that had unfolded in the dusk-filled studio was far too gruesome to recount here in detail. There was nothing to do but leave everything to the readers' imagination.

The author must confine themselves to recording the facts: that within that sculptural group, the corpses of three young women had been concealed; that each body had been fully wrapped in white cloth before being encased in plaster. Needless to say, this matter was immediately reported to the local police and the Metropolitan Police Department, followed by the arrival of a court delegation; but that is a story for later. Akechi and Miya, having already witnessed all there was to see, recounted the entire incident to the first police officers who arrived, provided their names and addresses, and promptly raced by automobile to the anxious Hatayanagi residence.

"I feel as though the world has come to appear completely different from before—something utterly terrifying. All these events over the past few days—I can only think of them as one long nightmare." In the speeding automobile, the young man Miya Fusao made no attempt to conceal his fear- and shock-contorted expression as he spoke, almost pleadingly, to Akechi. "In the dark underbelly of the human world lurk evil deeds as fantastical as lies—no demonic poet’s imaginings could ever match the terrors of reality. I’ve encountered such things many times before. Just as an anatomist is constantly shown the insides of human bodies unknown to laypeople, so too have I been shown in full measure the filth and eeriness of this world’s innards. But even I have never experienced anything as horrifying as what we saw today. It’s only natural that it all seems like a nightmare to you."

Akechi said in a subdued tone. "What on earth was that man Okada thinking—by what reasoning did he kill so many women and hide them inside plaster statues?" "It’s an unimaginable state of mind." "Is he insane?" “Or could he be what they call a sadistic killer?” "Most likely, yes." "But there’s another reason why I find this case so terrifying." "Behind these apparent events, I feel as though I glimpse something shadow-like—something of unknowable nature." "I just can't seem to pin it down." “To be honest, I find myself far more terrified of that unseen grotesque thing than of the lip-less man or those plaster statues of corpses.”

And so the two men fell silent. The events were still too vividly horrifying to discuss at length. Before long, the car arrived at the gate of the Hatayanagi residence. Shizuko had been keeping young Shigeru close by her side, secluded in a back room in a semi-invalid state under the protection of burly student attendants; but upon hearing that Miya Fusao—the young man she relied on—had brought along the famous Akechi Kogoro, she mustered some energy and came out to the parlor to meet them. Starting with old man Saitō, the servants too came before the detective through Miya's introduction and greeted him.

As it was exactly the appointed time, dinner was prepared. Akechi, thinking that investigating the mansion would require considerable time, decided without hesitation to accept the meal and called his residence at Kaika Apartment to inform them of this. Ms. Fumiyo answered the phone, but at that time, no abnormalities had yet occurred at the residence. Then, before taking their seats at the dinner table, he decided to first inspect the second-floor study that had been the scene of the incident. With Miya and old man Saitō guiding him, he made his way up there.

The state of the room was exactly as it had been when the man who had identified himself as Ogawa was killed and his corpse had gone missing days earlier—not a single thing had changed. At first glance, what set this study apart from an ordinary one was the row of several antiquated Buddhist statues lining one wall. It was a splendid Western-style room with high ceilings—a large desk adorned with carvings, walls lined with gloomy oil paintings of apparent pedigree—and the overall impression was somehow antiquated and mystical. Akechi, guided by old man Saitō, approached the spot where Ogawa had fallen and examined the bloodstains on the carpet. But when he suddenly looked up and gazed at the grotesque Buddhist statue right before his eyes, he let out an “Oh!” and stared at it for a long time.

A strange Buddhist statue—spread-legged, arms raised, barring the way—about the size of a child; and beside it, a tarnished metal seated statue resembling a miniature Great Buddha, roughly three feet tall. What Akechi was staring at was the strangely expressionless, smooth face of that seated statue. “Didn’t any of you notice?” Suddenly, Akechi turned back to the young man Miya and old man Saitō and said.

There was, for some reason, a madness-tinged quality to his tone that startled those who heard it. “Might there be something amiss with that Buddha statue’s eyes?”

Mr. Saitō asked with a strange look.

“That’s right. To me, the eyes of this gold Buddha statue seemed to blink. Did you all see it too?” “No… But since that Buddha statue might possibly blink,”

Mr. Saitō, with an earnest demeanor, uttered something resembling a joke.

“Why is that? Is there really such an absurd thing?”

Miya interjected in surprise. "There has long been something of a legend—or perhaps a superstition—about this." "The late master used to say that when he stayed in this room late at night, he would often see it blink." "For an old man like myself, I can’t bring myself to believe in such superstitious things—though the master was an extremely devout man who revered it as a sacred Buddha statue." "How strange." "And was there no one besides your master who saw that?"

Akechi inquired. “The servants and such have occasionally made such claims as well, but I have instructed them not to spread such nonsense,” Saitō replied. “After all, it would not do for rumors likening this place to a haunted mansion to spread.” “So it wasn’t just my imagination after all,” Akechi responded.

Akechi Kogoro seemed intensely intrigued by this bizarre superstition; he drew close to the Buddha statue and earnestly examined its eyes, but found nothing out of the ordinary. No matter how one looked at it, there was no reason a cast-metal Buddha statue would blink. However, just as Akechi was crouching there beside the Buddha statue, the room suddenly plunged into pitch darkness. The lights went out.

At the same moment came a terrifying scream—"Agh!" The sound of someone collapsing. “Mr. Akechi, what happened to you?” Miya's voice resounded shrilly in the darkness. “Quick! Get some light! Does anyone have matches?” But there was no need for matches. Just then, the phantom-like electric light flared to life, abruptly illuminating the room. When they looked, Akechi was lying collapsed before the Buddha statue. It was exactly the spot where Ogawa had been killed the previous night. Old man Saitō, making that association, was startled at the thought that Akechi might have met the same fate.

Miya rushed over and helped the amateur detective up. “Are you injured?” “No, I’m all right.” Akechi brushed Miya’s hand away as if shaking him off and sprang to his feet, but his complexion was deathly pale.

“What has happened?” “What has happened?” Old man Saitō asked nervously. “No, it’s nothing.” “There’s no need for you to worry.” “Now, let’s head over there.”

Akechi left the room without any explanation, taking the lead. The other two, having no desire to remain in such an eerie place either, followed after Akechi. “Mr. Saitō, please lock the door.”

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

Old man Saitō locked the study door from the outside, just as Akechi had instructed. In other words, they had effectively sealed some unseen entity within that room. “Could you lend me that key for a while?” At Akechi’s words, the old man handed over the key while asking with a puzzled look.

“What on earth has happened? We haven’t the faintest clue about any of this.” “Mr. Miya, you didn’t see anything either?”

Akechi did not answer the old man and asked Miya. “Since the lights went out, there’s no way I could have seen anything. What happened?” Miya too looked suspicious.

“I believe the key to solving the mystery of this case lies within this room.” Akechi merely let slip a meaningful remark and said no more.

Eventually, the three of them sat down at the dining table prepared downstairs.

The hostess was Shizuko. Shigeru also took a seat beside her. During the meal, there was no particular conversation. Everyone seemed to be avoiding discussion of the unpleasant criminal incident. There was just one thing that must not be omitted: when Akechi asked, "Was there a power outage earlier?", both Shizuko and the servants replied, "The lights never went out even once." In other words, when the second-floor study had gone dark earlier, it wasn’t due to a power outage—someone must have turned off that room’s switch.

When the meal ended, everyone returned to the parlor, settled into chairs that looked comfortable, and exchanged sporadic, unremarkable conversation—when a houseboy entered and announced that there was a telephone call for Mr. Akechi. When they looked, they realized Akechi’s figure had vanished from their midst—no one had noticed when he slipped away.

Thinking he might have gone to the washroom or something, they waited for a short while, but there was no sign of him returning at all. “Since he has the key to the second-floor study, perhaps he might have gone up there alone.” Old man Saitō pointed out. They immediately sent the houseboy to check, but it turned out Akechi wasn’t there either.

“This is strange. Anyway, just have the call connected here.”

Under Miya’s direction, the parlor’s desk telephone was connected. “Hello? Mr. Akechi has just stepped out somewhere at the moment. Do you have some urgent matter?” When Miya called out, a childlike, high-pitched voice answered it. “I’m from Professor Akechi’s office—please get him quickly! Something terrible has happened!” “Ah, you’re that young man, aren’t you?” Miya recalled the lovely young assistant of Akechi’s whom he had seen at the Kaika Apartment during the day.

“Yes, I’m Kobayashi.” “Are you Mr. Miya?” The boy remembered Miya’s name well.

“Yes. Mr. Akechi—we’ve looked everywhere but can’t find where he went. But you said it was an emergency—what happened?” “I’m calling from a public telephone right now. Ms. Fumiyo has been kidnapped by someone. I’m sure it’s the same guy who sent that threatening letter during the day.” “Huh? Ms. Fumiyo? Do you mean...?” “The one you met—the professor’s assistant.”

Ah—the bandit counterattacked from an utterly unexpected direction. It was a despicable plan—taking the detective’s lover, tormenting him, thereby forcing him to abandon the case. “So where are you now?” “How was Ms. Fumiyo kidnapped?”

Miya, breathing heavily, called out into the telephone. “I’ll come over there. We can’t discuss the details over the phone, and I’m also worried since we can’t find the Professor anywhere.”

With that, the boy detective Kobayashi hung up the phone.

Miya informed Shizuko and old man Saitō of the details and decided to search for Akechi at any rate. The servants split up and searched not only inside the house but even the garden; however, strangely enough, Akechi’s figure was nowhere to be seen.

There was no way he would have left without a word. Yet another human disappearance had occurred. Not only was there the corpse of that man Ogawa from days prior, but now even the detective had vanished within this mansion. It felt as though the Hatayanagi mansion was gradually transforming into an increasingly eerie haunted house. Old man Saitō suddenly recalled having given Akechi the key to the second-floor study. Though the houseboy had reported no one was there earlier, Akechi might have locked the door and been investigating inside the room.

The old man ascended the dimly lit stairs to the second floor alone to verify this and approached the room in question. When he looked, the study door stood half-open with light seeping from within. He thought it was strange. He had definitely given the key to this door to Mr. Akechi. There shouldn’t be any spare keys outside. Then Mr. Akechi might still be in this room after all.

Thinking this, he entered the room to check, but inside was still empty. Inside the hollow, temple-like room, only the tight-lipped Buddhist statues stood eerily lined up. Akechi had said that all the mysteries of this crime seemed to be concealed within this room. Moreover, seeing that the door was open, he must have entered this room at least once.

So, what had he done then?

Could he too have vanished somewhere, following the same path as Ogawa’s corpse? The old man meticulously searched every corner and, having confirmed that not only Akechi but even the corpse was nowhere to be hidden, tilted his head quizzically and walked toward the door to leave the room. At that very moment, the electric lights went out again with a snap. The faint light from the corridor barely illuminated the area beside the door, while behind the old man loomed an assaulting darkness.

The switch for the electric lights was right beside the door, within the old man’s field of vision, so it was certain no one had touched it. In other words, the electric lights had gone out by themselves, as though a ghost had done it. Mr. Saitō instinctively turned around and braced himself against the unseen enemy in the darkness.

“Who’s there? Who’s there?”

There should have been no one there, but overcome by the eeriness, the old man couldn’t help but shout. However, in response to that voice—as though he had indeed summoned a demon—a human presence stirred within the vast darkness. When he peered into the gloom, he felt as though a shadowy figure—like a wisp of smoke—had silently darted past the window across the room.

“Who’s there? Who is there?” The old man let out a series of shriek-like cries in quick succession.

Within the darkness lay deeper darkness, and from it emerged a sense that a pitch-black shadowy figure was gradually walking toward him. Even the stalwart old man Saitō, overwhelmed by the sheer eeriness, had closed the door and was poised to flee when suddenly a cheerful laugh resounded from the darkness.

At that same moment, as if by prearranged agreement, the room grew bright. An unseen hand had twisted the switch once more. There stood revealed in the blazing electric light the monster's true form. "Ah—you...!"

The old man shouted, dumbfounded. The one standing there was Akechi Kogoro, who had been nowhere to be found despite their extensive search earlier. “This is strange. Where on earth had you been concealing yourself?”

Old man Saitō stared intently at Akechi, looking him up and down as he inquired. “I wasn’t hiding anywhere. I’ve been right here all along.” Akechi grinned and answered.

But that was an absolute lie. No matter how old he was, there was no way he could have overlooked a single person; besides, the houseboy had also come to search this room once before.

All the windows were sealed. It was unthinkable that Akechi had hidden himself outside. Then, he must have been inside the room after all. But where could such a hiding place exist?

Could it be inside the Buddhist statues? There wasn't nearly enough space for a person to hide. For one thing, how could anyone possibly crawl into cast-metal or wooden Buddhist statues?

That said, the absence of hidden doors in either the walls or floor had been thoroughly investigated by the police during the Ogawa corpse disappearance incident and was already known. “No, it’s nothing at all. It must have been your eyes playing tricks on you.”

Akechi Kogoro said nonchalantly and left the room.

The old man had no choice but to leave the mystery of Akechi’s disappearance unresolved and relayed the details of the phone call from the Kobayashi boy. “Huh? Ms. Fumiyo...?” “Taken by the villain?” Even the unflappable Akechi could not maintain his cheerful demeanor in the face of this sudden dire news.

When he hurried down to the guest room on the lower floor, the people who had gathered there after their fruitless search—unexpectedly united in their confusion—were startled by Akechi’s sudden appearance and assailed him with questions from all sides, but he had no time to respond. He seized Miya Fusao and instead began interrogating him about the phone call. Just then, Kobayashi boy came rushing over in a taxi. The impatient crowd practically dragged him into the guest room as if taking him by the hand.

And so, the story now shifted to Ms. Fumiyo’s kidnapping case; meanwhile, the bizarre incident that had occurred in the second-floor study remained entirely unexplained at that point. What purpose drove the man named Ogawa to sneak into that room? Who killed him? Where did the corpse go? And then there were the earlier mysterious flickering of the electric lights, Akechi’s disappearance and his sudden reappearance.

Akechi Kogoro seemed to have already uncovered the secret, but for some reason, he did not attempt to speak a word about it. Perhaps it was not yet time for him to speak. And so, leaving the secret of the study untouched for now, the story had to proceed to the whereabouts of Akechi Kogoro’s female assistant—the most pressing concern at hand.

Now, according to Kobayashi boy—who had been brought into the guest room, his apple-like cheeks flushed crimson as he spoke breathlessly—...

Around five in the evening, an automobile came to pick up Ms. Fumiyo, claiming to have been sent by Akechi. Written in Akechi’s handwriting, “An urgent matter has arisen. I request your immediate presence.”

Since she had a simple letter that said as much, she got into the car without any particular suspicion. But Kobayashi boy, perhaps because some premonition had warned him, couldn't help worrying about the villain's threatening letter from earlier that day and the warning Akechi had given upon leaving. He tried to stop Ms. Fumiyo, but she wouldn't listen, so he stood there in distress watching the automobile drive away when, fortunately, an empty taxi happened to pass by.

Kobayashi boy, suddenly stirred by a childlike detective spirit, called out to that automobile and resolved to tail Ms. Fumiyo's car. Ms. Fumiyo's automobile had stopped before Ryōgoku Kokugikan Hall, just as the chrysanthemum doll exhibition was commencing. Kobayashi boy's taxi had been delayed by half a block, so when he stopped his car at the same spot and alighted, Fumiyo's figure could no longer be seen in the vicinity. When he caught and questioned the driver who had brought her, the reply came that Fumiyo, led by the man who had entrusted the letter to the driver, had just that moment entered Kokugikan Hall.

When Kobayashi boy heard the man's appearance didn't resemble Akechi's, his suspicions grew even stronger. He bought a ticket, entered the venue, and began asking everyone in turn—starting with the girl at the ticket gate, then the chrysanthemum doll attendants, and the shop vendors—but though they remembered a Western-dressed beauty who looked like Fumiyo passing through, none knew where she was now.

By the time he had circled the venue and reached the exit, there was no longer anyone who had seen Fumiyo, and even the ticket collector said that no such Western-dressed woman had passed through in about an hour. In other words, he could only conclude that Fumiyo was still somewhere within the venue.

Thereupon, Kobayashi walked back from the exit toward the entrance once more, searching through the crowd of spectators, but he simply could not find her. It was strange that Akechi would summon Fumiyo to a place like this—first of all, if it were urgent, he should have been able to handle it over the phone without resorting to sending a car. Moreover, the fact that even after such thorough searching, Fumiyo in that eye-catching outfit couldn’t be found—this was no ordinary matter. Thereupon, Kobayashi boy used a public telephone outside Kokugikan Hall to look up the Hatayanagi residence’s number—which he had memorized—and called. As expected, he learned that Akechi was indeed at the residence. Thereupon, he had promptly come to discuss measures for dealing with the aftermath.

“The man who summoned Ms. Fumiyo must surely be one of Okada’s underlings.” “There’s no way Okada would appear in a crowded place with that face of his.”

Miya Fusao had conclusively determined that the culprit behind this incident was Okada Michihiko.

“Oh dear, what are we to do? Just because we asked for help with our case, we’ve ended up putting Ms. Fumiyo through such an ordeal. What a terrible thing he’s done!” Shizuko, her already troubled brows furrowing even more deeply, murmured sorrowfully and resentfully. “Ms. Fumiyo should be well acquainted with my handwriting. Given that she was deceived to that extent, the villain’s forged letter must have been exceptionally well-crafted. Chrysanthemum dolls… Ah! That’s exactly the kind of thing he would think of. The villain may very well be using Kokugikan Hall as their base and plotting some terrible evil. Whether it’s the corpse-filled statues in the atelier, the Buddhist statues on this second floor, or now the chrysanthemum dolls at Kokugikan Hall—there’s something hauntingly attached to his crimes, an obsession with dolls.”

Akechi stood up with a deeply troubled expression. "I must go to Kokugikan Hall at once," he said. "There's no telling what torment that murderer is inflicting on Ms. Fumiyo—we may already be too late."

Even as he spoke, he had already gone out the door with Kobayashi boy in tow.

“Mr. Miya. “Please keep an eye on the second-floor study. “Please close the door securely and make sure no one enters there. “And strictly instruct the servants never to set foot in that room either. “If things go wrong, something that could endanger lives may occur.” Akechi, walking down the corridor with Miya seeing him off, repeatedly cautioned him about it.

The female detective

For Ms. Fumiyo, her lover Akechi Kogoro’s edicts were absolute. She owed a debt of gratitude for having been rescued from the clutches of the phantom thief once known as the “Magician.” And then there was love.

For what reason. To what purpose. That wasn’t something to question. If it was Akechi’s command, she would leap into fire itself. Even if Kobayashi boy had tried to stop her, she would not have stopped.

She boarded the waiting automobile without a moment’s hesitation. Even when she learned their destination was the wholly unexpected Ryōgoku Kokugikan Hall, she found nothing particularly suspicious about it. As a detective’s assistant, she was thoroughly accustomed to bizarre occurrences in her line of work.

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

Black suit, black overcoat, black soft hat. An entirely black, plain appearance. He had turned up the collar of his overcoat and pulled down the brim of his soft hat to conceal his face, and with large black sunglasses and a mask that covered up to his nose, his features remained indistinct. At first glance, his tottering gait made him appear like a very old man, yet there was an undeniable vigor in his demeanor that he couldn’t quite conceal. He was a truly bizarre figure. “You are Ms. Fumiyo, Mr. Akechi’s assistant.” “I am working with Mr. Akechi on this current case. Right now, he’s inside keeping watch over a certain individual and can’t step away, so I’ve come to fetch you. It’s a major arrest.”

After passing through the ticket gate and walking a short distance, the man introduced himself in an extremely muffled tone through his mask.

After returning a courteous greeting, "So it's Ms. Hatayanagi's..." she ventured to ask. "Of course, that's the one. But we haven't informed the police yet. It's kept secret even from these people. If we're disrupted by crowds of spectators, we'll only let the bird escape." The man lowered his voice, adopting a tone of grave urgency. The electric lights had just flickered on, their glare clashing with the sun's dying radiance—that ominous twilight hour. Within this dissonant glow, the man's silhouette—reminiscent of some monstrous black raptor—appeared profoundly unnerving.

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

Fumiyo suddenly recalled "the lip-less man." She hadn't heard the conversation between Miya and Akechi at the office that day, so unlike you readers who knew more about this monster, her understanding came only from newspaper articles she might have remembered—yet she couldn't shake the sense that the man standing before her now was that very fiend.

“No need to rush. Mr. Akechi is keeping watch over the thief. He’s as good as caught already. Regarding that matter, I’m afraid I must rely on your assistance.” The man’s muffled voice grew conspiratorial through the mask. “In other words—it’s what you’d call the charm of a beautiful woman.” A wheezing chuckle escaped him. “Fortunately, our opponent doesn’t know your face. With your help, we’ll lure the thief from this crowd without any grand commotion.”

The two of them walked deeper and deeper along the narrow, plank-lined path—twisting like a snail’s shell—whispering in hushed tones.

On both sides, various scenes of chrysanthemum dolls were arrayed, less beautiful than eerie and grotesque in their impression. And the suffocating fragrance of chrysanthemums. Fumiyo found herself increasingly distrusting the man's words. A dreadful suspicion swarmed and seethed within her heart like gathering stormclouds.

However, she was not the sort of coward who would try to flee simply because of that. She was none other than the daughter of the infamous thief known as the "Magician." She was, in other words, Japan’s very own female Vidocq. If this man were the infamous lip-less monster, it wouldn’t be impossible to achieve an unexpected triumph. She rather welcomed this favorable opportunity.

By pretending to be deceived, a strategy to instead outwit the enemy had already welled up within her breast. As they progressed deeper, each chrysanthemum doll display grew increasingly elaborate. Vermilion-lacquered railings blazed resplendently while a five-storied pagoda towered high enough to strain one's neck. An artificial waterfall plunged down cliffs dozens of fathoms high; papier-mâché mountain ranges; dim cedar groves; bamboo thickets; a vast pond; deep valley bottoms where verdant leaves grew as though wild amid fragrant chrysanthemums—and countless lifelike dolls.

Within that great iron umbrella of a structure lay a winding maze where one might ascend or descend through its twists and turns—some sections transformed into pitch-dark groves resembling Hachiman's Yabushirazu thicket, even featuring ghosts that appeared and vanished through mirror mechanisms. If one were to seek in modern Tokyo that uncanny charm—the nostalgic air reminiscent of Meiji-era spectacles like Panorama Halls, Diorama Halls, mazes, and even the collapsed Twelve Stories of Asakusa; that cluttered, peculiar allure where every corner seemed to hide startling secrets—it would likely be found in Kokugikan's chrysanthemum dolls.

The great building itself—absurdly massive like a phantom of a Chinese-style hat and antiquated—was already a specimen of Meiji-era grotesquerie. Fumiyo, having once been the daughter of the "Magician," could not help but marvel at the thief’s brilliant ingenuity in choosing this location—though the man now walking beside her might very well be that very thief. From the ancient Notre-Dame Cathedral where Hugo’s hunchback once dwelled, to the more recent Paris Opera House where Leroux’s skeletal phantom lurked, this place was in no way inferior as a realm of secrets.

Beneath the single domed ceiling—resembling an inverted bowl—lay a labyrinth of narrow paths divided with such complexity that it could not be made more intricate, twisting up and down, left and right within. But even that wasn't the full extent of it. Here and there, back alleys off-limits to spectators had been created—places resembling a theater's stage cellar, storage-like areas piled with junk props. Peering into the emergency exit doors scattered along the passageways revealed dim backstage corridors where stagehands wandered like phantoms—an eerie sight to behold.

If a vicious criminal were to flee into this maze, they might be able to hide safely for one or even two months. With papier-mâché mountains, real forests, buildings serving as backdrops for chrysanthemum dolls—truly infinite hiding places—and countless life-sized dolls on top of that, one could even transform into one of them with a quick change and stand there innocently amidst the dim chrysanthemum thickets. Leaving that aside for now, Fumiyo and the mysterious man were passing through the scene of *Yoshitsune Senbonzakura*'s lifelike dolls, where mountains of cherry blossoms in full bloom had been arranged on both sides.

“These lifelike dolls... They somehow feel truly alive, don’t they? Rather eerie.” The man spoke nonchalantly from beneath his mask. “Where on earth could Mr. Akechi be?” Though Fumiyo had vaguely sensed that the claim about Akechi being present was a lie, she feigned concern as she inquired. “It won’t be long now. It won’t be long now.” Even as he answered, the man inexplicably began to fidget. He kept fussing with the right pocket of his coat. He repeatedly reached toward it, trying not to let Fumiyo notice—as if verifying something inside.

Fumiyo pretended not to look but was watching closely. Could it be that this man was carrying a pistol? Amidst the deafening roar of the motor pump feeding water to the artificial waterfall—a roar so loud that even a gunshot would go unnoticed—Fumiyo felt a creeping unease take hold. “Well, this is incredible!” The man let out a startled cry. When she suddenly looked up, through a dense thicket of artificial cherry blossoms, the pale face of the chrysanthemum doll Kitsune Chūshin hovered right above their heads.

“How terrifying!” Fumiyo pretended to be more frightened than she actually was and staggered toward the masked man. “There’s nothing to fear. It’s just a doll. It’s just a doll.” The man wrapped his arm around Fumiyo’s back and pulled her into an embrace. “That’s enough. But it really gave me the creeps!” Fumiyo moved away from the man and focused her attention on the tip of her left hand, which she had slipped into her coat pocket. In that split second, she snatched the item the man had concealed in his pocket. From its feel, she realized it wasn’t a pistol. It was a metallic container, somewhat larger than a cigarette case.

Taking care not to alert him, she opened the case inside her coat pocket and felt around inside with her fingertips when a chill ran through her as they brushed against something damp—gauze-like material soaked in water. She withdrew her fingertips from the pocket and casually brought them up to her face. A strange, unpleasant odor... It was definitely anesthetic. It was a far more terrifying weapon than a pistol. The villain had no intention of killing the beautiful Fumiyo outright; he undoubtedly planned to render her unconscious with anesthetic and then do something with her.

Handing this man over to the police would be no trouble at all. But then she wouldn't understand his true intent. Just because he carried anesthetic didn't necessarily mean he intended harm—what should I do? "What could you be thinking about?"

The man peered suspiciously into Fumiyo's face.

“No, it’s nothing. “Um, I just need to…” Following Fumiyo’s gaze, a little way back from the passageway, the door to the restroom could be seen. “Ah, I see. “Please do.”

“Um, excuse me, but could you please hold this for me?” Fumiyo took off her 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 carefully received the coat. This was a rude approach unbecoming of the usual Ms. Fumiyo. But in reality, this was a strategy to keep the man’s hands occupied so that he wouldn’t notice the missing case while she was in the restroom.

The reason she entered the first restroom wasn’t because she actually needed to use it. It was simply to switch the contents of the case in a place beyond the man’s sight. After concealing herself in the restroom, she swiftly discarded the clump of anesthetic-soaked gauze, tore up a handkerchief instead, soaked it in water from the washbasin, stuffed it into the case, and returned to the man’s side with an innocent look on her face.

“Thank you very much.” She put on a slightly bashful air as she took her coat back from the man—and in that instant, needless to say, she slyly slipped the case into his coat pocket.

After walking a short distance side by side, they came to a section of the corridor wall where a sign reading "Emergency Exit" was pasted. "This way. Mr. Akechi is waiting inside here."

As he said this, the man pushed a small, hidden door that matched the wall’s pattern, and since it wasn’t locked, of course, it opened without resistance.

Beyond the door lay a dim, long corridor that felt like a theater's understage. In that corridor was another small door, and passing through it led to a dreary little room about six tatami mats in size.

On one wall, rows of switches stood in formation while bundled wires twisted through the space like serpents, revealing this to be the electrical room that controlled all lighting in the building. Though termed an electrical room, its sole purpose was to illuminate every lamp when the hall opened and douse most when it closed—meaning no electrician remained stationed here permanently. The masked man waited until Fumiyo entered before slamming the door shut with finality. Then, producing a key from his pocket—though how he’d procured it remained unclear—he turned the lock decisively.

“Oh, what are you doing? Mr. Akechi isn’t here at all, is he?” Fumiyo stared at the man’s face with an expression of great surprise. “Heh heh heh... Mr. Akechi, you say? Did you really think he was here?” The man sat down calmly on an empty box that was lying there, laughing with an eerie grin. “Then why such a place…” Fumiyo stood before the electrical wires and asked in a trembling voice, as though she could no longer bear the terror.

“I just wanted to have a proper talk with you face-to-face.” “This here’s my hideout, see.” “No one’s gonna interfere.” “I’ve already bribed the electrician proper—even if he comes ’round here, he won’t lift a finger for you.” “…Heh heh heh heh. Even the great lady detective looks shocked. What a fine hideout this is!” “When the moment comes, I’ll just throw the switches and plunge this whole place into blackness—they’ll never catch me then.”

The man licked his lips as he stared intently at his beautiful prey, like a cat savoring a mouse.

“So… you’re not…” “Heh heh heh… Seems you’ve figured it out. But it’s too late now… Exactly as you’ve surmised—I’m the man you’ve been searching for.” “The man that nosy husband of yours—Akechi Kogoro—has been scouring everywhere to find.” “Then… slipping that terrifying letter under our door this afternoon was…” “Me… Right now, I’m fulfilling the promise I wrote there.” “I always keep my promises.”

“So, what do you intend to do?” Fumiyo stiffened and glared at the man. “Hmm, what should I do?” “I should teach that Akechi fellow a lesson,” the man said with evident delight. “I’ll take you hostage and make him suffer.” “But you know, when I look at your beautiful face and body, another kind of desire wells up inside me.”

Fumiyo stiffened her body in apparent surprise and remained silent, still leaning against the switchboard. The man peered through his black glasses, looking her up and down as though savoring her well-tailored Western outfit, yet he too kept silent.

A long, breathless standoff ensued. “Hohohohohoho.” Suddenly, Fumiyo began laughing as though she had lost her mind, and this time, the man—startled—stared at her face. Had Fumiyo truly gone mad? Despite the situation, she began some carefree prank. Fumiyo grabbed the handle of the master switch controlling all the building’s electric lights and began toying with it manically—flipping it on and off, on and off—as though it were a plaything. Crackling, pale sparks scattered.

When the man saw this, he cried out “Ah!” and lunged forward to grab Fumiyo. “You bastard! What are you doing?” The man pinned Fumiyo’s arms behind her back, peered over her shoulder at her face, and hissed through clenched teeth. “It’s nothing.” “Just… a little…” Fumiyo answered calmly while restrained. “You’re laughing.” “How can you laugh?” “Do you think someone’s coming to save you?”

“Yes, probably…” “You bastard! Did you have some arrangement? Was everything prearranged?” Because Fumiyo remained utterly composed, it was the man who grew uneasy. “You don’t know Morse code, do you?”

Fumiyo was still laughing.

“Morse code, you say.” “What of it?”

The man asked in surprise. “Bringing me into a place like the electrical room was your mistake, wasn’t it?”

“Why the hell?”

“I know Morse code, you know.” “Damn you! So that was what you were doing just now?”

“That’s right—S-O-S.” “I don’t think there’s not a single person among thousands of spectators who couldn’t read that simple emergency signal.” Her earlier flipping of the switches had not been meaningless mischief—it was a distress signal. The electric lights throughout the venue crackled and flickered, repeating S-O-S over and over. “You’ve got some nerve for a little brat. “...But do you think I’d be crushed by 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 resort at last.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Fumiyo feigned surprise. “I’ll silence that pretty little tongue of yours.” “You bastard—I’ll turn you into a motionless doll!” The man took out a sodden mass of white cloth from the container and abruptly tried to cover Fumiyo’s mouth. He remained completely unaware that it had long since been replaced with a counterfeit. Even if she remained still, there was no particular danger, but seizing this opportunity to get a look at the man’s face, Fumiyo began resisting fiercely.

A masked monster and a Western-attired beauty engaged in the world’s most bizarre apache dance. Fumiyo’s supple body slipped through and darted around like an alluring animal while the man, breathing heavily, pursued her relentlessly.

But a woman’s strength could not hold out forever; finally, Fumiyo was driven into a corner of the room. She crouched there. In front of her face, four hands tangled together in a dizzying flurry.

Finally, something white and cold pressed against her mouth and nose. At the same moment, her hand caught hold of the man’s mask. When she yanked with all her might, the string snapped, leaving the mask in her grasp. The man’s face from the nose down lay bare.

“Ah!”

Fumiyo, extremely startled, cried out under the white cloth pressed against her. What had she seen? Was it a lipless, reddish-bald face? But there was no reason she wouldn't have anticipated that. It was strange that she would be so startled now. Be that as it may, to escape this immediate crisis, she had to feign unconsciousness for the time being. Because the thief remained utterly convinced that what he'd pressed against her face was anesthetic. Fumiyo closed her eyes and went limp, ceasing all movement.

“Made me work my ass off.”

Muttering to himself, the man tied the mask’s strings to conceal his face, tucked the lifeless Fumiyo under his arm, opened the door, and vanished into the dimly lit corridor.

Specter Dolls

In the open space before what they called a multi-tier entertainment stage, hundreds of spectators gazed up at the barefoot dance performed by the hall’s resident girls. Instead of socks, plump bare feet coated in flesh-colored powder—like components of textile machinery—bobbed up and down in perfect unison before the audience. Mid-dance, the electric lights suddenly went out. At first, no one suspected a thing. Since this spectacle, with its rapidly changing backgrounds, had been designed to turn off the electric lights every time the scene changed, the spectators thought, "Ah, so the background was changing again."

However, there was no sign of the stage moving at all, and the dancers remained frozen in place, while only the electric lights crackled on and off in unison like ghosts. The sight of the dancers’ bewildered expressions looking so comical caused a roaring uproar to erupt through the spectator seats. But that too was fleeting—the electric lights that had been crackling on the verge of going out flared brightly once more, and then nothing more happened. The dance was resumed. The spectators, reassured, once again became engrossed in gazing at the girls’ bare feet.

But among those spectators, there was a single young man who had realized the meaning behind the electric lights' flickering and felt intensely uneasy. He no longer noticed the beauty of the bare feet. He turned pale, glanced around restlessly, and walked about searching for a staff member. In one corner of the spectator seats stood a uniformed and capped venue staff member. The young man grabbed the man and stammered: "Where is the lighting technician for this stage?" "Please let me see that person."

“We don’t permit visitors during work hours.”

The man answered curtly and turned away.

“Wait! I must see him. Something terrible is happening right now! You probably think the electric lights going out was just a power outage or something, but that’s a terrifying signal. It’s an emergency signal calling for help!”

The staff member stared intently at the young man’s agitated face but remained silent and shuffled away from the spot. He must have thought the young man was a lunatic. The young man, having no other choice, grabbed a nearby spectator and tediously explained the meaning of the earlier electric light signal, but no one paid him any heed. “Peasant, shut up!”

The engrossed spectators, irritated by the disruptive chatter, began yelling. The young man found himself isolated. He finally broke into tears, bellowing incoherently as he bolted toward the exit. Had Fumiyo's painstakingly devised plan truly come to nothing this way? Indeed, within the venue, there remained not another soul who could comprehend the signal. But beyond its walls, inside an automobile hurtling toward Kokugikan Hall, resided none other than Akechi Kogoro. He naturally kept his eyes fixed through the speeding car's window upon that massive domed roof ablaze with electric lights.

At that moment, their automobile had only just reached the Hamacho area, but the domed roof of Kokugikan Hall was visible from any great distance.

Against the pitch-black sky, enormous stars arranged in a radial pattern bordered the dome—resembling a Chinese-style hat atop a flagpole—forming an uncanny array. Ah, what a horrifyingly magnificent spectacle it was. The stars flickered on and off in a steady rhythm, flashing in unison. S·O·S... S·O·S..., they signaled.

Akechi immediately grasped the terrifying meaning behind it. In the dark sky, a gigantic phantom of Ms. Fumiyo writhing in agony flickered on and off. “Driver, full speed! I’ll take responsibility. Forty miles, fifty miles—give me all the speed you can!” Akechi shouted, feeling almost physical agony.

At that very moment, in the Kokugikan Hall office, Mr. S—the manager overseeing this event—was bewildered by the mysterious phone calls that kept coming in one after another.

The first call was from a telegraph technician of a certain steamship company who was currently on leave. “From my second-floor window, I can clearly see the illuminated dome of Kokugikan Hall. Just now, those electric lights flickered strangely." “Did you notice?” “They repeated S-O-S three times—the distress signal used by shipwrecks calling for rescue.” “It might be some electrician’s prank, but I think it’s too elaborate for mere mischief.” “Or could some extraordinary incident have occurred?” “I’m alerting you as a precaution.”

he explained. After some time came another reprimanding call from the Water Police Station, followed by what appeared to be reports from someone, until finally even admonishments arrived from the local police station—such was the situation.

Akechi Kogoro arrived and made contact with the manager, Mr. S, amidst the height of that commotion. Mr. S, realizing it was no ordinary matter, turned pale and ushered the famous amateur detective into the office. Akechi explained the details and requested first to inspect the electrical room, so Mr. S personally guided him there; however, by that time, the room stood completely empty with no signs of disturbance. When Akechi himself tracked down the electrician and interrogated him relentlessly, the man could no longer conceal the truth and confessed to having received a large sum from a peculiar masked man in exchange for lending the electrical room key.

“As I thought, something occurred in this room,” Akechi said, his brow clouding with worry as he spoke impatiently. “The one who sent that signal was likely the trapped victim. I happen to know this woman Fumiyo—the victim—is skilled in telegraphy.” The commotion escalated abruptly. A call went straight to the police, and staff members split into groups—some rushing to guard exits while scrutinizing spectators, others frantically scouring the vast hall for anyone resembling the suspect.

Before long, several police officers arrived from the local station, but after conferring—since it was nearly nine o’clock, closing time—they decided to divide their forces and strictly guard all exits until every last spectator had left.

At 9:30 PM, not a single spectator remained; they had all departed. The concession stand clerks, actors, stagehands, and other lower-level staff had also almost all returned home.

But strangely enough, neither the masked man nor the Western-dressed woman resembling Fumiyo appeared at any of the exits. Those remaining were the Manager, about twenty key staff members, ten police officers, Akechi, and young Kobayashi.

Each ticket gate and emergency exit was securely locked, and a police officer was stationed at each one. With that done, the remaining twenty-odd people once again assigned their respective areas and combed every corner of the venue, but not a trace of anyone could be found in any nook or cranny. “Given that we’ve searched this thoroughly and found nothing, the culprit must have slipped out long ago.” “If they were hidden among that large crowd of spectators, no matter how carefully we kept watch, it’s possible they slipped through.”

The old inspector who had brought the police force said resignedly. "No, I can’t quite bring myself to think that."

Akechi objected. “The culprit deliberately lured Ms. Fumiyo here." “Since he went to such lengths to lure her out here, we must conclude that this Kokugikan Hall building was particularly well-suited for carrying out a certain crime.” “Taking her to the electrical room wasn’t his ultimate objective.” “As you are aware, he is a murderous fiend.” “Even if the culprit has escaped from here, the victim—or rather…the victim’s corpse—must be hidden somewhere within this hall.”

After further discussion, they decided to change their approach this time: the police officers would gather at each exit, while just Akechi and young Kobayashi would muffle their footsteps, strain their ears, and circle through the vast hall. They pretended to have abandoned the search, lying in wait for the culprit to let down their guard and either reveal themselves or make a sound so they could apprehend them.

By then, local craftsmen who had heard the commotion had crowded into the office, so as a precaution, pistols were prepared through their hands, and Akechi and young Kobayashi each concealed one in their pockets before setting out on their final search.

The electric lights were still on, but the brighter they burned, the more desolate and eerie the empty hall became—uncannily lonely and sinister. Now the entire hall had become the domain of hundreds upon hundreds of dolls. One could imagine them yawning stealthily or exchanging whispers when unwatched.

Amidst them, the two humans walking through alone seemed instead to be watched and judged by the crowd of dolls, an uncanny sensation creeping over them. If one stared closely, each and every doll—in their frozen poses—appeared to breathe stealthily and even blink.

Had someone asked them about the thief's whereabouts, they might have answered, "Look, isn't he right there?" Young Kobayashi, who had no experience in arrests, found himself utterly powerless against the creeping dread that welled up inside him, no matter how much he steeled himself. He gripped the pistol in his pocket and walked on, clinging close behind Akechi while relying on him for strength. Eventually, the two entered an area within the hall—the dimmest part—surrounded by towering rows of trees one had to look up at and bamboo thickets.

Precisely because it was artificial, it felt eerily more terrifying than a real forest. Moreover, from unexpected tree shadows, vivid doll heads would creepily peer out, creating the sensation of having strayed into a haunted mansion. Within that forest, Akechi—who had been walking ahead—suddenly halted to peer into the darkness beyond. The boy too jerked to a stop and, peering fearfully through the gloom, dimly perceived something strange standing in an unnatural position.

The area was unmistakably a stage for kabuki-inspired chrysanthemum dolls, yet inexplicably, an army officer doll—bundled in a winter coat and crowned with a fur-lined hood—stood leaning against a towering cedar tree. Though thinking *This is odd*, Akechi nevertheless assumed it couldn’t possibly be alive and tried to pass by nonchalantly—whereupon the officer doll jerked into motion like clockwork, blocking his path. In the blink of an eye, it seized his hand and abruptly pressed its lipless mouth to his ear, murmuring something.

Young Kobayashi shuddered and instinctively recoiled, but when he looked, the officer doll continued onward, fluttering like a breeze as it led the way. Akechi made no move to seize it and calmly followed behind. Though he couldn't make sense of anything, the boy—reassured by Akechi's calm demeanor—followed along regardless.

After proceeding a short distance, they came upon the eerie scene of the "Seigen-an Room." Amidst the towering cedar grove, in near-total darkness, stood a tattered, soot-stained hermitage. In the overgrown garden before it, the Princess Sakura doll crouched with a pale, terrified expression as if frightened by something, only her face illuminated by the dim electric lights. The officer doll stopped in front of Princess Sakura. In the darkness, his faint shadow could barely be discerned raising its right hand to point at something.

The eerie flickering of the very dim electric lights was also partly to blame. This was likely due to how exceptionally well-made the doll was. The face of Princess Sakura, terrified by Seigen's ghost, looked as though it were truly alive. No—to be more precise—it bore an uncanny resemblance to the deathly visage of an actual human. This was not mere terror. It was the agonized visage of death throes. It was the expression of a woman at the very instant of her brutal murder. Young Kobayashi had seen something terrifying—a suffocating feeling of anguish as though his heart were rising into his throat. So overwhelming was the terror that even reporting this discovery to Akechi felt daunting.

The torso of the kneeling Princess Sakura doll was completely wrapped in chrysanthemum leaves, but there was something about its appearance that differed from the other dolls. The surface was not smooth. The torn chrysanthemum branches were clumsily draped over it—in some areas terribly densely packed, while in others as sparse as a balding scalp, riddled with gaps. From those gaps, something carmine-colored glimmered intermittently. It was indeed the fabric of Western-style clothing. It was strange that the doll was meticulously dressed in Western-style clothing beneath its chrysanthemum garment.

No, that wasn’t all. From beneath Princess Sakura’s voluminous jet-black wig peeked the reddish-brown hair of a modern girl.

"Could it be that the fiend killed Ms. Fumiyo and skillfully disguised her as a doll?" Young Kobayashi felt as though he were tormented by a nightmare. There was no reason for a chrysanthemum doll to wear Western-style clothing beneath its chrysanthemums or conceal hair of a different color under its wig. Moreover, that clothing was precisely the same shade as Ms. Fumiyo's outdoor wear.

The boy, in extreme terror, grabbed Akechi’s arm while staring at the doll with eyes glued. Akechi had, of course, perceived his distress, but at that moment, he had discovered something far more critical that left him no room to address Young Kobayashi’s terror. Where the strange officer doll was pointing, in the depths of the hermitage stage’s darkness, a white-paper lantern stood faintly visible. That lantern was now gradually transforming into something else entirely.

It was easy to imagine that this was the mirror-based trick often used in haunted house attractions. One might have expected the white-paper lantern to fade into Seigen’s ghost—but...

As the lantern began to dimly fade into haze, there emerged a person’s face—faintly visible—but...! The disguise was unmistakably Seigen. His wildly disheveled hair and mouse-gray attire undoubtedly matched the Seigen familiar from the stage. Even so, Seigen should have had lips. On the face of the person who had just appeared, there were no lips. He looked exactly like a skeleton.

Ah, what a hiding place this was! 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 grove. The idea of likening Fumiyo to Princess Sakura and disguising himself as Seigen bore a bone-chilling exhibition of the criminal’s warped pride. “Move without making a sound. Approach stealthily.” “Take the pistol.” “But don’t shoot.”

Akechi brought his mouth close to Young Kobayashi’s ear and whispered in a barely audible voice.

The two crossed over the fence and entered into the bamboo thicket.

The opponent was reflected in the mirror. They couldn’t quite tell where the real one was located. On the other hand, there was the advantage that the opponent could not see their dimly lit situation from that side. They only needed to be careful about sound. The lips-less Seigen advanced, eerily floating in midair and drifting weightlessly closer. Acrobatic feat. As they advanced through the darkness, they came upon a pitch-black, large box-like object just before reaching the mirror. The thief was standing inside that box, appearing and disappearing on the surface of the mirror due to the automatic flashing of electric lights.

The enemy was standing immediately before their eyes, separated only by a single wooden plank of the box. He was a rat in a trap.

However, at that critical moment, something terribly clumsy occurred. Young Kobayashi, unaccustomed to such situations, tripped over something and leaned slightly against the black box.

He hadn’t made any noise, but the box shifted ever so slightly. The thief, with nerves honed to a razor's edge, could not have failed to notice that. No sooner had the shadow of the monster reflected in the mirror moved unnaturally than the real terrifying face peeked out from the gap between the mirror and the box. In the blink of an eye, the black box swayed unsteadily and came crashing down before Akechi. The bamboo thicket flared into brightness. The box had fallen face-up, exposing the electric light that had been rigged inside.

Akechi was struck on the shoulder by the corner of the box and staggered involuntarily. In that instant, the monster lunged at Young Kobayashi in a single bound. At the same moment—as Kobayashi lay tumbled over—he must have pulled the trigger: a bang...the sound of a pistol. The monster didn't flinch in the slightest. Far from recoiling, it clamped down on Kobayashi's right hand, snatched the pistol, and brandishing the weapon, began shuffling backward toward the passageway. Akechi immediately regained his footing and tried to pursue the thief. But seeing the still-smoking pistol barrel and the thief's desperate expression as he waved it menacingly, he found himself unable to approach recklessly or draw the pistol from his own pocket.

While [Akechi] hesitated, the monster cleanly pulled out the Princess Sakura doll from its chrysanthemum garment and tucked it under his arm. In that moment, the wig fell off, revealing—as expected—the Western-style hair of a modern girl. The clothing was crimson, identical to Fumiyo’s outdoor attire. “Ah, it’s Ms. Fumiyo!”

Young Kobayashi’s cry. And then—another dreadful pistol shot. The thief fired a single warning shot and, leaping over the fence, vanished into the darkness of the cedar grove along the passageway. It all happened in an instant.

Needless to say, Akechi immediately pursued the thief. But the location was a dim cedar grove, and beyond it stretched an elaborately arranged chrysanthemum doll stage. There were indeed countless hiding places and escape routes. Where had the monster vanished? There was no trace of him. The strange officer doll from earlier 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 the intricately decorated location, there was no chance of finding him quickly.

However, no matter how much he fled and hid, it was certain that the thief could not take a single step out of the building. Because every possible exit had been left under strict guard.

The search was persistently continued. They flipped over papier-mâché rocks, pried up planked floors, and scoured every conceivable hiding place.

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

“Hey! Hey!” The one shouting at the top of his voice was Young Kobayashi. When everyone rushed over to see what had happened, drawn by the voice, they found Kobayashi standing in the dimly lit corridor outside the chrysanthemum doll stage, repeatedly pointing at the ceiling and muttering deliriously,

“Ms. Fumiyo! Ms. Fumiyo!”

he muttered deliriously.

From there, the interior of the enormous domed ceiling was fully visible, but something dangling from the radial steel framework supporting that ceiling appeared faintly hazy and small. It was unmistakably a human. And what's more, a woman in Western attire. To create the illusion of a blue sky over the entire chrysanthemum doll stage, a single expanse of sky-blue cloth had been stretched taut, so while there were no direct light beams, a faintly bluish, mist-like glow blurred the enormous domed ceiling like some uncanny dreamscape.

Staring fixedly at the outrageously large steel framework spreading out radially like umbrella ribs made one feel dizzyingly lightheaded. The tremendous height and vastness evoked an indescribable terror.

Near the top of that steel framework, a Western-clad woman dangled like a bean-sized speck.

From the color of the Western-style clothing, it was immediately clear that 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 a dizzying height and forced her into performing a hair-raising acrobatic feat. But why had he come up with such an absurd idea? To carry a single person up to such a height was no ordinary task. Why did he have to go through such a needless effort?

At the top of the domed ceiling was a gaping round hole, outside of which a separate small roof had been attached in the shape of a tower. In other words, it was a type of ventilation hole.

The thief might have attempted to take Ms. Fumiyo out through that ventilation hole onto the roof. What he intended to do after taking her out was beyond our comprehension, but seeing Ms. Fumiyo dangling there like that, we could think of no other explanation. Since the thief had gone to the trouble of trying to carry her out, Ms. Fumiyo was not killed. She had merely lost consciousness temporarily. If that were not the case, even the most beautiful girl would be a corpse and thus of no use.

The entire group of pursuers generally grasped the situation in that manner.

But it was impossible to fathom the thief’s reasoning—why he had gone to the trouble of carrying her all the way up there only to abandon his objective midway. “The thief had left Ms. Fumiyo hanging there and was resting from his fatigue. Because I shouted at that moment, he got startled, left Ms. Fumiyo as she was, and fled all by himself.” Young Kobayashi panted heavily as he explained.

“Where?” “Outside onto the roof?”

One of the police officers shouted.

“Yes. He crawled out through that round hole.” “Is there no one who will climb up there and rescue the lady?” The leading police officer turned to the pursuers and barked.

Among the pursuers were two or three stagehands who regularly worked at Kokugikan Hall. “I’ll give it a shot!” A spirited figure in a workman’s coat pushed through the crowd and stepped forward—in the blink of an eye, he was scaling a nearby pillar, leaping from its top to the steel framework, and commencing a splendid acrobatic display. Had Akechi been present at the scene, he surely would have stopped this craftsman, but for some time now, he had vanished without a trace. The police officers and even Young Kobayashi, in their frenzy, failed to notice it at all.

The young man rapidly climbed to the middle of the long steel framework, but perhaps finally exhausted, he gradually began to slow his pace. No wonder.

That area was now a perilous spot—so steeply inverted that crawling along it was akin to scaling a ceiling.

At that moment, a terrifying thing occurred.

From the round ventilation hole at the top, a small face peeked fleetingly. As if a snake were peering out from between stone walls, raising its coiled head.

It was the thief. He had remained right above the ventilation hole, observing the situation. Overwhelmed by the sheer eeriness, the crowd couldn't help but involuntarily let out a startled "Ah!" The serpent-headed monster's face would flicker into view only to retreat, then appear again only to vanish once more. If that face—the lipless face—could have been shown in a close-up like in a motion picture, it would surely have been all the more terrifying; but fortunately, it was at such a dizzyingly high distance. Only a faint white something flickered in and out of sight.

But the thief had a ranged weapon. Taking aim at the ascending young man and shooting him down would have been a simple matter. “Hey, be careful! He’s watching from above! Watch out for the pistol!” When someone bellowed, their voice echoed tremendously through the domed ceiling, fading away with a “Whoo-oo, whoo-oo.” The young man glanced down briefly but, with a look that seemed to say “What’s the fuss?”, kept climbing upward. Inch by inch, the distance to Ms. Fumiyo closed until he finally drew near enough to reach her.

The monster was no longer showing its face, but if the young man were to lay hands on Ms. Fumiyo’s body, it might be lying in wait outside the pitch-black hole, ready to shoot him dead in an instant. The reckless craftsman paid no heed to such concerns; entwining his legs around the steel framework in the manner of an Edo-period fireman’s ladder acrobat, he released both hands and snatched Ms. Fumiyo from mid-air.

Ah! At any moment—any moment now—wouldn’t there be a bang of a pistol, and the young man holding Ms. Fumiyo twist through the air and plummet dozens of yards to the ground below? The crowd gripped their sweaty hands, held their breath, and stared up at the ceiling until their necks ached.

As expected, from the round hole at the top, the monster’s upper body slid into view upside down. Its right hand gradually extended downward. At the tip of that hand was a pistol. Though too far to see clearly, from the arm’s posture, they could tell it was that.

“Ah! A pistol!” “Look out!”

An involuntary cry rose in unison. The young man, noticing this, indeed seemed startled; still dangling from the steel framework, he writhed violently—then, ah! What recklessness!—he thrust Ms. Fumiyo’s body toward the thief like a shield. At the same moment, Bang… echoed through the domed ceiling—the report of a pistol. “Aghh!”

Such a terrifying scream.

The crowd jolted in shock and involuntarily averted their faces. But they could not look away. The more terrifying it became, the more their eyes were naturally drawn in that direction.

They saw something plummeting with a whoosh, slicing through the air like an arrow. It was red. It was Ms. Fumiyo. The pitiable girl spun round and round, accelerating with each moment until she became like a red rod, struck the blue cloth-covered ceiling of the chrysanthemum doll display, and—as if she were a cannonball—shattered through it with a sickening splash. “It’s a pool! “She fell into the pool!” Someone shouted and was already rushing down the stairs toward it. The entire group noisily followed suit.

In the air, the young craftsman remained hanging from the steel framework, unharmed. He showed no signs of injury. Startled by the pistol, he had dropped the crucial Ms. Fumiyo. When they looked at the monster, it was still sticking its face out upside down, glaring at the young man, and its eerie guffawing could faintly be heard. The brave young man, enraged by his unexpected blunder, showed no intention of fleeing; instead, with terrifying ferocity, he charged fiercely toward the monster.

The people on the ground ran down the stairs and poured from the hallway into the chrysanthemum doll displays. They ran frustratingly through the bent passageway and hurried to the spot where Ms. Fumiyo was believed to have fallen. In the center of the venue, an artificial waterfall was constructed, followed by a shallow pool at its basin. The spot where Ms. Fumiyo had fallen was exactly in that vicinity. As they ran along the maze-like, winding narrow path toward it—running and running yet never escaping—they felt as though they were floundering through that clinging nightmare from which they could not break free.

The murderer's incredible feat of climbing the domed ceiling while clutching his victim. It wasn't an impossible feat. But what an outrageous, beyond-imagination idea this was. Even more bizarre was the sight of a beautiful girl dangling from the very top of the domed ceiling—and then being tossed down like some trivial item and flattened into a pancake. It was like a lunatic's dream. They wanted to burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The crowd could not believe what their own eyes had just clearly witnessed. They couldn't help but feel there must have been some outrageous mistake.

At last, they arrived at their destination—the pool. And then, seeing the very thing they had thought utterly impossible actually occurring there before their eyes, they froze in shock, as though only now realizing the reality of it. The artificial waterfall was no longer flowing because they had stopped the motor. A death-like stillness; an artificial gorge arranged with profound depth; tin-crafted bizarre rocks and crags; shadows of ancient trees with intertwined branches—there, a black pool without a single ripple eerily reflected the silence.

In the center of the pool, with her pale face turned upward, Ms. Fumiyo’s corpse floated quietly. Her crimson dress had spread open like a sinister lotus flower; her smooth, translucent arms visible beneath the black water, her hair drifting like mysterious seaweed—a beautiful, gloomy oil painting of a scene. When they suddenly glanced toward one bank, a solitary figure stood upon a large black rock, seemingly concealed within the thicket of trees.

A beautiful woman wearing a khaki-colored military uniform and a winter coat. Since she had removed her hood, her abundant hair and beautiful face were fully exposed. The true identity of that bizarre military officer doll was none other than this beautiful girl. She stood pale with closed eyes, appearing to mourn the woman’s corpse floating in the pool. This figure too made for a bizarre element in the scene.

Because she remained completely still, the people did not notice her presence for some time. In this venue filled with dolls, motionless people were often mistaken for dolls. But among them, only Kobayashi Shōnen (as mentioned earlier, Akechi Kogoro was not present there) saw the woman in the military uniform. Ah, he realized the military officer doll from earlier was there, and now he clearly saw its beautiful face, fully exposed.

“Ah! Ms. Fumiyo. “It’s Ms. Fumiyo!” His face flushed crimson with joy, he suddenly rushed toward the woman in the military uniform. “Oh, Mr. Kobayashi!”

The girl snapped open her eyes at the voice, recognized the boy, spread both arms as if to embrace him, and cried out. “You were alive!” “Yes, I’m very much alive!” “I thought so too. I thought there was no way a guy like that could get you.” The two of them rejoiced in their unexpected reunion beneath the ancient trees atop the bizarre rocks of this artificial grand canyon, like siblings who had been searching for each other.

The crowd was utterly dumbfounded by this bizarre spectacle. They had no idea what was going on at all. One of the hall staff members, puzzled, splashed across the shallow pool and went to examine the female corpse they had believed to be Fumiyo. “What the... This thing’s a doll, I tell ya! Look, you see? It’s the dance mannequin that was adorning Stage Six!” He grabbed the corpse’s neck and twisted it around and around to demonstrate. How had Ms. Fumiyo been replaced with a doll? How on earth had the culprit and everyone else mistaken it for the real thing?

The fact that Ms. Fumiyo had switched the anesthetic-soaked white cloth from the thief's pocket with a water-dampened handkerchief and left it there was as previously described. In his frenzy, the thief failed to notice this at all; assuming Ms. Fumiyo had been anesthetized, he conceived this madcap trick of fashioning her unconscious form into the Princess Sakura doll. And while the thief himself was entering that box before the mirror to disguise himself as the Seigen doll, Ms. Fumiyo—who had in fact remained fully conscious—quietly slipped out from Princess Sakura's body, fetched a dance mannequin that had been displayed on a nearby stage, dressed it in her own Western clothes, placed Princess Sakura's wig upon it, buried it within the chrysanthemum costume, and made it serve as her substitute. Inside the box, the thief who had been playing the role of Seigen had never dreamed such a thing could happen and remained completely unaware of it.

Ms. Fumiyo was a female detective. She wasn’t one to simply flee as she was. She had run to the Battle of Liaoyang stage set, hidden a military officer doll behind a rock, stripped off its coat to disguise herself as a female officer, concealed herself in the grove of ancient cedars before Seigen-an’s chamber, and kept watch on the thief. It was at this moment that Akechi and Kobayashi Shōnen arrived, sparking a commotion with gunfire that forced the thief to flee. Yet he could not bear to abandon Ms. Fumiyo—whom he had worked so hard to claim as his prize—and so ran off with the Princess Sakura doll tucked under his arm, unaware it had already been turned back into a mere doll.

Although he had realized it was a dummy halfway through, this time he decided to turn the tables and use it to shock his pursuers. Since it was a lightweight doll, he effortlessly carried it up the steel frame, dangled it from the summit, and mocked the people below. Thus, that was how it happened.

And now, the stage shifts once more to the domed ceiling above. Having been completely fooled by Ms. Fumiyo’s dummy and even getting shot at with bullets, the young craftsman—after all, he was notoriously reckless—let out a “Damn it!” and, fully aware that his opponent wielded projectile weapons, charged ferociously toward the thief. At the round opening at the summit, the thief’s figure was no longer visible. He must have abandoned his precarious upside-down position and fled onto the broad domed roof.

The young man proceeded smoothly across the dizzying steel frame—a structure that would make even an acrobat tremble—and crawled out through the summit’s hole onto the roof.

A large spherical dome with a gentle slope. The footing was now secure. “Bring it on!” he braced himself and looked around, but the thief’s figure was nowhere to be seen—where could he have hidden? The illumination outlining the roof was bright, but since it shone upward from below eye level, it flickered and made distant objects impossible to discern.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. A bullet sliced through the night air, grazing past his ear. "You bastard!" The young man, in his frenzy, braced to lunge toward it—but then froze. A short distance ahead, a figure in Western clothes crawled like some monstrous serpent, dragging itself clumsily across the dome. "Grah!"

He lunged at him in a single bound.

On the vast spherical dome, two masses of flesh tangled in a deathly frenzy.

“Bastard! Bastard!”

A cry of rage rose through the dark night. Leaving that howl suspended high in the air, the two entangled men rolled across the domed roof—slowly at first, then accelerating until they hurtled bullet-swift through the wind and plunged over the edge before one could gasp. And strangest of all—as if compounding this utter weirdness—there seemed still another figure remaining on the roof, for from behind the plummeting pair came a raucous, ghastly laugh that reverberated through the blackness.

Flying Demon

Though it was late at night, trams and automobiles were still coming and going along the main street in front of Kokugikan Hall; nearby shops were conducting business under brightly lit electric lights; and there was no shortage of people coming and going on the sidewalks.

The sight of police officers maintaining strict surveillance at the entrance to the chrysanthemum doll display, along with unusual figures rushing about inside the hall—naturally, this could not help but draw the attention of passersby. Before anyone realized it, a crowd had formed in front of Kokugikan Hall—first just one or two people gathering, then more joining until it became a teeming mass. Then came resounding shouts of abuse from the high domed roof above. From the very sky they had just looked up at in shock rained down a tangle of grappling human bodies. "Aaaah!" As the screams rose, the more faint-hearted among them shrieked and tried to flee, causing the human tide to surge chaotically left and right.

Had the two men who fell from the roof landed directly on the ground, they would undoubtedly have been killed; however, that building had complex protrusions beneath its roof. They fell onto one of those protrusions while still grappling together.

They had survived. However, they had no strength to suddenly get up. Both of them remained collapsed there, with only shouts of "Bastard! Bastard!" raining down between them. 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. To the swarming spectators below, though they could not see the figures of the men, the sound of their mutual cursing made it clear that the two were still engaged in their perilous struggle. Voices crying "It's dangerous! It's dangerous!" surged like a storm.

Before long, word of this spread throughout the hall, and the group that came rushing out in a stampede were the police officers, staff members, craftsmen, and others who had been chasing the thief inside earlier. Among them were Ms. Fumiyo, strangely dressed in a military uniform, and the boy Kobayashi. A long ladder was brought out from inside the hall and placed against the shelf-like area where the two men were fighting. Two or three craftsmen scrambled up the ladder in a race to be first and subdued the two men who were still locked in combat.

One was undoubtedly the brave young man from earlier; the other should have been the thief. However, strangely enough, it was the thief who— “Bastard! Bastard!” —angrily berated the young man. As for the young man—where had all his earlier vigor gone?—he lay completely limp, submitting to the other’s tirade. “Hey! What’s wrong with you?”

When they poked his back and asked, the young man replied in a disappointed tone, “That person isn’t the thief. It’s our ally, Mr. Akechi. That’s what I’ve only just realized now.” He groaned.

Indeed, now that it was mentioned, there was no mistaking him—this was Detective Akechi who until moments ago had been leading the pursuit inside the hall. "The thief should still be on the roof! Capture him at once!" Akechi grimaced as he barked orders.

“Because this man made a colossal blunder, my plan has been completely ruined.”

It was no wonder Akechi had been cursing, “Bastard! Bastard!” All his carefully laid plans—to single-handedly ambush the enemy from behind and capture the thief on the roof—had gone completely awry. At that point, even as they helped Akechi and the young man down, a large-scale search of the roof was conducted by gathering the most agile individuals. Those who were free kept watch inside and outside the hall at all places where the thief might descend, without leaving the slightest gap. But the thief was nowhere to be found. Yet another inscrutable mystery occurred.

The large-scale search continued until midnight, but it yielded no results. In the end, they decided to leave the guards in place and wait for dawn.

Now, when dawn broke, it was discovered that the thief had been hiding in a truly unexpected place. There had been suspicions that he had vanished into thin air—and vanished into thin air he truly had. He had hidden himself not on the roof, but higher still—in the vast sky above. 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. Akechi Kogoro had sustained a bruise near his shoulder when he fell from the roof, making it impossible for him to continue his activities, so Ms. Fumiyo and the boy Kobayashi accompanied him and temporarily retreated to the office.

Though unexpected interference had allowed the thief to escape, they had managed to wrest Ms. Fumiyo back from his clutches—which meant they had achieved half their objective.

Now, at the scene, when night had broken and the sky above the dome began to lighten, the thief’s hiding place was already discovered.

As they realized how utterly the darkness of night had blinded them, the people could not help but feel grateful for the sun now more than ever. The thief who had been so thoroughly searched for yet remained undiscovered was now found with absurd ease at just a glance in the light of dawn.

Even so, what an outlandish hiding place it was! The people had never imagined that the thief would attempt to flee to a place higher than the roof. Carelessly, they had overlooked that.

Kokugikan Hall, with its enormous domed roof serving as a splendid landmark, had no real need for such a thing, but the publicity-loving manager had opted to use an advertising balloon in place of a signboard. The airship-shaped balloon was moored high in the sky above the domed roof, its large body bearing the four characters "Chrysanthemum Grand Exhibition" dyed black to remain visible even from great distances.

The thick hemp rope connecting the balloon ran straight up into the sky from the ground behind the hall, following the edge of the domed roof. The thief climbed up the hemp rope from the roof and ascended to that advertising balloon. From all four sides of the balloon’s belly, numerous thin ropes gathered like those of a kite and connected to the thick rope leading from the ground. At the center of these thin ropes, lying comfortably as if in a hammock, was the thief.

Ah, what an outlandish hiding place! Since the establishment of the police force, this monster must undoubtedly have been the first criminal to escape into the sky.

According to what we knew, this thief should have been wearing prosthetic limbs. With that supposedly disabled body of his—one that could even crawl through Kokugikan Hall's ceiling spaces—how had he managed to climb that long rope high into the sky? Presumably, to prevent his true identity—the one preceding his hideous transformation—from being exposed, and to make his entire physique appear as someone else's, the criminal must have concealed his healthy limbs beneath counterfeit prosthetic devices.

Be that as it may, in the blink of an eye, the area in front of Kokugikan Hall had formed a terrifying crowd twice the size of the previous night’s. No grand sumo tournament, no spectacle could ever draw such a crowd at this early hour. Moreover, the crowd was growing larger by the moment.

The police squad assembled at the balloon mooring station behind the hall.

There, a large wheel-like tool for winding the rope was installed. Several police officers attached themselves to both ends and, with a "Yo-heave-ho! Yo-heave-ho!", turned the wheel. An inch, two inches, a foot, two feet—the balloon in the sky, pulled by the winding rope, gradually began its descent. The crowd on the front side noticed this and rejoiced, raising a triumphant cry of "Serves you right!"

“What a fool he is. “If he climbs up there, he’s bound to be spotted, and once spotted, he’ll surely be pulled down, don’t you think? “Look, soon enough, you’ll be dragged down without any fuss at all.”

The spectators, relishing the unanticipated spectacle, jeered in unison at the thief’s foolish act. The police officers and hall staff alike shared this conviction. They had become certain the thief might as well have been arrested already. Yet it soon became clear that this complacent assumption had been a grievous error. The thief still retained one final desperate recourse.

The rope crept shorter inch by inch. The thief clinging to the balloon was being reeled in, foot by foot, foot by foot, into the enemy's grasp—whether he willed it or not. The monster remained perfectly still; he showed no signs of panic or agitation. Viewed from below, it even seemed he might have been utterly exhausted from his all-night activities and fallen fast asleep. But of course he was not sleeping; just like the police officers working themselves into a sweat to bring down the balloon, he too was toiling away diligently. Unnoticed by the people below, he kept moving his right hand ceaselessly, continuing his task.

It was a life-and-death race: whether the balloon would reach the ground first or he would finish his bizarre task. The balloon appeared not to move, yet before anyone knew it, it had drawn near to twice its original size above the crowd’s heads. As the distance closed, the pale brown giant monster seemed to swell up steadily, steadily.

At last, it was finally pulled down until it grazed the edge of the domed roof. They had him now. Poor thing—what must the thief be feeling now? In the hearts of the crowd, even a faint sympathy welled up—like watching a mouse caught in a trap.

“Ah! What’s that bastard doing?!” Finally, a police officer noticed the thief’s bizarre movements and shouted.

“He’s moving his right hand frantically. Something’s glinting there.”

“A knife! He’s cutting the rope with a knife!”

“Oh no! Hurry, hurry! Before he cuts the rope—…” The police officers looked up at the balloon that had drawn near and shouted in unison. When they heard this, the people working the winding mechanism exerted even greater force, quickened their pace, and hauled in the rope. The balloon struck the edge of the roof and swayed gently. The thief’s hammock shook violently. At the same moment, the last remaining fiber of the thick rope snapped, and the balloon, like a madman, violently shaking its rear, soared into the vast sky.

With a sudden jolt, the winding mechanism spun wildly with tremendous force, and several police officers attached to it were flung off—some struck by the falling rope and tumbled. “Aaaah!” The ascending roar; not even the most splendid fireworks of the river-opening festival could rival this fantastical balloon spectacle. Tokyo citizens, already in an uproar, were nearly in a frenzy as they applauded the phantom thief’s daring acrobatics. The rumor spread like a gale through the streets, and with spectators rushing in droves, both sides of Ryogoku Bridge were thronged with an out-of-season crowd rivaling a river-opening festival.

As far as the eye could see, every roof was densely packed with people. With no wind to hinder it, the thief's balloon shot straight upward, rapidly climbing higher. Before their eyes it shrank smaller and smaller until it resembled a child's toy rubber balloon, finally disappearing into the low-hanging white clouds.

The ones delighted by this prime absurdity were the tabloid reporters. At that, they grabbed their camera equipment, and the automobile sped off toward Kokugikan Hall. Some rushed to Akechi’s apartment; others dashed to the Hatayanagi residence to record statements.

After all, the opponent was an unprecedented fiend who had brutally murdered several young women and encased them in plaster. That bastard had soared into the heavens in a balloon. In all the world, could there ever be another incident as sensational as this? “A plane! Chase him with a plane!”

Everyone had thought of that.

What a magnificent action-packed drama this was! Just imagining it made their hearts leap.

And indeed, the airplane took off. The Metropolitan Police Department, to their credit, exercised restraint and did not resort to such measures, but a certain newspaper company, eager to cater to public sentiment, jumped the gun and dispatched its own airplane. The tabloid reporter who boarded that airplane may not have intended to capture the thief but rather to take interview notes from the popular "Balloon Man" amidst the clouds in the vast sky. Through the first radio news broadcast of the day, this incident was reported not only in Tokyo but across the entire nation.

“The balloon carrying the thief finally vanished into the clouds…”

With that single line from the announcer, radio listeners across the nation were jolted. An event like something from a dream or fairy tale. Since this wasn’t a radio drama but a serious news report from a government-regulated broadcasting station, one couldn’t help being astonished. Wherever two people gathered, talk turned to the Balloon Man. Even those in the Yamanote district gazed up at the empty sky, wondering if they might spot the balloon. Country folk too—the impatient sort—caused such commotion that they boarded trains and surged toward Ryogoku Station just to catch a glimpse of it.

It wasn’t as though the criminal had planned from the very beginning to escape into the sky. Because he was surrounded by pursuers on all sides, he fled to the roof. When even that roof became precarious, as a last resort, he finally resorted to climbing up the balloon’s rope—a desperate stunt. This was no act of volition. For a criminal, he made for an exceedingly reluctant balloonist.

At the Metropolitan Police Department’s Criminal Affairs Division, the key leaders gathered to discuss countermeasures. Because the commotion was intense, everyone had grown quite tense, but upon reflection, the problem was extremely simple. There was no need to deploy airplanes. There was no need to bring out firearms. If they waited patiently, the thief would be caught on his own. Given that the advertising balloon’s gasbag was imperfect, it was only a matter of time before the gas would leak out, gradually causing it to descend and ultimately fall to the ground. All they needed was to ensure that when it did fall, preparations were made to prevent the thief from escaping.

By now, the rumor of the balloon thief had spread nationwide. No matter how desolate a place he landed in, he could not escape notice. He had become far too notorious to slip away unnoticed. For the police, as long as they had issued directives to every station in the neighboring prefectures, the thief was as good as captured. Thus, they resolved to patiently await the balloon’s descent. Meanwhile, an airplane from a certain newspaper company—bathed in the cheers of crowds lining both banks of the Sumida River and citizens swarming rooftops across the vicinity—soared high above Kokugikan Hall like a swallow, its gallant figure disappearing into the clouds. Yet after ten-odd minutes, it was seen returning fruitlessly.

Newspaper reporters were not cowboys from Westerns, so they couldn't perform such stunts as lassoing the balloon thief from an airplane. If they were to do something like shoot down the balloon, they would be murderers.

So, what exactly had he been doing in the clouds... When the airplane broke through the thin clouds and emerged into the upper sky, there floated a dreamlike advertising balloon, starkly visible against the expanse. Having climbed to its maximum altitude, it now drifted languidly across a sea of clouds at the wind's whim. Pointing their cameras first was second nature to newspaper reporters. Even mid-flight, this habit held firm. They clicked off several shots—wide angles here, close-ups there—each precisely timed to the airplane's position with mechanical efficiency.

For newspaper reporters, this alone was a remarkable feat, but once they had taken the photographs, they turned toward the thief and began shouting loudly. Drowned out by the propeller's roar, they couldn't tell if their voices reached him, but they shouted regardless. "Hey! Even if you keep that up, the gas'll leak naturally and you'll come down for sure!" "Aren't you sleepy?" "Aren't you hungry?" "Rather than suffering like that, stab the gasbag with your knife and get down already!"

They kept shouting such things in fragmented bursts, over and over again.

But was the thief dead or alive? Clinging to the balloon hammock, he remained utterly motionless. The shouts could not be heard; there was no sign of a response. Had he pushed his reckless bravado to its absolute limit?

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

“Balloon Man” “The Lip-less Murder Demon” “Corpses of Young Women Encased in Plaster Statues” The attention-grabbing large headlines simultaneously provoked extreme disgust in discerning readers and sent the morbidly curious rubberneckers into wild delight. The impassioned fact that an utterly preposterous, grotesque novel was now being enacted in this very Tokyo sent them into raptures.

But that was a tale for later; the scene returned once more to the skies above Ryogoku.

Several hours after the balloon had vanished into the clouds, just past noon that day, the phenomenon anticipated by the Metropolitan Police Department executives came to pass. The defective balloon, like a cheap air pillow, began to grow heavier as gas leaked out from some unknown place.

And what broke through the clouds once more to reveal itself to the world below was the sky above the downstream Sumida River, near Kiyosu Bridge. Carried by the north wind that had begun blowing around that time, it had indeed drifted far from the skies above Kokugikan Hall before anyone knew it. The balloon descended toward the ground as if being hauled down by a rope. In the blink of an eye, a massive crowd formed throughout the surrounding area, centered on Hamacho Park. It was the exact same commotion as when the Zeppelin had arrived.

Amidst the battering north wind, the crowd’s voices roaring “Waaah! Waaah!”, and racing clouds, the balloon was swept sideways. By the time its massive form neared twenty meters above ground, it had already drifted south past Eitai Bridge into Shinagawa Bay.

“At this rate, before it falls into the water, it’ll get all the way to Odaiba or thereabouts.” The people clustered on the rooftops discussed among themselves.

The waiting police squad boarded the Water Police Station’s launch and raced down the Sumida River with the wind. A phantom balloon flying through the sky, a police launch cutting through the water. A truly bizarre chase had begun. The balloon crossed Tsukishima and headed toward Odaiba, while the launch passed beneath Aioi Bridge into Shinagawa Bay. The wind grew ever fiercer, and the balloon became a giant bullet. No matter how swift the launch was, the airborne balloon traveled in a straight line while the waterway twisted and turned, so the distance between them rapidly widened.

Aboard the launch from the very beginning was Inspector Tsunekawa—the Metropolitan Police Department’s celebrated detective involved in the Hatayanagi family case—serving as commanding officer. The absence of our Akechi Kogoro among the pursuers at this crucial moment felt deeply dissatisfying, but having sustained injuries during the rooftop skirmish, he lay groaning with fever in his apartment bed at that very hour—an unavoidable circumstance. In his place stood Inspector Tsunekawa, the renowned detective. The genius methods he had displayed across countless criminal cases were matters of public record. Moreover, the enemy now drifted pitifully across open waters—isolated and defenseless, with nowhere to hide—their sole reliance being a balloon bereft of buoyancy. There was no need to trouble Inspector Tsunekawa; apprehending them would prove simpler than twisting an infant’s wrist.

The launch left Tsukishima and ventured out into the open sea. When they looked, the thief’s balloon continued flying perilously close to the choppy surface over the sea five or six hundred meters ahead. “Hey, you! That fellow in the balloon hasn’t turned into a doll without us noticing, has he?”

Inspector Tsunekawa glanced at a detective beside him and blurted out something absurd. It felt strange that this phantom thief could be captured so easily—he’d had his fill of the puppeteer’s sorcery. But that was impossible. A doll couldn’t cut ropes, and they could clearly see the thief writhing beneath the balloon. Nor was it a robot; no doll could move like that.

Sea Fire The two men exchanged glances and shared an indescribably bitter smile. "I must be out of my mind. I just can't handle that guy."

Inspector Tsunekawa looked slightly embarrassed.

It was perfectly clear that it wasn't a doll. To even entertain that "what if" stemmed from fear of his adversary. He couldn't afford to disgrace the name of the Demon Detective.

By the time they left the mouth of the Sumida River, the pursuing ships were no longer just a single police launch. Just as spectators would inevitably come running after a thief in town, so too on the water did three spectator motorboats appear from nowhere, vying with the police launch to be first as they plowed through the waves toward the thief’s balloon. Among them, one appeared to be a racing boat—small in build and absurdly fast. Even the police’s high-speed launch could not match this small boat and was rapidly overtaken.

Inside the boat was a single man in a black Western-style suit, hunched over like a jockey or bicycle racer, leaning against the handle and staring straight ahead without glancing at his surroundings.

“Damn it! That bastard’s absurdly fast!” The police launch driver tried for a while to race against them, but upon realizing he could not overtake them, muttered irritably.

“What is that guy? He can’t possibly be one of them, can he?” A detective grew suspicious. “No matter what, they wouldn’t attempt something so reckless! No matter how fast they are, it’s unthinkable that they could rescue the thief in such a small boat in this rough weather and get away with it… They’re just amateurs with meddlesome curiosity. Eager volunteers who enjoy helping the police and being praised. Whenever something happens, two or three of those types come rushing out.”

The old sergeant from the Water Police Station answered nonchalantly, deducing from years of experience.

The police launch, the assisting motorboat, and four speedboats in total charged forward like four sharp saws under the howling north wind, splitting the choppy seas in two.

Meanwhile, the thief’s balloon, having passed the first Odaiba, finally lost all buoyancy and floated on the water’s surface—its gas envelope now a soggy, wrinkled mass resembling the carcass of a giant octopus. At the moment of the crash, the thief who had been hanging below plunged into the water with a splash and was forced to swallow a mouthful of seawater, but after thrashing desperately, he finally surfaced and managed to cling to a corner of the drifting gas envelope.

He was utterly exhausted. He had been blown about from the roof into the sky for half a day, and the place he had fallen was atop raging waves. Most people would have long since lost consciousness, but this was a monster after all—it had not yet succumbed.

The gas envelope was thrust upward and pushed downward at the mercy of the waves, swaying violently like a swing. The effort required to cling to that slippery surface was no ordinary feat. The waves relentlessly crashed down. In that instant, his hand slipped, and he was swiftly swept about six feet away. He thrashed desperately before finally managing to cling to the gas envelope once more. This brutal cycle repeated itself countless times. Even this human-world monster proved wretched against nature's might.

But his greatest enemy was not the forces of nature alone. An even more terrifying foe was approaching—the pursuing boats had lined up their prows and were charging straight toward him. While battling the waves, he kept glancing back intermittently whenever he found an opening. Each time he glanced back, the enemy's vessel grew larger. The frantic roar of the engines also grew louder moment by moment.

However, he still had not given in. Continuing his grueling efforts that were painful to watch, he finally clambered atop the gas envelope, staggered to his feet on its flattened center, and audaciously braced himself to face the pursuing vessels. The distance between the police launch and the leading small motorboat had unknowingly widened to nearly two hundred meters. That abnormally zealous amateur pursuer now charged straight toward the phantom thief standing defiantly atop the balloon boat, with such speed that its bow threatened to leap skyward.

“Hey! Can’t you get any more speed out of this thing? Can’t you catch up to that boat?” Aboard the police launch, Inspector Tsunekawa barked irritably at the driver. All the police officers were seized by an indescribable unease. After all, wasn’t the man on that speedboat one of the thief’s accomplices? Wasn’t that reckless haste an attempt to outwit the police and rescue the thief? They couldn’t suppress the terrifying suspicion surging within them.

In the blink of an eye, the motorboat closed in on the thief. And when it was just one or two ken away—unable to close in as desired due to the waves—it could be seen being tossed about like a leaf. In the midst of this cycle—approached only to be repelled, approached only to be repelled—the boat’s bow collided with the drifting gas envelope, and in that instant, the thief nimbly leapt from it into the boat. Ah, just as they had feared. That boat was indeed an accomplice of the thief. Otherwise, there was no reason the thief would have leapt into it from his side.

“Ah, this is bad!” “Hurry! Hurry!” The police officers stamped their feet in frustration aboard the speeding launch.

But what was that? If they were accomplices, there would be no reason for them to grapple so fiercely. The moment the thief leapt aboard the boat, he suddenly lunged at the man in Western clothes at the helm. The other man was not about to lose either. He stood up to meet him, and in an instant, a fierce struggle erupted on the small boat.

A bizarre scuffle unfolded inside the narrow boat swaying like a swing. Grappling each other were two men clad in black Western suits. From their vantage point, precisely because they couldn't clearly distinguish thief from ally, their nerve-wracking suspense intensified further. The police launch too moved with extraordinary speed. In the blink of an eye, it closed in on the scene. Yet the struggle within the boat concluded even faster - resolved before they could process it. No sooner had one man been defeated and vanished beneath the hull than the victor abruptly crouched into the pilot's seat and seized control of the steering.

The victor could only be the thief. No one could imagine a hero brave enough to overpower that monster in single combat. The tenacious phantom thief was attempting to make his escape with that terrifying speed, turning the pursuers' own boat against them.

The boat had just started cutting through the waves when suddenly, a horrifying incident of unimaginable proportions occurred. No sooner had a flame like a signal fire flared up on the boat than a tremendous noise came echoing across the waves. Why such an absurd incident had occurred remained undetermined even afterward, but the metal gasoline tank had ignited and exploded with tremendous force.

Fire engulfed the entire boat.

Amidst those flames was the figure of the monster hastily plunging into the sea. Simultaneously, the boat shook violently and capsized.

Gasoline had spread across the entire sea. The people had never before or since witnessed such a bizarre yet beautiful spectacle. A sea fire. The raging waves turned into flames and blazed up. For a while, they could not approach the capsized boat, but before long, without a sound, the flames scattered across the sea like dispersing fireflies and vanished. When they looked, near the capsized boat was the figure of a person bobbing up and down. At the cry of “There!”, the police launch raced toward the scene.

It wasn’t clear whether the drowning figure was friend or foe, but in either case, they couldn’t just abandon them. They hurriedly brought the police launch closer, and with two or three men working together, pulled the person up. Who was it that had been pulled up? Was it that terrifying lip-less monster? No, that was not the case. But the moment he saw that face, Inspector Tsunekawa let out a shrill cry.

“Oh! This is that Miya fellow—the Hatayanagi household’s acquaintance.” “I’ve met him two or three times and know him well.” So, was the owner of that speedboat none other than young Miya—the one deeply involved in this case? Given that it was him, it was no wonder he had pursued the thief with such single-minded fervor.

Miya did not appear to have swallowed much water and soon regained consciousness through everyone’s care. “Ah! It was you, Inspector Tsunekawa. Thank you very much. I’m alright now. What about him? What happened to him?” The first thing he asked about was the criminal.

“He might have been killed in the explosion. We’re about to start searching now. But Mr. Miya, why did you outmaneuver us and do such a thing? If you had waited for our police launch, this wouldn’t have happened.” Because young Miya was unexpectedly composed, Inspector Tsunekawa inadvertently adopted a tone as if scolding him. “I’m sorry. He’s managed to slip away time and again at the last moment before, so I panicked thinking this time I absolutely couldn’t let him escape.”

"But instead, the thief leaped at you." “Yes. "I relied too much on my own physical strength. "I had no idea he was that strong. "I instantly took his blow and collapsed inside the boat. "After that, I don’t know anything. "As for the boat exploding, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“That might have been your good fortune. Since you knew nothing, when the boat capsized, you stayed submerged in the water and didn’t struggle around, so you avoided burns and didn’t swallow much seawater. The thief must have been gravely injured.”

Inspector Tsunekawa’s conjecture was immediately proven correct. At that very moment, the police officers who had been slowly maneuvering their boat and scouring the sea surface finally discovered the thief’s corpse. The corpse was immediately hauled up onto the police launch, but no matter how they tried to revive it, their efforts were in vain. Whether from the explosion or from thrashing about in the water during that time—the clothes were mercilessly charred and burns covered his limbs—but particularly his face had transformed into a visage so horrifying one could not bear to look twice.

“How unsettling...” “How on earth could it be burned so horribly?”

The people could not bear to look directly at that face. The face—already horrifying with its missing nose and lips—had been further scorched and melted into a grotesque mess, 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 realization as he leaned over the corpse, staring intently at its ghastly visage for a while before abruptly reaching out and pressing against its cheek. No sooner had he pressed down than he let go in surprise, and at the same time, an expression of profound shock appeared on his face.

“What in the world is this? We may have been thoroughly duped by the thief.”

Having said that, he looked around at everyone.

The people could not comprehend its meaning and could only blink their eyes repeatedly.

“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 horrifying face, but as they continued gazing, they gradually began to comprehend the meaning of Inspector Tsunekawa’s peculiar words.

But could such a thing really be possible? It was an idea far too grotesque. Unnoticed, the entire sky had become shrouded in mouse-gray storm clouds, and the police launch rocked ceaselessly—almost rhythmically—on the churning waves like the pendulum of a giant clock. When one looked out, as far as the eye could see, black waves moved persistently like countless monster heads.

The horrifying visage of the corpse lying in that boat—unthinkable as belonging to this world. With the thief’s fantastical escape since morning and the unending string of bizarre events, people felt as though they were trapped in some grotesque nightmare. They felt an indescribable terror, so intense that greasy sweat oozed from their pores. Inspector Tsunekawa resolutely placed both hands on the thief’s face and, mustering his strength, peeled off the skin with a sickening crunch. The grotesque monster’s face peeled away with eerie slowness.

Ah, what brutality—to strip the skin from a face as if flaying a cow, even if it was a corpse.

The people started and involuntarily closed their eyes. Because they imagined that from beneath the peeled skin, black blood would gush forth and raw, unsightly red flesh would appear. However, there was no flowing blood, nor did any flesh appear. What emerged from beneath the grotesque surface was an entirely different face—another visage altogether. In other words, the burned, lipless face was none other than an exquisitely crafted wax mask. Even after realizing it was a waxwork, people couldn’t help but wonder how such a thing had managed to deceive the public for so long.

However, the art of wax craftsmanship in our country had advanced far beyond what one might imagine. The fact that wax dolls in show windows appeared truly lifelike and that wax-crafted confections and fruits were indistinguishable from real ones spoke to the uncanny nature of wax—a substance capable of transforming into anything. In fact, there were even instances where actors used wax masks—exact replicas of their own faces—to frequently perform dual roles on stage.

“This is the thief’s true form. The one who’s been terrifying us all this time with that lipless face—it was this man.” Inspector Tsunekawa, still gripping the peeled wax mask, stared fixedly at the thief’s face. No one recognized that face—a beardless man of thirty-five or thirty-six with no distinguishing features. Bizarre mottling marred his skin where scalding wax had burned him. “Mr. Miya, you remember Okada Michihiko’s face, don’t you?”

Inspector Tsunekawa inquired.

“Yes, I could never forget.” Miya Fusao answered weakly, his face as pale as a ghost. “So, is this man that Okada Michihiko?” “No, that’s not correct. I firmly believed it was Okada and went with Mr. Akechi to investigate his atelier. I had convinced myself that Okada had burned his face with chemicals and had been using that horrifying disguise. However, this man is not Okada. He’s a complete stranger.”

Miya said with a look of disbelief and confusion. The situation had abruptly transformed. The criminal was not Okada after all. If that was the case, what did it mean? The one who had created the plaster statues of corpses in that atelier had to be Okada. Then, was this thief completely innocent of that murder case? Were the two completely separate criminal cases becoming tangled in Miya’s mind?

Three Dental Impressions

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

Though called a hospital room, it was actually the bedroom of his combined office and residence in the Kaika Apartment. Due to a shoulder contusion, he had once suffered a severe fever, but now that the fever had subsided—with only lingering pain from the injury remaining—he had nearly fully recovered. Akechi had already learned the general details from the newspapers, but Inspector Tsunekawa went on to recount the course of events in even greater detail. The amateur detective lay supine on the bed, occasionally posing questions as he listened intently. At the bedside, Ms. Fumiyo stayed constantly by his side, attending to his every need.

“Did you bring what I requested over the phone?” Once he had heard the details of the criminal’s drowning, Akechi asked impatiently. “I brought it. Although I didn’t understand your reasoning, since it was your request, I went ahead and took the impression.”

Inspector Tsunekawa placed a small object wrapped in white cloth on the bedside table while,

“However, I suppose these are no longer necessary. The criminal’s identity has finally been uncovered. In fact, I came here to inform you of that.” Akechi’s contributions to this case had indeed been substantial enough to warrant such deference from the Metropolitan Police Department’s star detective. “Did you find out? Who was he?” “He was an extremely unusual man. Medically speaking, he was probably some kind of deviant. He was a not very well-known mystery novelist by the name of Enoda Kokkō.”

“Oh, a mystery novelist, was he?” “When the landlord saw the dead man’s photo in the newspaper and notified us, we immediately investigated his residence. He was truly a terrifying individual.” Enoda Kokkō was a peculiar author who would publish an extremely unsettling short story about once a year—just when people had begun to forget about him—startling readers of the macabre with these sporadic offerings. Not even the magazines that published his works knew where this man Kokkō lived or what he looked like. The manuscripts were always mailed from different post offices, and the manuscript fees were to be sent as general delivery to each respective post office.

Neither the landlord nor any of the neighbors had any idea he was a mystery novelist.

He was known only as an eccentric bachelor who never socialized, always kept his door shut, and whose presence at home was uncertain. “It’s a small, single-family house located in a very desolate part of Ikebukuro, but when we investigated inside, it was like a house of horrors.” “In the closet hung a skeleton.” “On the desk lay a doll’s head.” “Its head was smeared thickly with red ink.” “Every single wall was plastered with blood-drenched woodblock prints.” “That’s the kind of place it was.”

“Well, that’s fascinating.”

Akechi nodded enthusiastically. "As for the books on the shelves, they were filled with works on criminology—both domestic and foreign—crime histories, and true crime stories." "...In the desk drawers were numerous unfinished manuscript pages, and from the signatures on those drafts, we discovered that strange pen name 'Kokkō.'" "I have read Kokkō’s novels. I had thought he was an extremely unusual writer." "He’s a born criminal. To satisfy those desires, he wrote horrific novels. When writing novels no longer satisfied him, he must have turned to committing real crimes. Disguising himself among the lifelike dolls at Kokugikan Hall or escaping into the sky via balloon—such ideas are beyond anyone but a novelist. Every aspect of this case was utterly outlandish—exactly what you’d expect when a novelist’s fantasies run wild."

“Did you investigate the manufacturer of the wax mask the criminal was said to have worn?”

Akechi asked.

“We investigated,” Inspector Tsunekawa replied. “There are only four or five specialized wax craft factories in Tokyo, but we had every one of them thoroughly checked. However, none had produced anything like that.” “Wax crafts don’t require particularly elaborate tools, do they?” Akechi inquired. “No—as long as you have a mold, you just need raw materials, a pot, and some dye,” the inspector explained. “He likely commissioned a specialist craftsman to make it secretly at his residence. When I visited several wax workshops, I found it’s actually quite simple work—any amateur could manage it once they grasped the basics.” He leaned forward intently. “The finished product was as thin as celluloid yet slightly elastic, perfectly resembling real human skin. When you consider it, it’s a horrifically effective disguise tool. He wore it snugly from his hairline all the way behind his ears. So well-crafted you wouldn’t notice it at a glance—no need for tinted glasses or additional masking.”

Even for the seasoned Inspector Tsunekawa, such an audacious disguise method was a first. “Truly, every last detail reeks of a novelist’s imagination.” "For practical police officers like myself, these kinds of fantasy-driven, lunatic-like crimes are the most troublesome to deal with." “However, thanks to all your efforts, the bastard finally cracked.” “It’s a bit regrettable that we had to kill him, but this means the case of the lip-less monster that stirred up society has now been settled.”

The Inspector’s tone was one of genuine relief. “It appears to have settled for the time being.” Akechi grinned and came out with something odd.

“What’s that?” Inspector Tsunekawa looked startled. “So you’re still... Ah, are you suggesting there’s an accomplice?” “No accomplice or anything like that. I’m thinking about the dreaded mastermind behind this case.” “But that mastermind is dead, isn’t he?” “Somehow, I just can’t bring myself to believe it.” Even the formidable Demon Inspector stood utterly dumbfounded at Akechi’s bizarre statement.

What on earth was this eerie amateur detective thinking? Was he suggesting that the criminal had come back to life and crawled out of the temporary burial site? "What do you mean by that?" The Inspector reluctantly asked point-blank.

“This case seems far too complex to be resolved merely by a novelist’s death. Just consider those plaster corpse statues discovered in Okada Michihiko’s atelier.” “However, that’s an entirely separate crime. And Okada—the perpetrator—has been dead for ages. If we discard this tempting notion that Okada survived and disguised himself as the lip-less man, there’s no issue whatsoever.”

“That may be a very convenient interpretation for you all, but can you really dismiss everything so simplistically without issue? For example, just considering such matters already gives rise to major contradictions. If we suppose Okada was the culprit behind those plaster corpse statues—making him an extremely cruel sort of deviant—then isn’t it rather difficult to believe such a man would commit suicide like a pure-hearted boy simply because Mrs. Hatayanagi rejected him?”

“So you’re still claiming Okada and the lip-less man are one and the same?” The Inspector countered, his expression barely concealing derision as if holding back from denouncing it as absurd. “Moreover, numerous insoluble riddles persist in this case.” Akechi ignored the question and pressed onward.

“For example, there remains the mystery of the man who called himself Ogawa Shōichi and was killed in the sealed study of the Hatayanagi residence.” “How did the criminal come and go?” “Why was he killed, and how did the victim’s corpse vanish without a trace?” “Then why did that murderer—after going to such lengths to kidnap Ms. Shizuko—return her to us without a single scratch?” “At that time, he could have taken her away without any trouble.” “No, there’s something even stranger.” “I called the inn at Shiobara Hot Springs and got information from a maid—the monster that startled Ms. Shizuko at the hot spring resort truly had no lips.” “The maid who served dinner definitely saw it, so there’s no mistake.” “But if we assume the man who escaped by balloon this time was wearing a mask, does that mean they’re completely different people?” “When you tally them up, there are still countless unexplained points.” “Even so, can we truly say this case has been resolved?”

“So you’re suggesting that Okada Michihiko survived somewhere and is the true culprit?” “Perhaps… No, we mustn’t indulge in speculation.” “We must base our conclusions on definitive evidence.” “That evidence should be arriving any moment… Ah, here it comes now.” “I’ve been waiting impatiently for this very thing.”

Just at that moment, footsteps sounded outside, the bedroom door opened, and the Kobayashi boy’s apple-like cheeks appeared in the doorway. “Ah, Kobayashi—you’ve obtained it.”

Akechi read the boy’s expression.

“Yes, I found it surprisingly easily. As expected, it was that dental clinic nearby. When I asked, they lent it to me right away.”

The boy said cheerfully and presented a small paper package.

Akechi took it, placed it on the table, then instructed Ms. Fumiyo to retrieve another similar package from the cupboard. There were now three small packages arranged on the table, combined with the one Inspector Tsunekawa had brought earlier.

“Inspector Tsunekawa, please open that and examine it closely.” "If any two of these were completely identical, the case would be solved instantly." "But probably..." Inspector Tsunekawa, perceiving Akechi’s unspoken thought mid-sentence, hurriedly opened the package. A red rubber-like lump and two white plaster lumps rolled out from the three packages. They were all human dental impressions. Among these, the red one was the dental impression Inspector Tsunekawa himself had taken from the balloon man’s corpse and brought along.

“Is there a match?” Lying supine, Akechi asked impatiently.

Inspector Tsunekawa was comparing the three dental impressions this way and that. “There isn’t. “All three are completely different dental impressions. “You can tell at a glance.”

he answered with some disappointment.

After that, Ms. Fumiyo and the Kobayashi boy eagerly compared them, but the result was the same. None of the dental impressions matched. “And whose dental impression is this plaster one, anyway?”

Inspector Tsunekawa inquired, having largely surmised as much. “What Kobayashi just brought is Okada Michihiko’s dental impression.” “Kobayashi spent two days tracking down that Okada had been visiting a dentist, located that doctor, and finally obtained it.” “And the remaining 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 utterly dumbfounded by Akechi’s increasingly unexpected words.

“You’re aware that Mr. Miya and I investigated the vacant house in Aoyama, correct?” “The bandits’ hideout where Ms. Shizuko was confined.”

Akechi explained.

“I’ve heard about that, but…” “At that time, in the cupboard of that vacant house, we discovered leftover biscuits and cheese.” "They had stacked cheese on top of a biscuit and bitten into it—leaving clear dental impressions—which I surreptitiously brought back and made into a plaster cast." “But that it’s the bandits’ dental impression…” “Since that house had been vacant for over two months, there was no one else who would bring food there." “Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru were frequently offered biscuits and cheese by the bandits, but they say they didn’t eat a single thing during their confinement." "That testimony confirms it was indeed the bandits’ leftovers." “That was their food.”

At that time, Akechi had not said a word about that discovery even to his companion Miya. He had merely muttered a strange, riddle-like soliloquy. Why had he needed to conceal this from Miya? Akechi wasn’t one to hide things without reason. Could there have been some special circumstances involved?

“So this would be the dental impression of either the thief or their accomplice.” “There must have been two of those bastards in that vacant house at the time.” Inspector Tsunekawa had finally grasped Akechi’s explanation.

“That’s correct. However, if it doesn’t match either Okada Michihiko’s dental impressions or those of the novelist who drowned in Shinagawa Bay, then those bastards must still be alive somewhere. And they are likely planning even more horrific crimes.” Inspector Tsunekawa still could not bring himself to believe it as completely as Akechi did. It seemed it wasn’t just the dental impressions—Akechi probably knew much more than that.

“Then why did Enoda Kokkō go through the trouble of luring Ms. Fumiyo out, escaping in a balloon, and all those strange antics? You refuse to acknowledge this fact—a far more conclusive one than mere dental impressions? Are you saying he isn’t the culprit?” Inspector Tsunekawa simply couldn’t shake off his fixation on the deviant novelist. “He is not the true culprit,” Akechi declared flatly. “He might be an accomplice. Or he might not be. In any case, a novelist is a novelist; the true culprit must be someone else entirely.”

Inspector Tsunekawa made a strange face upon hearing that. People began to suspect this man's fever had affected his mind. "It must seem like I'm spouting nonsense." "Exactly." "The terrifying secret of this crime lies precisely in how even you think that way." "No matter who looks at it, they'd think the true culprit must be that novelist." "It's been crafted to make everyone think so." "It's the criminal's masterful trick."

Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently into Akechi’s eyes and sank into deep thought. Akechi’s words hinted at some terrifying secret. He felt he was on the verge of understanding it. Just a little more. Just a little more.

At that exact moment, the door to the guest room next door—one room over—was knocked violently, so the boy Kobayashi went out to check, but when he returned immediately, he was holding a special delivery letter in his hand.

“Who’s it from?” “There’s no sender’s name.”

The boy made a strange face and handed the letter to Akechi.

Akechi, lying on his back on the bed, opened the envelope, but had barely read two or three lines when a look of surprise flashed across his face.

**Unexpected Culprit**

“Look. This is the most conclusive proof that the culprit is still alive.”

Having finished reading, Akechi handed the letter to Inspector Tsunekawa. “Mr. Akechi, how’s your illness? “That’s why I warned you.” “Didn’t I send you two warning letters already?” “Even you, the great detective, had a slight oversight, didn’t you?” “Did you really think I’d let such perfect prey as Ms. Fumiyo slip through my fingers?” By the way, in a comical turn of events, I have died. "I staged my death right before the eyes of the world." "The corpse has been temporarily buried and remains in the ground."

“In other words, this is a letter from a corpse. But isn’t it a tad strange for a letter written by a ghost to actually get delivered?” “Now, as for the matter at hand—it’s the same warning as before. I truly want you to withdraw from this case. While confined to your sickbed, you persist undeterred in continuing your detective work. In fact, I know exactly what Kobayashi-kun has been up to since this morning. I want you to put a stop to that. If you don’t, this time your own life will be in danger.”

By the time this letter arrives, another murder may have already occurred somewhere. No matter how much you interfere, my plans will not change in the slightest. In other words, your fretting will not prevent the crimes; it will only shorten your own lifespan. I’m not saying this to be unkind. Withdraw from this case at once. "This is the final warning."

“He’s ridiculing me with such excessively polite phrasing. I’ve never endured an insult like this.”

Akechi, lying on his back, glared at the ceiling with a terrifying gaze and groaned like a soliloquy. Inspector Tsunekawa could only marvel at how precisely Akechi’s words had struck home, but remained utterly incapable of imagining the true identity of the ghost-like fiend and sat in silence. After a while, suddenly realizing this fact, he spoke with visible irritation. “This letter declares that by the time it arrives, another murder will be carried out somewhere.” “That’s an insult. We do not have the power to prevent that. The murder will undoubtedly occur.”

Akechi appeared to believe in the criminal’s dark magic.

At that exact moment, the desk telephone in the next room rang shrilly.

Ms. Fumiyo stood up, went over, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Akechi? This is Miya. I’m at the Hatayanagi residence now. Ah, you’re Ms. Fumiyo, aren’t you? Another terrible thing has happened. The steward, old man Saitō, has been killed by someone. If Mr. Akechi’s health permits, I would very much like to request his presence here.” Fumiyo was surprised, and when she conveyed that Akechi still couldn’t get up, “In any case, please inform him of this matter. I will come to visit later and provide a detailed explanation.”

With that, the call ended.

When Ms. Fumiyo returned to the room and relayed the news, Akechi sat up in bed, “Ms. Fumiyo, please fetch my clothes.” “I can’t remain like this.” Inspector Tsunekawa and Ms. Fumiyo managed to restrain his impatience through their combined efforts, deciding instead that the inspector and young Kobayashi would rush over to the Hatayanagi residence. “Then, once you arrive, call at once to report the situation.” Akechi had no choice but to lie back down due to the pain in his shoulder, though his body still refused to give up completely.

Soon came word that a car arrived at the front entrance below. Inspector Tsunekawa and Kobayashi boy ran down the stairs with only one arm in their coats. And the car carrying the two sped off at full speed toward the Hatayanagi residence.

When Inspector Tsunekawa and Kobayashi boy arrived at the Hatayanagi residence, young man Miya, deathly pale, hurriedly greeted them and ushered them into a room.

“We were just discussing the case with Akechi,” said Inspector Tsunekawa. “He had insisted that the criminal was still alive and that the crimes weren’t over yet, but I must say it’s truly unexpected to have that claim corroborated this soon.” The inspector briefly explained about the warning letter from the criminal, the subsequent phone call from the Hatayanagi residence, and how he had rushed over with Kobayashi boy in tow since Akechi still couldn’t leave his bed. “Are you saying the criminal foretold today’s incident?” Miya asked dubiously.

Miya inquired dubiously. “That’s correct. While we were reading that letter, as if coordinated, your call came through.” “By ‘the criminal,’ I suppose you mean that lip-less guy we’ve been talking about.” “Of course, it’s him. We have no choice but to conclude that the man who escaped in the balloon was a decoy.” “No, that can’t be right.” For some reason, Miya wore an expression of anguish and perplexity. “Old Man Saitō was killed entirely due to a mistake. I don’t believe the criminal’s will was involved here. To claim that person is an accomplice of the criminal—how could such an absurd notion exist?”

Inspector Tsunekawa did not let Miya’s bizarre words slip past him. “That person...? Then you already know who the perpetrator is?” “I do know.” “It was entirely an accidental murder.” Miya’s pallid face contorted into a tearful grimace as he writhed in anguish. “Who is it? “Who is this perpetrator?”

Inspector Tsunekawa pressed closer. "It's my fault. If I hadn't been here, none of this would have happened." That young man Miya was this distraught left no doubt about the gravity of the situation. "Who is it? And has that perpetrator already been arrested?"

“She ran away. But a woman with a child can’t possibly escape completely. She’ll be caught soon enough. And she’ll have to stand before a terrible court.” “A woman with a child, you say? Then could it be…”

“That’s correct. It’s Ms. Shizuko, the mistress of this house. Ms. Shizuko accidentally killed Steward Saitō.” Inspector Tsunekawa was utterly dumbfounded by this wholly unexpected perpetrator.

“I took too much advantage of Ms. Shizuko’s kindness. I was young. I let it go to my head, thinking everyone was grateful for what little I’d done regarding the criminal. It’s not that the old steward didn’t behave in ways unbecoming of his position. In the end, he confronted Ms. Shizuko about it.”

With the balloon man’s drowning, everyone believed that the demon plaguing the Hatayanagi household had perished. When a major incident subsides, it is often the case that the minor incidents hidden in its shadow become strikingly noticeable. It was only natural that the old steward had bitterly recalled the improper relationship between Ms. Shizuko and young Mr. Miya. It had finally exploded. Shizuko had been secluded in a room alone with Miya since his morning visit when the old steward, under the pretext of external business, summoned her to another room.

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 arguing there for a long time. Their heated words were so intense that they even reached the ears of a maid who happened to be passing through the corridor outside. No matter how long they waited, there was no sign of either of them coming down, so everyone began to grow somewhat worried. “It’s so quiet—not a single voice can be heard. “What’s going on?” “Something’s wrong.”

The maid who loved eavesdropping came down from the second floor and informed everyone. In the end, Miya gave instructions to have the student go check. After knocking several times, the student quietly opened the door to discover a horrifying scene. Shizuko crouched beside the old steward’s corpse, clutching a blood-drenched dagger with eyes wild like a madwoman’s.

Upon catching a glimpse of the horrifying scene, the student was struck with terror and froze in place. Shizuko too seemed utterly startled; for a moment, she stared wide-eyed at the student with glassy, emotionless eyes, then began grinning awkwardly as she slowly raised and lowered the bloodstained dagger in her hand. The student let out a startled "Wah!" and felt terror so intense he wanted to flee. He was certain the mistress had gone mad.

“Madam! Madam!” He trailed off, unable to utter another word.

The student slid down the stairs like a black wind—soundless—and stood frozen, his lips quivering violently, making the group instantly realize a violent incident had occurred. When they clattered up to the study and looked in, Yanagi Shizuko remained in her original position, slowly raising and lowering the dagger again and again. Looking at the victim, old man Saitō had perished instantly from a single stab to the heart. Overwhelmed by agitation and in a half-frenzied state, they took Shizuko down to her bedroom on the lower floor to calm her by any means necessary. She neither struggled nor uttered a single word. She didn’t even have the strength to speak.

Upon receiving the emergency report, the police arrived first, followed by the prosecutor and the preliminary examining magistrate. Given the succession of bizarre incidents surrounding the Hatayanagi household, it was only natural that they considered this sudden incident extremely grave.

The interrogation proceeded as per standard protocol.

The study where the crime occurred had all its windows securely closed; 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. Furthermore, Shizuko’s own terrified demeanor proved that she was the perpetrator. When questioned,

“I don’t know. “I don’t know.” She answered only with her teeth clattering in a strained voice; though she did not directly confess, had she not been the perpetrator, she should have been able to give a clear response.

Shizuko was in the corner of her room, holding Shigeru—who wore a grimace—and shivering violently, so the group never imagined she would attempt to flee and inadvertently took their eyes off her, continuing with the scene investigation and servant interrogations. However, when they finished their investigation and returned to the room to take her into custody, Shizuko and young Shigeru were nowhere to be found. They searched every corner of the mansion, but she was nowhere to be found. Even when they rushed out to the front and looked, there was neither hide nor hair of them anywhere around. As a woman, even taking her child along, with bold audacity, she had fled.

At this exclamation of “There!”, the police officers called headquarters to request a manhunt. They split up and began their search. Such was the commotion.

The court party also withdrew in succession.

The mansion grounds fell as silent as the aftermath of a storm, yet even after nearly an hour had passed, there was still no word from the police. Yanagi Shizuko had not been caught. “But how could a woman with a child possibly remain hidden for long? It’s only a matter of time before she’s caught. And then prison. The courtroom. And when you trace back how things came to this—it’s me. I don’t know what to do. The reason I called Mr. Akechi was to talk about my feelings and ask for his advice. I simply cannot bring myself to believe such an obvious fact. I just can’t believe that Ms. Shizuko truly had murderous intent.”

Miya Fusao poured out his anguish with no outlet to Inspector Tsunekawa.

“This is truly unexpected,” said Inspector Tsunekawa. “Even I can’t believe Mrs. Hatayanagi would attempt murder. But there was no one else in the room or outside. And unfortunately, her gripping the murder weapon constitutes irrefutable evidence.” “Exactly,” Miya replied hoarsely. “Speaking of evidence—there’s something worse.”

Miya continued speaking in a hoarse voice, licking his lips. "In the study—Ms. Shizuko and old man Saitō were arguing... The maid overheard their voices."

According to the maid’s clear testimony before the preliminary judge... “You’re fired. Leave right this instant.” Shizuko cried out in a shrill voice—words her usual self would never have dreamed of uttering. This alone made clear how violently the two had clashed. “I will not leave. On behalf of my late master, I must advise you: By all means—I will not back down.”

The old man’s voice was tensely quivering. “Underestimating me as a woman—what are you saying? I can’t endure this anymore. I’m insane. Yes—just as you say—I’ve gone mad. Watch what a madwoman will do! You’ll regret it, but it’ll be too late!”

Such was roughly the exchange of words that the maid had overheard. “That part where she said, ‘You’ll regret it, but it’ll be too late!’—what did you think she meant by that? Did it seem like she was threatening to kill you, perhaps gripping a dagger?”

When the preliminary judge questioned her, the maid—

“That’s how it seemed to me as well.”

the maid answered.

“This is what happened,” “In other words, everything lines up.” “When you examine this murder case closely, you’ll find both motive and intent were present.” Miya made a gesture of despair. Inspector Tsunekawa found no words of comfort. No matter how he considered it, every circumstance spoke of Shizuko’s guilt. There could be no escape now. Unthinkable though it seemed for a woman, the momentum of events held terrifying power. A trivial quarrel sparking unforeseen violence happened often enough—even women in love dared commit outrages surpassing men’s recklessness.

They fell silent for a while. Miya was lost in his own thoughts, while Inspector Tsunekawa was occupied with something entirely different. The "other matter" was how to connect the thief's warning letter that Akechi had just received with this incident that had erupted as if by prior arrangement. There appeared to be absolutely no connection between them. Yet at the same time, there had to be some connection between them—it seemed unavoidable.

Even so, could there really be such an absurd thing as the lip-less monster and Yanagi Shizuko—the one targeted by that bastard—being of the same ilk?

As Inspector Tsunekawa was lost in such thoughts, he noticed something poking him lightly around his hips where he sat. When he looked sideways, the hand of the Kobayashi boy sitting next to him was reaching behind his own back. Thinking this behavior odd, he looked at the boy’s face and saw that he was indicating something with his eyes. Inside the confectionery box on the table. Inside the confectionery box were rows of yōkan. When he looked, one of them appeared to have been left partially eaten by someone, with distinct tooth marks clearly imprinted where it had been bitten into.

Though he found the boy’s childlike point of focus somewhat amusing, a child’s intuition was not to be underestimated. If this dental impression were to match the criminal’s that Akechi possessed, he couldn’t help shuddering at the implication. “Mr. Miya—this may seem an odd question—who left this half-eaten yōkan here? Do you happen to know?” When he asked just to confirm, Miya made a strange face and pondered for a moment—

“Ah—that was certainly Ms. Shizuko,” he answered. “This morning, before that commotion occurred, she took a bite while we were alone here together. I remember it clearly because I found it odd—someone usually so proper doing such a thing today of all days. But why does that matter?” This response came unexpectedly. Inspector Tsunekawa stiffened. This was Ms. Shizuko’s dental impression. If comparing it to the criminal’s teeth yielded a match—what would that signify? At the thought, an unspeakable shudder surged from the depths of his being.

“Ah, I can’t just sit here like this. Even though it’s probably no use, I’ll go look for Ms. Shizuko. It’s better than just sitting here doing nothing.” Miya muttered this like a soliloquy, then unsteadily rose to his feet and left without so much as a farewell, abandoning his guest where they sat. “Poor fellow—he seems a bit worked up.”

Inspector Tsunekawa looked back at the Kobayashi boy and gave a wry smile.

“Why don’t we take that yōkan with the bite marks back and compare them?”

The boy was engrossed in the discovery of the dental impressions.

“That’s a good idea. You take this and return once,” said Inspector Tsunekawa. “And please explain the situation to Mr. Akechi. I still have a few things I want to investigate here. If anything comes up, give me a call.” Drawn in by Kobayashi’s enthusiasm, the inspector found himself agreeing to have the dental impressions compared. When the boy left, Inspector Tsunekawa went up to the second-floor study and meticulously examined the crime scene, but discovered nothing unusual. All windows were securely fastened. There was absolutely nowhere for anyone to hide in the room. In short, aside from Ms. Shizuko herself, there had been no possibility of another perpetrator entering the scene.

Yet there was absolutely no reason for the old man to have committed suicide. No matter how much he thought about it, there was absolutely 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. He hadn’t gone out there with any particular purpose in mind. He had simply thought to take a look at 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 large dog as big as a calf lay collapsed in the corner of the garden. Needless to say, it was Sigma the house dog. The space between its eyebrows appeared to have been violently struck, with blood seeping out. There was absolutely no way a dog killer could have entered the premises—who on earth had killed this animal, and for what reason?

Puzzled, he asked the live-in students and maids about it, but they all answered that they didn’t know. The dog had been kept tied up in its kennel all this time because the wound inflicted by the intruder had nearly healed, and they had only just released it from its chain this morning, they said.

While he was occupied with that investigation, a call came through from Akechi. It appeared Kobayashi Shōnen had already returned to the apartment’s sickroom. When Tsunekawa picked up the receiver, Akechi’s slightly agitated voice came through—he had gotten out of bed and walked all the way to the desk telephone himself. Could there truly be some matter so urgent that he needed to personally come to the phone?

“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 mysterious thief we’ve been searching for.”

“Is that true?” “I just can’t believe it,” Inspector Tsunekawa exclaimed in astonishment. “I feel there must be some mistake here.” “I think so too,” Akechi responded. “What’s the evidence that those are Ms. Shizuko’s dental impressions?” “It’s Mr. Miya’s testimony,” Tsunekawa answered. “He stated it flatly.” “Mr. Miya...” Akechi murmured.

Akechi said this and seemed to ponder for a moment before continuing, "By the way, there should be a pet dog named Sigma there." "Is he still kept chained in his kennel?" Inspector Tsunekawa stiffened. Hadn't he just seen that dog's corpse moments ago? What a terrifying man Akechi was. "They had taken him off the chain this morning." "But that dog... someone killed him without anyone noticing." "Eh? Killed?" "Where?"

Why was Akechi so shocked?

“I just discovered it lying in the corner of the garden.” “Ah, how terrifying. The one who killed it is the real culprit. Because in this entire world, there was no one but that dog who truly knew the criminal. Human eyes may be deceived by masks or disguises, but a dog’s sense of smell can rarely be fooled... I realized it too late.” Akechi spoke with profound regret.

Mother and Child

The pitiable Yanagi Shizuko, who had become the perpetrator of the horrific steward murder and was even subjected to the outlandish suspicion of being the lip-less monster—where in the world had she hidden herself? And behind this lay yet another tale of bone-chilling horror. “This would bring shame upon your late husband. There is also the matter of social propriety. The relatives’ tongues wag incessantly. And above all—you should feel ashamed before your six-year-old son!”

The argument escalated, and even the old man spoke harshly.

When criticized like that, Shizuko—precisely because she was vulnerable—flared up. As her past behavior made clear, she was a woman ruled entirely by emotion—one who had lived in utter selfishness under the extreme indulgence of her elderly husband. Once she set her mind to something, she would carry it through—she may have seemed strong-willed, but in truth, she was nothing more than a big spoiled child. It was only natural that she—having had her weakness exposed by Saitō, the elderly steward no less, and subjected to such fierce rebukes that even her deceased husband had never uttered—flushed crimson with frustration.

“Get out this instant! How dare a mere servant be so insolent!” Unseemly abusive words burst forth from her lips. As was her nature as a spoiled brat, she was already blinded by rage. She was seized by a fit of temporary madness.

The old man, lacking perception and driven by his long-suppressed admonishments, would not easily back down. "I shall not leave. We shall await the judgment of your relatives to determine which of our arguments holds merit." When it came to being told that much, she could no longer endure it. Yanagi Shizuko stomped her feet, seething with such frustration that she wanted to hurl every object within reach at him. Hateful, hateful old geezer—just drop dead! Drop dead!

Though she didn’t voice it, the poisonous blood in her heart surged in just that manner. As she stared at the leather-faced old man bearing down on her with his sanctimonious excuses about social propriety and trying to suppress her late husband’s legacy, her teeth ground together. Every feature—the wrinkles on his forehead, his long eyebrows, his pale eyes, his hawk-like nose, his denture-clad mouth—all of it seemed so detestable that she wanted to smash every last bit of it. “Now, get out. Otherwise, I’m hot-tempered, so I can’t be held responsible for what I might do!”

Shizuko was in such a frenzy that she might even grapple with the old man.

“Now… you… Just looking at your face makes me sick.” “You… you wretched old fool!”

She pushed the old man aside and tried to leave the room. The old man, fearing she would escape now, pushed back with all his might. Though it was Shizuko being pushed back, she felt as if she had been violently shoved. “How dare you act this way toward your late husband!”

Her rage boiled over until her vision went pitch black; she could no longer tell what was happening. She felt so furious she might faint.

In her frenzy, she thought she had pounced on the old man. She also thought she might have grabbed something and struck down her opponent. Even when she later tried to recall, in the height of her rage, her vision had gone dark, and she couldn’t clearly remember what she had done. When she came to her senses, the old man lay stretched out before her. A vivid red flower bloomed upon his chest, the dagger’s hilt standing upright with a sickening thrust.

“Ah!”

Shizuko screamed, her legs stiffened, and she couldn’t move.

She had no memory of it. She absolutely had no memory of it. But there lay the old man before her—stabbed through the chest—an undeniable reality. If she hadn't killed him—who else could have done such a thing?

“Have I gone mad?”

Unable to believe the extremity of it all—could this be some mad hallucination?—she rubbed her eyes with both hands and stumbled to crouch beside the corpse. "Oh, you poor thing... It must have been so painful."

As she blurted out those strange, mad-sounding words, she involuntarily grabbed the dagger's hilt and pulled it from the wound. It was exactly at that moment that one of the students opened the door and peered into the room. As Shizuko was frantically muttering delirious words, the servants—alerted by the student—turned pale and came clamoring into the room. When, behind the multitude of faces, she saw Miya Fusao's eyes glaring at her with accusation, Shizuko finally let out a wail and burst into tears. For she had now clearly understood that this terrifying incident was neither a dream nor an illusion—it was an irreversible reality.

The people wrenched the blood-stained dagger from her hands. They lifted her—her lower back muscles having gone limp—and carried her down to the living room. All the while, she could hear nothing but the thump-thump, thump-thump of her heart, pounding relentlessly like the agonized throes of death. The clamorous voices around her sounded like nothing but meaningless noise, utterly unrelated to herself.

When she had cried herself out and finally regained her senses, she noticed that young Shigeru, though unable to comprehend the situation, had also taken on a tearful expression and was sitting dejectedly by her side. “Shigeru… Mommy is…”

Yanagi Shizuko embraced her beloved child, sobbing as she whispered. “Oh, I’ve done something unthinkable. “Shigeru… you poor, poor dear… This is the last time you’ll be with your mother. “You’ll have to live all alone from now on.” “Mommy, 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, this was her eternal farewell to her child. At any moment now—at any moment—if the police came, I would surely be taken from this place. And the gallows would prove an inescapable fate. But could such cruelty truly occur—this being the last time I would ever see my own child? I didn’t want to part. To leave behind my child, my lover—everything—I couldn’t bear to die alone.

"What happened to Uncle Saitō? Did he die?" Young Shigeru’s innocent question felt like an accusation even from this little one, so terrifying that it made her shudder. "Hey, what’s wrong? Did Mommy kill him?"

Shizuko was startled and instinctively stared at her child's face. Ah, what a dreadful thing. That this innocent boy, through some terrifying intuition, might already have sensed it— “Mommy killed him. And Mommy will be killed too.” Shizuko stifled her sobs.

“Who?” Shigeru was startled and widened his tear-drenched eyes into perfect circles. “Who’s going to come kill Mommy? I don’t wanna be killed! C’mon, let’s get out of here! Quick, quick! Mommy, let’s run away!” When Mother heard this, she made a gulp sound in the back of her throat, and tears streamed down her face. “You’ll really run away with your murderous mommy? Oh, you’ll really run away? …But it’s no use. Even if we run and run, we can’t escape. Thousands upon tens of thousands of people across Japan are all trying to catch Mother, rolling their eyes and searching from every direction.”

“That’s so sad… But I’ll help you, Mother!” “I’ll make that person pay!”

In his mother’s arms, tightly hugged, young Shigeru’s cheeks flushed crimson as he strained with all his might. Soon after, Yanagi Shizuko was summoned before the examining magistrate and questioned, but she lacked both the wit and strength to mount an effective defense. She could only repeat over and over, "I don't know, I don't know."

After the interrogation had concluded and she returned once more to the living room, just as she and Shigeru were weeping together, Miya Fusao slipped in unnoticed.

The two of them stared fixedly into each other's eyes and remained silent for some time, but eventually 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 that you did it.”

“What am I to do? What am I to do?” Yanagi Shizuko made no attempt to hide the grief welling up within her at her lover Miya’s tender words, as though it were only now dawning on her. “Pull yourself together. You mustn’t lose heart.” Miya, checking if there was anyone listening, looked around and continued in a whisper. “I believe in your innocence. I know for certain that you are not that kind of woman. However you look at it, there’s no room for defense. In that room, aside from the victim and you, there was no one else. Moreover, you were holding a blood-stained dagger. Just before the incident occurred, you were having a terrible argument with the victim. All the circumstances are pointing at you. Both the examining magistrate and the police chief seem to have concluded that you are the perpetrator. Please think carefully—was there someone who sneaked into the room at that time? Isn’t there any way to clear your name?”

As she listened to Miya’s earnest tone, tears of gratitude welled up at the realization that in all the wide world, he was the only ally she could depend on. However, unfortunately, she could not give him an answer that would satisfy.

“I don’t know.” “I don’t understand at all why such a terrible thing happened.”

She could do nothing but repeat the same words she had said before the detectives. “Ms. Shizuko, pull yourself together.” “This is no time for crying.” “If you stay here like this, you’ll be taken away by officers once the upstairs interrogation ends.” “I can’t bear even imagining you being sent to prison and standing trial.” “Ms. Shizuko, let’s escape.” “Let’s run away—you, me, and Shigeru—to the farthest ends of the world.”

At Miya’s impassioned tone, Shizuko jerked her head up. "Oh! How could such a thing—"

So he too believed I was the real murderer after all, she thought. He wouldn’t have proposed fleeing otherwise. “I don’t care,” he whispered urgently. “Even if you were truly guilty of murder, I couldn’t bear to see you imprisoned or sent to the gallows. I’ll share half your sin and vanish from society with you. I’ve planned every detail of our escape thoroughly. There’s an absolutely safe method. We can’t risk someone discovering us now. Come, Ms. Shizuko—you must decide.”

Urged restlessly, Shizuko turned deathly pale. Her heart pounded like a rapid bell. "But……"

Ah, no wonder—her heart had been swayed. Even if she were not a villain, under these circumstances, it was only natural that a woman in her position would frantically try to distance herself—even for a moment, even by a single step—from the prison and gallows looming before her eyes. “Now, quickly, quickly—please come over here. “I’ve found an extremely safe hiding place. “It might feel eerie, but please stay hidden there together until late at night. “I’ll take care of the rest. “Please believe me. “No matter what happens, don’t give up—endure it steadfastly. “If we fail to escape, I will take full responsibility. “I’ll say that I threatened you and forced you to escape.”

Being told that much, how could a weak woman have the strength to resist? Shizuko took Shigeru's hand—neither mother nor child could bear separation even for an instant—muffled their footsteps, and warily followed Miya while scanning their surroundings. Fortunately encountering no servants along the way, they reached the storeroom adjoining the kitchen. When Miya pried up the floorboards there and removed the dirt-caked stone lid, there gaped beneath it—to his astonishment—the maw of an ink-black cavern.

“This is a dried-up old well. There’s no danger. Please stay hidden inside here for a little while.”

As he spoke, Miya swiftly set to work, bringing two large futons from somewhere and throwing them into the old well. At that moment, preoccupied with nothing but the fear that someone might come at any second, she had no opportunity to question how Miya had discovered this dried-up well beneath the floorboards—a place that even Shizuko, the mistress of the house, had known nothing about.

Yanagi Shizuko slid down into the shallow cavern with Miya’s assistance, the friction creating a scraping noise against the stone walls. Below her, two large futons lay stacked like a thick cushion, eliminating any risk of injury from the descent. Then young Shigeru was lowered to the well’s bottom using precisely the same method—his small frame disappearing into the darkness where his mother waited.

“Then I’ll definitely come around 1 AM tonight, so please endure until then. “Shigeru, don’t cry now. “There’s nothing scary here at all. “Please trust in my ability and wait here calmly.”

No sooner had Miya’s whisper sounded overhead than dirt came clattering down, plunging the well into true darkness. The stone lid blocked the exit. The pitiable mother and child, in a darkness where only touch existed, clung desperately to each other and trembled uncontrollably. They couldn’t even think. Their circumstances were too terrifying to cry. “Shigeru, sweetie, you’re a good boy, so you’re not scared, right?” The mother was solely concerned for her beloved child. “I’m not scared at all.”

Yet the boy’s voice trembled in terror. The small body she clutched shook like a pitiful puppy, twitching convulsively. As they settled, the cold at the well’s bottom seeped into their bones.

And yet, what thorough consideration Miya had shown! In that hectic situation, he had remarkably even thought of the futons. Thanks to that, in the bone-chilling cold at the bottom of the old well, only beneath their feet was it warmly soft like a thick cushion. Shizuko spread the excess edge of the futon over Shigeru, wrapped another part around her own shoulders, and devised a way to further endure the cold. Yet had she known what lay beneath that thick futon, far from feeling gratitude, no matter how terrifying the punishment might be, she surely would not have remained hidden at the bottom of the well for even another moment.

Beneath the layered futons lay not bare soil. Between futons and earth stretched a thing to make flesh crawl. What manner of horror this was would soon be revealed to the reader.

That aside, what exactly was the escape method that young man Miya Fusao had devised? Shizuko and the others were temporarily hiding in the old well, but such a place was not one where they could remain for long. Eventually, they would have to escape from the mansion. At the front gate stood a guard policeman. Inside the mansion, servants' watchful eyes gleamed. Even if they managed to leave the mansion safely, police boxes stood in every direction they might take. Prying eyes filled the neighborhood. The fact that Shizuko was a wanted person had already spread throughout the vicinity. How on earth did Miya intend to overcome this?

After hiding Shizuko in the well, Miya called Akechi, which brought Inspector Tsunekawa and Kobayashi Shōnen to the scene—events already previously recounted. Even the formidable Inspector Tsunekawa failed to notice the old well beneath the storeroom floorboards; he merely acquired dental impressions from the yōkan and discovered Sigma's corpse before withdrawing empty-handed. Then, until 1 AM—the hour Miya had promised Shizuko—nothing of note occurred. Around eight o'clock, apart from everyone enshrining old man Saitō's corpse into the large coffin Miya had ordered that afternoon under his direction—

The coffin was enshrined in the spacious Japanese-style room downstairs, with offerings of incense and flowers laid out. The voices of family members and mourners chanting sutras continued unabated until late into the night. But around twelve o’clock, those people either departed or retired to bed. In the pitch-dark expanse of the room where the electric lights had been extinguished, only the old man’s corpse remained behind.

Around what seemed to be one o'clock, a figure slipped into the darkened hall like a shadow, making no sound. He groped his way toward the old man’s coffin and began slowly and carefully opening its lid.

Hearse.

The man who had slipped into the darkened hall and opened the lid of the coffin containing Saitō was, as the reader had no doubt surmised, young Miya Fusao. But why on earth had he opened the coffin lid? What did he intend to do with the corpse inside? In the darkness hung a nose-stinging stench of decay—a corpse frozen like ice. As his eyes adjusted, the faintly emerging visage of a terrifying dead man became visible. Undeterred, Miya abruptly yanked the old man’s corpse from the coffin, tucked it effortlessly under his arm, and exited soundlessly like a specter, traversing the hallway until he reached the storeroom beside the kitchen.

After hiding the corpse in the shadows, he lifted the floorboard, removed the stone lid, and called down into the well in a voice thin as a mosquito’s. “Ms. Shizuko, it’s me. We’re moving to another hiding place now. Stay strong.” When he heard Shizuko’s faint response, he brought the small ladder from the storeroom and lowered it into the old well. Shizuko and Shigeru, encouraged by Miya and with his assistance, finally managed to climb the ladder.

“Shigeru, shh. If you make even the slightest sound, the scary man will come to take Mommy away.” Miya feared most that Shigeru would start crying. But the terrified six-year-old boy, like a burglar’s cat, hunched his body, muffled his footsteps, and made no attempt to cry out. Miya had them stop by the washroom, then stealthily led them along the corridor to the hall containing the coffin. By then, Shizuko and the others—even Miya—had grown accustomed to the darkness enough to see the lightless room’s condition distinctly.

“Now, you must hide inside this coffin.” “Since it’s a large coffin, it might be a bit cramped, but you two should be able to fit inside.” Upon hearing Miya’s bizarre instructions, Shizuko was startled and instinctively recoiled. “What?! Inside something like this?” “This is no time to worry about superstitions.” “Now, please get in.” “There is absolutely no other way to safely leave the mansion besides this.” “The funeral is tomorrow after noon.” “You must endure until then.” “Pretend you’re dead and stay hidden.”

In the end, there was no choice but to comply with Miya’s instructions. Shizuko went in first, with Shigeru overlapping her at the foot end as they lay down inside the coffin. Miya replaced the lid exactly as it had been from above.

Then he returned to the storeroom, pulled up the ladder, put back the stone lid and floorboard as they were, and disposed of old man Saitō's corpse. How he had disposed of it would soon become clear. Now until the funeral procession time the next day, the suffering of the two inside the coffin went without saying, but young Miya Fusao's mental strain was no ordinary matter. From early morning he stayed close to the coffin's side. At even the faintest sound from within, he would cough or make unnecessary noises—taking almost comical care to mask any traces. Needless to say, he had nailed shut the coffin lid and taken precautions against anyone peering inside.

Although Miya was the one responsible for this murder case, the family members were not clearly aware of that fact. Relatives and acquaintances had gathered, though many were people they rarely interacted with. Since the Shizuko kidnapping incident, Miya, who held an advisory role in the Hatayanagi family, had effectively become the chairman of the funeral committee.

When the appointed time arrived, Miya urged everyone on and hastened the departure of the coffin. When the workers lifted the coffin, he had been terribly anxious they might be discovered, but no such thing occurred. The large coffin concealing the living mother and child was safely loaded into the hearse waiting at the gate. The funeral at the Hatayanagi family temple concluded as per custom, and then the hearse—accompanied by cars bearing close relatives—set out for the crematorium. Murder, dagger, bloodstains, police, court, prison, gallows, lover, beloved child, Hatayanagi family, fortune, lip-less man... Such concepts became a dizzying whirlwind of images—some terrifying, others dear—racing round and round through Shizuko's mind.

And yet, she couldn't form a single coherent thought. As for what lay ahead—what would become of herself—she couldn't even begin to guess. She followed her lover Miya's instructions in a mindless frenzy. Clutching the pitifully helpless Shigeru, all she could manage was the desperate resolve not to let go of him for an instant. Hours in the pitch-black depths of that underworld-like well—and no sooner had they emerged than they found themselves creeping through her own home's corridors like thieves, only to end up hiding inside the very coffin where old man Saitō's corpse lay, the man she herself had slain mere moments before.

Though the coffin was sturdy, and Miya had rolled paper into wedges when driving the nails to create a thin gap invisible from outside—sparing them from worrying about air shortage—even so, having to lie still in that narrow box without making a sound or moving a muscle for the long hours until the funeral procession... Ah, had the torments of hell already begun to make her atone for her sins?

Terrified out of his wits, Shigeru huddled against Shizuko’s hem, clutching her knees tightly as if to defy hell’s demons trying to take Mommy away. He made no sound, holding his breath while trembling violently—until suddenly the trembling ceased altogether and his breathing grew quiet. He had fallen asleep while still trembling in fear. The young child’s body, unable to endure the mental strain from having not slept a wink since the previous day, had fallen sound asleep within the terrifying coffin’s confines.

Shizuko envied the innocent child while simultaneously feeling some measure of relief.

Even when straining her ears, there was not a single sound to be heard, and her eyes could discern no faint light whatsoever. The coffin concealing them had been buried underground before she knew it, and with the thick layer of soil pressing down from above, she began to suspect that all light and sound had been completely cut off. As her mind grew calmer, her paralyzed peripheral nerves began to function. And then, what first struck her nose was a faint corpse odor.

“Ah, until just now, this had contained the corpse of that old man.” “Moreover, that old man—it was I who brutally killed him with my own hands.” Belatedly, she became clearly aware of it. The same part of the plank now touching her cheek might have had the dead man’s cheek pressed against it until just moments ago. She might be indirectly rubbing cheeks with the old man she had killed.

The moment this thought struck her, an indescribable terror ran through her body—every pore at her nape stood rigid.

In the blindness-like, absolute darkness, she felt as though the vengeful spirit of the dead was coiling around her body, constricting her. She—

A scream— She flung off the coffin lid with a cry, seized by a sudden impulse to flee. But if she screamed—if she tried to escape—it would mean instant ruin. She clenched her teeth and endured.

The eerie stench of decay pierced her nostrils ever more intensely, becoming unbearable. Every last nerve in her body felt as though it had been honed to a razor's edge of sensitivity.

Suddenly, an uncanny memory resurfaced in her nostrils. Oh! This smell wasn't new. She felt she'd been breathing this exact same odor until just moments ago. How strange. Where could she have smelled this before? Ah, yes. It was inside the well. The old well where they'd hidden until recently. While in the well, agitation had prevented her from noticing, but now she recalled - it wasn't just the smell. The bottom beneath that thick futon hadn't been level at all. Something elastic 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 the corpse odor now, she couldn’t help but shudder. But surely not in that well... It's just an illusion. My nerves must have gone mad. Yanagi Shizuko tried with all her might to dismiss that terrifying thought. She thought such a thing couldn't possibly make sense. What she had taken for corpse odor suddenly transformed into a faint rose fragrance. But before she could process this, the lewd body odor of someone now assailed her nostrils. Her hypersensitive nose had conjured hallucinations.

Whose body odor was that? That suddenly provocative scent was unmistakably my Miya's own. But ah—once more, that odor had abruptly awakened an ancient memory within her olfactory senses. It seemed to be Miya's scent while simultaneously carrying traces of another man's musk—one she couldn't quite identify.

Who was it? Who was it?

“Oh! That’s it. That guy’s smell. Oh! That’s that guy’s smell!” Yanagi 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 was this other man who shared exactly the same scent as Miya? Readers will remember that at the beginning of this story, Yanagi Shizuko was confined in the eerie house in Aoyama. In that basement, when she was attacked by the lip-less man, she had sensed a body odor from his form—not entirely unfamiliar, but one she knew well. This fact will also be remembered.

Despite having met the man himself on numerous occasions, Yanagi Shizuko had been so distracted by other matters that she had completely forgotten about it until this very moment. It was her now abnormally sharp sense of smell that had suddenly recalled it.

That was Miya’s body odor. The lip-less monster had exactly the same body odor as young Miya. My, what a ridiculous coincidence! Truly, truly, my nose has gone mad.

Not only her nose—had even her mind gone mad? Overwhelmed by the thought, Yanagi Shizuko was seized with a terror beyond reason.

But dear readers—were these two uncanny olfactory coincidences—the matching stenches of corpse and well, the dual correspondence between Miya’s body odor and that of the lip-less man—truly nothing more than Yanagi Shizuko’s delusions? Or did some dreadful secret lurk within them?

Amidst rambling delusions and terror, the night dawned. A dim light crept into the coffin through a narrow gap. Before long came the sound of footsteps and voices.

Yanagi Shizuko gasped as realization struck—ah, she was still in this world. She must not move. She must not make a sound. Even breathing required caution, and she flinched at the pounding of her own heart.

What a hell those hours until the coffin’s departure were for her! It felt as though an entire lifetime—a long, long one—had passed in those hours. But at last, the sutra chanting concluded, and the time came for the coffin’s departure. To carry it out, laborers’ footsteps drew near, and with a heave-ho, Yanagi Shizuko and her companions’ bodies were jolted violently. At that jolt—oh no, what do I do?—Shigeru awoke. The thought that if Shigeru made a sound everything would be ruined sent a shudder through Yanagi Shizuko.

“Shigeru dear, Mommy is right here. “There’s nothing to be scared of. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” Unable to speak, she stretched out both hands and gently tapped the cheek of her child lying below her, conveying her reassurance.

At that very moment, just as the coffin gave another violent jolt, the laborers’ booming voices— “Damn, this one’s heavy as hell!” —could be heard grunting with effort. Yanagi Shizuko, startled by the fear that their corpse substitution might be discovered, shrank back in terror; but the laborers showed no signs of deeper suspicion, and the coffin was carried out front just as it was. What passed for fortune—the laborers’ voices had silenced Shigeru, who’d been on the verge of crying out. Though just a child, those words must have made him recall their terrifying predicament, for he clung to his mother’s lap with desperate intensity, not moving a muscle.

After floating weightlessly for a time, they were lowered onto something with a clunk. Then came the creaking sound of the coffin's bottom shifting—they were placed inside the hearse.

Next came the engine's roar. The violent shaking of the running automobile.

Yanagi Shizuko let out a sigh of relief. It would be safe to make slightly more noise now. Inside the hearse, there was nobody outside the coffin. The driver’s seat, unlike in an ordinary car, should have been separated by thick glass. “Shigeru dear, does it hurt?” “Be Mommy’s good boy and hold on just a little longer.”

When she whispered softly, the boy clambered up over his mother’s stomach, straining upward toward her upper body. Though it was too dark to see, he wanted at least to be near his mother’s face.

Inside the narrow box, mother and child pressed close together, exchanging a cramped cheek-to-cheek caress. To do so meant the backs of their heads kept thudding painfully against the coffin boards, but such hurt meant nothing now. “You must endure this a bit longer. It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

“Mommy, are you crying? Are you scared?” Shigeru, feeling his mother’s tears on his cheek, asked worriedly. “No, I’m not crying. I’m all right now. Soon, Uncle Miya will come to help us.” “When?” “Soon.”

Before long, the car seemed to arrive at the temple; the coffin was carried out, and once again, the interminable sutra chanting began. Throughout this time, Yanagi Shizuko was consumed with anxiety that they might be noticed by those around them; however, as the boy Shigeru was being as cautious as an adult, nothing unusual occurred, and before long, the coffin was carried back into the hearse. “Ah, how agonizingly long this wait feels!” "But just a little more patience now.”

Yanagi Shizuko wanted more than anything to see her lover's face. If only she could see his face, she thought, those terrifying delusions from earlier would vanish in an instant.

The hearse started moving again with a rumble, rumble. "Mommy, not yet?"

Shigeru, unable to bear it any longer, asked. “Just a little longer, just a little longer.” Yanagi Shizuko answered while pressing her cheek against her child’s.

“Where are we going?” Shigeru appeared extremely anxious about their destination. When he asked her, even his mother didn’t clearly know. She could only imagine that probably somewhere they would stop the car, and Miya would take out the coffin, open the lid, and come to their rescue. “If—ah, if—something were to go wrong with Miya’s plan, would we not end up being taken straight to the crematorium like this?”

Yanagi Shizuko was suddenly seized by an indescribable terror welling up from the depths of her heart. Living hell.

Then, after a long time of continued shaking in the darkness, the car finally came to a stop.

Ah—at last—the time had come to be saved. Where could Mr. Miya be? Should I try calling out? If I did, he would surely answer with his longed-for voice. Though Shizuko never actually raised her voice, she waited with bated breath, heart pounding in fierce anticipation, for her lover's hands to open the coffin lid.

Soon came the scraping, creaking sound of the coffin’s bottom board. At last, they were to be unloaded from that accursed hearse. Those pulling out the coffin were likely laborers Mr. Miya had hired. No—perhaps he himself was among them, lending a hand. The coffin was lowered once from the vehicle only to be immediately hoisted up again; after swaying and rumbling for a time came the gritty scrape of its base dragging across something, then a bright metallic clang—it felt as though they had set it down upon some manner of metal implement.

"Hmm, this was strange."

No sooner had she thought this than there came a startling clang of metal against metal. At the same time, the surrounding noise abruptly ceased. It was a silence as if from the depths of a graveyard, pressing in on them with a clammy intensity.

“What’s wrong? Where are we?” The boy Shigeru, clinging so tightly to his mother’s neck that he began to sweat, asked fearfully. “Shh!” Yanagi Shizuko carefully hushed Shigeru’s voice and then listened intently for a while.

Could it be that Miya’s plan had gone awry? If so, where on earth were they? What if... What if...

The hearse’s destination was, needless to say, the crematorium.

Ah, I understood—this coffin had been sealed inside the crematorium furnace. The metallic clang from earlier must have been the sound of the iron door at the furnace entrance closing. That was right. There was no longer any room for doubt. We were now inside the terrifying furnace.

She recalled a memory of once attending the funeral of a close relative and going to the crematorium. Gloomy concrete walls held black iron doors lined up in rows. "This must be the station bound for hell, huh?" She remembered someone whispering such a morbid joke. The terrifying sight of those iron doors lined up felt exactly like a "station bound for hell." When they placed the coffin inside, the crematory worker closed the iron door and locked it from the outside. That dreadful clang from back then, when she thought about it, was exactly the same as the metallic sound from earlier.

After that—though she didn’t know the exact details—they waited until nightfall to light the coal, and by morning, everything would be completely reduced to ashes. In recent times, convenient heavy oil incinerators had been developed alongside them. It was said that as soon as they placed the coffin into the furnace, flames would erupt from all sides, reducing it to ashes before the mourners’ eyes while they waited. But judging from the fact that nothing unusual had occurred yet, this was undoubtedly a coal furnace.

Judging from the hushed and utterly silent state of things, all the mourners must have returned home. The crematory worker must have had no business until lighting the coal late at night and undoubtedly left for somewhere.

Ah—I couldn't stay like this. Even if we were safe until late night, how could we possibly remain still once realizing we were inside the furnace? The horror of being burned alive—merely imagining it made my hair stand on end. Moreover, even my beloved child—even innocent Shigeru—had to suffer this same fate. For nearly thirty minutes, we had frantically deliberated back and forth, but from outside came neither sound nor sign of anyone.

Even the cracks in the coffin lid that had once allowed faint light to seep in from outside were now uniformly pitch black, so much so that she couldn’t see even Shigeru’s face right before her eyes. The moment had finally arrived. If we stayed still like this, both mother and child would be burned to death. This was no time to wait idly for Miya’s rescue. He must have encountered some serious obstruction preventing him from coming here.

“Come on, Shigeru—never mind that! Flail your arms and legs about! Shout at the top of your voice!” “Call out ‘Help us!’” “Mommy... Is this really all right?”

The boy asked back in a timid voice, like a frightened stepchild. He must have had eyes like a fox’s.

“Aren’t the police coming anymore?” Ah, what a terrible thing this was. Yanagi Shizuko had been so overwhelmed by the fear of being burned alive that she had completely forgotten her current predicament. And yet, she had been made to realize this by a six-year-old child. “I mustn’t.” “I mustn’t.” “You mustn’t make a sound.”

Could there be another situation in this world as torturous and unbearable as this? If they remained still, they would be burned alive alongside the coffin. They would have to suffer the excruciating torment of scorching purgatory while still breathing. As a woman clutching her beloved child, how could she possibly withstand this? Yet if they were to scream for help to escape this unforeseen catastrophe, they knew they would instantly be surrendered to the police. Already suspected as the murderer, attempting such an outrageous escape would become the most damning confession imaginable, rendering punishment utterly inescapable.

Ah, how terrifying! A prison. A gallows. And she would be separated from her dear Shigeru. This child would become a miserable orphan. No, it wasn’t just that. If the coffin’s secret were discovered, Mr. Miya would undoubtedly face severe punishment for aiding a felon’s escape. "What should I do? What should I do?" Whether they stayed still or tried to escape, it was either burned alive or the gallows. Whether they turned right or left, ahead lay only pitch-dark death.

“Shigeru. Are you afraid of dying?”

Pressing her cold cheek firmly against his, she asked gently in a whisper. "What happens when you die?" Yet despite his question, the boy—appearing to grasp their predicament—clung fearfully to his mother's neck with both small hands. "We'll go together to a beautiful country above the clouds, you and me. Hold me tight and don't let go." "Yeah, I'm okay." "I can die if I'm with you, Mommy." Hot tears welled up and spread, seeping between their tightly pressed cheeks. Yanagi Shizuko's throat emitted a strange sound. Even clenching her teeth couldn't contain the sob that rose up, threatening to shatter them.

“Now then, put your little hands together and pray to God in your heart.” “Please take my boy to heaven.”

Ah, what an appropriate prayer this was. The place was inside a coffin. That coffin too had been properly placed within the cremation furnace. In all of history, could there ever have been even one person who offered prayers to God in such a place? And time's relentless march continued without mercy. An hour passed, then two - yet it was still only just after sunset. Wasn't coal not burned until late at night?

“Mommy, there’s something I want before I die.”

Suddenly, Shigeru blurted out something strange. Hearing this, Shizuko started. How he must have endured and endured to avoid troubling his mother. When she thought about it, they had gone without food for two days. Even Shizuko herself, an adult, felt hunger pains. That the child had finally reached his limit and spoken up was hardly unreasonable. “Even if you want something, there’s nothing here at all. Good boy, aren’t you? Soon—very soon—when we go to heaven, there’ll be all kinds of delicious sweets and fruits in abundance. Just a little more patience now.”

“That’s not what I mean!”

Shigeru spoke in a tone that seemed angry. "But you must be hungry." "You must be thirsty."

“Yeah, um... I want to drink Mommy’s milk.” Shigeru finally said it with a shy look.

“Oh... It’s milk... Mommy won’t laugh.” “Of course.” “Come up here.” “It might help you forget your hunger a little.”

In the narrow, pitch-dark coffin, bumping his head and shoulders with dull thuds, 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 sucking at the milk that wouldn't come out. And with his other hand, he squirmed and twisted at the other breast that was free.

Yanagi Shizuko, suddenly becoming dreamy from the long-forgotten nostalgic sensation of both her breasts, forgot her current terrifying predicament and, while stroking her child's back, began singing an old lullaby in a low sorrowful voice. For a while, the terrifying cremation furnace, the cramped coffin, the approaching "death"—all vanished somewhere, and both mother and child were immersed in springlike peace, in a dreamlike state.

However, such a state of affairs could not last long. Before long, both of them were dragged back to the terrifying reality and had to be tormented by pain and terror twice as before.

The chilly night air that could be felt even within the coffin—the night must have grown late by now. Even so, where in the world could Mr. Miya be? That matters had come to this—even he could never have imagined such a situation. Surely by now he must be growing impatient with worry over us. Or perhaps—could it be—that he was at this very moment racing toward this crematorium by automobile to save us? No sooner had this thought arisen than she fancied she could hear the rumble of an engine echoing from some impossibly distant place.

“Shigeru, listen carefully. “You can hear the car sounds, can’t you? “In that car, you know, Mr. Miya is riding.” Yanagi Shizuko, believing the auditory hallucination, blurted out mad-sounding things and continued straining her ears. She heard it—she heard it. But it was not the sound of an engine.

It was a strange noise coming from much closer now, right beneath Yanagi Shizuko and her son.

A gritty, scraping sound of something falling. The clang of metal meeting metal. And then, a faint voice singing.

A man’s gruff voice singing a crude popular song. Ah, I see. The crematory worker was humming a tune as he tossed coal into the furnace below with his shovel.

The final moment came at last.

When she strained her ears, perhaps it was her imagination, but she could even hear the dull roar of flames surging up. "Mommy, what's happening?" "What's that?"

Shigeru released the breast and asked hesitantly. Of course, being whispers, there was no way they could be heard beyond the coffin and the double iron doors. “Shigeru dear, we can finally go to heaven now.” “Right now, God is coming to welcome us.” Even so, Yanagi Shizuko’s heart was on the verge of bursting from terror. “God, where are you?” “There, can you hear it? That low roar—it’s the sound of God’s wings coming to take us.” She was already losing her mind.

Shigeru had been listening intently, but perhaps he too had heard the faint sound of flames burning, for he suddenly clung to his mother and buried his face against her breast. “Mommy, I’m scared! Let’s get out of here!” “No, there’s nothing to fear. Just a little longer. If we endure this small hardship, we’ll reach heaven. Now be a good boy.” The roar of flames grew steadily louder. With it, the temperature inside the coffin began creeping upward. Soon the fire would reach the wooden planks.

“Mommy, it’s hot!” “Yes, but if it doesn’t get much, much hotter, we can’t go to heaven.” Yanagi Shizuko clenched her teeth and held her child tightly.

The heat was unbearable. The fire must have reached the bottom of the coffin. With the crackling sound of boards splitting through scorching heat，a crimson light began flickering through cracks in the lid like hellish lightning，illuminating every corner of the coffin’s interior. “Fire! Mommy，fire! Hurry，hurry!”

Though he couldn't possibly succeed, Shigeru thrashed about wildly, struggling to break through the coffin lid and escape. The air inside had dried completely, making breathing nearly impossible. But more terrifying still was the scorching heat from the burning floorboards. Even Yanagi Shizuko, who had resigned herself to fate, could no longer endure it.

Ah, I see. So it really was true after all. In that final moment, something flashed through Yanagi Shizuko’s mind as clearly as flames. Could it be that Mr. Miya knew full well from the moment he put us in the coffin that it would be burned in the crematorium’s furnace? Wasn’t young Miya actually the lips-less monster? How should I interpret that matching body odor? Everything—from the very beginning—was a meticulously plotted evil deed. Could it be that even old Saitō’s mysterious death was orchestrated through cunning trickery to make it seem as though I were the perpetrator? Ah, how dreadful!

Yanagi Shizuko abruptly seemed to have realized something. Therefore—therefore—this was not the time for me to die shamefully. By any means necessary, I had to escape this predicament and clear myself of these false charges.

She suddenly began struggling frantically alongside Shigeru, trying to break open the coffin lid in a life-or-death frenzy. “Shigeru dear—now, don’t hold back! Scream! Scream as loud as you can so the man outside can hear us!” Then mother and child let out a bloodcurdling wail—neither quite crying nor screaming—and began wildly kicking at the coffin boards. But no matter what they did—doubly separated by thick boards and an iron door, their efforts further drowned by the roaring flames—their cries couldn’t fully reach outside. Moreover, from the crematory worker’s perspective, he could never have imagined living people might be inside the coffin; even if he heard faint voices, he’d have no reason to recognize them as human.

Ah, even as this transpired, the flames had already burned through the coffin's bottom. Crimson fire now licked hungrily at Shizuko's kimono hem, and in the suffocating smoke, both mother and child had lost even the strength to scream.

A living hell—truly a living hell.

No one had intended this. Shizuko had committed murder. It was her lover, the young man Miya Fusao, who had used his wits to help her escape from the mansion by using the coffin as the perfect hiding place. Had even a single thing gone wrong, neither Shizuko herself nor even Miya could have possibly realized that such a purgatory of scorching heat lay waiting. Even if it was said that she had killed old Saitō, for Shizuko herself, it had occurred completely without her knowledge. Even if it could have been called an accident or anything else—even if there might have been a path to defend herself—she had fallen into a purgatory of scorching heat far more ghastly than the gallows, all because she feared the courts and prisons and chose to flee into hiding. Such was the terror of fate.

But Miya was Miya. After all the painstaking efforts to help her escape, what on earth could have happened that there was still been no word at all? What if Yanagi Shizuko's terrifying suspicion had been correct—wasn't Miya himself the most abominable devil in the world? Could it be that he had thought far ahead and devised the coffin trick specifically to subject her to the torments of this scorching purgatory?

If that were so—though what grudge he bore against Shizuko remained unknown—his scheme must be said to have succeeded beyond measure. For one could scarcely imagine another torment in this world as cruel as this existing. Be that as it may, Shizuko's suffering had reached a pitch too dreadful to commit to words. The flames crept hungrily up the mother's kimono hem and the child's trouser legs, but within that cramped box offering no room for evasion—let alone movement—each desperate push against the lid made the charred and brittle bottom crumble with a sickening crack, rendering the coffin impossible to breach. All they could do was scream at the limits of their voices.

But even that crying and screaming had now become impossible. The billowing toxic smoke seared their eyes, mouths, and noses, sending them into convulsive coughing fits—leaving them not only unable to scream but gasping for ragged breaths in agony. With shameless abandon, young Shigeru could no longer distinguish his mother, hurling himself against Yanagi Shizuko's chest as though she were some long-hated foe, digging beast-like claws into her soft flesh to claw and claw again.

And, ah, what a gruesome sight it was. Unable to bear her child's agony, the mother—herself groaning in death throes—in a frenzied daze placed both hands around Shigeru's neck and tried to strangle him.

Just at that moment, somewhere there was a metallic clang, and then the coffin shook as though struck by an earthquake, accompanied by the splintering crack of wood breaking.

It was finally the end. Their living flesh would fall into the blazing fire and sizzle away. Oh God...

When she suddenly opened her eyes—strangely enough—she found she had not yet died. Not only that—the terrible heat and smoke had vanished without her realizing it—and peering down at her through the gaping coffin lid was none other than the young man Miya.

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 awful ordeal.”

It was Miya’s familiar voice. It was the dear face of her lover. Ah, it wasn’t a hallucination.

They had been saved. They had finally been saved. “The police surveillance was so strict that until this very moment, I couldn’t find an opportunity to slip away.” “I was so terribly anxious!” “But I made it just in time—how fortunate we were.” “Ah, Mr. Miya!” Shizuko could do nothing but sob, overwhelmed by the emotions surging through her chest.

Exhumation

And then, what happened? Yanagi Shizuko and young Shigeru were led by Miya out of the crematorium and slipped away quietly to an unknown location. After compensating the crematory worker sufficiently from his own funds to secure his silence, Miya placed a human skeleton bought from a medical specimen supplier into the coffin instead of Shizuko and her son—preparing everything meticulously to avoid suspicion during the bone-collection ceremony.

Yanagi Shizuko had once doubted Miya in that manner, but having now been rescued, it became clear her suspicions had been entirely groundless. She honestly confessed this and apologized so sincerely she said, “I truly am sorry.”

It goes without saying that the place they departed to from the crematorium was not the Hatayanagi residence. So where on earth had they sought a hideout? And what kind of incident occurred there?

The hideout that Yanagi Shizuko and the others had sought was a place utterly beyond imagination, a realm of sheer bizarre strangeness. Moreover, the incident that occurred there was truly blood-curdling—a literally unprecedented terrifying event.

However, before recounting this, we must first—as a matter of sequence—devote some pages to the equally bizarre actions of our Akechi Kogoro. On the day of old Saitō’s funeral, Akechi had risen from his sickbed and was already busily at work. Each time he went out, he disguised himself as a different person. Two days after the funeral, Inspector Tsunekawa visited Akechi’s apartment.

“Are you already up? Are you sure?” Inspector Tsunekawa asked with concerned surprise at Akechi’s energy. “No, I can’t just lie around,” Akechi replied with his characteristic grin as he offered the inspector a chair. “The case grows more intriguing by the hour.” “Which case do you mean?” “The Hatayanagi affair—the Lipless Devil case.” “Ah! Have you found clues about the culprit’s whereabouts? We’re focusing all efforts on hunting Mrs. Hatayanagi as Saitō’s killer,” said Tsunekawa. “Between her dental evidence and other leads, flushing her out should unravel that lipless bastard’s schemes too. Yet how does a woman—a mother with child—evade us so skillfully? We’ve hit nothing but dead ends.”

Inspector Tsunekawa spoke candidly. "No, even I don't know anything for certain yet." "But there are more than enough clues." "Just tracing each one is already a tremendous task." "I can't just lie around in bed, you know."

When he heard this, Inspector Tsunekawa made a slightly displeased face. The police did not have such an abundance of leads. But given his professional position, he couldn't possibly lower himself to ask Akechi about sharing the discovered clues. "For instance," Akechi, noticing the other's expression, broached the subject. "Those three female corpses from the Yoyogi atelier we discussed." "Have you identified them?"

“Ah, we’ve exhausted every means in our investigation, yet strangely we still haven’t found any runaway girls matching those bodies.” “Those three girls had decomposed so severely their faces became completely unrecognizable.” Akechi abruptly made this observation while intently studying the inspector’s face. Inspector Tsunekawa “They had.” Though he responded, he appeared perplexed, unable to grasp Akechi’s implication. “Now then, Inspector Tsunekawa. Since you’ve kindly come, there’s something I’d like you to examine.”

Akechi's words took another abrupt leap. "What is it? Let me have a look." The inspector, never imagining it could be such a bizarre object, replied casually.

Akechi stood up from his seat and opened the door to the next room. It was his living room doubling as a study. "There it is."

Inspector Tsunekawa also stood and came to the doorway, but when he peered into the study, even the veteran detective was so stunned that he froze with an "Ah!"

There stood Yanagi Shizuko and Shigeru boy—the very ones they had been desperately searching for—facing their direction.

At first glance, he thought they were Ms. Fumiyo, Akechi’s assistant, and the boy Kobayashi, but in the next instant realized they were not. “Has this amateur detective outsmarted me again?” The thought made his blood boil. And there was absolutely no need for such a theatrical production.

“How could you...” He blurted out but couldn’t find the next words. “Ha ha ha, Mr. Tsunekawa, you mustn’t misunderstand. There’s no need for such astonishment.” Akechi strode briskly to the Shizuko figure’s side and snapped his fingers against its beautiful cheek. Unfortunately, Inspector Tsunekawa found himself startled once more. Even as it endured such treatment for Akechi’s demonstration, the figure stood rigid without moving a single facial muscle. It was not alive. Nothing more than an exquisitely crafted wax effigy.

“However, I find it quite delightful that even you were completely fooled by how perfectly crafted it is. Japan does have factories capable of producing such splendid wax figures.”

Akechi grinned with satisfaction. "That's astonishing." Inspector Tsunekawa also began to laugh, "But why did you have such dolls made? It seems rather odd for your toy." "What do you mean? This isn't some mere toy. Even this serves a proper purpose." "This isn't a Western detective novel—what possible use could swapping dolls serve?"

Inspector Tsunekawa said in a sarcastic tone. Akechi’s outlandish methods were each and every one of them irritating beyond measure.

“This Western-style clothing—” Akechi ignored that and began his explanation. “Ms. Fumiyo bought off-the-rack cheap clothes and dressed it in them.” “She said the doll would feel embarrassed if left naked, you see.” “You see, this doll isn’t just the head—the limbs and torso are also perfectly crafted to resemble the real thing.” “Well, that’s quite something. “It must have taken considerable effort.”

“No, we completed it in three days,” Akechi explained. “For the torso, they used whatever materials were available at the factory, while sculpting only the neck based on numerous photographs to create a casting mold. I commissioned my friend Mr.K for the sculpting—he worked through day and night with his apprentices to finish it.” He chuckled dryly. “Though he did grumble about it being his first time handling such work.” “Is such speed even possible?” Inspector Tsunekawa’s face betrayed his skepticism. “We drove ourselves relentlessly,” Akechi countered, his tone hardening slightly. “It had to be ready by today at all costs. But rest assured—we spared no expense in achieving it.”

Given that he needed it by today, Akechi must undoubtedly be planning to put this doll into action imminently, but what on earth could this man be scheming? He sometimes started these childish ploys, but it was almost uncanny how they always worked. Inspector Tsunekawa desperately wanted to ask about the doll's purpose but found no way to broach the subject; however, since it would be galling to inquire now, he deliberately affected an air of indifference. "By the way, Mr. Tsunekawa, I have a request—it's a matter somewhat beyond a civilian detective's purview."

“Given it’s you, I’ll do everything I can to accommodate you.” “No, if it’s related to the investigation, I’ll handle that myself.” “But what exactly is it?”

“Actually, I want to have cemeteries excavated and examine the corpses.” “Cemeteries, you say?”

Inspector Tsunekawa looked perplexed and asked in return.

“Yes, about four cemeteries...”

Akechi was saying increasingly bizarre things.

“Four? What exactly are you trying to investigate? Whose corpse is it?” “The first would be Okada Michihiko—the man who committed suicide by drowning in Shiohara.” “Ah yes, that corpse should be buried at Myōun Temple Cemetery in Shiohara. There’s no reason we can’t examine it. Though I doubt it’s retained its original form by now.”

“But even a skeleton should still have its teeth intact.”

He finally understood Akechi’s plan. “Ah, I see. So you’re planning to compare that corpse’s teeth with the dental impression of Okada Michihiko from when he was alive—the one Kobayashi obtained from the dentist—is that right?” “Yes, just to be certain. I can’t rest assured without confirming this. Until we verify that these two dental impressions match, I can’t be sure Okada isn’t the same person as the lipless monster.” “Very well. That doesn’t seem like a wasted effort at all. I’ll handle the cemetery excavation procedures. …But you did mention four cemeteries earlier. Besides Okada’s, are there other corpses we need to examine?”

“It’s not so much corpses as rather…”

Akechi gave a slight wry smile. “I need to confirm there are no corpses.” “Meaning the buried coffins are empty.” “Wh-what? Are you saying corpses were actually stolen?” “Where?” “Whose corpses?” “I don’t know whose.” “We’ll have to dig them up randomly to find out.”

What on earth was Akechi saying now? This was sheer lunacy.

“If it’s random and you don’t even know which graves they are, how can you possibly excavate them?”

“No, I’m aware of that as well. Nowadays, cases of burying corpses in the Tokyo area are exceedingly rare, so tracking them down shouldn’t require too much effort.” “So you’ve already located those graves, then. But whose graves are they exactly?”

“The graves of three young women,” Akechi explained. “Those very coffins holding the poor girls encased in plaster at the atelier.” “But those were already cremated by the authorities,” Tsunekawa countered. “I’m well aware. The cemetery I want excavated predates their cremation.” “What? You mean those girls were buried twice?” The inspector’s eyes widened. “Of course! How could I have missed it! So the corpses in the studio weren’t murder victims—they’d been stolen from graves to make those grotesque plaster statues. That’s your theory?”

Inspector Tsunekawa was considerably surprised by Akechi’s imagination.

“That’s correct. We must always consider what lies beneath superficial appearances. Because master criminals frequently employ such methods. The lips-less monster is regarded as a homicidal deviant—a type of sexual psychopath. It’s been engineered to appear exactly that way, but this might be the criminal’s clever performance. Therefore, I’ve adopted the perspective that the perpetrator is actually neither a homicidal deviant nor a psychopath. In this case, it seems an extraordinary number of people have been killed. But in reality—isn’t it possible the criminal has barely committed any murders at all? That’s the view I’m proposing.”

Akechi's words were growing increasingly outlandish. “Then are you saying this 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 two more people who have been killed?” “Two? No, three.” “Moreover, they might be entirely different from the person you have in mind.”

"In any case, a murder has been committed, hasn't it?"

Inspector Tsunekawa grew increasingly agitated at Akechi's riddle-like words. “It’s definitely not an attempted murder!” "People were certainly killed," Akechi replied calmly, “However, the culprit has not yet achieved their true objective.” “The killings up to now have been, for them, nothing more than a prelude.” “Their true intentions lie elsewhere entirely.” “Mr. Tsunekawa, please remember this.” “That I called this case attempted murder.” “I believe the time will come when I can unravel this and show it to you.”

Even when Inspector Tsunekawa pressed for further clarification of this riddle-like explanation, Akechi refused to elaborate further. Moreover, Inspector Tsunekawa himself avoided exposing his own inadequacy through the folly of persistent questioning.

“Understood regarding the grave excavation. I’ll handle all necessary procedures on my end. Of course, your attendance is entirely at your discretion.” “Please proceed. However, Mr. Tsunekawa—this is merely about gathering irrefutable evidence as a precautionary measure, not because there are no urgent matters elsewhere. I’ll complete my preparations before heading to the cemetery.”

The conversation had become strangely strained. When government officials and a private detective were both involved in the same case, and moreover, the latter’s skills were superior, it was an unavoidable situation.

The following day, as agreed, Okada Michihiko’s grave at Shiohara Myōun Temple was excavated. Court personnel, Mr. Tsunekawa from the Metropolitan Police Department, the local police chief, Akechi Kogoro, and others were in attendance. Judge S had been acquainted with Akechi since before his overseas trip and held considerable goodwill toward him, so he accepted the amateur detective’s proposal without hesitation, and matters proceeded smoothly.

With each swing of the laborers’ hoes, the soil was dug up, and from beneath emerged the crude lid of a coffin. The coffin had darkened from moisture but retained its original shape.

The laborers, being accustomed to such tasks, pried open the lid without hesitation. Instantly, a pungent stench assailed their nostrils—a horrifying corpse, rotted and festering, half-melted and flowing. It was a sight too gruesome to look upon.

The laborers carefully pulled the coffin out onto the ground and exposed it to the harsh glare of daylight. Overwhelmed by the gruesomeness, the people involuntarily turned their faces away; yet bound by duty, they could not flee. “The dental impressions, check the dental impressions!” In response to Judge S’s words, Akechi took out the prepared dental impression (obtained from a dentist, belonging to the late Okada Michihiko) and handed it to a police officer. “Open the corpse’s mouth.” The police officer commanded the laborers in an angry-sounding voice.

But there was no need to open it. On the corpse’s face, there was almost no flesh left, exposing a long row of teeth. “Huh. Like this?”

The laborers, bravely placing their hands on the skeleton's clenched teeth, forced its jaw open with a clatter. The police officer squatted down, grimacing as he attempted to match the plaster dental impression to the corpse's teeth.

The attending people gathered their heads together and leaned in close to peer into the skeleton’s mouth. “Not a fraction of an inch off,” declared the police officer. “They’re completely identical.” He exclaimed triumphantly in a loud voice. Indeed, to any observer, the arrangement of the skeleton’s teeth and the plaster mold were perfectly identical.

The mysterious painter Okada Michihiko—whom Miya Fusao had first suspected, and whom Akechi Kogoro along with the police had also temporarily doubted—had truly been dead all along. It became clear that the disfigured drowned corpse was not a case of him using another person’s corpse as a substitute to transform into the lip-less man and commit atrocities, but rather that of a pitiable individual who had committed suicide over a failed love affair and been wrongfully accused.

However, while this cleared Okada of the false charges, it simultaneously gave rise to new doubts. "The psychological leap whereby Okada Michihiko—who had proposed poison duels, altered Ms. Shizuko’s photograph into a horrific corpse image to leave behind, and created those corpse plaster statues in his atelier—committed suicide over such trivial matters like some naive, sheltered youth struck us as profoundly unnatural. If we can clarify this point, then at that very moment, I believe the mystery of the lip-less monster will naturally unravel."

The words Akechi had disclosed to Judge S and Inspector Tsunekawa in the cemetery of Myōun Temple would soon be realized to be true.

Be that as it may, the following day, another excavation was conducted—this time at the cemetery of Saimyoji Temple in O Village, not far from the eerie atelier in Yoyogi.

For some reason, O Village retained an old-fashioned burial custom, and whenever there was a funeral, fresh traditional earthen mounds would be built in Saimyoji Temple's vast cemetery.

When Akechi Kogoro, having gathered this information, went to investigate at Saimyoji Temple, he discovered that there had been young female corpses whose ages and burial times precisely matched those of the three girls from the atelier. As they probed deeper, they even uncovered—through the temple caretaker’s account—that shortly after those young women were buried, a suspicious figure had been seen prowling around the cemetery late at night. When they inspected the cemetery’s state, there was something undeniably abnormal about it. Moreover, the absence of runaway girls corresponding to his three had become a pivotal reason for today’s grave excavation.

Now, what were the results of the excavation?

To put it briefly, Akechi's conjecture had hit the mark. The three coffins they had been seeking were found to be completely empty.

To say it was empty wouldn’t be quite accurate—though there was no corpse inside the coffin, something strange was inside instead.

“Oh, there’s a strange piece of paper here!”

One of the laborers picked it up from the bottom of the coffin and handed it to Mr. Tsunekawa. "There’s something written here—looks like a letter, I tell ya." A letter inside the coffin—who in the world could it be addressed to? "Akechi Kogoro... Wh... Wh..." Inspector Tsunekawa let out a shrill scream. "Mr. Akechi—this is addressed to you!"

Akechi received it and began reading. The letter's contents were as follows: Akechi Kogoro. The one who noticed this cemetery and unearthed this coffin must surely be you. Yet how regrettable—you arrived too late. All has already ended. The one who stole the corpse from this coffin has now accomplished his final purpose. You have at last opened this coffin. But do you comprehend what this signifies?

That person had properly programmed everything in advance. "The moment Akechi Kogoro unearths this coffin shall mark his end." "You have already been sentenced to death. Know that any defense or opposition holds no power against me." "Again?" Akechi crumpled the scrap of paper with a bitter smile. "This makes the third threatening letter I've received from that theatrical bastard."

Chamber of Demons

When the unpleasant task of grave excavation reached a stopping point, the court personnel promptly withdrew.

The local police party also split off to investigate the family of the pitiable girls.

Those who remained were Inspector Tsunekawa of the Metropolitan Police Department and Akechi Kogoro. "I have this peculiar sensation of being manipulated by you all."

Inspector Tsunekawa strolled toward the temple gate. “You all,” you say? Akechi was, as usual, smiling genially. "You and the lip-less man." Inspector Tsunekawa was also smirking.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! What are you saying?” “You and that villain are colluding to toy with us.” “That’s the kind of feeling I get.” “Your imagination hits the mark with divine precision.” “Moreover, for the criminal to not only predict that the graves would be excavated but also leave a letter addressed to you inside an empty coffin—unless you and the criminal had arranged this in advance, such a thing would be impossible!”

The inspector said such things in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was joking or serious, all while smirking and gazing at Akechi’s face. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! How delightful.” "The notion that I’m colluding with the lip-less man—if we follow Leblanc’s narrative style, it would mean I’m playing dual roles myself: sometimes acting as the amateur detective, other times transforming into the lip-less monster for a solo performance. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Inspector Tsunekawa finally burst into laughter.

“Speaking of novels, this crime is remarkably novel-like. It’s rather beyond our usual scope. The cast of characters alone—starting with that lip-less monster, then painters and novelists—they’re all such impractical types, you see.” “Precisely so. Truly exceptional criminals are novelists at heart. Take this coffin letter incident—it demonstrates our culprit’s extraordinary literary flair. Why, sending threatening letters to one’s detective adversary isn’t the act of a practical mind at all. When I received the first missive, I recognized his artistic temperament immediately. Adopting that same creative mindset became essential for unraveling his deductions.”

Upon hearing this, Inspector Tsunekawa appeared deeply moved. “Ah, you’re a born detective,” he said. “That explanation was the secret manual of detective work! For detectives to truly match the criminal’s mindset—if the criminal is a scholar, the detective must become a scholar of equal caliber; if an artist, then an artist; if a politician, then a politician—without such complete transformation, one cannot achieve true deduction.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “But among today’s detectives, is there even one such person? Even someone like me has merely been working through years of experience,” he concluded with a self-deprecating wave, “and when faced with slightly outlandish crimes, I end up utterly helpless as we’ve seen this time.”

he said with sincere respect. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! You shouldn’t praise my lucky guesses so extravagantly.”

Akechi blushed and said innocently.

“But aren’t you afraid? His threats aren’t just empty bluffs. Ms. Fumiyo endured that ordeal precisely because he carried out the letter’s warnings to prove his point, didn’t he? Shouldn’t we be on our guard this time?”

Inspector Tsunekawa said uneasily. “No, I’ve already prepared for that on my end. This time, I have no intention of making such a blunder again… By the way, if you have no objections, would you care to visit the Hatayanagi residence now? Since Mr. Miya is probably there, we could hear about what has transpired since then.”

“Ah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Thereupon, the two had the automobile they had left waiting at the gate driven to the Hatayanagi residence in Tokyo. And when they alighted before that imposing iron gate, it was already nearing dusk.

The Hatayanagi residence, where the master had died in prison and subsequently the wife and surviving child had gone missing, lay as silent as an empty house.

When Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa arrived, Miya Fusao happened to be present and guided them to the parlor. "This house is supposed to be managed by relatives, but since they're all people unfamiliar with the situation and can't handle the servants, that's why I'm the one checking on things from time to time." Miya spoke somewhat defensively. "By the way, have you had any word from Mrs. Hatayanagi?" Inspector Tsunekawa proceeded to ask.

“No,” Miya replied. “I was actually hoping you could tell me that. How goes the police investigation?” “The police still have no leads whatsoever,” Inspector Tsunekawa answered. “They escaped remarkably well. It’s hard to believe such skill could come from a delicate woman’s mind.”

Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently at Miya’s face.

"I'm also surprised." "Not a single soul has witnessed them leaving this house." Miya put on a show of genuine astonishment, though he himself had orchestrated their escape. "This mansion resembles a magician's trick box." "To the untrained eye, a magician's box appears ordinary, but those in the trade know precisely where every hidden mechanism lies."

Akechi suddenly came out with something strange.

“So you’re saying there are secret hidden mechanisms in this building?”

Inspector Tsunekawa asked quizzically. "Otherwise, there would be no way to explain either the disappearance of the corpse belonging to the man who called himself Ogawa Shōichi or Ms. Shizuko's mysterious escape." "But during the Ogawa incident, didn't the police search every corner of this mansion without missing a single inch? They examined it with utmost care." "Well, that might have been an amateur's approach to investigation." "The secrets of magicians can only be understood by magicians themselves."

“By that, it sounds like you already know that secret.”

Inspector Tsunekawa, while dreading 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 have you kept silent about it until now? Such a crucial matter...” The inspector’s tone turned vehement involuntarily. “No, I was waiting for the proper moment. If I were to speak imprudently, it would only make our opponent more cautious.” “I see. And when exactly do you expect that moment to arrive?”

“Today.” “Now is that time.” Akechi stated this grave matter while still smiling cheerfully. “The time has finally come to capture the lips-less man.” “The time has come to expose his true identity.” “Inspector Tsunekawa, the truth is, I invited you here because I wanted to show you that magician’s secret.” “Fortunately, Mr. Miya is also here, which is most convenient.” “Shall we three now go and observe the mechanism of this magic box?”

At the amateur detective's utterly unexpected words, both Inspector Tsunekawa and young Miya were left dumbfounded, unable to muster a response.

“First, let us examine the second-floor study where Ogawa Shōichi was killed. As I’ve mentioned before, the key to solving this case lies hidden within that demon room.”

Before long, the three of them stood before the array of Buddhist statues in the demon room—the Western-style study of the late Mr. Hatayanagi that lay at the heart of the mystery. Just then—what on earth?—a student entered carrying an enormous straw doll nearly as tall as a person. “What’s going on? What are you doing bringing in such a strange thing?” When he saw that, Miya was startled and scolded the student. “No, it’s all right.” “That is something I had requested.” “Please hand it over here.”

Akechi took the straw doll from the student.

“Actually, this doll will be performing the role in today’s reenactment,” he declared, making yet another bizarre statement. “A reenactment?” Both Inspector Tsunekawa and young Miya were left speechless by Akechi’s unexpected words. “Explaining verbally why this study became the focal point of the case or what sort of magician’s trick mechanism exists here would be rather convoluted.” “The facts are so utterly bizarre that mere explanation might strain credibility.” “That’s why I conceived of reenacting the crime.” “I determined to demonstrate it physically.” “Though I didn’t mention it beforehand, bringing you here today was always part of my planned sequence.” “For this purpose, I’ve prepared both the stage and even had this straw doll specially crafted to serve as our performer.”

Inspector Tsunekawa felt exasperated at the thought of being made to gasp "Ah!" yet again by Akechi's antics. Serving as an audience member for this theatrical display was hardly a role he relished. "With only two spectators, our performers might grow discontent," Akechi remarked cheerfully. "But since you represent the courts or police, Inspector, and Mr. Miya here stands for the Hatayanagi household, having you both witness this could scarcely be more fitting. Besides," he added with a theatrical flourish, "too large an audience might dilute the carefully crafted dread of our little grotesquerie."

Akechi explained with a touch of humor as he arranged three-legged chairs from the wall lined with Buddhist statues to the farthest corner of the room. “Now, please take your seats here,” he said, beckoning them over. “This will be your seats for today’s performance.”

and beckoned the two men over. Given who they were dealing with, Inspector Tsunekawa and young Miya couldn't exactly get angry and took their seats as instructed.

“Now then, the first act will be the scene of Ogawa Shōichi’s murder. First we must prepare the stage exactly as it was at that time.” Akechi began his magician’s preamble.

“The room’s furnishings remain exactly as they were that day.” “What’s missing is Ogawa Shōichi’s murdered body.” “This straw doll shall now play Ogawa’s part.”

He carried the straw doll and stood at the entrance.

"Ogawa sneaked in through this door. "He sneaked in and locked the door from the inside." Akechi removed the key that had been inserted in the keyhole from the outside and locked it from within. "Then he stood before this Buddhist statue and began his work." He propped the straw doll against one of the statues. "Of all the windows, only this one had its latch undone—the rest were securely fastened."

As he spoke, he secured the windows to match exactly how they had been at the time. Then he too sat down in a chair alongside the two spectators. “There—now everything is precisely as it was then,” he declared. “I shall now demonstrate exactly who killed Ogawa and how.” Outside the window, evening gloom deepened. The vast estate grounds lay completely silent. An eerie interval passed. To any observer, the intruder could only have entered through that window—there being no external passageway. Inspector Tsunekawa kept his gaze riveted on the unlatched window.

And suddenly, with a swishing 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 flying from? A single dagger had been thrust deep into the straw's core with a sickening thud. In the room where evening darkness pressed in—as if shrouded in thick fog—the shapes of objects appeared blurred. This very obscurity made the straw doll lying collapsed with a dagger through its heart seem like some strange living creature, rendering the scene all the more uncanny. Even so—where on earth could that dagger have come flying from? Into this room with doors and windows tightly shut—an ownerless weapon had suddenly materialized. It was magic. But where was that magician?

Inspector Tsunekawa involuntarily stood up, rushed over to the aforementioned window without a latch, opened it, and peered outside. Because he had felt that someone was hiding there. Miya, following suit, timidly peered down at the dimly lit garden from behind the Inspector.

However, neither on the corrugated eaves outside the window nor in the garden below was there any sign of a human figure.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Inspector Tsunekawa, throwing a dagger through a tightly shut glass window without shattering the pane—not even a magician, however skilled, could manage such an impossible trick!”

At Akechi's laughter, Inspector Tsunekawa forced a bitter smile 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 rooted to the spot.

Could I be dreaming? Or was what I saw earlier merely a hallucination? Strange, strange—when he drew closer and looked, there was nothing on the straw doll's chest. The dagger had vanished without a trace.

Inspector Tsunekawa looked around restlessly. He couldn’t find anything resembling a dagger anywhere.

What suddenly caught his eye were the rows of suspicious-looking Buddhist statues. He approached them and began meticulously running his hands over each one in inspection. Yet the statues appeared to contain no hidden mechanisms whatsoever. Surely it was impossible that these Buddhist figures had swung their arms to hurl the dagger. They were either immobile wooden carvings or golden Buddhas seated rigidly in meditation poses. So had it all been a hallucination? In the dim room's gloom and his own paranoid state, had he simply mistaken the fallen straw doll for one impaled by a dagger?

Overwhelmed by the sheer strangeness, Inspector Tsunekawa squatted down over the straw doll and scrutinized its chest area intently. “Just as I thought.” Indeed, the straw had been cut about an inch deep, showing where the dagger had been thrust. “Take a closer look.”

Akechi Kogoro called out from beside him. What exactly was he supposed to be looking at? Suspicious, he gazed absently at the straw doll's wound when something black began oozing from it. The dark substance spread with a sizzle, like paper burning. "Ah! Blood!"

It wasn't black. It was a lurid, vivid red. Because of the dim evening light, it had appeared black. The straw doll had been stabbed through the chest and was flowing bright red blood.

Inspector Tsunekawa brought the finger that had touched the wound before his eyes and held it up to the window light for examination. Just as expected, his finger was thickly smeared with blood.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! No, it’s nothing. It’s just that to make the performance convincing, I had concealed a rubber pouch filled with red ink within the straw doll’s chest. However, this should make it perfectly clear that the straw doll representing Ogawa Shōichi was stabbed through the chest.” Akechi explained with a laugh.

Then, as expected, that dagger was not a hallucination after all. “The murder weapon? And the dagger?” Inspector Tsunekawa involuntarily blurted out.

“Do you still not understand? I’ll reveal the trick soon enough. …By the way, when old man Saitō and the students discovered Ogawa Shōichi’s corpse, its condition was exactly like this. Ogawa had collapsed like this, bleeding from the chest. Needless to say, the murder weapon was nowhere to be found.”

Akechi continued his explanation. "The criminal did not show themselves，and even the murder weapon had vanished．However，Ogawa Shōichi had collapsed，bleeding from his chest．This doll was also struck through its chest．The cut straw and torn rubber pouch filled with red ink constitute irrefutable evidence．The doll was murdered．But by whom？How？...Even you eyewitnesses remain baffled．Old man Saitō and his companions finding it inexplicable at that time was perfectly natural．"

Even as they spoke, the room was visibly darkening. Each individual straw of the straw doll became indistinguishable. The dark Buddhist statues seemed to inch backward and melt into the walls. "How strange... I feel as though I'm dreaming."

Miya exclaimed in an oddly loud voice. Both Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa, startled by the volume, stared at his face, but the deepening dusk obscured his features, rendering his expression unclear. “Let’s turn on the lights. This darkness makes everything incomprehensible.” The inspector muttered these words as he began moving toward the switch.

“No, please don’t turn on the lights. Just endure it a little longer as it is. The real trick is about to begin now. It’s better to keep the stage dimly lit for this purpose.” Akechi stopped Inspector Tsunekawa and continued, “Now then, please return to your seats once more. I’m about to reveal the secret behind Ogawa’s murder.” The two spectators were pushed back to their original chairs by Akechi.

"Now, when old man Saitō and the others discovered Ogawa’s corpse, they were shocked and notified the police." “And, to ensure that no one touched 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 did exactly that—he closed the window Inspector Tsunekawa had opened, fastened the latch, confirmed that the door was securely closed, removed the key from the lock, and put it in his pocket.

“Now, this perfectly replicates the conditions of that time.” “They stayed away from this room for about thirty minutes.” “During that interval, something absolutely impossible occurred.” “In a room with no exits or entrances, Ogawa’s corpse vanished without a trace.” “Inspector Tsunekawa—that day marked your first involvement in this case, correct?” “That’s right.” “From that day onward, I’ve been possessed by a demon.” “In barely over ten days since then—the Kokugikan Hall spectacle, the balloon man’s gruesome death, old Saitō’s murder, Madame Hatayanagi’s disappearance—events have spiraled at breakneck speed.” “And every single one—each more bizarre than the last—defies all precedent, as if conceived by madness itself.”

The inspector said in a reckless tone, as if to hide his embarrassment. "So then, after old man Saitō and the others left this room—during those thirty minutes until you police officers arrived—I will now demonstrate exactly what happened during that time." Akechi continued his explanation undeterred. But despite his declaration of a demonstration, the room contained nothing but Akechi serving as narrator, two spectators, and the straw doll lying on the floor. Who on earth would perform this demonstration?

The spectators, bewildered as if tricked by a fox's illusion, stared until their eyes ached into the room growing darker by the moment. Tick-tick-tick-tick—the pocket watch's second-counting sound pierced the stillness with intrusive clarity. Inspector Tsunekawa abruptly sensed something writhing somewhere in the room and stiffened. There it was. Undeniably human. A pitch-black, dwarf-like malformed monster crept slowly downward along the far wall.

The Dwarf. A hideous monster, cloaked in pitch-black garments from head to fingertips, descended from the ceiling along the wall like a black spider. Straining his eyes at where the dwarf had come down, he saw that one panel in the corner of the coffered ceiling had become a gaping black hole, from which hung a single thin cord. The Issun-bōshi-like monster hung from the thin cord, used the Buddhist statue’s shoulder as a foothold, and landed skillfully on the floor without making a sound.

Leaving only the eyes exposed, the entire face was shrouded in black cloth, rendering identification impossible. Though undoubtedly one of Akechi's so-called actors, the sight of this pitch-black Issun-bōshi-like figure descending spider-like from the ceiling into the dim room crowded with grotesque Buddhist statues forced an involuntary shudder through them.

“Who is that?”

Inspector Tsunekawa inadvertently asked Akechi, who was seated next to him.

“Shh, be quiet.” “Please watch closely what that fellow is about to do.” Restrained by Akechi, Inspector Tsunekawa held his breath. Miya too kept his eyes fixed on the small monster, observing intently. They resembled two overgrown children, utterly absorbed in watching this bizarre magic trick unfold. The dwarf squatted over the fallen straw doll, scrutinizing it as if verifying its demise. When satisfied it had ceased breathing—he pantomimed this conclusion with theatrical flair—he abruptly hoisted the doll under his arm. Soundless as a shadow, he approached the door, produced a duplicate key from his pocket to unlock it, and slipped into the corridor beyond.

“Now, follow him,” Akechi said in a low voice, taking the lead as he dashed into the corridor. Though they didn’t understand why, the two spectators followed regardless.

The black Issun-bōshi-like monster walked resolutely down the corridor, unaware of being followed. The strange thing was that no matter how much he hurried, not a single footstep could be heard. Was he perhaps wearing rubber-soled tabi? Through the twilight-dim corridor where diluted ink seemed to have been spilled across paper, the small black monster glided soundlessly forward with the straw doll tucked under his arm—an indescribably bizarre and terrifying spectacle.

At the end of the corridor was a narrow back staircase. The little demon slid into the stairwell’s opening and vanished. After descending the stairs and proceeding a short way down the narrow corridor toward the back entrance, there was a storage room. The dwarf softly slid open the sliding door and slipped into the storage room.

With Akechi at the lead, the three followed into the small room and stood along the wall beside the entrance. The sliding door had been intentionally left open, allowing a faint evening light to filter through the gap, but inside the storage room, discerning human figures remained barely possible.

Ah, this storage room. The readers will recall.

Several days earlier, the old well where Yanagi Shizuko and the boy Shigeru had hidden was located beneath the floor of this very storage room. What must Miya Fusao - who knew about that old well and had hidden Shizuko and the others there at that time - be feeling now? This terrifying amateur detective knew about that old well. In that case, could it be that he had already even noticed Shizuko and the others' whereabouts? That Miya had begun fidgeting restlessly from earlier, as though unable to endure his anxiety any longer, was truly only natural.

Just as I thought. The small monster placed the straw doll beside him and began lifting those floorboards. After painstakingly creating a hole about one by four ken in size, he next descended beneath the floorboards, cleared away the old straw bags, and began dragging off the paving stones covering the old well’s lid with great heaves.

Was he planning to enter the well? Or perhaps there was some other purpose for this well?

The Dwarf removed five heavy paving stones with great effort. Beneath them lay two thick logs spanning the well's mouth. He removed those too. From when the monster first shifted the stones, an unearthly stench - choking and putrid - began seeping through the room. His stomach heaved at this cloying sweetness laced with rot. Inspector Tsunekawa instantly recognized that odor and reeled from its implications.

"Good heavens, what is this? Could it be that I've committed a grave blunder? To think I failed to notice this old well here and remained completely unaware of what lay within—what an irreparable disgrace to the name of the demon detective!" No sooner had this thought struck him than he could no longer remain still. He grabbed Akechi's arm and barked: "You—what's inside that hole? What is this stench? You know what it is, don't you? Out with it—what in God's name is that?"

“Shh……”

Akechi remained perfectly composed and put a finger to his lips. “We mustn’t disrupt the play’s sequence,” he said. “Bear with me a little longer. Within thirty minutes, every secret will be laid bare.” The inspector still tried to insist on examining the well, but at that precise moment, the black monster made an odd gesture that distracted him into silence. Having fully removed the paving stones, the dwarf dragged down the straw doll lying on the floorboards and abruptly hurled it into the well.

Then, he laid the two logs back in their original position and spread out the old straw bags on top. “In truth, 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 low voice. The little monster climbed back up, fitted the floorboards into place, checked for any oversights by surveying the area, and then retraced his steps 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, meticulously inspected the surroundings, then—using the Buddha statue as a foothold—climbed along the thin rope and nimbly ascended into the ceiling space like a spider. And after he disappeared, the coffered ceiling panel was fitted back perfectly into place, just as it had been.

“This marks the end of the first act.”

As he spoke, Akechi pressed the wall switch. The room flashed brightly. The end of the first act? So there was still a second act?

“Thus, Ogawa Shōichi’s corpse went missing. After that black fiend had completed all this work, Inspector Tsunekawa—your police team arrived here. That’s the sequence of events.” “So—the dagger that struck down Ogawa?”

Inspector Tsunekawa, unable to wait any longer, asked. "The dagger was thrown from the ceiling by that dwarf from earlier." “I already know that. But how exactly did that dagger disappear?” "Because it was pulled back up into the ceiling. In other words, that heavy dagger had a sturdy silk cord attached to it..." "That fellow put some thought into it, didn't he? To avoid leaving the murder weapon at the scene, he threw it down from the ceiling, killed his target, and then used this cord to reel the dagger back up—that’s the mechanism." “When you speak of a murder in a sealed room with neither culprit nor weapon, it sounds utterly bizarre, but if you crack open the trick, it turns out to be surprisingly simple.”

Ah, yes—the matter of the corpse's disappearance had now become clear. However, there were still mountains of things they didn't understand. "So, the culprit...?" "What in the world is that puny little black-clad wretch?" Inspector Tsunekawa posed his second question. "The role that black-masked figure is playing belongs to a truly astonishing person that no one could have imagined." "I myself only discovered it two or three days ago—it was such an unexpected individual that I could scarcely believe it at first."

“So, you’re saying…” Inspector Tsunekawa pressed impatiently. “So you’re saying he’s the true culprit behind this incident?” “The true culprit… That’s right.” “In a certain sense.” Akechi evaded a clear answer and, “Before I tell you who that fellow is, there’s still something I must show you.” “The second act of tonight’s performance is about to begin.”

he added theatrically. “So there’s a second act?” “Then does the current act still have more to come?” “Yes, and this demonstration is precisely the most critical scene I wish to show you all.” “Well, well—” Inspector Tsunekawa was not a little taken aback by the amateur detective’s affected manner, but in his desire to learn the truth of the matter, he had no choice but to tolerate Akechi’s theatrical antics for the time being.

“Now then, we shall show you an incident that occurred within two or three days after the recent events—that is, the Ogawa Shōichi corpse disappearance case.” “It was an utterly bizarre murder case.” “However, this was a completely concealed incident—a crime that even the police and the Hatayanagi family remained entirely unaware of.” “Is this separate from Old Man Saitō’s case?”

Inspector Tsunekawa shouted in surprise.

“It’s separate. Between Ogawa’s case and Saitō’s case lies another murder that nobody knew about—one committed right here in this very room.”

This prologue was undeniably a great success. The spectators grew visibly excited as they awaited the second act’s commencement with bated breath. “Now then—I shall extinguish the lights once more for a brief interval.” “Before proceeding—a necessary disclaimer—a most grotesque murder shall soon unfold before your eyes within this very chamber. Rest assured it remains but theatrical artifice.” “However dreadful these spectacles may grow—you must neither intervene nor cry out.” “And so…”

When the prologue concluded, the lights snapped off with a sharp click, plunging everything into pitch darkness. Outside the window, night had fully fallen, and beautiful stars twinkled. As they wondered how they could possibly see the play in such darkness, a large circular light abruptly appeared on the opposite wall, eerie Buddha statues looming into view like magic lantern projections. Akechi had prepared a flashlight unnoticed and now projected its circular beam onto the wall directly before them.

The circular light gradually passed through the group of Buddha statues, moved along the edge of the wall, and came to a stop before the entrance door.

As they watched, within that light, the door handle began to turn slowly and steadily. Someone was trying to open the door from outside.

When the handle stopped turning, the door itself began to open inch by inch, inch by inch, with extreme caution. The Black Issun-bōshi should still have been in the attic. It wasn’t him. If that were true, then who in the world could this creature be—opening the door with such terrifying care?

Even Inspector Tsunekawa—a man once called a demon—found his breathing growing rapid from surging curiosity and indescribable terror.

One sun, two sun, one shaku, two shaku—finally, the door stood fully open. The intruder outside had used a duplicate key. The circular light on the wall quivered rhythmically, its trembling magnifying Akechi’s pounding heartbeat as he clutched the flashlight. Into that wavering glow from the outer corridor slid a grotesque figure.

When they saw this, despite Akechi's prior warning, the two spectators couldn't help letting out a small gasp. For this individual was dressed exactly like the infamous lips-less phantom thief - black soft cap, black mantle, large tinted glasses, and mask. The grotesque figure crept forward through the circular light. As it advanced, Akechi's flashlight crawled along the wall alongside him, like a spotlight tracking a stage performer. It felt like watching a tracking shot in a film.

As he walked, the monster's eyes remained fixed on the compartment in the coffered ceiling where the Black Issun-bōshi had hidden. He appeared to know that strange passage to the attic quite well. Eventually, when he had advanced to the middle of the front wall, he stopped before a seated Buddha statue and, still staring fixedly at the coffered ceiling, crouched down there. What on earth was he trying to do? Then—as though this had been a signal—when a metallic clang echoed from that familiar spot in the ceiling, the terrifying Western dagger came whistling through the air like a silver rod, hurled straight at the crouching grotesque figure.

Ah! The second murder! "This was it!" By the time he had this thought, the masked grotesque figure had twisted his body like an acrobat and dodged the dagger's trajectory. It was a blindingly swift maneuver. While dodging, he swiftly grabbed the dagger's cord and tore it off. "Gyah!"

An eerie scream rang out. Next came the clattering sound of footsteps racing across the ceiling. The Issun-bōshi, deprived of his weapon, let out a scream and fled. The masked figure dragged the small table that had been placed in the center of the room beneath the hole in the ceiling, stacked two chairs on top of it to create a makeshift foothold, then with remarkable agility clambered up and leaped onto the frame of the coffered ceiling. Needless to say, during this time, the flashlight’s spotlight moved to follow the star actor’s performance.

For a while within that circular light, the grotesque figure's legs thrashed wildly before they too disappeared into the ceiling hole. The flashlight merely illuminated the ceiling corner in vain; both actors stayed vanished from the spectators' view into the pitch-black attic, showing no indication of abruptly descending. Now the stage remained empty for some time.

Instead, there was a sound. A terrible noise, as if rats were thrashing about, came down from the ceiling.

The two monsters were chasing each other in the darkness. Eventually, the sounds stopped abruptly. The fleeing Issun-bōshi was caught. For a short while, an eerie silence.

The monsters were locked in combat. They fought wordlessly, soundlessly, drenched in sweat. The terrifying spectacle seemed to manifest vividly before their eyes. Stage director Akechi Kogoro certainly knew how to stage a scene. The two spectators held their breath and listened intently. What could possibly be occurring in the attic? The silence felt unnervingly absolute. Who had emerged victorious?

Then, from within the deathly silence, faintly, ever so faintly, came drifting a moan as thin as a thread.

One of them had been strangled. It was a bone-chilling death-throe moan that made one's hair stand on end.

The thin voice gradually weakened like a dying lamp, dissolving into the darkness, and an even eerier silence returned. Then, after an interminable few dozen seconds passed, creaking footsteps echoed across the ceiling, and soon a single thin rope descended slowly through the familiar hole. At the end of the thin rope was bound a limp human body.

A corpse. The round beam of the flashlight slid down the wall alongside the corpse and traced an ellipse on the carpet.

Avoiding the chairs and table placed as footholds, the corpse lay down quietly within the white ellipse on the carpet.

As expected, that was it. The smaller one had lost. The corpse lowered by the thin rope was that ugly Issun-bōshi. Around the neck of the jet-black grotesque figure coiled a crimson cord like a horrific wound. It was with that cord he had been strangled. Encircled by an elliptical light—the black corpse on the carpet, its neck ringed by scarlet—the scene formed a strange yet beautiful tableau.

Soon, sliding down the same thin rope, the masked monster perpetrator smoothly entered the tranquil scene. He crouched over the corpse for a while, examining it; perhaps determining there was no risk of revival, he untied the thin rope binding the body, climbed up the foothold of chairs and table, hid the rope in the ceiling, fitted the board back into the hole he had just descended through, then returned the now-unnecessary chairs and table to their original places, meticulously erasing all traces of the crime.

One might think he would next dispose of the corpse, but that wasn’t the case. The masked monster approached the seated Buddha statue he had earlier stopped before and suddenly pushed the golden statue over with all his strength.

With a gloomy gong-like clang, the Nyorai-sama detached from its pedestal and toppled backward, exposing an empty cavity beneath its base where the statue had sat.

When they looked, atop the remaining pedestal sat a small portable safe. The spectators too finally began to understand what was happening. The two monsters had engaged in such a terrible struggle for this portable safe.

The Nyorai-sama had used its own body to conceal the portable safe—there could be no doubt that an immense treasure lay hidden within. The masked figure opened the safe's lid and distributed the items inside into various pockets. No—he merely pretended to put them in.

"I will explain in detail later, but the safe contained a vast amount of jewels."

Akechi explained. After removing the contents while leaving the safe untouched, the burglar tried to lift the golden Buddha statue—larger than himself—back upright, but found it too heavy to manage alone. This led to an amusing touch: Akechi, acting as narrator, stepped forward to help him finally restore it to its pedestal. "The actual burglar was far stronger." "He had no assistance." he added in explanation. With that completed, the mysterious figure hoisted Issun-bōshi’s corpse and exited the room. Once more, the trio’s pursuit commenced.

Inspector Tsunekawa remained composed, but young Miya, overwhelmed by his amateur sensibilities, found no entertainment in this theatrical display—he was utterly petrified. "Mr. Miya, are you unwell?"

Akechi suddenly noticed this and shone his flashlight into Miya’s face. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just... there have been so many strange things happening, I’m a bit...” Miya said this and attempted a smile, but his complexion was as white as paper. Fine beads of greasy sweat had broken out on his forehead. “Pull yourself together. Everything will become clear soon.”

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 same storage room. He removed the old well's lid in the same manner as Issun-bōshi had done before and threw the corpse he carried into it. No, he only pretended to throw it in.

The bottom of the well The Issun-bōshi monster had now been thrown into the old well through the exact same procedure he had performed earlier on Ogawa Shōichi (the straw dummy). However, he hadn't truly leaped in. Even though it was called a corpse, he was merely a stage prop from the performance. Making only the pretense of being thrown in, he nimbly vaulted over the well's mouth and took position in the storage room's corner. The masked figure moved to the same corner too; these supposed enemies stood lined up amiably side by side.

“This concludes the second act.” Akechi explained. He was still holding Miya’s hand.

“So there’s still a third act?” Inspector Tsunekawa peered into the pitch-dark old well, his nose twitching, and asked.

“Yes, there is a third act. However, if you find this tedious, I can simply explain the third act verbally.” “That works.”

The inspector immediately agreed and, "But before that, I want to investigate inside this well."

he seemed unable to wait any longer. “Well then, there’s a small ladder in that corner—set it up inside the well and climb down. “I’ll lend you a flashlight.” Having obtained permission from the stage manager, Inspector Tsunekawa promptly borrowed a flashlight, lowered the ladder, and descended into the well. He had not anticipated in the slightest that such a horrifying thing would be lying at the bottom.

As he descended, the first thing illuminated by the flashlight's beam was the straw dummy that had been thrown in earlier.

Inspector Tsunekawa picked it up and threw it out of the well. Under that, as readers already knew, lay two futons that young Miya had thrown in when hiding Shizuko.

“Please help me. These futons are something else!” Inspector Tsunekawa’s voice echoed up from the bottom of the well.

Hearing this, the two mysterious figures who had been standing in the corner under Akechi's instructions approached the well's mouth and pulled up the futons that Inspector Tsunekawa handed up from below, one by one.

Now, what lay beneath the futons?

That they were the corpses of two humans was something Inspector Tsunekawa had already clearly understood from the earlier performance. One had been conclusively identified as Ogawa Shōichi. But what about the other one? That hideous dwarf... and who on earth was Ogawa’s killer? He wanted to confirm it as soon as possible. Inspector Tsunekawa, keeping his foot on the lower rung of the ladder that slanted across the entire well, shone his flashlight down and peered into the bottom. “Gah!” A scream.

Even Inspector Tsunekawa couldn't help being startled. "What happened?" From the darkness above came Akechi's voice; he too was peering into the well.

“This is it.…” Inspector Tsunekawa brought the flashlight even closer to the bottom to show. To look upon corpses required mental preparation. However, no one could have imagined that the corpses would be like this.

In ten days of late autumn, decomposition had not yet progressed enough to distort their forms. But an even more horrifying phenomenon than decay or maggots had occurred to these two corpses. There lay two giants—two sumo wrestlers—curled up and piled atop one another. The ladder leg had dug into one corpse's abdomen, leaving that section constricted by about three sun. It was a drum-tight belly like some grotesque candy sculpture. This was cadaveric swelling. Gas generated in their internal organs had inflated the corpses with tremendous force, like rubber balloons.

Their faces too—wrinkles stretched out, pores gaping open—were swollen to the point of bursting like infants from the realm of giants. "This is Ogawa, then."

By the clothing, one could infer the person's identity. Inspector Tsunekawa next shifted his gaze to the face of the other corpse, but upon seeing it—overwhelmed by its grotesqueness—even he let out a “Gah!” and instinctively tried to scramble up the ladder. It was no wonder Inspector Tsunekawa was shocked.

The other corpse lying there swollen was by no means an unknown man. No, far from unknown—there lay pitifully sprawled the key figure of this case, impossible to forget even if one tried, his massive body swollen like a balloon. Inspector Tsunekawa had once encountered that individual in Shinagawa Bay. That had been a wax mask. But now, the monster lying at his feet was not wearing a mask. Truly, it had no lips. The nose was broken. The entire face was glistening with red, raw patches. Moreover, it had swollen to twice its size in life, presenting an indescribable visage.

Inspector Tsunekawa felt a strange daze. He was overcome by a strange unease that made him doubt his own vision.

This was his second encounter with the man with no lips—there at the bottom of the well, illuminated by the trembling white light of his flashlight, he had come face to face entirely unexpectedly with that bastard's corpse swollen like a sumo wrestler's. That Inspector Tsunekawa lost control of himself and attempted to flee was by no means unreasonable. "Who is he? What is this thing?" Finally regaining his composure, Inspector Tsunekawa began asking Akechi outside the well.

“We know all too well about ‘the man with no lips’ existing,” Inspector Tsunekawa said. “But as for where he’s from or who he really is—no one knows.” “The one who lived in the study’s attic and killed Ogawa Shōichi,” Akechi answered from the darkness.

Akechi answered from darkness. Indeed, through this recent performance, he had come to understand that much. The straw doll modeled after Ogawa Shōichi was killed by a black-masked dwarf. That dwarf was then strangled by a masked monster. And both were thrown into this well.

The straw doll was Ogawa Shōichi. If that were so, then this lipless wretch—the remaining one—must correspond to Issun-bōshi from the play. That little monster had performed the role of 'the Man with No Lips' with uncanny realism. "So you mean to say," came Tsunekawa's voice trembling between ladder rungs, "the criminal we've been hunting all this time... was hiding in this mansion's attic?"

Inspector Tsunekawa spoke in a tone of disbelief. “So who on earth is this guy? First of all—why on earth would someone choose the attic of this mansion, of all places, as their hiding spot?”

He found himself at a loss as to where to begin with the multitude of questions that swarmed up in his mind. “There’s nothing strange about this man having hidden in the attic. After all, anyone would feel nostalgic for their own home—especially their study.”

Akechi answered nonchalantly from the darkness. “His home, you say? His own study? When you put it that way, it almost sounds like the Hatayanagi residence belongs to this man…” Inspector Tsunekawa grew increasingly bewildered. “That’s correct. This man is indeed the master of this house.” “Wh-What did you say?”

Inspector Tsunekawa’s shrill scream.

“This man with no lips is none other than Ms. Shizuko’s husband, Mr. Hatayanagi Shōzō.” “That’s... That’s utterly absurd! Hatayanagi Shōzō was supposed to have died of illness in prison two months ago.” “That is what is believed. However, he has returned. He revived beneath the grave where he had been buried.”

Inspector Tsunekawa climbed out of the well and shone his flashlight into Akechi’s face. “Is that true? You can’t possibly be joking.”

“It’s perfectly natural that you find this surprising,” Akechi answered solemnly. “He did revive. But this wasn’t a natural resurrection. It was all the work of his accomplices.” With grave expression, Akechi began recounting the bizarre truth. “This is no trivial matter!” Tsunekawa’s voice turned sharp, his professional pride stung by being outmaneuvered by an amateur detective. “You knew about this all along and kept silent?” “No, I wasn’t intentionally withholding information,” Akechi replied evenly. “I only learned of it myself yesterday.”

While speaking, Akechi lit the dust-covered electric light that hung from the storage room’s ceiling compartment to brighten the conversation. Though it was a dim five-candlepower light, to eyes accustomed to the darkness, the room abruptly brightened enough to be dazzling. "The one who uncovered that was Ms. Fumiyo working with me. She skillfully manipulated one of Y Prison’s medical officers and finally managed to extract that information."

Akechi continued his explanation. “I’ll have an opportunity to explain the details to you in due course. Given that the third act of our little drama still remains, I’ll keep this extremely brief. In short, the people in the prison’s medical office, the guards, and two or three inmate patients conspired together to make Hatayanagi Shōzō appear dead.” “He was indeed a patient in somewhat critical condition.” “However, he had not yet died.” “He was merely in a state of paralysis that made him indistinguishable from a corpse.” “You’re familiar with curare, the deadly drug made from South Seas plants, aren’t you?” “It’s possible that such a drug was used.” “In any case, through the arrangements of his accomplices, Hatayanagi Shōzō was able to exit the prison gates alive and unharmed.” “And then, after that, he returned to life from the burial ground where he had been interred.” “He revived and became a demon guarding the stolen treasures he had hoarded.”

“This isn’t some novel—I can’t believe such things actually happen in Japanese prisons.” Inspector Tsunekawa, unable to bear it any longer, interjected.

“The Hatayanagi family is extremely wealthy. Money sufficient to guarantee several people’s entire livelihoods means nothing to them. When presented with a fortune large enough to ensure a lifetime of comfort, could there be anyone whose eyes wouldn’t be blinded? Having returned from the grave, Hatayanagi—since retaining his original appearance would have led to immediate capture—endured excruciating pain and used sulfuric acid or something similar to disfigure his face. And thus, having become a completely different person—that is, a lipless monster—he reappeared in this world.”

“But that’s odd. I believe Hatayanagi’s prison sentence was seven years—why didn’t he simply wait it out? There was no need for him to do something like burning his face...” Inspector Tsunekawa found Akechi’s explanation difficult to accept. “Inspector Tsunekawa, surely you haven’t forgotten the Sugimura Jewelry Store burglary case?” Akechi grinned and abruptly changed the subject. “Huh? The Sugimura Jewelry Store… Of course I remember, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“It was last March, wasn’t it? When the safe at Sugimura Jewelry Store was broken into and two clerks were brutally murdered—” “That’s right. It was an extremely ingenious crime. Unfortunately, to this day we still haven’t obtained any leads.” “Then there’s the Hayase Clock Shop burglary, the Ogura Baron family’s famous diamond incident, the Marchioness Kitakoji’s necklace theft case…” “Ah, so you’d noticed that point too. That’s correct. They all used the same method. We’d been proceeding with our investigation under suspicion that the culprit was the same person.”

Inspector Tsunekawa answered, somewhat taken aback. “We have now captured that culprit.”

Akechi blurted out increasingly outlandish things.

“Uh… uh… where?” “Where?” Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but be flustered.

“Here.” Akechi pointed at the old well at his feet. “This guy is the jewel thief.”

Waiting for Inspector Tsunekawa to comprehend the meaning of his words, Akechi continued speaking further. "Establishing shell companies and committing fraud were, for Hatayanagi, merely surface-level legitimate businesses—in truth, he was a notorious jewel thief." "Not merely a thief—he even committed the capital crime of murder." "He maintained several accomplices." "They were villains through and through—there was no telling when they might betray him and steal his precious jewels." "If informants emerged among them, Hatayanagi as their leader couldn't afford to remain complacent in his cell for seven years." "When you consider that discovery of his other crimes would mean execution, feigning death or disfiguring his face with sulfuric acid became trivial concerns." "No—even those measures proved insufficient. He went so far as to fit prosthetic devices over his healthy limbs, disguising himself as a severely disabled man......"

Now, having altered his appearance and been reborn as an entirely different person, when he returned to his home, something truly absurd occurred. "He was so consumed by fear of execution and obsession with stolen jewels that he completely failed to consider his beloved wife and child." "But when he actually came to his own gate—confronted with the wife he had once loved and the child he adored—even he felt ashamed of his horrifically disfigured appearance." "He lacked the courage to commit the grave crime of prison escape..."

"For two months following his prison escape, he had been hiding at the home of an accomplice in Fukagawa. "—and I know full well the names of those accomplices—" And under cover of night, he would sneak into his own mansion, catch glimpses of his wife and child, verify the jewels' hiding place, and thus find slight solace in his own way. 'When Ms. Shizuko went to the hot springs in Shiohara, he would even go through the miserable trouble of following her there, staying at the same inn, and 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 witnessed in our earlier demonstration. He devised various countermeasures to prevent anyone from approaching that area. The eerie collection of Buddhist statues served precisely that purpose. He even installed a mechanism in the golden Buddha’s eyes where he’d concealed the jewels—when someone stood before it, the eyes would automatically snap open. That too formed part of his security measures. Furthermore, as an emergency hideout, he’d constructed a secret chamber in that attic and altered one coffered ceiling panel to permit entry and exit—yet another of his ingenious contrivances.……”

He had been hiding at the home of an accomplice in Fukagawa for about two months, but recently, that situation had become untenable. First was his obsession with jewels. He was madly obsessed with jewels. Despite being a man who lacked nothing, that was precisely why he became a jewel thief. "He could no longer endure living apart from the jewels he cherished more than his wife and child." "Moreover, he had realized that one of his accomplices had caught on to the jewels’ hiding place and was attempting to surreptitiously make off with them." Moreover, from Hatayanagi’s perspective, Mr. Miya being constantly at this house must have been a source of anxiety. So, like a thief, he sneaked into his own house, hid himself in the hiding place in the study’s attic that he had previously prepared, and from there kept watch over the jewels.…

Indeed, his caution had not been in vain. One of the accomplices he had suspected indeed sneaked into the study one day and attempted to steal the jewels from inside the Buddhist statue. Hatayanagi was lying in wait in the attic for it. This is how the dagger with a string that had been prepared in advance proved useful. “That scene unfolded exactly as I showed you in the first act of our performance earlier.” “Then, the accomplice who came to steal the jewels was…”

Inspector Tsunekawa involuntarily interjected. “That’s right. “Ogawa Shōichi.” “Of course it’s a pseudonym, but he was none other than the despicable traitor who betrayed the boss.”

Act Three “I knew Hatayanagi Shōzō was a villain, but I’m surprised he even resorted to murder.” “Yet what still perplexes me—if this culprit truly is Hatayanagi, why would he stage such a cruel act as kidnapping his own child and demanding ransom?” “There seems a glaring contradiction in that psychological calculus.”

Inspector Tsunekawa asked skeptically.

“That’s precisely it. Tonight’s second act of the play was performed to clearly demonstrate that very point for you. As you saw, Hatayanagi was killed by another man. Just who do you think that man is?”

“I don’t know.” “Except that he appeared to be wearing glasses and a mask.”

The inspector had no choice but to answer exactly what had just been reenacted. The small black figure representing the lipless man had been killed by the masked figure. “Then, allow me to present that individual.” “You, please remove your glasses and mask.”

Akechi called out to the black-cloaked actor standing amidst the clutter of tools in the storeroom.

Inspector Tsunekawa and the young Miya Fusao stared intently at the corner where damaged chairs and tables were stacked. A gloomy five-candlepower electric light eerily illuminated two black monsters—one large, one small.

The mysterious figure in a black cloak and black soft hat, responding to the words, raised his face and first removed his large tinted glasses.

Just by removing his glasses, it became clear that the figure had a grotesque face. His eyes were scorched red, eyelids short and eyelashes fallen out; from between them peered pale eyes like those of a half-rotted fish staring vacantly into empty space.

Inspector Tsunekawa, startled by a premonition, involuntarily took a step forward. The young Miya Fusao also seemed deeply disturbed; he turned deathly pale and muttered some incoherent nonsense. The black-cloaked monster next tore off the large mask that had been concealing half of his face. The entire face was exposed to the reddish-brown light of the electric lamp. As expected, his nose was only half there. From his cheek down to his jaw, raw red baldness glistened. And his lips—ah, his lips!

“Ah! The lipless man!”

Inspector Tsunekawa let out a shrill cry.

He couldn't make heads or tails of anything. He felt as though he were in the throes of a nightmare. The inspector, as a precaution, shone his flashlight and peered into the bottom of the old well. The lipless monster—Hatayanagi Shōzō's bloated corpse—lay exactly where it had been. Like a case of separation of the soul, two completely identical monsters had appeared. Which one was real and which one was the phantom? For Inspector Tsunekawa, this was, properly speaking, the third "lipless man." First was the wax mask worn by Enoda Kokkō, who had burned to death in Shinagawa Bay; second was Hatayanagi Shōzō lying dead at the bottom of the well; and here now stood the third monster.

“Then, it would mean that a lipless man killed a lipless man, but…”

He looked at Akechi’s face in bewilderment.

“That’s right. The lipless man killed the lipless Hatayanagi Shōzō. In other words, this case involved two lipless individuals who committed entirely different crimes for entirely different purposes. It was because we had conflated them until now that we couldn’t grasp the truth of the case.” “That such similarly disfigured individuals could be involved in the same case—it was too absurd a coincidence.” Inspector Tsunekawa found Akechi’s explanation to be like child’s play and simply couldn’t make sense of it.

“It’s no coincidence. If both were truly disfigured individuals, your line of thinking would be understandable—but one is a complete fake.…… Now, please remove that.” Akechi directed half of his words to Inspector Tsunekawa and the remaining half to the black-cloaked figure. Upon hearing that instruction, the black-cloaked man—no, woman—swiftly tore off her hat, placed her hands on her jaw up to behind her ears, then suddenly ripped off her own face with a sickening ripping sound.…… It was nothing more than 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 Ms. Fumiyo, Akechi’s female assistant. “Yocchan, you should take off your mask too.” Ms. Fumiyo gently addressed the small black-cloaked monster she had strangled in the play. Then, in response to her voice, the grotesque dwarf unwound the black cloth coiled around his face in a spiral, “Ah, that was suffocating,” he muttered in a cheerful tone to himself.

In a cheerful tone, he muttered to himself. As the reader had no doubt surmised, that too was Akechi’s assistant—Kobayashi Shōnen. “Ah, so it was you after all. Your acting was so convincing that when I heard those screams from the attic, it sent shivers down my spine.” Inspector Tsunekawa, while commending the amateur actors, took the wax mask from Ms. Fumiyo’s hand and gazed at it for a while, “Ah, Mr. Akechi, you’ve tracked down the craftsman who made the wax mask that Enoda Kokkō was wearing, have you?”

he said with slight surprise.

In his mind floated the wax figures of Shizuko and Shigeru that he had witnessed two days earlier at Akechi’s apartment, like phantoms.

“As you’ve surmised,” he said. “I tracked down that craftsman.” He began to add “and that doll—” but then Akechi stole a furtive glance at young Miya’s face. “Along with that doll,” he continued, “I had this made as well. The mold had been properly preserved.” “Eh? You mean you investigated the first client who commissioned that mask?” Tsunekawa interjected. “I did,” Akechi replied. “The strange thing was—the client wasn’t Enoda Kokkō.”

“Who was it? Do you know the name?” The inspector involuntarily coughed. "Since the order was undoubtedly placed under a pseudonym, knowing the name would be of no use. I did manage to get a description of his appearance. However, it’s also very vague." "So, besides you, was there someone else who ordered that wax mask? In other words, were three of the same lipless masks produced?" Inspector Tsunekawa, true to form, struck at the vital point.

“However, apart from my order, only one had been produced. I also noticed that point, so I investigated all the wax craftsmen, but there was no one else who had made similar masks.” “Then, the mask that I tore off Enoda Kokkō’s face in Shinagawa Bay must be the one ordered by the culprit.” Inspector Tsunekawa looked at Akechi’s face with an unconvinced demeanor.

“That’s correct. That novelist, despite not being the culprit, had been wearing the culprit’s mask. Therein lies the true culprit’s terrifying deception. However, I’ll explain that matter properly later.”

Akechi then turned to face Fumiyo and Kobayashi, “You must be exhausted. Go change your clothes over there and take a good rest.” he said. At that moment, Inspector Tsunekawa felt that Akechi’s and Fumiyo’s eyes had exchanged meaningful signals through rapid fluttering of their eyelids, which struck him as peculiar. As Fumiyo and Kobayashi Shōnen restored the floorboard to its original state and exited the storeroom, Akechi,

“Now then, about the third act of our play—as I had stated earlier, it can be grasped through explanation.” “As for dealing with the bodies in the well, we’ll leave that for tomorrow. At any rate, let’s exit this unpleasant place.”

With that, he urged the two onward and exited the storeroom. After closing the storeroom door and heading back down the corridor toward the parlor, they encountered O-nami the nursemaid and longtime servants waiting anxiously along the way. They had been strictly forbidden by Akechi from either ascending to the second floor or approaching the storeroom.

When Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa took their seats in the parlor chairs, O-nami the nursemaid—her face haggard with worry and eager to hear the details—came in carrying tea and such. “Nanny, you may stay in this room.” “Instead, please make sure to keep the others from entering here for a while.” “Also, please make sure to instruct them not to carelessly peek into the second-floor study or the kitchen storeroom.” When Akechi said this, O-nami relayed the message to everyone in the corridor and hurried back.

“Will Madam and the young master be saved?” “Um... Will Madam still have to go to prison?” Her faithful self wanted nothing more than to confirm this. “No, there’s no need to worry. Thanks to Mr. Akechi’s efforts, it has been determined that the culprit lies outside.”

Inspector Tsunekawa comforted her. "But where on earth could Madam possibly be hiding? What if... something irreversible has happened..." "That's also taken care of. I know where Madam and the young master are. There's no way both of them would ever do something like commit suicide." Akechi answered reassuringly. O-nami heard this and let out a sigh of relief. "Wait—you know where Ms. Shizuko and the others are? How did you figure that out? Where on earth is that place?"

Inspector Tsunekawa, hearing this for the first time, couldn’t help being startled. At the same time, he found Akechi’s flawlessly thorough detective abilities to be rather terrifying. "That’s correct. I should be able to show you Ms. Shizuko and the others safe and sound very soon. However, before that, we must bring the play to its conclusion."

Akechi Kogoro began his explanation while sipping the black tea that O-nami had served.

“The third act is the murder of old man Saitō.” “That too was not Ms. Shizuko’s doing, but rather the work of that wax-masked monster who killed Hatayanagi Shōzō.” “Since you are aware of that ceiling trick, I need not explain in detail—the culprit’s cunning deception should be clear to you...”

That fiend was hiding in the attic at that very moment, plotting yet another terrifying scheme. Perhaps he had entered there to intimidate any household members who might come in—using his usual face—to add supernatural camouflage to his crimes. In any case, he was hiding in the attic at that very moment... At that moment, old man Saitō and Ms. Shizuko entered while arguing. As he listened, the argument only grew fiercer. At that moment, he conceived a truly bizarre murder method. He threw down the familiar dagger from the ceiling to kill old man Saitō and plotted to shift the blame onto Ms. Shizuko. And that succeeded perfectly...

Ms. Shizuko had become enraged during the argument. She had grown so agitated she might have killed the old man. As if manifesting Ms. Shizuko's inner turmoil, the dagger pierced the old man's chest. No one else was in the room. There was no visible gap through which the dagger could have flown. Faced with such bizarre circumstances, it was only natural Ms. Shizuko came to doubt herself—to suspect she truly was the culprit who had unconsciously stabbed him in some fugue state...

Then prosecutors and examining magistrates arrived, and a terrifying, courtroom-like atmosphere began to permeate the air. "If there was even the slightest instigator, it’s only natural that a timid woman would decide to flee her home."

"I see. The reasoning is indeed very well constructed." "Even for me, there's no alternative way to consider it."

Inspector Tsunekawa put on a show of being impressed, but in the very next instant, his expression still betrayed that something didn’t quite sit right with him.

“But there are still some points that don’t quite add up.” “Why on earth is the wax-masked culprit going through such convoluted measures?” “Where does his true intention lie?” “Looking at how he killed Hatayanagi Shōzō and stole the jewels, one might think that was his purpose. But if so, there was no need to go so far as to kill old man Saitō as well, was there?” “No, neither killing Hatayanagi nor Saitō was his true objective.” “As I mentioned the other day, that fiend has not yet achieved his objective.” “The person that fiend is truly plotting to kill lies someone much further removed.”

“Who is it?” “And this person you’re referring to—”

Inspector Tsunekawa, feeling as though he had been struck head-on yet again, asked incoherently.

“It’s Ms. Hatayanagi Shizuko. “And most likely young Shigeru as well.”

Akechi stated bluntly. Inspector Tsunekawa had until moments before been focused solely on apprehending Shizuko as a heinous murderer. Yet within an hour, everything had reversed—not only had Shizuko been proven innocent, but she herself had become the prey targeted by a monstrous killer. Ah, what madness... "From the very beginning," he continued, "this incident's sole purpose was to kill Ms. Shizuko. Every other crime was merely a means to achieve that single objective."

“Wait a moment.” Inspector Tsunekawa remained unconvinced. “That makes no sense. Why go through such elaborate measures to kill someone as defenseless as Ms. Shizuko? When they first used young Shigeru as bait to lure her into that vacant house in Aoyama, they could’ve killed her then and there without any fuss. There was no need to frame her for old man Saitō’s murder with all these convoluted theatrics...”

“Inspector Tsunekawa.” “The reason I consider this case so grave lies precisely in that point.”

Akechi suddenly assumed a solemn expression and stared fixedly at the inspector’s face with upturned eyes. “The true culprit of this case is not human.” “No—a beast cloaked in human skin.” “A venomous serpent.” “Ah, what terrifying obsession!” “It’s an obsession from the beastly realm—one that our ordinary human imaginations cannot begin to fathom…” “The culprit toyed with Ms. Shizuko like a cat tormenting a mouse—whether kidnapping her beloved child, confining her in a basement, or making her believe she’d committed horrific murders—employing every means imaginable to terrify her with brief torments, plunge her into sorrow with prolonged torments, and subject her to utter agony, all while plotting to finally kill her.” “For the culprit, it would have been a waste to simply kill the victim with a single blow.” “Sucking, licking, inflicting minor wounds—toying with her mercilessly before finally devouring her alive—that’s his design.”

Akechi spoke with a pale face, every hair standing on end, as though voicing terror from his very core.

As he listened, even Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but feel a creeping dread.

"If that’s true, we must rescue Ms. Shizuko immediately." "Where is she?" "And first off—how did they escape through such tight surveillance here?" Inspector Tsunekawa said irritably, growing impatient with Akechi’s calm demeanor.

“Getting out of here was no trouble at all.” “It was the coffin, you see.” “The coffin containing old man Saitō’s corpse was used as the secret behind the magic trick.”

“E-eh? A c-coffin, you say?” Inspector Tsunekawa, caught off guard, had no time to hide his look of astonishment.

“There’s simply no other possible explanation. The mansion was under airtight surveillance by police officers and household members. Everyone who entered or left the mansion that day has been accounted for. The only thing that exited was the coffin. Therefore, we must conclude that Ms. Shizuko and young Shigeru escaped by hiding inside it. It’s elementary arithmetic.”

"But can three people really fit in that coffin?"

It was Inspector Tsunekawa’s rapid-fire retort. “Even if three can’t fit, there’s enough space for a woman and child.” “Then where is old man Saitō’s body?” “Let me show you.” Akechi answered briskly and turned to face the nursemaid O-nami.

“Nanny,” “You must know where old man Saitō is, right?” O-nami blinked rapidly in surprise. “Me? “No—how would I know such a thing?” “You don’t know? “That’s impossible. “Look—the coffins lined up in the inner parlor.” “Ah, you mean those? “All three are empty, I tell you. “They were just delivered from the funeral home moments ago. “They said it was on Mr. Akechi’s orders, but what could they possibly be planning? “Everyone’s been uneasy about it—said it gave them the creeps.”

O-nami was talkative. "Whether they're empty or not—let's go see for ourselves."

Akechi urged Inspector Tsunekawa onward, and the three of them—including O-nami—proceeded into the inner parlor.

Indeed, three plain wooden coffins were neatly lined up in front of the alcove.

Since the parlor was seldom used, it had a hollow, gloomy feel to it.

"The two are clearly empty. However, only the one on the far right has something inside." Akechi uttered the peculiar phrase "contents," approached the rightmost coffin, and slightly opened its lid to show them.

When Inspector Tsunekawa and the nursemaid peered in, there indeed was a person crouching inside. The electric light seeping through the gap in the lid vaguely illuminated the earth-toned half-face of the figure, parched like tanned leather. "Oh! It really is Mr. Saitō. Oh my, oh my!" O-nami muttered incomprehensible words and prayed reverently before the familiar Buddhist altar. "Ah, I see. So this corpse had been hidden in that well too, wasn't it?"

Inspector Tsunekawa said reproachfully.

“That’s correct. It was on those two futons. If old man Saitō’s corpse had remained there too, the performance would have become overly complicated. To reveal everything in proper order, Ms. Fumiyo and young Kobayashi removed this corpse beforehand. After all, we had to place him in a coffin anyway.”

Akechi offered such an excuse, but there may have been another reason.

"So, the remaining two coffins were prepared for Hatayanagi Shōzō and Ogawa Shōichi, I take it?" Inspector Tsunekawa grew increasingly impressed by Akechi’s meticulous arrangements. “With this, tonight’s performance will lower its curtain. “In other words, old man Saitō’s corpse served to drop that ominous final drape.” Akechi deliberately cracked a cheerful joke. “And now we’ll move on to the real manhunt.” Inspector Tsunekawa barked with renewed vigor like a hound sighting quarry. The time came for the Demon Inspector to demonstrate his true prowess.

“I’m concerned about Ms. Yanagi Shizuko and her son’s safety. Moreover, the prime culprit’s escape weighs on my mind. This is no time for dawdling!”

True Culprit “Inspector Tsunekawa—have you forgotten?” “Have you forgotten that I previously assured you Ms．Shizuko and her son were safe?”

Akechi calmly restrained the impatient Inspector. “That would mean you know where Ms. Shizuko and her son are hiding.” “But what about the culprit?” “If the culprit discovers their hideout and attacks, what will you do?” “I’m telling you, this is no time to dawdle around!” “Alright, show me to that place right away!” Inspector Tsunekawa shouted indignantly at Akechi’s overly unhurried attitude. “No, the culprit has already gotten hold of Ms. Shizuko and her son.” “After all, both letting those people escape from here and preparing a hiding place for them were all the culprit’s doing, you see.”

“Huh? What did you say?” Inspector Tsunekawa was utterly dumbfounded and found himself at a complete loss for words. “In that case, we must hurry even more! Otherwise, Ms. Shizuko will be killed, won’t she? What on earth do you intend to do?” “Naturally, I intend to apprehend the culprit. However, there’s absolutely no need to rush.”

When he heard this, Inspector Tsunekawa calmed down slightly. This was because he thought that someone of Akechi's caliber wouldn't maintain such composure without a solid plan. "So, you already know the culprit?" "Yes, I know him well." "You said that even putting Ms. Shizuko in the coffin and helping her escape from here was the culprit's doing, didn't you? First of all, I can't quite wrap my head around that part—are you saying the culprit is someone within this mansion?"

"When it comes to who helped Ms. Shizuko escape, it must have been someone she trusted most implicitly." "Such a person could only be Ms. Shizuko's lover." "In other words, the true culprit behind this case was Ms. Shizuko's lover." "It was Miya Fusao." "Hmmmm..." With that declaration hanging in the air, Inspector Tsunekawa sank into deep contemplation. While Akechi's deductions often seemed wildly improbable at first glance, they invariably proved logically airtight upon closer examination. That Ms. Shizuko's lover could simultaneously be the murderer targeting her life appeared not just improbable but utterly fantastical - yet Tsunekawa knew Akechi would never make such an assertion without ironclad proof. What manner of bizarre case had they stumbled into? No matter how he turned it over in his mind, Inspector Tsunekawa couldn't reconcile these contradictions.

“Then why aren’t you arresting Mr. Miya? He’s been sitting right here with us this whole time! Even so, I can’t make heads or tails of how Mr. Miya—the actual culprit—could calmly sit there watching that whole charade exposing his own crimes.” “No, he was by no means calm. Didn’t you notice? When we were revealing everything in the storage room, didn’t that guy turn deathly pale, break out in beads of sweat at his temples, and tremble violently?”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, he did show strange behavior.” “I’ll hear your full reasoning later, but questioning Mr. Miya directly would be the quickest way.” “He should still be here.” “He had already fled.” “Earlier, while moving from the storage room to this chamber, he disappeared from sight.” “I believe he must have exited through the corridor window into the garden.”

Akechi was making nonchalant remarks. “You knew that and kept quiet? Did you let the culprit escape?” Inspector Tsunekawa, unable to endure any longer, demanded answers fiercely. The more Inspector Tsunekawa grew heated, the calmer Akechi appeared to become. “Rest assured. I know exactly where he’s headed. And as an added precaution, I’ve even had someone tail Miya.”

“Tailing, you say? Since when?” “Who?” When Inspector Tsunekawa looked bewildered, Akechi laughed and,

“There’s no one outside I would ask to do such a thing. It’s Ms. Fumiyo and Kobayashi. Though those two may be a woman and a child, they’re actually more agile and quick-witted than adults. There’s hardly any need to worry about them losing sight of him.” “So this destination of his that you mentioned—where is it?”

“It’s a small factory in Meguro’s factory district.” “We’ve arranged for Ms. Fumiyo to call us once it’s confirmed whether Miya actually entered there.” “Ah—perhaps that’s the one.”

A houseboy entered and informed Akechi that there was a phone call for him. Akechi had the desk phone in the room connected and picked up the receiver. “It’s me, Fumiyo. He did go in there after all. Please come quickly!”

“Thank you. But why the urgency?” “But he seems to have noticed us following him somehow.” “Very well. Then I’ll go with Mr. Tsunekawa right away. Leave Kobayashi there, and you take care of that matter. Alright then.” Akechi left the desk phone and turned to Mr. Tsunekawa. “As you heard. As expected, he’s returned to Meguro’s factory district. I’ll accompany you immediately.”

“Then I’ll arrange to gather backup officers there.” Roused into action, Inspector Tsunekawa obtained the factory’s location from Akechi and made calls to the Metropolitan Police Department and the local police station.

About thirty minutes later, the two got out of their car a short distance from the target factory and approached its gate on foot.

From the darkness emerged Kobayashi, the boy who had been waiting impatiently. "He’s definitely inside this factory, right?"

Akechi asked in a low voice. “Don’t worry. There’s no sign he’s gone outside.” Assistant Kobayashi replied 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 back of this factory." Mr. Tsunekawa described Miya’s appearance to the five officers and requested their assistance. Then only Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa entered the pitch-dark gate.

Due to the darkness of the night, they couldn’t make out the details, but what was called a factory stood utterly dilapidated and wretched—its wooden fence riddled with patches of corrugated iron, while a small street lamp still clung to the leaning log gatepost that seemed ready to collapse at any moment, its faint light revealing "Southwest Ice Manufacturing Company"

The characters on the sign that read "Southwest Ice Manufacturing Company" finally became legible. Upon passing through the gate, there loomed in the darkness a black building like a monstrous giant monk. Of course, it was a dilapidated factory, no better than a shack. No, it was the wreck of a factory. "What on earth could connect a murderer and an ice manufacturing company?" Inspector Tsunekawa could hardly contain his bewilderment, but he couldn't speak recklessly. He followed silently behind Akechi. The entire building was pitch-dark, but when they went around to the side, light was streaming through a single broken window.

The two crept up to the outside of that window with cautious steps. When they peered in, there he was—there he was! That fellow Miya was clearly visible in the desolate, dirty room, leaning against an old table and deep in thought. “Mr. Miya! Mr. Miya!” Akechi called out from outside the window.

Poor Miya Fusao—how startled he must have been. He started, raised his face, and peered through the darkness outside the glass, but could only make out a dim silhouette, still unaware it was Akechi.

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

He edged backward as if ready to flee and asked again in a strained voice.

“It’s me. It’s Akechi. Could you open this for me?” Hearing this, the color drained from Miya’s face. Without saying a word, he dashed toward the door. “Stop!” Roaring, Inspector Tsunekawa pushed open the window, leapt into the room like a bird of prey, and suddenly gave chase to the fleeing Miya, seizing his coat. Inspector Tsunekawa was a demon at arrests, confident in his skills. “Oh! It was you... I was terribly mistaken.”

Realizing he couldn’t escape, Miya abruptly changed his demeanor and, telling a transparent lie, laughed defiantly. He was, after all, a master criminal.

“A mistake? Ha ha ha ha ha! Even if it weren’t a mistake, you’d still have had to run away.” “We’ve come to arrest you as the murder suspect.” The inspector forced Miya back into his chair and stood before him like a hawk sighting prey. “Murderer, you say? What on earth are you talking about?” “Who exactly have I killed?” “You bastard—after watching Mr. Akechi’s performance earlier, you’re still spouting that nonsense?” “You’re the lipless man!” “The culprit who wore a wax mask, killed Hatayanagi Shōzō, and threw a dagger at old man Saitō!”

Inspector Tsunekawa roared domineeringly. “Huh? Me? On what evidence are you saying such a thing?” An artfully crafted look of bewilderment. “I’ll show you the evidence soon enough. But before that, there’s one thing I want to ask you.” Akechi, unable to endure any longer, interjected. “In addition to Hatayanagi and Saitō, you’re also the one who killed your own assistant—the writer Enoda Kokkō. We know that. But what about Okada Michihiko? What about that Okada who died in Shiobara’s waterfall basin? I believe this was also likely your handiwork.”

“Oh? That’s surprising.” “How preposterous.” “I know nothing about that.” Miya’s expression grew increasingly bewildered. No—not just Miya. Akechi’s statement had startled even Inspector Tsunekawa considerably. To think even Enoda Kokkō and Okada Michihiko had fallen victim to Miya!

“Okada did not commit suicide. When you saw him climb to the waterfall’s edge, you seized the chance and pushed him from behind. You waited for the corpse to surface downstream, then smashed his face with stones to make it unrecognizable as Okada.” “Well, well—it seems I’ve indulged in some drunken theatrics.” “Hahaha! A drunken farce indeed! Despite your meticulous scheme—obliterating Okada’s features, having him dress a decoy corpse in his clothes and toss it into the falls to fake his death, all to make people believe he’d survived to torment you and Ms. Shizuko as scorned lovers—your elaborate trick left me utterly unimpressed. Wasn’t it you who came to my office claiming Okada was alive and persecuting Ms. Shizuko? You never realized that while I feigned belief, I was scrutinizing your every move. Hahahaha! A drunken charade through and through!”

“Hmph. So where’s your proof? If it’s just baseless conjecture, anyone could make that up. Surely even a judge wouldn’t buy that.”

Miya, now fully composed, lashed out at the two men. "You want evidence, do you?"

“Well, if you have any evidence, I’d certainly like to see that.” “Alright, I’ll show you that now. Just endure a little longer. Stay still now.” While saying this, Akechi signaled to Inspector Tsunekawa with his eyes.

“Please hold this man still from behind so he can’t move. We’re taking a dental impression.”

When he heard this, Miya turned pale and stood up from his chair. He knew what the dental impression meant. But there was no time to escape. The moment he rose, two arms shot out swiftly from under his armpits—those of Inspector Tsunekawa—and abruptly locked him in a painful full nelson hold. Akechi wrenched Miya's immobilized face backward, forced his lips apart, pressed the prepared soft red rubber-like mass against his clenched upper and lower teeth, and swiftly took the dental impression.

“Now, Mr. Miya, take a good look. This red one is the dental impression we 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, physical evidence will be established proving you’re the true culprit. Now I’ll put them together for comparison. Look closely. See? Not a fraction of a difference—they’re exactly the same. With this alone, no matter how you try to defend yourself, I’ll prove your guilt before the judge.”

Miya, still held in the armlock, bit his lip in frustration.

“Mr. Miya, do you know why I suspected you as the true culprit?” Akechi continued with a smile. “That earlier performance was part of it too. Rather than showing it to Inspector Tsunekawa, my true purpose was to test how your complexion and behavior would react. And it succeeded brilliantly. You watched the act, sweating greasy sweat and trembling violently…” “So why did I decide to test you? What made me start suspecting you? It’s because your trick was far too brazen. When Inspector Tsunekawa’s team cornered the lipless man in an alley near that eerie Aoyama house and lost sight of him—when the mysterious figure vanished like smoke—you never actually disappeared at all. You were right there all along. In that critical moment, you stripped off the cloak, mask, hat, and prosthetic limbs, threw them into the thicket inside the fence, reverted to your true face as Miya, then boldly pretended to be out for a stroll as you approached Inspector Tsunekawa and his men…”

“You’ve used this same trick repeatedly,” Akechi continued. “When you first came to visit me, a threatening letter supposedly came through the door gap. But that wasn’t thrown by anyone—you deliberately dropped it there yourself and theatrically picked it up to show us…” “And at the Yoyogi atelier too—those stone fragments that shattered the glass window? Again, you first planted a threatening letter outside before breaking the glass from within to stage an external attack. When you saw me desperately searching outdoors that time…you must have found it utterly laughable.”

"The case of the balloon man in Shinagawa Bay was no different. When I asked Ms. Fumiyo about it, that balloon man wasn’t the usual lipless fellow we’d been dealing with. It wasn’t your real face either. That was nothing more than an outrageous madcap scheme orchestrated by your deranged poet assistant Enoda Kokkō. You merely intended to have Ms. Fumiyo kidnapped; it wasn’t as if you ordered anyone to perform such stunts as climbing onto the roof of Kokugikan Hall or escaping by balloon." He must have thought he’d gotten himself into a real fix. So when the balloon fell into the sea, you were the first to rush to the scene in a motorboat. And before the police launch could approach, you strangled your assistant Enoda in the boat, placed that familiar mask on him, suddenly detonated the gasoline, then yourself swiftly leaped into the sea to preserve your life.

……

“Yamayama Saburō! How’s that? Is there anything wrong with what I said?” Akechi called out to Miya with an unexpected name.

An even deeper look of surprise surfaced on Miya’s face. “Ha ha ha ha! There’s no need to be so shocked just because I knew your real name. How did I find out? This is how. Look here—this is a photograph from your boyhood.”

Akechi took out a playing card-sized photograph that had been tucked into his pocket notebook and showed it to Miya. “Look—you brothers are pictured here side by side.” “The one on the right is your brother Yamayama Jirō.” “The one on the left is you.” “I tracked this down from the photo studio in your hometown of Shinshu S Town.” “So you...” Miya—Yamayama—stared at the amateur detective’s face with a start. “Exactly.” “I heard Ms. Shizuko’s personal history.” “This case has revolved around Ms. Shizuko from its inception.” “At first glance it may not seem so, but in truth, the culprit’s true target has always been Ms. Shizuko alone.” “Having realized this, I resolved to investigate her past.” “What I uncovered was your brother Yamayama Jirō—who fell desperately in love with Ms. Shizuko and took his own life.” “When I learned how fervently Jirō had loved her, and how devastating that heartbreak must have been... everything became clear.” “If Ms. Shizuko ever earned someone’s enduring hatred in her life, it could only have been Yamayama Jirō.” “She treated Jirō quite cruelly—this man she’d even lived with.” “She now regrets it so profoundly that...”

“My approach is to thoroughly investigate every person who seems even the slightest bit suspicious, leaving none unchecked. I sent someone to Shinshu to investigate Jirō’s family and even obtained this photograph. It was discovered that Jirō’s entire family had died out, leaving only his younger brother Saburō—who had committed misdeeds in his youth and run away from home—remaining. The moment I saw Saburō’s photograph, I felt as though all the secrets had become clear to me. Though the age was different, Saburō’s face in the photograph was exactly the same as yours, Mr. Miya…”

Yamayama (alias Miya) bowed his head deeply, so deeply that he lacked even the strength to speak. When Inspector Tsunekawa released his chokehold grip, Yamayama collapsed limply onto the floor. This happened because Akechi's deductions had struck their mark with terrifying accuracy.

“Ah, you’ve admitted to the numerous crimes you’ve committed. You have no room for rebuttal then. Then confess! Where have you hidden Ms. Shizuko and the boy Shigeru? Where are they now?” Inspector Tsunekawa crouched over the criminal and pressed him urgently for answers.

“Here. They’re inside this factory.”

After being subdued, Yamayama declared in a reckless tone. "So you still have them confined in some room, don't you?" "Now then, lead the way." Inspector Tsunekawa grabbed Yamayama's right hand and began to lead him away.

He appeared to have resigned himself. Unsteadily rising to his feet, he took the lead as directed and exited the office. Of course, Inspector Tsunekawa and Akechi followed behind, wary of the criminal attempting to escape. Yamayama hung his head and trudged down the pitch-black, narrow corridor. The corridor ended at the machine room. Were Yanagi Shizuko and Shigeru truly safe? Akechi had assured them they were, but wasn’t the machine room of an ice factory too bizarre a hiding place? Could this already be a hollow gesture—had the avenger Yamayama Saburō subjected them to some horrific fate?

The Final Murder

Yamayama entered the ice-making machine room and twisted the light switch with a click. First to catch the eye were two large electric motors, several copper cylinders of varying sizes, and multiple iron pipes crawling across walls and ceilings like snakes. Though the machinery had ceased operation, a bone-chilling cold lingered in the air.

“There’s no one here!” “Where are Ms. Shizuko and the others?”

Inspector Tsunekawa anxiously scanned their surroundings and said. “They’re here. You’ll get to see them soon enough.”

Yamayama wore an eerie smile,

"But before that, I will confess everything." "Please listen to why I subjected Ms. Shizuko to such an ordeal." "No, we'll hear that in detail later. First, release Ms. Shizuko." "First, release Ms. Shizuko." The inspector suspected that the man was making a temporary excuse. "No, unless you listen to my story first, I cannot let you meet them." "There's a reason I can't."

Yamayama was obstinate. “Very well. Go ahead and speak, but keep it brief.” Akechi, seeming to have some thought on the matter, permitted Yamayama’s request.

“I am the younger brother of Yamayama Jirō, who indeed committed suicide over a failed love affair. "I am a villain. "I neglected my family and did nothing but evil deeds. "However, just because one is a villain doesn’t mean they lack love. “On the contrary, I possess a love deeper than most. "I was especially close with my brother Jirō, and I had an unwavering love for him that would not hesitate to go through fire and water… "I learned through the grapevine that my brother was ill, so I hurried back to visit him. "My brother was all alone—without money for treatment, without friends to comfort him—wrapped in a grimy, hardened futon, on the verge of death.……"

“He was killed by Shizuko.” “How cruel Shizuko’s actions were back then.” “How wretched my brother’s heartbreak became.” “Words can’t convey…” My brother had transformed into a grime-covered, unshaven specter—pale and withered—a demon of heartbreak. “My brother couldn’t even rise from his futon,” he continued, tears streaming as he clawed at empty air. “‘I’m bitter…’ he wailed.” “‘Bitter that I lack the strength to kill that woman—Shizuko!’” “‘She grew sick of me—a penniless wretch rotting with illness—and sold herself to that moneybags Hatayanagi.’” “‘Had it ended there, I might have borne it.’” “‘But this—!’” Yamayama’s voice cracked. “‘For three years… I… I obsessed over that trampling bitch until I became this husk!’” His words dissolved into sobs.

“Shizuko was my brother’s one and only lover throughout his entire life—more precious to him than any treasure in the world. That lover discarded my brother as if he were an old straw sandal, spat upon him, and willingly married off to—of all people—a swindler twenty years his senior—an ugly, deceitful man.……” “One day, without my knowledge, my brother drank poison. At that critical moment, he coughed violently, vomited a terrifying amount of blood, gripped my hand with his blood-soaked fingers, and shouted in a fading voice—‘I can’t endure this! I can’t die properly even when dead. How could I become a demon of heartbreak and let that woman live? How could I let her live?’—And his voice grew fainter and fainter until it finally disappeared, all while repeating the same curse.”

"I clung to my brother’s corpse and swore." “I will avenge my brother—I swear it.” “I will seize that woman’s wealth, defile her, and finally kill her.” “Anyway, I’m a villain marked by the authorities.” “No matter what crime I commit, it’s fifty-fifty anyway.” “Brother, in your place, I will live on as a vengeful demon and carry out this revenge.” “…And so I swore.…”

Yamayama Saburō (formerly Miya Fusao) continued to shout before Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa in the gloomy machine room. “I became a vengeful demon who took my brother’s place to target Shizuko’s entire family.” “To prepare for that, I would spare no pain or sin.” “The thefts I’d already been committing frequently—I began carrying them out on a grander scale.” “Having the wax masks made, even buying this factory—all with money I stole that way...” “In my original plan, I meant to kill Hatayanagi Shōzō too—my brother’s romantic rival—but while I wasted time preparing, that bastard went and died in prison.” “That it was actually a trick he’d carefully planned—I only learned that myself recently.” “Then over a year got wasted again.” “I had to earn money just to survive.” “But that wasn’t all.” “I devoted my whole soul to making this revenge as spectacular and cunning as possible—a memorial for this world and an offering to my poor brother...”

“But finally, my preparations were complete. I’d acquired a perfectly suited assistant—that deranged writer Enoda Kokkō. From then on, it unfolded as you both know. I devised a plan to kill that eccentric painter Okada Michihiko and use him as my body double. Moreover, right at that moment, the lipless man appeared at Shiobara Hot Springs. Though I hadn’t the slightest clue it was Hatayanagi Shōzō, I seized this godsend to complicate the crimes—commissioning an identical lipless wax mask and crafting a scheme straight from a ghost story...”

“I frightened that woman, made her grieve, and tormented her thoroughly. I bore no grudge against Steward Saitō, but if tormenting Shizuko required it, that doddering old fool’s life meant nothing…” “Then recently, I discovered unexpected prey—the attic-dwelling miser Hatayanagi Shōzō. I let out a triumphant cry! Without delay, I outwitted him, climbed into the attic, and strangled him in one swift motion. Then I stole those jewels comprising over half the Hatayanagi family’s wealth…”

“Bwahahaha… I’m so damn pleased I can’t stand it! I’ve completely fulfilled the promise I made to my brother. These past few days, I’ve done nothing but dream of him. In those dreams, he beams with joy, grinning from ear to ear as he thanks me. You see? He thanks me! Bwahahaha…”

Yamayama waved his hands, stomped his feet, danced wildly, and laughed like a madman.

Inspector Tsunekawa, as he listened to the avenging demon’s cursed monologue, began to be struck by intense unease.

He was openly declaring that he had completely fulfilled his promise to his brother. Wasn't the most crucial part of his promise to kill Shizuko? Could it be that he had already accomplished even that final objective?

Inspector Tsunekawa couldn’t help but shudder at the thought. “So where is Ms. Shizuko?” “You couldn’t possibly have… her…”

He lacked the courage to utter the next words.

“Didn’t you say Shizuko was here?”

Yamayama answered with a bright red face still flushed with excitement and lips flecked with foam.

“She’s right here, I tell you. Hey, if you keep spouting nonsense, I won’t stand for it!”

Inspector Tsunekawa finally lost his temper and shouted. “Hahaha… I’m not spouting nonsense now, I assure you. “There’s no need to hurry. “Shizuko and Shigeru won’t be escaping. “No—they’ve lost all strength to escape, you see.”

Yamayama spoke in a bizarre manner, accompanied by a reckless laugh.

Ah, Shizuko and the others had "lost the strength to escape," he declared. Just how had they lost the strength to escape? "Well then, I'll let you meet Shizuko." "They're right here."

Yamayama strode briskly to the corner of the room and grasped the handle of a small door. It appeared to be a passageway leading to the adjacent room.

“Ah! So you had them confined in that room?”

Inspector Tsunekawa, with determination, rushed to the door.

“Go ahead and have a good long look.” “But taking them back together might prove a bit too heavy for you, I’m afraid.”

Yamayama sneered as he pushed open the door. At the same moment, a strange blast of cold air suddenly rushed out. “Ah! It’s pitch black! The switch—where’s the switch?” Urged on by the inspector, Yamayama took a step into the adjacent room and pressed the switch on the wall. When viewed in the light of the suddenly brightened electric lamp, the room was indeed an extension of the machine room, where a massive ice-making tank resembling a concrete pool occupied half the chamber.

“Whoa, there’s no one here!”

Inspector Tsunekawa looked around and said in a puzzled tone. But in truth, in the depths of his heart, a certain dreadful premonition had already begun to spread like storm clouds. “They’re right here.” Yamayama nimbly moved along the edge of the pool, went to the small switchboard in the far corner, and flipped one of the switches with a click. At that moment, with a grinding screech of gears, a huge zinc rectangular pillar emerged smoothly from the center of the tank, gradually hoisted toward the ceiling. Once it had fully cleared the tank, it was suspended horizontally and began sliding down along the tank’s exterior with a heavy rumble.

Directly below it lay another small concrete pool - likely holding scalding water - its surface roiling with thick, misty vapor. The enormous rectangular pillar plunged into it with a sickening gurgle.

After a short while, the rectangular pillar was hoisted up from the pool once more and, this time, was set down heavily on the concrete floor.

There was no longer any room for doubt. What kind of ordeal Yanagi Shizuko and Shigeru had been subjected to was all too clear to both Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa.

But faced with a murder method so bizarre beyond measure, even the usually unflappable Inspector Tsunekawa appeared utterly dumbfounded. "Shizuko and the boy Shigeru." Yamayama approached the massive rectangular pillar and, in a tone befitting a carnival barker announcing an attraction, feigned nonchalance as he produced clicking sounds from the pillar's far side.

Then, the huge zinc box opened its bottom, leaving its contents on the floor, and smoothly ascended heavenward. What appeared from beneath felt at first glance like something indescribably beautiful—a glittering, radiant, gigantic flower-like form.

Though they had anticipated it, the nightmarishly grotesque yet eerily alluring spectacle left both of them gasping "Ah!" without another word.

Ah, what a piteous yet beautiful sight it must have been.

There stood an exceptionally massive flower-ice unlike anything ever witnessed before—its surface reflecting electric lamps as it shimmered with a beautiful rainbow. Flower-ice! It was unmistakably a flower-ice. However, this was no ordinary flower-ice made of plants and flowers. There, preserved in her final agonized throes, lay the flower of humanity—Shizuko’s beautiful completely naked form, mercilessly encased within.

Beside her, Shigeru, also naked, was frozen in a posture of clinging desperately to Shizuko's waist in his agony. Ah, a flower-ice encasing nude figures—a human, nay, an exquisitely beautiful woman and boy. Has there ever been even one person in this world who devised a murder method so cruel and yet so beautiful? Akechi showed no particular surprise, but when Inspector Tsunekawa saw this human flower-ice, he was utterly terrified.

The entire case had been like a series of sorcery far removed from anything he had ever experienced before, and precisely because of that, each new incident had redoubled his astonishment; but this demon's final act transcended mere surprise. Inspector Tsunekawa had no knowledge whatsoever of anything like a "murder art theory," yet he felt an uncanny bewilderment at the excessive beauty of the victims' figures encased in ice. He had always seen nothing but blood-drenched corpses, gruesome wounds, the abhorrent stench of death, and horrifying deathly visages. Murder cases were something he had decided were filthy by nature.

And yet now, before his eyes, the victims stood frozen in poses of anguish, encased in the haze of ice pillars—utterly divorced from notions of crime, murder, or corpses—appearing as a work of art, a thing of unearthly beauty. He became so entranced that, for a brief moment, he completely forgot both that this was the result of a horrific crime and that the very culprit was present there; he gazed in rapture at the beautiful flower-ice as though admiring a masterful painting.

But in the very next moment, he couldn't help shuddering at the sheer horror of the criminal's conception. Yanagi Shizuko and the boy Shigeru had been frozen alive. They were confined in water that grew colder moment by moment until finally freezing solid - what thoughts must have passed through their minds? No, they likely hadn't remained alive until freezing, but in that water turning ever colder, struggling for breath as they were, they must have realized what the criminal intended.

The more beautiful the state of the corpses appeared, the more atrocious this murder method became. Inspector Tsunekawa recalled an experience when he had once seen a beautiful goldfish enclosed within an ice pillar and been shocked by its owner's cruelty in displaying it in his parlor. Moreover, what lay before him now was far beyond a mere goldfish. It was someone he knew intimately well.

“Bwahahaha! How do you like that?” “Did my little inspiration meet your approval?” “Even murderers would want to execute things this beautifully, wouldn’t you agree?” The murder artist—this magician of crime—laughed boisterously as he praised his own work. “Did you think I’d fled?” “What nonsense—run away?” “I wanted you to witness this magnificent artwork.” “I’ve been fully aware of your detective’s assistants tailing me.” “In truth, I’ve lured you all here…”

“Do you remember what I said earlier—that taking Shizuko back would be a bit too heavy?...... Mr. Detective—ah, Akechi-kun—even you look somewhat troubled! Just having outwitted you gives me immense satisfaction! You are Japan’s greatest detective after all!” Yamayama flushed bright red once more, foaming at the mouth as he continued shouting in half-crazed frenzy.

“Why did I kill Shizuko? How was this beautiful flower-ice created? I haven’t told you that yet. You want to hear about that, don’t you? I do want to tell you—about what gruesome ordeal Shizuko and her child suffered… you know…” “You’ve probably guessed that these two escaped from that house by hiding in Saitō’s coffin. Exactly. I kindly made that happen. By the way, where do you think the coffin was headed? It goes without saying—the crematorium.…”

“Bwahahaha! It was the crematorium, you know. The coffin where Shizuko and the others were hiding was put into the crematorium’s furnace. I was right there, silently watching it...” If she made a sound inside the coffin, Shizuko would immediately have to be handed over to the police as a terrible murder suspect. But if she remained silent, she would be burned alive. Can you imagine what an agony that must have been for a frail woman?......

Shizuko finally screamed out. The now-imminent flames beneath the coffin were more terrifying than the gallows. What gruesome cries did Shizuko utter. “When I thought that my brother in the afterlife must have heard it too, I felt relieved.”

Ah, what a terrifying avenger Yamayama was. A madman. No, a fiend. An inhuman vampire. No matter how deep the resentment, a human being cannot attain such a fiendish state of mind.

Even Inspector Tsunekawa and Akechi Kogoro could not help but feel an uncanny chill at these cursed words that seemed to reverberate from the depths of hell.

Yamayama kept shouting without end.

“I made Shizuko in that coffin taste every ounce of suffering she could endure, then saved that woman just before she burned to death.” “Don’t mistake this for kindness.” “Because it would’ve been too wasteful to simply burn them to death.……”

When Shizuko was rescued and saw my face, she clung to me with such apparent joy. I was that person's lover and had become their savior. Hahahaha! It was me all along! Then I brought the two of them to this factory. Shizuko and Shigeru, knowing nothing, eagerly followed after me... I brought them into this room, where over four or five days I gradually made them aware of my true intentions, tormenting them inch by inch, moment by moment. The astonishment and terror on their faces at that moment. For the first time, I felt I had truly avenged my enemy. Then I locked the screaming pair inside that zinc box and poured water in. Shizuko clasped her hands together and begged me to at least spare Shigeru's life, but I pretended not to hear...

Then began a bizarre ice-making process. I crouched at the pond's edge, listening intently to the faint sounds of agony—the death throes of that hateful woman—escaping from the zinc box submerged underwater. The box shuddered violently. A muffled scream rose from the depths, sounding like insect chirps. Ah, what exquisite music that was to me... And today at last, this beautiful flower ice was completed. "For your appreciation," I said. "...Too fine a work of art for solitary enjoyment."

Having finished speaking, Yamayama smirked slyly, his entire face radiating a demonic smile as he gazed triumphantly at his listeners.

“Bwahahahaha!”

Extremely abruptly—startling even Yamayama and Inspector Tsunekawa—a cheerful laugh burst forth from Akechi’s mouth. “Ah, I see. So that was your plan to make us gasp in surprise.” “You think you’ve squashed me flat, don’t you?” “But it seems you’re not quite there after all.” “Let me ask you something.” “Were you constantly keeping watch here while this ice pillar was being completed?”

Akechi posed a question that was somehow eerie and unfathomable to the criminal.

The smile vanished from Yamayama’s face.

“After submerging the zinc box into this tank, you left the room almost immediately.” “Because a strange whistle sounded outside the factory.” “You went to check over the wall, thinking ‘Could it be?’” “Do you remember that time?”

Yamayama was startled, having been hit right on the mark. He didn't know how to respond. "You seem completely unaware of what occurred in this room during your absence." Akechi said something even more bizarre.

Yamayama looked around restlessly with an unsettled air, but upon realizing there was no reason for anxiety, he retorted spitefully.

"And what exactly are you trying to say with that?" “Just because I stepped out of this room for a short while doesn’t mean Shizuko and the others could have possibly escaped.” “It doesn’t interfere with my plans in the slightest.” “Are you so sure about that?” “Do you think I came here without bringing any present?” Akechi grinned cheerfully,

“Be that as it may, the electric light in this room seems a bit too dim. I think the source of all your mistakes lies in this dim light.” He stared fixedly at Yamayama’s face. Yamayama looked bewildered as he struggled to grasp his opponent’s meaning, but then, seeming to realize something, suddenly displayed an expression of utter panic.

“Ah, you bastard… But that’s impossible.” “How could such a ridiculous thing happen?!”

He shouted without looking at the flower-adorned ice pillar for some reason. “Hahahahaha! You seem to have grasped the meaning of my present.” “Look—you can’t even bring yourself to gaze at the ice pillar, can you?” “You’re afraid to look closely at Ms. Shizuko and the others trapped inside.”

In fact, Yamayama was afraid of it. He turned deathly pale and shouted.

“Tell me! Tell me the truth! What did you do? What’s this ‘present’ you keep talking about?” “I needn’t explain. You should simply approach that floral ice pillar and inspect whoever’s inside.” “So you claim those aren’t Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru?” Yamayama inquired in a hollow voice, his eyes deliberately averted.

“Yeah, it’s not Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru.” Akechi decisively delivered the final blow.

“No, no! I can’t bring myself to buy into such nonsense.”

Yamayama whined miserably, throwing a tantrum. “Look. Take a look inside the ice. If you look closely, you’ll understand immediately.”

Yamayama, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, mustered every ounce of his strength and whirled around to face the ice pillar. And fixed his bloodshot eyes on the nude figures of the mother and child within the ice.

“Bwahahaha! Mr. Detective. Have you lost your mind? Are you dreaming? If these aren’t Shizuko and Shigeru, who on earth do you claim they are?” “No one at all.” “Huh? No one at all?” “They’re not human, I tell you.”

“Wh-wh... Human...”

“It’s a wax figure. Given that you even had a mask without lips made, shouldn’t you know just how realistically waxwork can be crafted? I anticipated your plan in advance, so I had two wax figures made and swapped them with the real ones while you were away. That strange whistle you heard back then was blown by my assistant Mr. Kobayashi to lure you out.” Upon closer inspection, the two figures encased in ice had complexions far too radiant for human corpses.

Moreover, upon closer inspection, it became clear that neither Shizuko nor Shigeru showed any expression of anguish on their faces. Yamayama and Inspector Tsunekawa both let out an "Ah!" and were left speechless by Akechi's astonishingly bold maneuver.

“If you still doubt this, I can bring forth the real Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru to meet you… Ms. Fumiyo may enter as well.”

When Akechi called out toward the door outside, as if they had been waiting impatiently, it opened and three people entered. At the same time, the gloomy room abruptly brightened.

The ones who entered were Yanagi Shizuko and Shigeru—whom they had believed to be dead—led by Akechi's assistant Ms. Fumiyo.

Escape The look of shock and fury on Yamayama Saburō's face at that moment was ghastly to behold. It was only natural—even for this vampire-like demon—that after enduring hardship upon hardship to avenge his brother's enemy, when he had been utterly convinced of achieving his final objective and was proudly displaying that ingenious murder method, the very enemy he thought he had killed—Shizuko herself—appeared alive before his eyes. Despite the ice-making room being as cold as a refrigerator's interior, beads of sweat streamed down his pallid temples. His bloodshot eyes remained fixed on Shizuko's face, now motionless as glass marbles. His parched lips quivered as he tried to speak, but no voice emerged.

When one looked at Yanagi Shizuko who had just entered, she appeared to hang her head dejectedly—perhaps ashamed of her deeply sinful deeds against the late Yamayama Jirō—wishing she could vanish from sight. “Mr. Akechi, when on earth did you perform this sorcery? You are a truly terrifying person.” Inspector Tsunekawa could not help but exclaim in amazement. “I should have shown you the wax figures of Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru at my apartment some time ago. The ones encased in this ice are those wax figures from that time.”

Akechi explained. “When I realized the culprit was Miya Fusao (Yamayama Saburō) and discovered he had made Ms. Shizuko flee by hiding her in a coffin, I enlisted Ms. Fumiyo and Mr. Kobayashi’s help, and through their efforts, we succeeded in tracking down Yamayama’s base from the crematorium.” “And once I realized that his base was an ice factory and that Ms. Shizuko and the others were confined there, I immediately sensed Yamayama’s terrifying scheme.” ……

“If he had taken them from the crematorium to the factory and immediately commenced the ice-making process, there would have been absolutely no time to rescue Ms. Shizuko and the others.” “I was well aware that using the police to surround the factory…” “However, while Ms. Shizuko was alive, he never left her side for a single second, keeping watch with a pistol in hand.” “If he perceived any danger, Ms. Shizuko would be killed instantly…”

“I feared that rashly informing the police would lead to irreversible consequences. Fortunately, after confining Ms. Shizuko in the factory, he kept the victim alive for several days, tormenting her to his heart’s content—like a cat playing with a mouse.… “You are well aware of how frantically I worked to have those wax figures made. Even if they had died in the ice-making tank, it would still have been dangerous to simply steal Ms. Shizuko and the others away. If the culprit found out about that, there’s no telling what outrage he might resort to. As you can see from his current state, this guy is half-mad. If he were merely fleeing, that would be one thing, but there’s no telling whether he might not exact an even more terrible revenge. The reason I resorted to using wax dummies to deceive him step by step and draw him into the net was because I was utterly terrified of that very outcome…”

As soon as we learned the ice-making operation had finally begun, Mr. Kobayashi lured the culprit outside through our prearranged scheme, and while he kept him detained as long as possible, Fumiyo and I swiftly carried out substituting Ms. Shizuko and the others with wax figures. Since we had properly moved the figures to the factory's storage shed the previous day, swapping them didn't take much time...... I had hidden the rescued Ms. Shizuko and Shigeru in my apartment. The culprit hadn't noticed a thing. "Inside the zinc box was a wax figure—one you couldn't distinguish from a real person with just a glance—properly placed inside, you see."

While Akechi was giving that explanation, Yamayama had already recovered from his dazed state. Upon recovering, his thwarted vengeance against the enemy drove him into a frenzy. In an instant, he conceived a terrifying last resort.

Yamayama ran to the corner of the room, pulled out a small pistol—loaded and prepared for emergencies—from the drawer of a small desk there, placed his finger on the trigger, and returned before everyone. Inspector Tsunekawa also had no time to prevent this sudden action. “Hands up. If you make a move, I’ll blow your head off! You all should know well that I don’t give a damn about human lives.”

They had no choice but to raise their hands. “Ha ha ha ha! Mr. Akechi, even the great detective has made a foolish blunder, hasn’t he?” Yamayama sneered with grim satisfaction, never ceasing to swing the pistol’s muzzle left and right. “Do you think I’ll meekly accept arrest after seeing Shizuko alive?” “I haven’t actually lost.” “Shizuko’s life belongs to me.” “Putting a bullet through you would be too quick—unsatisfying—but needs must.” “Now—interfere and I’ll shoot! Anyone!”

The lone assailant and the targeted group, never taking their eyes off each other, slowly edged halfway around the room. As a result—whether by intent or accident—Yamayama ended up standing with his back to the room’s sole exit door. Yanagi Shizuko, clutching her son Shigeru close and trembling violently, was trying to hide herself behind the others. “Mr. Detective, you’re in the way.” “Move aside.” “Or do you intend to act as Shizuko’s substitute and take this bullet?”

In Yamayama’s bloodshot eyes burned flames of maddened hatred. “A substitute? Excellent. “Go ahead—give me a good shot! “Here? Here? Or perhaps aiming around here?” Recklessly defiant, Akechi planted himself before the pistol’s muzzle and began pointing successively at his own forehead, throat, and chest. Fumiyo and young Kobayashi paled instantly. A mere millimeter’s movement of Yamayama’s trigger finger would end Akechi’s life.

“Look out!” Unable to endure any longer, Inspector Tsunekawa—with a flash of quick thinking—suddenly shoved Akechi out of the bullet’s trajectory. At the same moment, Yamayama’s pistol clicked. He made a strange face and pulled the trigger repeatedly—click, click.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha.” Shoved aside, Akechi staggered and laughed. “The bullets don’t seem to be coming out. That pistol—”

Yamayama suddenly realized that and threw the pistol onto the floor. "Damn it! So you’d even taken the bullets out of the pistol!"

“Exactly as you’ve surmised. I’m very cautious when it comes to such things, you see.” Akechi answered with a grin.

Overwhelmed by despair, Yamayama stood frozen in a daze for some time, but when he suddenly became aware of his current position, a shadow of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. For at that moment, he was standing with his back pressed tightly against the door. “Hmph. So, is that the end of your clever little scheme? But I still had one last trump card up my sleeve. Like this...” Even as he spoke, Yamayama had already vanished outside the door. The click-clack of a lock being fastened.

“Ha ha ha ha! Serves you right! Inspector Tsunekawa and Mr. Akechi—you both meddled where you shouldn’t have and landed yourselves in quite a predicament, didn’t you? Soon enough, you’ll all be huddled together in that room to meet your end.” From beyond the door came the bone-chilling laughter of a demon. Akechi, Inspector Tsunekawa, Fumiyo, Yanagi Shizuko, and her son—all five of them—had been neatly sealed inside the ice chamber.

What on earth did Yamayama intend to do with them? The five trapped people involuntarily exchanged glances. What would happen? Had they fallen into the criminal's trap? There must be some terrifying mechanical device prepared somewhere that would take all five of their lives like this. The dim electric lights, the strange pool holding black water, the complex shadows cast by machinery, the enormous ornamental ice pillar containing wax figures, and the bone-cutting cold permeating the room—all these things filled the people with terror.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha”

Inspector Tsunekawa burst into shrill laughter. His voice echoed off the high ceiling with unnatural resonance. "That idiot thinks he can lock us in here and escape? There are officers stationed around the factory—front and back!" "The bastard's probably been caught by one of them by now." "I think so too, but..." Akechi replied in a tone tinged with unease, "Regardless, we must leave this room. It's been quite some time since he got away."

“Leave it to me. A single door like this—”

Inspector Tsunekawa charged vigorously at the door. Thud, thud... The room shook like an earthquake. And with the third charge, the door’s panel gave way with a brittle crackle, splintering apart.

No sooner had it torn open than, along with the wind rushing in through the hole, the people sensed an unusual stench. It was the smell of something burning. “Oh... he... Could it be...” Akechi involuntarily muttered.

The door was opened. The five of them, huddled together, ran out into the next machine room. “Damn bastard! He locked this one too!” Inspector Tsunekawa ran up to the machine room’s exit door and shouted.

Another body charge. With a terrible noise, the room shook two or three times, and then the door came off its hinges and fell completely into the outer hallway.

As it fell, they realized—Ah! Just as they’d thought. Yellow smoke billowed thickly into the room. It was a fire. Yamayama had set fire to the factory. A woman’s piercing scream rang out. And the sound of a child bursting into loud sobs—"Waaah!" It was Shigeru, the boy. Akechi and Inspector Tsunekawa sprang into the narrow hallway. When they looked, beyond the hallway, through the swirling poisonous smoke, reddish-black flames flickered in and out of view.

But there was no escape route outside. They had no choice but to charge straight down this corridor. "Hurry, hurry! You must run through here!" Inspector Tsunekawa shouted and took the lead.

With Fumiyo taking Yanagi Shizuko’s hand and Akechi Kogoro lifting the wailing Shigeru, they charged toward the flames.

Ah! That was close. If they had hesitated even a moment longer in the ice chamber, they certainly would not have escaped unscathed. Yamayama had undoubtedly intended to burn them all to death. The people had to be grateful for the strength of Inspector Tsunekawa’s shoulders. If the door hadn’t been broken so quickly, they would undoubtedly have suffered an even worse fate.

The group rushed out through the gate in a blind panic. Fortunately, no one had been injured. When they looked back, yellow smoke was billowing out from every window of the factory. “What happened? What’s that smoke?” The two detectives who had been standing guard ran over and called out to the group. “It’s arson! What about the culprit? Yamayama—Miya—did you catch him?”

Inspector Tsunekawa, panting breathlessly, barked back.

“No, no one has come out. What about the back exit?”

The detectives answered. “All right, you lot stay put right here! Stay still! And if anyone—no matter who—comes out in human form, arrest them immediately without question!” Inspector Tsunekawa dismissed them and ran off alone toward the back exit.

But the detective at the back exit gave the same answer. No one had escaped from the factory.

Strange. The flames had already engulfed the entire factory. How could anyone remain hidden within these flames? Amidst the growing commotion, the chaos of the fire scene began. Near and far resounded a terrifying chorus of fire bells; sirens from fire engines that had rushed to the scene; crowds swarming with lantern lights; engines roaring; firefighters darting about; sparks raining down; waves of people scrambling to flee; cries and shouts. ...By now, it was no longer a situation for making arrests.

Yet even amidst this chaos, Inspector Tsunekawa and his detectives kept watch with hawklike intensity, desperate to spot anyone resembling the culprit attempting to flee—but until the flames were fully extinguished, they could not discover even a single suspicious figure. “Perhaps that bastard’s committed suicide.” Inspector Tsunekawa muttered vainly while gazing at the fire scene. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

One of the subordinate detectives who had been standing nearby nodded in agreement. If no one had escaped, there was no choice but to consider that possibility. Yamayama had resigned himself to being unable to escape. If he was going to end up on the gallows anyway, he resolved to commit suicide nobly, taking Yanagi Shizuko—his enemy—along with the detectives and inspector who had accumulated grievances against him. All he needed to do was lock the five of them in a single room and set fire to the factory. That was exactly the sort of scheme he would devise.

The next morning, searches through the burned ruins proved Inspector Tsunekawa’s conjecture correct. The laborers were first startled by two corpses—one large and one small. “Ah! A corpse!”

The man who first discovered it let out a piercing scream and leaped back. However, it was not a real corpse. It was those wax figures from the decorative ice pillar. The thick ice had prevented the wax inside from melting completely—though misshapen, it still bore the vague outline of a naked doll. Even after realizing it wasn't a corpse, the laborers who'd seen such an eerie thing grew terribly uneasy. "Hey! This one's real! Human bones!"

Soon, one of the laborers shouted. “Ah! It’s real! It’s real!”

This time, there was no mistaking it. Beneath timber reduced to ash lay human bones shattered into fragments. As this was the building's most fiercely burned section, it came as no surprise that both flesh and internal organs had completely melted away. A policeman came rushing to the scene.

“As expected, the culprit burned to death here.” He urgently reported this matter to the Metropolitan Police Department.

After a while, Inspector Tsunekawa arrived accompanied by Akechi Kogoro. “It was as I thought. He has finally committed suicide.”

Before the scattered white bones, Inspector Tsunekawa remarked with emotion. "That’s right. That bastard may have died. However…"

Akechi wore a troubled expression, stopped speaking abruptly, and fell silent. For even he lacked the confidence to definitively state that this skeleton was not Yamayama's.

Obsession The case had been resolved.

The vampire-like demon of obsession, Yamayama Saburō, was dead. Yanagi Shizuko, who had been relentlessly tormented and nearly burned to death for his sake, narrowly escaped danger and returned to her original peaceful life. A happy ending, a most happy ending indeed. No one doubted it.

However, there was a single person who did not believe the case had been resolved—Akechi Kogoro. He simply couldn’t accept that such serpentine obsession could have vanished so completely. To him, the fire had not been meant to burn Shizuko to death; it could only be interpreted as the demon’s "fire-escape technique". "It was a 'fire-escape technique'," he concluded inwardly. That skeleton existed solely to make the ruse more convincing—charred bones bearing no distinguishing marks. Even a specimen-room skeleton dumped there would have sufficed as a substitute.

The fact that the only person who doubted this was Akechi Kogoro marked the first misfortune. Moreover, the fact that this very Akechi had collapsed into bed due to a lingering contusion from that fire incident only compounded the misfortune further.

Was it mere coincidence, or some inscrutable divine providence? Akechi's illness bestowed upon this story an unexpected conclusion—one that, depending on perspective, could be seen as remarkably fitting. It was not what one would call a "happily ever after," though.

One day, Inspector Tsunekawa visited Akechi Kogoro, who was hospitalized at S Hospital in Hongo.

“It’s already been half a month since then.” “However, nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.” “After all, it must be true that Yamayama burned to death in the fire.” “If he hadn’t, there’s no way he would have remained silent for this long.” Inspector Tsunekawa, like many others, had believed the theory that Yamayama had burned to death. “We have no definite proof that those bones belong to Yamayama.” “In detective work, a mindset of ‘it’s probably so’ cannot be permitted.” “No trivial doubt should be overlooked.” “Because that can sometimes lead to extremely serious consequences.”

Akechi lay supine on the bed, grimacing from the pain in his shoulder, yet spoke with earnest intensity.

“So we’re remaining vigilant. At the Hatayanagi residence, even now, two detectives have infiltrated while disguised as live-in students. But there’s been nothing out of the ordinary—nothing except Ms.Shizuko becoming remarkably cheerful.”

Inspector Tsunekawa said bitterly. “Cheerful?” “That’s right. She’s a troublesome one. Ms. Shizuko—who should have learned her lesson and remained in seclusion—has, within less than half a month, managed to acquire young male friends and is meeting them daily, so it’s said. It might not be unreasonable to say that Yamayama Jirō died in agony. The root cause of such an incident was still her after all. That woman does have her own unpleasant weaknesses.”

Perhaps Shizuko had committed sins deserving of Yamayama’s revenge. To blame Yamayama alone—even if he was a ruthless and utterly evil murderer—might have been somewhat harsh.

Inspector Tsunekawa and Akechi exchanged looks that seemed to say, “What a mess,” and fell silent. Ms. Fumiyo, who had been nursing him, also interjected.

“I’ve kept quiet until now, but come to think of it, there is something that comes to mind,” Fumiyo interjected. “Two or three days ago, when I passed by the Imperial Theater, I saw someone who looked exactly like Ms. Shizuko get out of a car and enter through that main entrance. She wasn’t alone—with a young man, walking side by side in an intimate manner...” The fact that Shizuko had already begun acting so willfully, undeterred even after such a horrific incident, felt like an omen of something yet to come. A dim sense that things could not possibly end peacefully now existed in everyone’s heart.

“I feel... somehow... afraid.”

Ms. Fumiyo suddenly voiced that fear. “Are you saying you’re scared… of Ms. Shizuko’s way of living?” “Or is it the thought that Yamayama might still be alive somewhere?” Akechi, lying in bed, asked as if consulting a fortune-teller.

“It’s both. The more I see Ms. Shizuko acting like that, the more Yamayama’s death feels like a lie. I feel as though there’s some terrible fateful connection between these two matters.”

Ms. Fumiyo thought and thought, then spoke in a riddle-like way.

“Inspector Tsunekawa.” “I’ve been feeling the same way.” Akechi said in a serious, low voice, “This is not a theory. Something beyond the senses whispers directly to the heart. It might be what you people call the sixth sense.”

Inspector Tsunekawa felt an uncanny sensation. Here were two fortune-tellers. And they were making an ominous prophecy. While they continued talking, the nurse came to inform Inspector Tsunekawa about a phone call. It was from the Metropolitan Police Department. Upon hearing this, the inspector immediately reverted to his professional demeanor and hurriedly went out to the telephone room, but when he returned shortly afterward, his complexion had changed. “Mr. Akechi, your prediction has come true.” “Huh? What did you say?”

“Ms. Shizuko has been killed.”

For an instant, there was an eerie silence. The three of them fell silent and exchanged glances. “The details are unclear, but there are absolutely no leads on the culprit. It was reported to be an extremely bizarre murder case.” Inspector Tsunekawa said as he prepared to leave. “Anyway, I’ll go to the Hatayanagi residence first. After that, I will inform you of the detailed circumstances.”

“Please call me.” “I regret not being able to go to the scene myself.” “But if it’s just to the phone room here, I can manage to walk there. Please be sure to keep me informed of developments.” Akechi tried to rise from his sickbed as he made this earnest request.

When Inspector Tsunekawa rushed by taxi to the Hatayanagi residence and arrived, two detectives disguised as students, their faces pale, greeted him at the entrance. The people from the Prosecutor’s Office had also already arrived.

The murder scene was none other than the familiar Western-style parlor that readers would also be well acquainted with. Yanagi Shizuko had breathed her last, leaning back before the long sofa there. The fatal wound was a stab from behind reaching deep into the left lung, and the murder weapon was an ordinary dagger with no particular distinguishing features. “I have no idea. How could such a thing have happened? It feels like a dream.” In that parlor, nursemaid O-nami stood embracing the tearful Shigeru.

“I believed that was just a ghost… That it would commit such an actual murder…” Inspector Tsunekawa could not let O-nami’s bizarre words pass without scrutiny.

“A ghost, you say? Did something like that really happen?” “Yes, Madam saw it. It was four or five days ago. Madam told me—though she said it might have been an old woman’s fancy or a dream—graciously. In the middle of the night, a strange shadow-like figure stood slumped at the head of Madam’s bed, staring intently at her sleeping face, she said.” “Hmph, what did she say this figure looked like?”

Inspector Tsunekawa felt interested in O-nami’s ghost story. “As for that… you see,” “The clothing was some sort of dark color—she couldn’t make it out clearly—but Madam said the face was unmistakably that Miya fellow.” “And what did Madam do then?” “In her panic, she just pulled the futon over her head and kept trembling like that,” she explained. “And then, after some time had passed, when she timidly peeked out from under the futon, the ghost had already disappeared somewhere, and she couldn’t see anything anymore,” she explained. “So, after all, it might have just been a dream.” “She told me, ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about this,’ and confided only in me.”

“You kept that order and didn’t tell anyone, did you?” Inspector Tsunekawa said with a slightly accusatory tone. “Well, I never dreamed it would come to this… I thought Madam must have seen such things because of her nerves.” O-nami had also been disapproving of Shizuko’s slovenly lifestyle. “However, you see—it was only this morning that I realized it—what Madam saw wasn’t entirely a dream after all.”

“Hoh, so does that mean there’s evidence that Yamayama is alive and sneaked in here after all?” “The maid Hana whispered to me that recently, during the night, things like ham, eggs, and various other items left in the kitchen cupboard have been disappearing, you see.” “Could it be that someone had crept under the floorboards?” O-nami whispered. “Around when did that start?”

“After all, I believe it began four or five days ago—precisely when Madam saw the ghost.”

At the same crime scene, the judicial officer from the local police had been diligently inspecting the windows, doors, and furnishings from the very beginning; while doing so, he seemed to have overheard O-nami’s story and then approached the two to interject.

“However, whether through under the floorboards or through the ceiling, the problem remains how someone entered this room from there and how they exited.” "But Nanny, aren’t you the witness to it?" "Yes, that’s precisely what I find so utterly baffling myself."

O-nami frowned and nodded in agreement. The judicial officer turned to face Inspector Tsunekawa and explained.

“While Granny here was talking with the victim and took the child out into the corridor for a short while, during that gap, the crime was committed. Upon hearing the scream and opening the door, they found the victim collapsed like this, and the culprit was nowhere to be seen. That’s right, wasn’t it, Granny?”

“Yes, that’s exactly how it was.” “I had Shigeru-chan playing in the corridor for only about five minutes or so.” “During that time, I never once left this door’s vicinity, so the culprit must have entered from somewhere else entirely.” “However, the strange thing is, there are absolutely no entrances from the outside.” The judicial officer took over. “The windows have iron bars installed. “The ceiling is coated and hardened with lacquer. “There are also no abnormalities in the floorboards. “Given that—as you can see—this room contains no cupboards, closets, or anything of the sort, it is entirely impossible to imagine someone having hidden in some shadow.”

Even after hearing this explanation, Inspector Tsunekawa found himself unable to readily believe it. This was because previously, in the study on the second floor of the same building, there had occurred an identical murder case where the criminal's entry and exit had seemed entirely impossible. Thereupon, Inspector Tsunekawa himself crawled across the floor, ran his hands over the walls, and conducted an investigation of extreme thoroughness over a long period. There were absolutely no hidden doors in either ceiling, walls, or floor. The window's iron bars—newly installed by Shizuko herself—were of utmost sturdiness and showed not the slightest abnormality.

If that were the case, the only remaining possibility was the entrance door alone. O-nami was questioned repeatedly. But she resolutely refused to retract her previous statement. "That door remained constantly within my sight from when I left the room until the incident occurred." "No matter how senile I've become, I couldn't possibly have missed someone passing through there." she insisted.

Then, was the criminal like air—a wispy, formless being? It had to be one of two possibilities: either Shizuko had committed suicide or something else entirely. Yet both scenarios were unthinkable. Shizuko's wound was in a place she couldn't possibly have reached herself.

Inspector Tsunekawa was at a loss. And then he remembered what Akechi had asked him to do earlier at the hospital.

“Right—first things first—I should call Mr. Akechi.”

Fortunately, there was a desk phone in the room. After calling the hospital and waiting a short while, Akechi’s faint voice came through. He had carried his fever-ridden body to the hospital’s telephone room. Inspector Tsunekawa efficiently reported the state of the murder scene and the fact that the criminal’s entry had been impossible.

Akechi, on the other end of the line, seemed to be deep in thought for a while, but before long, a somewhat lively voice rang out.

“Did Ms. Shizuko replace the furniture in that room with new pieces as well?” “And when did that furniture shop come?” “Please ask someone.”

Inspector Tsunekawa asked O-nami and then replied.

“They completely replaced everything, I’m told.” “The furniture shop delivered them five days prior, I’m told.” “But what that means…” “Five days prior… That’s exactly when Yamayama’s ghost started appearing and the food in the kitchen began disappearing, isn’t it?”

“Ah, now that you mention it, that’s right.”

While not understanding the truth, Inspector Tsunekawa answered in surprise at the seemingly meaningful coincidence of dates. “Ms. Shizuko had collapsed in front of the long sofa, right?” “And when the nursemaid left that room, where was the victim?” “Wasn’t she sitting on the long sofa?” “Yes.” “That’s exactly right.” “Then, hasn’t blood flowed onto the long sofa as well?” “It is flowing.” “It’s a considerable amount.”

Thereupon, Akechi fell abruptly silent once again. While on the phone, Inspector Tsunekawa sensed that Akechi’s deductions were converging on a particular point. But he still couldn’t clearly grasp what that was. “Hello? Then I’ll hang up now.”

When Akechi remained silent for an extended period, the Inspector pressed him. "No, please wait a moment. I think I've somehow figured it out."

Suddenly, Akechi's excited voice was heard.

“There were absolutely no points where the criminal could have entered or exited, correct?” “There were absolutely none.” “And since the crime was discovered—has there been even a moment when that room was left completely empty? Has there been a time when everyone left, leaving only the corpse behind?” Inspector Tsunekawa asked the detective beside him and received an answer. “There hasn’t. I’m told someone was constantly in the room.” “Then it’s just as I thought. I think the criminal is probably still in that room.”

Inspector Tsunekawa was startled and looked around. Akechi was attempting to solve the crime over the telephone. Moreover, he claimed the criminal was still in this room. But where in this room full of police officers could the criminal be hiding? The fact that there was nowhere to hide had been fully understood through their earlier investigation.

“There’s no one here except members of the Prosecutor’s Office and the police…” As he said this, Inspector Tsunekawa was suddenly struck by a bizarre thought. It couldn't be said that there were only members from the Prosecutor’s Office and the police. There was the nursemaid O-nami. She was the only person who had approached Shizuko just before the crime! Inspector Tsunekawa stared intently at O-nami and continued meaningfully.

“Apart from that, there’s only the nursemaid O-nami.” “No, I don’t believe the criminal would be somewhere visible to you all. He is hiding. If my imagination isn’t mistaken, he’s concealed in an extremely bizarre place where no one would think to look even if they searched.” “There is absolutely no such place! I’ve checked every possible spot. I can’t possibly believe I overlooked a single person!” The inspector blurted out, somewhat losing his temper.

“However, there is a part you didn’t investigate.” “Where? Where on earth is that?” “Mr. Tsunekawa, do you remember a novelist named Enoda Kokkō?”

Akechi suddenly said something strange. "I know." "Are you aware that that man wrote a novel called *The Man Who Became a Chair*?" "The Man Who Became a Chair... you say?" "Yes. You see, Enoda was a man who served as Yamayama's assistant and met a tragic end." "They were once friends." "And there's no way Yamayama wouldn't have read that novel." "If he read it, it's about him." "It cannot be said that he didn't feel compelled to actually carry out the bizarre, fantastical crime conceived by the novelist exactly as described." "...Because, you see, exactly five days prior, new furniture had been moved into that room."

“Furniture, you say?” Inspector Tsunekawa, who had not read Enoda Kokkō’s bizarre novel, still could not grasp Akechi’s true intent. “It’s the long sofa where Ms. Shizuko was killed.” “Please examine that long sofa thoroughly.”

Inspector Tsunekawa, still gripping the receiver, turned his gaze toward the long sofa. And as he stared fixedly, his eyes began to widen wider and wider with unfathomable shock. With a clattering sound, the receiver slipped from his hand. “Look! Look there!” “Look under that chair!”

At Inspector Tsunekawa's shout, everyone's gaze focused there.

Drip, drip, …………

A faint sound, like raindrops, could be heard.

From the bottom of the long sofa, bright red droplets were dripping onto the carpeted floor. And before anyone noticed, an eerie pool of blood had formed in the hollow of the carpet. It was clear this was not the blood of Yanagi Shizuko who had been killed. True, there were bloodstains on the sofa's surface, but those had long since dried. There was no way they could still be dripping now. Moreover, now the blood-rain droplets were accelerating moment by moment until they connected like strands of crimson yarn, pouring down with ever-increasing intensity.

The enormous long sofa itself was bleeding as if it were a living creature. The people held their breath, staring fixedly at the rain-like droplets of blood, and stood rooted to the spot. The inanimate long sofa tormented them with a bizarre illusion, as if it were groaning and writhing. Readers who had read Enoda Kokkō’s crime novel *The Man Who Became a Chair* must have long since realized what manner of devilish trick this was.

Ah, what a grotesque idea it was. Yamayama Saburō had concealed himself inside that long sofa, thrust a dagger through the deep gap at the boundary between the backrest and the seat, and murdered Yanagi Shizuko as she sat there. He was, exactly as in Kurokō’s novel, the man who became a chair. When they broke open the long sofa, beneath the thick cushion where springs should have been, Yamayama lay stretched out, on the verge of death.

From there, having heard Mr. Tsunekawa’s phone call, he must have resigned himself to his now inescapable fate. Pitiful and unarmed, he had thrust a small pocketknife into his heart and was nearly dead. The obsessive revenge had been accomplished. A life not worth regretting even in death.

They pulled Yamayama out from inside the sofa and laid him beside Shizuko's corpse. A beautiful man and a beautiful woman—they had once been lovers. In truth, they were the striker and the struck. Thus did both depart this world nearly at once.

“Yamayama, it’s me, Tsunekawa.” “Do you understand?” “Do you have any last words?”

Inspector Tsunekawa uttered words of mercy to the dying Yamayama. Yamayama slightly opened his tightly shut eyes and looked at Mr. Tsunekawa's face. Then, he faintly moved his head and gazed at the corpse of Shizuko lying beside him.

He did not say a single word. Summoning his final strength, he stretched out his bloodless hand toward Shizuko.

The fingertips, like those of a crawling insect, inched closer and closer until they finally touched Shizuko’s cold left hand.

Ah, what relentless obsession! Was the avenger, in his final moments, trying to seize his enemy’s corpse?

No, that wasn't it. He had not tried to grab her. He had taken hold of Shizuko's hand. A cold hand and a cold hand had been clasped together. Then, as Yamayama's mouth twisted grotesquely, a spine-chilling sob escaped him, and his body went still. The people, struck by an uncanny emotion, gazed in profound silence at the corpses of the man and woman whose hands were clasped together. There was no longer any hostility to be felt there. They lay there as if they were a beautiful pair of lovers in a suicide pact, sleeping side by side.

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The cunningly rigged long sofa used by the avenger Yamayama Saburō in his final murder was preserved for years at the Metropolitan Police Department, leaving visitors wide-eyed. If you readers ever found connections to enter that exhibition room, you could still see that uncanny long sofa even now. It went without saying that the furniture maker who crafted it was interrogated. But having likely received an enormous payment from Yamayama, he abandoned his shop without a second thought and had already vanished.

The one left steeped in sorrow was the lone boy Shigeru, abandoned to his fate. Now, he is being raised by relatives who inherited the Hatayanagi residence along with his nursemaid O-nami; the author prays that the new master of the Hatayanagi residence will show kindness to this pitiful orphan. Akechi Kogoro, as the meritorious figure in the case, was written up in the newspapers as usual. Akechi’s devoted readers discovered at the end of the article that the famous detective and his lover Ms. Fumiyo would soon hold a wedding ceremony, and they could not help but smile with goodwill. At the same time, they could not help feeling regret that the newlywed Akechi Kogoro would likely not involve himself in bloody detective cases for some time to come.