Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Nomura Kodō

A Dangerous Topic

“Do let us stop such ghastly talk. Instead, wouldn’t you agree the revue at Tokyo-za is said to be most diverting?” The one struggling to steer the conversation away from such grim topics was Toushiko, wife of the household’s master Ishii Kaorinosuke—a young, beautiful woman adored by all who frequented this mansion for her hospitality and generosity. But even that beautiful madam’s considerable charm proved powerless against the evening’s morbid conversational current. Amidst billowing clouds of expensive cigar smoke steeped in strange, illicit intoxication, the male guests remained engrossed in talk of “crime.”

“Oh now, don’t say that.” Master Kaorinosuke waved his plump hand to shoo his beautiful wife toward the female guests while declaring— “When you get robbed, it’s because you were negligent! You can’t just blame the thief alone—by the same token, I say murder victims aren’t exactly geniuses either. If the mark’s careless enough, doesn’t that practically invite killers to have a go? That’s how it works, eh? Ha ha ha ha!”

While stroking back his splendidly balding forehead and heaving his beer-barrel-like belly, he bellowed with a dry laugh.

“No, that cannot be. If your theory holds true, then all murder victims must be fools—whether it’s a renowned statesman felled by an assassin or some pleasure-seeking libertine slain in a crime of passion, there’d be scarcely any difference between them.” The speaker was Ashina Heizaburō—a young gentleman who frequented this mansion almost daily. He belonged to that breed of young aristocrats weighed down by sprawling estates, crushing poverty, and trifling pretensions to status that ill-suited their circumstances—a man whose immaculate grooming and polished countenance carried an almost feminine delicacy. Though he formally addressed Madam Toushiko as “Madam” in public, servants whispered how he presumptuously called her “Toushiko-san” behind closed doors—a breach of decorum that drew their sidelong glances.

“I find myself inclined to agree with Mr. Ishii’s theory—as crimes rarely occur by mere chance, the majority may indeed be prevented through prudent and meticulous precautions.” Dr. Sakai Kōzō, while twisting his wedge-shaped beard, uttered words befitting a scholar indeed.

“What about you? Don’t you have any interesting theories?” “……” The young gentleman called Tashōhei was the one who drew a sharp breath when addressed by Master Kaorinosuke. He was said to be the master’s nephew and had been raised in this mansion since childhood, but being both physically frail and scholarly by nature, even speaking in public seemed painfully difficult for him. Having been subjected to a relentless stream of horrifying tales since earlier, his pale, refined face had stiffened completely—hardly a state conducive to offering opinions on murder.

“I don’t understand such things.” “Ha, ha, ha, ha! So you’re a man who only understands zoology, hmm?” Kaorinosuke, upon seeing his nephew’s thoroughly troubled face, laughed heartily as though greatly amused. The gathering itself numbered merely seven or eight; when including the women guests who had withdrawn to the adjoining room to distance themselves from this dreadful conversation, there couldn’t have been more than ten people in total. The Ishii couple’s customary dinner party—born of their fondness for entertaining—had allowed their prized chef to fully demonstrate his skills before moving to a separate room, where they sipped light Western liquors while their usual uninhibited conversation flourished.

“Master, are you still sticking to whiskey as always?” “They say Japanese sake and wine are bad for diabetes, but my wife nags me about it even more than Dr. Sakai—she won’t let me touch a drop! Ha ha ha ha!” Having been subjected to such marital boasting over trivial matters, the elderly Konishi grew flustered, yet rallied his composure: “Well, that was quite the feast—” “Oh, if I were to sneak even a morsel of sweets now, there’d be hell to pay!”

“Ha ha ha ha! This is getting too much!”

The explosive burst of laughter seemed poised to blow away even that grim 'murder talk' once and for all.

“How lively it is here. You must have been saying dreadful things about me.” Sliding open the partition door and striking a peacock-like pose stood Madam Toushiko in all her resplendent beauty. “Did you hear that?” “Hm, huff-huff-huff.” Old Konishi was basking in self-satisfaction alone.

“Now then, let us conclude our earlier discussion. What say you, Mr. Chigusa—”

The focus now shifted toward famed journalist Chigusa Jūjirō, who since earlier had been leaning against an armchair in the corner, silently absorbing the gathering's "murder debate."

“I cannot say. When one deals with bloodstained cases day after day, it only muddles the mind—one hardly feels inclined to extract formulas or philosophies from such matters.” “I suppose that’s how you’d put it, but…”

Just as Ishii Kaorinosuke was attempting to steer the conversation back to murder theories once more, the parlor door silently opened from the outside. "Father, it is time." A beautiful face with a softly aristocratic air. Their daughter Mihoko was eighteen years old—the child of his first wife and only twelve or thirteen years younger than her stepmother Toushiko—but whereas Toushiko was beautiful like a peony in full bloom, she was a lonely, frail, and lovely girl reminiscent of a dayflower. "Is it that time already? Dr. Sakai remains as stubborn as ever—insisting I must go to bed by ten no matter what happens." "My wife will take over hosting duties from here, so please continue enjoying yourselves as usual. If you’ll excuse me."

Even so, with apparent reluctance, he retired to his bedroom accompanied by his daughter Mihoko. Seeming quite accustomed to such occurrences, the gathered guests showed no particular surprise. The presence of the elderly master likely mattered little to this gathering dominated by the young.

However, Chigusa Jūjirō did not overlook how Tashōhei's eyes—fixed upon the daughter's retreating figure—burned with a strange passion. To the timid zoologist's gaze as well, that lovely girl's form had not appeared devoid of meaning in the slightest.

Arsenic poisoning. The Ishii residence’s dinner party program was about to enter its main course thereafter. The segregation between male and female guests had been abolished, and games and conversation—transcending both age and time—were exchanged as night deepened. Madam Ishii—overflowing with the voluptuous beauty of a woman in her prime—proved truly ideal as the gathering’s hostess. With her inexhaustible topics, boldness, faintly diabolical wit, and exquisite beauty combined, there could scarcely be a more fitting queen for this assembly centered on casual talk and dance. As the atmosphere grew increasingly heady, Ashina Heizaburō became the most animated—his disposition meshing uncannily well with the frivolous mood. Amidst it all, only Tashōhei seemed profoundly ill at ease—shrinking into a corner like a startled hare, gnawing his nails while observing the menacing whirlpool of revelry.

By around eleven o'clock, they had already worked themselves into a frenzy—a clamorous uproar—such that even if some major incident were to occur, there seemed no quelling this dreadful jubilation. "M-M-Madame! S-Something t-terrible—!" Suddenly, a terrible scream resounded from beyond the hallway.

The whirlpool of revelry came to an abrupt halt—everyone’s expressions froze in terror for an instant. “Madam! The Master—s-something t-terrible has happened!”

The one who pushed open the door and rushed in was the master’s maid—

“What’s happened? Has something happened to the master?”

When Madam Toushiko was the first to step into the hallway, Dr. Sakai rushed out after her.

Eventually, the flood of male and female guests attempting to follow after was halted by Dr. Sakai at the foot of the staircase. “It appears the master has been taken suddenly ill. Please allow me to handle this for now.”

The male and female guests sheepishly returned to the original parlor. With the madam and the attending physician having taken charge, the guests could not very well press forward. After about thirty minutes, half the guests had left. Chigusa Jūjirō had made moves to leave several times himself, but some peculiar journalist’s sixth sense stirred within him, leaving him unable to bring himself to depart as things stood. Somehow, the scent of a case had begun to linger within this mansion. Before long, Old Konishi—whose curiosity seemed remarkably undiminished for his age—exited the parlor as if gliding, and after about ten minutes, returned gliding back in the same manner.

“I heard.”

Old Konishi glided over to Chigusa Jūjirō—who sat deeply sunken into an armchair—and lowered a gravelly voice thick with portent beside his ear.

“…………” “It seems the master was driven to suicide.” “What?!”

This wasn’t limited to Chigusa alone. It seemed to reach the ears of all present, for a portentous cry of alarm escaped them.

“It’s said to be arsenic poisoning by Dr. Sakai—so that would mean there’s suspicion of murder—” “Huh? Wha—?”

Chigusa Jūjirō sprang to his feet as if propelled upward. He was no longer the young journalist who handled murder cases through diplomatic channels, but when an incident occurred right before his eyes, his old professional instincts from reporting days surged forth with ferocious intensity.

When Jūjirō went upstairs, the officials had not yet arrived. Amidst the shock, Dr. Sakai—having regained his professional composure—was encouraging the surprisingly steady Madam Toushiko while providing the utmost care. "Oh, Mr. Chigusa? This matter has finally fallen into your domain, but given the circumstances, I ask you to view it with a generous eye." Dr. Sakai glanced back and cast a forbidding incantation upon the star journalist’s face—a spell to stay the pen. “Whether I write about it or not is a separate matter—when there’s an incident like this, I simply can’t turn a blind eye.”

“I suppose so. Since hiding it serves no purpose now—on condition I won’t report this to the papers unless something befalls the master—I’ll let you observe until your professional curiosity is sated.” “Then—what befell the master? Suicide seems unthinkable.”

“That’s precisely it. A model optimist like him would never contemplate suicide—especially when he was in perfect health just an hour ago.” “And—?” “I suspect it may be murder—while administering treatment and looking around here, there’s a box of chocolates in the half-opened drawer of the side table—those chocolates smell suspicious.”

“…………” “When I asked the madam, she claims to have known nothing about it. Diabetics crave sweets terribly, so he likely hid this from her and occasionally sneaked treats. Tonight too, it seems he consumed two or three immediately upon entering the bedroom—but with arsenic mixed in, it proved fatal—” “Who put it in, and how?” “That I don’t know either. I’ve already called the authorities with the madam’s consent—they should be here soon to investigate.” “I merely confirmed the master’s arsenic poisoning symptoms—three chocolates missing from the drawer’s box. Upon examination, every silver foil wrapper in the top layer had been rewrapped—each containing a substantial dose of arsenic.” “You ask how we identified arsenic? Simple—without proper equipment, you toss suspicious material into charcoal embers. Arsenic gives off a garlic-like odor—”

“And his condition?” “It’s very serious. He’s expelled most of the arsenic, but given his weak heart… most likely—”

Dr. Sakai softly whispered into Chigusa’s ear and furrowed his brows.

The suspicion fell upon Mihoko.

Dr. Sakai—knowing him by sight and recognizing he wasn’t a journalist who’d write recklessly—had explained this much to him.

Behind the curtain drawn to conceal the sickbed lay the master Ishii Kaorinosuke in a state between life and death, while his flamboyant wife Toushiko, his desolate daughter Mihoko, and his utterly bewildered nephew Tashōhei desperately labored to nurse him—their efforts as clear as day through the thin barrier.

At that very moment, the sound of a car came from the direction of the entrance, followed shortly by a multitude of footsteps clomping noisily across the entrance platform. “It seems the police have arrived. Mr. Chigusa, it would be advisable for you to excuse yourself.”

“…………”

Chigusa Jūjirō had no choice but to withdraw in silence. In a passing exchange, from the local police station came a group consisting of the police doctor and officers; they too entered the bedroom in silence. "Well, Mr. Chigusa? It was murder after all, wasn’t it?"

Old Konishi poked his face out, and from behind him, Ashina Heizaburō’s pallid countenance peered with nervous intensity.

“Seems so...” “So, who’s the culprit?” Old Konishi, due to his advanced age, employed such archaic language, but given the tense atmosphere pervading the room, it didn’t strike anyone as particularly odd. “There’s no way to know that.”

“…………”

A terrifying silence once again dominated the gathering. In such circumstances, they felt as if they had a guilty conscience, and now could neither leave nor slip away.

Another thirty minutes or so passed.

“In the end, it seems he didn’t make it.” “Huh?”

“Given how overweight he was, they say it was heart failure that killed him—”

The rumor of the master’s death reached the guest room from an unknown source.

Chigusa Jūjirō caught the old butler passing through the hallway and asked,

“Yes, it is a most tragic occurrence.”

The stubborn-looking old butler merely blinked his eyes, offering few words.

Upon hearing that Mr. Ishii Kaorinosuke had been poisoned to death, even with Dr. Sakai’s gag order, the journalists could not remain silent. Chigusa promptly went to the entrance, called the newspaper office, reported this major scoop to the night duty staff, and urgently requested two reinforcements to be sent. “All right, Bro, hang in there! I’m coming right now!”

How greatly did the nearly cracking voice of Hayasaka Isamu—known as “Isamu the Fleet-Footed”—strengthen Chigusa’s resolve!

When he returned to the guest room, the remaining guests had gathered into a cluster and were whispering.

“The young lady seems suspicious.” That was the voice of Ashina Heizaburō, who seemed well-informed. “The chocolates were apparently bought by the young lady from Takeya this morning and given to him.” The rumors grew increasingly specific. Finally,

“The young lady is physically weak, so apparently she’s been receiving arsenic pills from Dr. Sakai and taking them.”

Overhearing this terrifying tale behind him, Chigusa Jūjirō had stepped out into the hallway. That Mihoko—with her lonely beauty like a moonflower—no matter what circumstances might have existed, he couldn't imagine her ever meaning to kill her father.

“Such a foolish thing—” Even as someone denied it, ominous rumors—with no clear source—grew increasingly specific, flooding into the guest room one after another.

At that very moment, a figure came flying down the stairs and darted to stand before Jūjirō—it was Mihoko, her pale face slightly flushed with agitation, trembling nervously. “Mr. Chigusa, what should I do? I’m scared—so scared!” What on earth was happening? Her wax-like cheeks twitching with terror, the girl whose eyes alone glowed unnaturally—as though her very spirit had been drained—clung to Chigusa Jūjirō’s chest. “Miss Mihoko, wh-what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared—I don’t understand anything at all.” Overwhelmed by her father’s sudden death and the terrifying suspicions now falling upon her, the daughter could not utter a word. “Now, calm down and try to tell me everything in more detail.”

Jūjirō placed his hand on the girl’s delicate shoulder and gazed intently into her terrified eyes. This shy, lonely girl whom he had known for quite some time—radiating an air of boundless purity—could not possibly have killed her father, no matter what misunderstanding might have occurred. As Mihoko gradually read the trust directed at herself within Jūjirō’s eyes, “Father has died. But I don’t know anything at all. Mr. Chigusa, I’m scared.”

The door to the second-floor bedroom opened, and there was the sound of someone descending the stairs. "Now, quickly—let's hear it. Calm down and tell me what happened next." "No matter what happens, please believe me, Mr. Chigusa—all the suspicions are falling on me now."

“And—?” “If something happens… please tell my sister—Ah! Someone’s coming—Sister’s at Takeya—the mannequin—”

Mihoko’s words came to an end here. One of the policemen, descending the stairs as if in pursuit, placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and—

“Come here now—I need to question you again.” Beneath these cold, iron-hard words, Mihoko’s body collapsed onto the hallway carpet like crumbling flower petals. “She’s innocent! Such a horrible act—such a horrible act—Mihoko-chan could never do that!” The one who desperately threw himself between the policeman and Mihoko was Tashōhei, her distant cousin. His pale face flushed with agitation as he shoved against the officer’s chest with frantic strength—a startling contrast to his usual timidity.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” With a barked command, the policeman’s thick arm swung sideways—Tashōhei’s body flew like a tattered rag, collided with shelves lining the hallway, and lay motionless for some time afterward, devoid of strength to rise.

Deep Vendetta: Mother and Daughter

The mysterious death of businessman Ishii Kaorinosuke became a major scoop in the Kantō Shinpō, shocking the imperial capital the following day. The fact that Miss Mihoko had been taken into custody on the spot—though omitted from newspapers due to Chigusa Jūjirō’s goodwill—was eclipsed by suggestive articles about a major suspect emerging from within the family. These instead stoked public curiosity, causing exaggerated rumors to spread in all directions like wildfire.

Around nine-thirty, when mourners had begun to arrive, a car came to a stop before the entrance, and from it emerged a dreadfully garishly dressed young woman. When one saw her climb briskly onto the platform without hesitation—as if returning to her own home— “Ah—Young Mistress!”

The old butler, who had coincidentally come to answer the door, leaped up in shock and stood frozen in the entranceway. “Grandpa—is it true that Father has died?” "There’s no truth to any of it, Young Mistress. To claim the Younger Mistress could be the culprit—there could never be such a mistaken notion." “What? Wha—?” “Mihoko-chan’s the one?”

“That is indeed correct, Young Mistress.”

The young woman, having assessed the situation as critical, was about to plunge straight into the inner chambers when—

“Who goes there?”

The one who stood squarely blocking the way was Madam Toushiko—now a widow as of that day—slightly agitated from tension and sleeplessness, yet bearing an unyielding presence amid profound grief, perhaps due to the fierce resolve now moving within her to uphold this mansion. “Madam, it is Miss Sekiko, the eldest daughter.” “…………” Without needing to wait for the old butler’s placating words, Madam Toushiko had no reason not to know this visitor’s name. The face before her belonged to that stubborn stepdaughter who, three years prior when she herself had entered this mansion, declared she would never call her “Mother” and recklessly fled without purpose.

Compared to her shy and lonely younger sister Mihoko, her elder sister Sekiko was strikingly different in both beauty and passionate intensity. Her father, Kaorinosuke, had assumed she could neither rely on relatives nor avoid immediate hardship if she fled—yet defying these expectations, Sekiko plunged from that very day into a reckless and lawless life. Through such circumstances, Sekiko had effectively been disowned before she knew it and gradually distanced herself from the life of her father, who had become engrossed in his young, beautiful wife. Her younger sister Mihoko made various attempts to mediate with their father and stepmother, but since her elder sister had no such intention, no matter how much she agonized over it, she couldn’t even find a way to summon her back.

From such circumstances, Sekiko—beautiful, healthy, spirited, and with a somewhat wandering nature—sank into a life that, through conventional society’s eyes, defied being labeled as dangerous or anything else. At first she had been a female journalist, then an actress, and recently there were rumors she’d even become a mannequin girl parading her living form before crowds in department stores. The yellow Western-style dress and peculiar makeup made this mannequin girl appear as alluring as a queen from Egypt’s ancient tales.

“What a vulgar appearance! You can’t come in looking like that.”

“…………” “It would disgrace your deceased father.” “…………” “I do not have a daughter who’s a mannequin or anything of the sort. Go home!” “…………” “Leave at once.”

Before her stepmother’s fierce words, Sekiko froze stiffly. Her face turned deathly pale—so pale it seemed to alter the very hue of her white powder—and her beautiful mouth twitched in spasms. “Can’t I even see Father one last time?” “Get out!”

Large teardrops spilled from Sekiko’s eyes. But then, turning her back on her stepmother without another word, she abruptly dashed outside. When Toushiko saw this—perhaps her taut nerves having slackened at last—she staggered backward and leaned one hand against the entrance wall. Her beautiful eyes burned with anger, parched like the summer sun.

“Isamu, follow that girl.”

“Understood.”

Chigusa Jūjirō, who had been watching this scene from the shadows, turned to Isamu—who had come to assist—and spoke thus.

The Mannequin Appears

On the third day, Mihoko was released. Initially, suspicion was strong, and newspapers other than the Kanto Shimpo unanimously treated her as the true culprit, but Chigusa Jūjirō managed to persuade the anxious editor-in-chief and refrained from publishing any articles that cast suspicion on Mihoko until the very end. When the renowned detective Hanabusa Ichirō plunged into the case, the suspicions hanging over Mihoko vanished as if peeling away thin paper. It was indeed Mihoko who had purchased the chocolates, and it was true that she used arsenic-laced pills as a tonic. However, not only was the arsenic content in those pills extremely low, but also, out of the two hundred pills Dr.Sakai had provided, only about ten had been consumed—yet it was discovered that the chocolates used to kill her father contained a considerable quantity of arsenic.

This simple arithmetic had completely cleared Mihoko’s disgrace. When she returned on the third day, even her stepmother Toushiko welcomed her back, but the one who rejoiced most was her cousin Tashōhei; upon seeing Mihoko’s safe return, he grew so restless he could scarcely focus on any task. If the culprit wasn’t Mihoko, then the case would plunge into a labyrinth. Hanabusa Ichirō seemed to be investigating the route through which the arsenic had entered in such quantity, but even that proved difficult to uncover.

Once all funeral arrangements had been completed and the Ishii household had finally settled into calm, Ashina Heizaburō—who had kept his distance for some time—began visiting the widow Toushiko with increasing frequency, though there was nothing overtly suspicious about this behavior. "I hear that man Ashina has an interest in gardening, you know?"

Hanabusa Ichirō suddenly asked Jūjirō such a thing. “So they say. That man may be poor now, but back in his father’s day, they were quite prosperous—the estate alone is supposedly tens of thousands of tsubo, though I hear it’s mortgaged multiple times over. Using that garden, he’s apparently running an extravagant horticultural operation—and he’s terribly proud of it himself.” “Arsenic, cyanide, and nicotine are substances gardeners use for pest control.”

“Huh?”

Was Hanabusa Ichirō’s formidable intellect casting suspicion upon Ashina Heizaburō? "Oh, it's just something I heard—about half a year ago, a man named Ashina purchased a large quantity of arsenic." "That’s what we discovered by investigating herbal medicine shops—nothing more than that. Keep it quiet." While information exchanges between journalists and detectives were commonplace, the relationship between renowned detective Hanabusa Ichirō and celebrated journalist Chigusa Jūjirō transcended such transactional dealings. Having developed into a friendship untainted by self-interest, their mutual trust naturally gave rise to these candid revelations.

However, no matter how much time passed, Hanabusa Ichirō showed no sign of arresting Ashina Heizaburō. Not only that, but after two or three days had passed, he even began chatting and laughing with Ashina as if he had forgotten everything. It was impossible to tell how much Chigusa Jūjirō frowned upon seeing someone of Hanabusa Ichirō’s standing being on familiar terms with that frivolous man Ashina. Before long, another new incident occurred. It came to light that Sekiko—humiliated by Toushiko and denied a final farewell to her late father—legally remained Ishii Kaorinosuke’s eldest daughter, and fortunately, no formal disinheritance had been enacted. She now sought to file an inheritance lawsuit against her stepmother Toushiko through some legal procedure.

When such matters came to light, the public seized upon them with morbid fascination, embellishing the story with ever more extravagant details. Matters grew intolerable when it emerged that Sekiko herself—the central figure in this drama—was working as a department store mannequin at Takumiya. Once newspapers published illustrated articles about this development, pandemonium ensued at Takumiya Department Store: curiosity-seekers packed shoulder-to-shoulder in such numbers that staff struggled to contain them. Day after day, crowds swelled before Sekiko’s display on the fifth-floor bridal exhibition stage—a vision of divine beauty clad in Western-style wedding robes of diaphanous white silk—until the throng of spectators became a veritable human avalanche.

Even Sekiko was taken aback and expressed her desire to quit being a mannequin, but the manager of Takumiya Department Store—intoxicated by this popularity—refused outright, using the contract's expiration date as his shield. In exchange, however, he offered to increase her salary as much as she wished.

The Second Victim

“That woman’s called Sekiko, y’know.” “Damn, what a looker!” “That’s the daughter of murdered Ishii Kaorinosuke, y’know!” “Hmm” “Hey, hey—those in front, take off your hats!” “Can’t see a damn thing back here!”

This commotion repeated over and over again each time the mannequin made her appearance. Amidst extravagantly displayed wedding furnishings, Sekiko—wrapped in white gauze—stood doll-like for one hour each morning and afternoon. But such was her staggering popularity that they placed copious bridal props before her and built a raised platform behind, forcing her to stand flush against a white boundary curtain to prevent crowd surges.

Adorned in Western-style elegant makeup and clad entirely in pure white, Sekiko’s bridal form was exquisitely beautiful, radiant with mature grace. With her slender yet full-figured face, dreamy downcast eyes, lips like crimson shells parted in a faint smile, and pearl-hued skin barely concealed by gauze—even had she borne no connection to Ishii Kaorinosuke’s poisoning case—her allure would have driven the entire capital to distraction.

“This is absolutely fantastic!” “What’s happening?”

“Ah!” Before the murmuring crowd, Sekiko—clad in bridal attire—staggered forward a step as if about to collapse. “Urgh...” With one cry, her beautiful face contorted in agony and turned instantly ashen like indigo before collapsing like a white lily. Behind her, blood bloomed forth like a sudden flower, rapidly staining the gauze, dyeing the curtain, soaking the floor—the fallen mannequin’s body convulsed in their midst with one final spasm of torment.

The vast crowd fell utterly silent, as if water had been poured over them. Confronted with such a ghastly scene, they had forgotten both how to speak and how to move. After two or three seconds, a terrible uproar and great shrieks set the crowd—already on the verge of erupting—seething and roiling.

“Aaaaah!” “Aaaaah!”

This heavy, dull chorus—intercut with terrible shrieking cries—echoed on and on. The police came, the doctors came, they drove out the crowd and attended to the wounded mannequin—all of this transpired a full ten minutes later. The wound had been dealt through the curtain—a single thrust from directly behind piercing her heart—leaving no possibility of survival.

The authorities arrived and began their investigation approximately another hour after that.

The rear of the bridal display area had been made into a temporary passageway with curtains hung, so it was impossible to know who had passed through. Moreover, during the time when the mannequin’s face was being shown, the crowd would all gather in front, leaving the area behind the curtain completely empty—so there was no one who saw what kind of person had done it. In any case, though she wore but a single layer of bridal gauze, to pierce her heart clean through from behind that curtain required extraordinary skill.

The weapon used in the stabbing was a sharp foreign-made dagger, and according to appraisers, it was likely crafted in Corsica or thereabouts.

“It’s someone connected to the Ishii family.” Because this coincided with rumors swirling about the inheritance lawsuit, people immediately voiced this suspicion. Since even the general public had reached this conclusion, the authorities focused their investigation entirely along these lines—yet found nothing concrete. Everyone agreed the same hand that poisoned Ishii Kaorinosuke must be responsible, but with the method behind his murder still unknown, investigators found themselves at an impasse.

A Tangled Web

"That dagger belongs to Ashina Heizaburō."

――The widow Toushiko used Ashina to have Sekiko stabbed――

Letters making such claims came pouring into the police station—two or even three of them, each in completely different handwriting. Without even needing to see that, Ashina Heizaburō—who had once taken a lengthy journey from southern France to Italy some years prior—was summoned to the police station that very day and subjected to a rigorous interrogation. “Is this dagger yours?”

“Yes, it is undoubtedly mine.”

“How do you know? There must be countless similar daggers—” “Since I bought this at a souvenir shop in Corsica, there are naturally many identical daggers in circulation—but only this one has the initials of my name carved into the ivory hilt.”

Before the bloodstained dagger, Ashina Heizaburō calmly made such statements.

“Then why was it in such a place?” “I don’t know—this dagger was stolen from me over a month ago.” “Is that true? Does anyone exist who can prove that?” “Unfortunately not. Since it was a trivial matter, I didn’t file a report or tell anyone.”

At this rate, suspicion toward Ashina Heizaburō only deepened further—yet he himself, while clearly aware of this intensification, appeared unable to take any countermeasures. “On that day—the exact time when Ishii Sekiko was killed, between two and three in the afternoon—where were you?”

“I was strolling in Ginza.” “Didn’t you meet anyone?”

“I don’t recall meeting anyone.”

What utter unreliability—this way, he had no alibi at all. Ashina Heizaburō was detained as he was.

Meanwhile, Hanabusa Ichirō, after conducting a preliminary investigation of the scene where Sekiko had been stabbed, immediately returned to the Ishii residence and announced that he might stay there for the time being, as he wished to investigate freely for a while. The widow Toushiko had no reason to refuse this, so “Please feel free to do as you wish.” she consented. However, she seemed to have some lingering misgivings and spoke very little. Mihoko, feeling indebted to Hanabusa Ichirō, attended to his every need, while Tashōhei—who seemed solely concerned with keeping Mihoko in good spirits—joined in and likewise showed every courtesy to Hanabusa Ichirō.

Two or three days later, on a certain afternoon when Chigusa Jūjirō went to visit the Ishii residence, Hanabusa Ichirō was intently circling around the exterior of the house, inspecting the foundations, window frames, fences, and such.

“It seems he believes the culprit came in from outside and put poison in the chocolates.” The beautiful Madam Toushiko pointed out the languid figure of Hanabusa Ichirō—who was inspecting holes in the fence—through the window, all while speaking in a tone laced with considerable hostility. “Since that man has such a brilliant mind, he’ll surely uncover the culprit soon.”

“That’s why I can’t stand him putting on such a clueless act. If I’m under suspicion, why don’t you clearly state that I’m a suspect? Then investigate my room or my person properly like a man—wouldn’t that make sense?” Madam’s beautiful eyebrows twitched nervously. The fact that Hanabusa Ichirō suspected her must have been an unbearable irritation for this beautiful widow. About ten minutes later, escaping both the Madam’s remarkable charm and her temper, Chigusa rushed out of the house.

“Hey, the Madam’s in quite a bad mood!”

Chigusa crossed the garden and approached Detective Hanabusa. It was a rather spacious and imposing garden, and once they came to this area, there was no concern of being seen from anywhere.

“Leave it be, leave it be. It’ll become clear soon.”

“Have you identified the culprit?” “No trace whatsoever.”

Hanabusa Ichirō raised his serene face with an air of nonchalance and continued gazing up at the autumn sky. "But one thing's certain—it's not Ashina Heizaburō."

“Huh? Is that true?”

“Absolutely true. If Ashina were the culprit, he’d never go to such lengths to gather that much evidence just to frame himself—using a fool’s poison like arsenic, stabbing someone with his own dagger and leaving it at the scene, not even bothering to create a simple alibi—”

“…………” “That’s why I proved it this morning and had him released.” “So what do you plan to do now?” “I’m weaving a net—a huge, enormous net.” “The path I’ve walked becomes a web of incantations—don’t you see?” “Ha ha ha ha!” “…………” He truly had no inkling what might come next. Chigusa stood dumbstruck, staring at Hanabusa’s face. “I’ll whisper this only to you—tonight, find some pretext to have them lodge you in the old butler’s room. You’ll witness quite the spectacle.”

“Will you catch the culprit?”

“Well now—but you mustn’t tell anyone at all. Not Madam，not Miss Mihoko，not even Shōhei.”

“…………”

Chigusa Jūjirō’s chest throbbed with anticipation. “Understood? Make your farewells and go outside—then look, slip back in quietly through this hole.”

Hanabusa Ichirō quietly pointed to a hole in the hedge with the tip of his foot.

“And you?”

“I’ll leave once too—if Hanabusa Ichirō remains in this house, the fish won’t get caught in the net.”

With these words, Hanabusa Ichirō walked away without even turning around. Just how many holes in the hedge did he intend to find?

The Devil's Visage

That night, around two o'clock, a terrible noise was heard from the inner quarters. Chigusa, who had been holding his breath in the old butler’s room, rushed straight out into the corridor and bounded up the stairs two at a time,

“Here! Here, Chigusa!” Hanabusa Ichirō’s voice came from Mihoko’s room—an utterly unexpected location. Pushing open the door and rushing in with his flashlight beam, he found Hanabusa Ichirō pinning something—or someone—down on the floor. “Here’s the culprit! Behold the devil’s face!”

and he flashed the pinned-down murderer’s face into the beam of his flashlight.

“Ah— Ta—!” Pinned beneath Hanabusa’s knee, contorted with grotesque fury and bitter disappointment, was undeniably the face of Tashōhei—that timid, reserved, sickly man—yet none of his usual melancholic gentleness remained. Truly, it was exactly as Hanabusa Ichirō had said—the face of a devil.

“Finally caught in the net—a monstrous fish.”

The widow, the old butler, and Mihoko—having apparently sensed the commotion and come running—were huddled in the corridor, trembling as they peered into the room. “It’s all right now.” Having bound Tashōhei and brushed off the dust, Hanabusa Ichirō turned on the electric light and beckoned to the people in the corridor, “This fiend is a true devil—yet precisely because he’s terrifyingly clever, I nearly fell victim to him myself." “Everyone, please look at this.” Approaching Mihoko’s bed where he himself had been lying until now, he removed the pillow and peeled back the white sheet to reveal a long grape-gray silk cord stretched precisely where the neck would rest.

Hanabusa Ichirō approached, took one end of the cord and pulled it to test, whereupon the opposite end appeared to be securely tied to the iron rod on the far side of the bed. “This afternoon, I happened to discover this contraption, so I urgently had Miss Mihoko vacate her bedroom and took her place by lying in wait.” “As I anticipated, shortly after two o’clock struck, this fiend crept in. In the pitch darkness, he fumbled under the sheet for the cord’s end, reached over my neck, and attempted to thread it across to the other side to pull.” “Having anticipated as much, I immediately pulled my head back and slammed this fiend to the floor—it was truly a close call. Had it been the young lady here, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.” “As you can see, the cord is thin yet sturdy—six feet long at that. If tied to the rod on the far side, this contraption could strangle someone without waking them. Truly, isn’t this the very sort of clever method a cowardly yet ruthless villain would devise?”

“……” Upon hearing Hanabusa Ichirō’s explanation and overwhelmed by the sheer horror of it, Mihoko staggered and nearly collapsed into her stepmother’s arms. “Miss, it’s all right now. With that, everything has been resolved.” “By the way, Madam—whose cord is this?” “Ah, that is mine.” The beautiful widow also, still holding Mihoko, staggered unsteadily and nearly collapsed on the spot.

This time, Chigusa Jūjirō had to rush over and support them. "That's right—do you understand, Madam? You were moments away from being suspected of murdering your stepchild." "I've encountered many types of villains in my time, but one as thoroughly cold-blooded as this Tashōhei is a first." "Truly a villain of genius—when you consider his intelligence, he must be some kind of deviant."

After Toushiko the widow and Mihoko expressed their gratitude, the two withdrew through the dawn-lit streets toward Marunouchi.

Along the way, Hanabusa Ichirō explained the following to Chigusa Jūjirō.

“The source of the arsenic? “It’s nothing complicated. Tashōhei’s hobby being zoology—he occasionally makes animal taxidermy specimens, so arsenic was amply stocked at his laboratory.” “What astonished me more was the deftness of framing Miss Mihoko and that monstrous cunning of exploiting Mr. Ishii’s diabetes.” “All those affectionate gestures toward Miss Mihoko were merely that scoundrel’s performance.” “A man like him could never harbor genuine love.” “Moreover, it was Tashōhei who had Mr. Ashina purchase arsenic under the guise of pest control, and likewise Tashōhei who stole the dagger and stabbed Miss Sekiko. No one lacking anatomical knowledge could have pierced a human heart so precisely through a curtain from behind—in any event, after murdering Mr. Ishii, he engineered the killings of both daughters to cast suspicion upon Mr. Ashina and the widow.” “The murder motive?” “Needless to say—Mr. Ishii’s vast fortune.” “Were everyone dead, his nephew Tashōhei would stand as legal heir. Thanks to this, even the widow might reflect and finally treat Miss Mihoko with proper care.”

The car carrying the two had already arrived in Marunouchi.