Pathway to Japanese Literature

“Please cease this macabre talk. Wouldn’t you prefer discussing Tokyo-za’s splendid revue instead?” The one laboring to divert the conversation was Mrs. Toushi—wife of the household’s master, Mr. Ishii Kaorinosuke. A young beauty who adored guests and spared no hospitality, she enjoyed extraordinary popularity among all who frequented this mansion. Yet even Mrs. Toushi’s charm couldn’t sway the evening’s prevailing topic. Within billowing clouds of opulent guest cigarettes, steeped in some perverse intoxication, the male guests remained spellbound by discussions of “crime.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

Kaorinosuke, the master of the house, waved his plump hand to shoo his beautiful wife toward the female guests while— "If you get robbed, it's because you were careless—and by the same token, you can't just blame the thief! I say those who get killed aren't too bright either. If victims let their guard down, doesn't that tempt killers? That's how it works, eh? Ha ha ha ha!"

While stroking his strikingly receding forehead, he shook his beer-barrel belly and cackled. “No, that can’t be. If your theory holds true, then all murder victims must be fools—whether it’s a renowned politician struck down by an assassin or some back-alley libertine killed in a crime of passion, there’d be no difference at all.”

The speaker was Ashina Heizaburou, a young gentleman who frequented this mansion nearly every day. He was one of those scions of old families weighed down by a sprawling estate, crushing poverty, and absurdly trivial pretensions of status ill-suited to their circumstances—yet his meticulous grooming, maintained within mere minutes, and his polished-smooth face bore an oddly feminine delicacy. He was particularly close to Mrs. Toushi; while publicly addressing her as “Mrs., Mrs.,” he reportedly spoke rudely behind her back, dropping honorifics to call her “Toushi—,” so conspicuously that even the hired staff regarded him with suspicion.

“I would like to concur with Mr. Ishii’s theory—as crimes rarely occur by mere chance. Through prudent and meticulous caution, the majority can be prevented before they transpire.” Dr. Sakai Kouzou, while twisting his wedge-shaped beard, remarked in a manner befitting his scholarly disposition. “How about you? Don’t you have any interesting theories?” ………… The young gentleman named Tamura Shouhei gasped sharply when addressed by Kaorinosuke, the master of the house.

He was said to be the master’s nephew, having been raised in this mansion since childhood, but with a frail constitution and scholarly bent that made even public speaking seem painfully arduous for him. Having endured an unrelenting barrage of ghastly stories since earlier that evening, his pale aristocratic features had frozen completely stiff—hardly a condition permitting coherent opinions about murder.

“I don’t understand such things.” “Ha, ha, ha, ha! So you’re a man who only understands zoology, eh?” Kaorinosuke, upon seeing his nephew’s utterly troubled face, laughed uproariously as though thoroughly amused.

The gathering numbered just seven or eight people—or perhaps ten if you included the women guests who had withdrawn to the adjoining room to distance themselves from this sinister topic. The recurring dinner parties spurred by the Ishii couple’s fondness for guests had, after allowing their proud chef to fully demonstrate his skills, moved to an adjoining room where their usual uninhibited conversations were in full swing as they sipped light Western-style liquor. “Are you still drinking nothing but whiskey?”

“They say Japanese sake and wine are bad for diabetes—and my wife nags me about it even more strictly than Dr. Sakai does! Ha ha ha ha!” Having been subjected to such trivial affectionate boasting, Kounishi, the middle-aged man, became somewhat flustered, but he regrouped and— “Well, thank you very much for that—”

“Oh, if I were to carelessly snack on even a sweet, it would cause a huge uproar.” “Ha ha ha ha! This is getting even more unbearable!”

The explosion of laughter seemed to have blown away that ghastly "murder talk" as well. "My, how lively it is here. You must have been saying all sorts of dreadful things about me, haven't you?"

Opening the partition door and standing like a peacock was the beautiful figure of Mrs. Toushi.

“Did you hear that?” “Hmph, heh heh heh.” Old Man Kounishi basked in self-satisfaction alone. “Now then, let us conclude our earlier discussion. Mr. Chigusa, what do you think—” The focus shifted toward renowned journalist Chigusa Juujirou, who had been leaning silently against an armchair in the corner since earlier, intently listening to the group’s “murder discussion.”

“I don’t understand. When you deal with bloody incident after bloody incident day after day, your mind ends up in such disarray that you can’t even begin to derive formulas or philosophies from them.” “I see—that’s how you would put it… but…” As Ishii Kaorinosuke tried to steer the conversation back to murder theories, the parlor door silently opened from the outside.

“Father, it is time.” Her beautiful face carried an aristocratic air. She was his daughter Mihoko, eighteen years old and born from his first marriage—only twelve or thirteen years younger than her stepmother Toushi. Where Toushi bloomed with peony-like splendor, this girl resembled a dewflower: lonely, delicate, and fragile enough to inspire pity. “Already that hour? Dr. Sakai remains as obstinate as ever—insisting I retire by ten regardless of circumstances.” “My wife shall attend you now. Please enjoy yourselves as usual—if you’ll excuse me.”

Even so, with apparent reluctance, he withdrew to his bedroom accompanied by his daughter Mihoko. Seeming accustomed to such things, the people of the gathering showed no sign of finding it strange. The elderly master’s presence likely mattered little in this youth-dominated gathering. However, Chigusa Juujirou did not overlook the fact that Tamura Shouhei’s eyes, following the daughter’s retreating figure, were burning with a strange passion. Even in the timid zoologist’s eyes, that lovely girl’s figure did not seem devoid of meaning.

Arsenic Poisoning

The proceedings of the Ishii residence’s dinner party would enter their main plot thereafter. The division between male and female guests was done away with, and games and conversation, transcending age and time, intermingled as the night wore on. Mrs. Ishii, overflowing with the voluptuous beauty of a woman in her prime, was the very picture of perfection as the gathering’s hostess. She was abundant in topics, bold, slightly devilish, and witty—and exquisitely beautiful at that. As a queen presiding over conversation and dance in such a gathering, there were few better suited for the role. As the atmosphere grew increasingly charged, Ashina Heizaburou became the most animated—his disposition fitting almost uncannily well into the frivolous mood. Meanwhile, Tamura Shouhei alone appeared visibly distressed, shrinking into a corner like a startled hare, biting his nails as he watched the whirl of revelry.

By around eleven o'clock, they had already become thoroughly worked up in a clamorous uproar—no matter what major incident might occur, there seemed to be no resisting this dreadful revelry.

“M-M-Madam! S-Something t-terrible—!”

Suddenly, a terrible scream resounded from beyond the corridor. The whirl of revelry stopped dead, and everyone’s expressions stiffened instantaneously—frozen in terror.

“Madam! Th-The Master... s-something terrible has happened!” The one who pushed open the door and burst in was the maid in service to the master, “What’s wrong? What’s happened to the Master?”

Mrs. Toushi was first to rush into the corridor, with Dr. Sakai darting out close behind her. Soon afterward, the avalanche of male and female guests trying to pursue them was halted by Dr. Sakai at the foot of the staircase landing. "It appears the master has been taken suddenly ill. Please entrust this matter to me for now." The guests retreated sheepishly back to the main parlor. With both Mrs. Toushi and her attending physician having assumed responsibility, there remained no grounds for the guests to insist on staying.

After about thirty minutes had passed, half the guests had already left. Chigusa Juujirou also made several attempts to leave, but some peculiar sixth sense as a journalist stirred within him, and he found himself unable to depart as he was. Something about this mansion now reeked of incident. Before long, Old Man Kounishi—who seemed brimming with curiosity for his age—glided out of the parlor, and after about ten minutes, glided back in again. “I heard it.”

Old Man Kounishi came close to the ear of Chigusa Juujirou, who was sunk deep into the armchair, and lowered his voice in an ominously harsh whisper. “……” “The master seems to have committed suicide.” “What?!”

This wasn’t limited to Chigusa alone. It seemed to have reached the ears of all the people there, and a kind of portentous cry of astonishment leaked out.

“Dr. Sakai says it’s arsenic poisoning. If that’s the case, there might be foul play—” “Wh-what?!” Chigusa Juujirou sprang up as if launched from his seat. Though no longer the young reporter who covered violent crimes, when confronted with an incident unfolding before his very eyes, his old instincts resurfaced—his journalistic fervor roared back to life. When Juujirou went upstairs, the authorities had yet to arrive. Amidst the chaos, Dr. Sakai—now regaining his professional composure—was bolstering Mrs. Toushi, who proved unexpectedly resilient, while administering every possible care.

“Ah, Mr. Chigusa! This has finally become your territory, but under these circumstances, I ask that you turn a blind eye.” Dr. Sakai glanced back briefly and cast a silencing spell upon the renowned journalist’s countenance. “Whether I write about it or not is a separate matter—when there’s an incident, I simply can’t pretend ignorance.” “I suppose you’re right. Since hiding it would serve no purpose, I’ll let you observe to your professional heart’s content—on the condition that nothing critical happens to the master’s condition, in which case this stays out of the papers.”

“So, what exactly happened to the master? Suicide seems unthinkable, but…”

“That’s precisely it—a model optimist like him would never contemplate suicide, especially since he was in perfect health just an hour ago.” “And…?” “I suspect it might be murder—while administering treatment and looking around this area, I noticed a box of chocolates in the half-opened drawer of the side table—and those chocolates reek.” “……” “When I asked Mrs. Toushi, she insisted she knew nothing about it. Diabetics crave sweets intensely—he likely hid this from even his wife and occasionally snuck some. Tonight too, upon entering the bedroom, he seems to have immediately eaten two or three… but with arsenic inside them, it was fatal—”

“Who put it in, and how?” “That I don’t know either. Since I’ve now obtained Madam’s consent and made the call, the officials will likely come soon to investigate. I merely confirmed that the master’s symptoms matched arsenic poisoning and that three chocolates were missing from the drawer. Upon examination, I found only that the silver foil on the top layer had all been rewrapped, with large amounts of arsenic inserted into each one. How did I determine it was arsenic, you ask? It’s simple—when you lack detection equipment, you can just toss the suspicious substance into charcoal. If arsenic is present, it gives off a garlic-like odor—”

“And his condition?” “It’s extremely serious. He’s vomited out most of the arsenic, but his heart is weak... Probably——” Dr. Sakai whispered softly into Chigusa’s ear and furrowed his brows.

The suspicion fell upon Mihoko.

Dr. Sakai, recognizing him as a newspaper reporter not prone to reckless sensationalism, explained all this.

Behind the curtain drawn to conceal the bed lay the half-dead master Ishii Kaorinosuke, while the flamboyant wife Toushi, the forlorn daughter Mihoko, and the utterly flustered nephew Shouhei could be seen straining themselves in nursing him as vividly as if one could reach out and touch the scene.

Just then came the sound of a car from the entrance direction, followed by the clamor of numerous footsteps clattering across the entryway platform. “It appears the police have arrived. You’d do well to excuse yourself, Mr. Chigusa.”

“……”

Chigusa Juujirou had no choice but to withdraw in silence. As he withdrew, the group from the local police station—the police doctor and officers—also entered the bedroom in silence. “Well, Mr. Chigusa? It was murder after all, wasn’t it?” Old Man Kounishi poked his head in, and from behind him, Ashina Heizaburou’s pale face peered nervously. “Seems like it…” “And the culprit?”

Old Man Kounishi, due to his advanced age, used such old-fashioned language, but given the tense atmosphere in the surroundings, it didn’t seem particularly out of place.

“There’s no way to know that.”

“……”

Once again, a terrifying silence dominated the gathering. In such a situation, he felt a sense of guilt and could neither leave now nor extricate himself.

Another thirty minutes or so passed.

“It seems he didn’t make it in the end.” “What?”

“Given how fat he was, it seems he died of cardiac arrest—” The rumor of the master’s death spread to the parlor from somewhere. Chigusa Juujirou stopped the old steward passing through the hallway and asked,

“Yes, it is a most tragic matter.”

The stubborn-looking old steward did nothing but blink tersely. Upon hearing that Mr. Ishii Kaorinosuke had been poisoned, even with Dr. Sakai’s gag order, a newspaper reporter could not remain silent. Chigusa promptly went to the entrance hall, called the newspaper office, reported this major scoop to the person on night duty, and urgently requested about two reinforcements. “Alright! Hang in there, Boss! I’m coming right now!” How greatly must the near-breaking voice of Hayasaka Isamu—known as “Isamu of the Legs”—have strengthened Chigusa’s resolve.

When he returned to the parlor, the remaining guests were huddled together in a single mass, whispering. “They say the young lady is suspicious.” This was the voice of Ashina Heizaburou, who seemed well-informed. “It’s said the young lady bought the chocolates from Takeya this morning and brought them for him.” The talk grew increasingly concrete. Finally, “Because the young lady is in poor health, it’s said she received arsenic pills from Dr. Sakai and has been taking them.”

With that horrifying tale spoken behind him, Chigusa Juujirou was standing in the hallway. That Mihoko—lonely and beautiful like an evening primrose—no matter what circumstances there might have been, he couldn’t imagine her ever considering killing her father. “Such an absurd thing—!”

Even as he denied it, ominous rumors—with no discernible source—began spreading into the parlor one after another, growing increasingly concrete.

At that very moment, a figure came flying down the stairs—and when Juujirou saw it stop abruptly before him, there stood Mihoko, her pale face slightly flushed, quivering anxiously.

“Mr. Chigusa, what should I do—I’m scared, I’m scared!”

What in God’s name— The girl, her waxen cheeks twitching with terror and eyes shining unnaturally, clung to Chigusa Juujirou’s chest as if all her strength and spirit had been drained. “What’s wrong, Miss Mihoko? Huh? Huh?” “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 girl could not utter a word. “Now, calm down and try to explain in a bit more detail.”

Juujirou placed his hand on the girl’s delicate shoulder and gazed intently into her terrified eyes. He had known for quite some time—this shy, lonely girl who nevertheless radiated an infinitely pure aura—that no matter how things might have gone wrong, she could not possibly have killed her father. Mihoko gradually perceived the trust directed at herself within Juujirou’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 someone appeared to be coming down 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.” “And—?” “If something happens to me, please inform my sister— Ah, someone’s coming— My sister is at Takeya— The mannequin—”

Mihoko’s words ended here. A policeman who had descended the stairs as if in pursuit placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and—

“Now, come here again—I have questions to ask.” Under those cold, iron-like words, Mihoko’s body slumped limply onto the hallway carpet like scattered flower petals. “That person is innocent! Such a terrible thing—such a terrible thing—Mihoko couldn’t possibly do it!” The one who desperately threw himself between the policeman and Mihoko was Tamura Shouhei, a distant cousin of hers. His pallid face flushed with agitation—acting utterly unlike his usual timidity—he shoved against the policeman’s chest with every ounce of desperate strength.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” With a barked command, the policeman’s burly arm swung sideways—Tamura Shouhei’s body was sent flying like a tattered rag, colliding with some part of the shelves lining the hallway. For a time, he lay without the strength to rise.

Mother and Daughter of Vendetta

The mysterious death of businessman Ishii Kaorinosuke—headlined in a major scoop by the *Kanto Shinpo* newspaper—shocked the imperial capital the following day. Though Chigusa Juujirou’s goodwill kept reports of Miss Mihoko’s immediate arrest from being printed, an article hinting at a key suspect emerging from within the family instead stoked public curiosity, sending exaggerated rumors spreading in all directions like wildfire.

Around nine-thirty, when mourners had just begun to arrive, a car stopped in front of the entrance, and from it emerged a single dreadfully flashy young woman. Seeing her climb briskly onto the entrance platform without a moment’s hesitation—as though returning to her own home—

“Ah, Young Mistress!” The old butler, who had coincidentally come out to receive visitors, leapt up in shock and stood frozen in the entranceway. “Old man—is it true that Father has died?” “There’s no truth to it whatsoever, Young Mistress. To say that Young Miss Mihoko is the culprit—such a mistaken story couldn’t possibly exist.”

“What? What?” “Mihoko did it?”

“That is indeed the case, Young Mistress.”

The young woman, perceiving the situation was dire, tried to rush straight into the inner rooms—but before she could,

“Who are you?” The one who stood firmly blocking the way was Toushi, the wife who had become a widow as of today—though slightly agitated from excitement and sleeplessness, perhaps due to her strong will to uphold this household moving within her, there was an unshakable resoluteness about her even amidst profound sorrow. “Madam, this is the eldest daughter, Miss Sekiko.”

“……”

Without even needing to wait for the old butler’s placating words, there was no possibility that Mrs. Toushi could fail to recognize who stood before her. The one standing before her was the obstinate face of that stepchild who, three years prior when she had first entered this mansion, had stubbornly refused to call her “Mother” and fled without any destination in mind. Compared to her shy and lonely younger sister Mihoko, her older sister Sekiko was strikingly different in both beauty and strength of emotion. Contrary to her father Kaorinosuke’s dismissive assumption—that she could neither rely on relatives nor survive independently from the day she fled—Sekiko plunged into a reckless and lawless life from that very day onward.

Through such circumstances, Sekiko had effectively been disowned and gradually drifted away from her father’s life—now consumed by his infatuation with his young, beautiful wife. Her younger sister Mihoko had made various attempts to mediate with her father and stepmother, but since her older sister had no such intention, no matter how much she fretted, there was simply no way to summon her back. Because of such circumstances, Sekiko—beautiful, healthy, strong-willed, and with a somewhat itinerant nature—sank into a life that, in the eyes of ordinary society, defied categorization as dangerous or otherwise. Rumors had it she’d first been a female journalist, then an actress, and most recently a Mannequin Girl at a department store, parading her living body before the masses.

The yellow dress and strange makeup made this Mannequin Girl appear as bewitchingly sensual as a queen from ancient Egyptian legends.

“What a vulgar display! You cannot enter looking so disgraceful.” “……” “It would bring shame to the late Father.” “……” “I do not have a daughter who’s a mannequin or anything of the sort. Go home!”

“……” “Go home.” Before her stepmother’s fierce words, Sekiko stood frozen stiff. Her face turned ashen pale—so pale it seemed to alter the color of her makeup—and her beautiful mouth twitched spasmodically. “Can’t I even see Father just once?”

“Go home.” Large teardrops spilled from Sekiko’s eyes. Without another word, she turned her back on her stepmother and fled outside.

When Toushi saw this—perhaps her taut nerves slackened—she staggered backward and placed one hand against the entrance wall. The beautiful eyes burned with anger and were as parched as the summer sun.

“Isamu, follow that girl.”

“Understood.”

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

The Mannequin Appears

On the third day, Mihoko was released. At first, suspicion ran deep—newspapers other than the Kantō Shimpo unanimously portrayed Mihoko as the true culprit—but Chigusa Juujirou persuaded the anxious editor-in-chief and refrained from publishing any articles that cast doubt on her until the very end. When the renowned detective Hanabusa Ichirou plunged into the case, the suspicions hanging over Mihoko vanished as if peeling away tissue paper. It was indeed Mihoko who had bought the chocolates, and it was also true that she used arsenic-containing pills as a tonic. However, those pills contained extremely low arsenic levels—of the two hundred pills Dr. Sakai had provided, only about ten had been used—yet they discovered that the chocolates which killed her father contained a considerably large amount of arsenic.

This simple arithmetic completely cleared the stain from Mihoko’s name. When she returned on the third day, even her stepmother Toushi showed relief, but her cousin Tamura Shouhei rejoiced most profoundly; seeing Mihoko’s unharmed face left him so agitated he could scarcely attend to any task. If Mihoko wasn’t the culprit, the case would descend into a labyrinth. Hanabusa Ichirou appeared to be tracing the arsenic’s entry route, but this too proved difficult to unravel.

Once all funeral arrangements had been completed and the Ishii household had finally settled into calm, Ashina Heizaburou—who had kept his distance for some time—began visiting the widow Toushi with increasing frequency, though there was nothing particularly suspicious about this. “The man called Ashina is said to have an interest in gardening, I hear.”

Hanabusa Ichirou suddenly asked Juujirou such a thing. “So they say. That man may be poor now, but back in his family’s previous generation, they were incredibly prosperous—apparently the estate alone spans tens of thousands of tsubo. Though I hear it’s been mortgaged multiple times over. They say he’s using that garden to do some rather extravagant gardening—and he’s intensely proud of it himself.” “Arsenic, cyanide, and nicotine are substances gardeners would use for pest control.”

“Huh?” Was Hanabusa Ichirou’s terrifying mental acuity now casting a trace of suspicion upon Ashina Heizaburou? “Well, it’s just something I heard from someone—about half a year ago, a man named Ashina purchased a large quantity of arsenic. That’s something we found out by investigating herbal medicine shops, but—it’s just that one lead. Keep it quiet.” Exchanges between journalists and detectives often involve sharing leads, but the relationship between renowned detective Hanabusa Ichirou and celebrated journalist Chigusa Juujirou was no such superficial transaction—it had become a friendship transcending mere interests, their mutual trust ultimately leading to such candid disclosures.

However, no matter how much time passed, Hanabusa Ichirou showed no sign of arresting Ashina Heizaburou. Not only that, but after two or three days—as if he had forgotten everything—he even chatted and laughed with Ashina at times. One could only imagine how Chigusa Juujirou frowned upon seeing someone of Hanabusa Ichirou’s stature being friendly with such a frivolous man as Ashina.

Before long, another new incident occurred. It was discovered that Sekiko—who had been humiliated by Toushi and thus unable to bid her late father a final farewell—remained legally the eldest daughter of Ishii Kaorinosuke and, taking advantage of never having been formally disinherited, was preparing to file some form of lawsuit against her stepmother Toushi demanding the handover of inheritance. When such things came to light, society took delight in embellishing them with wild speculations. Moreover, when it became known that Sekiko—the central figure—was working as a mannequin at Takeya Department Store, matters grew utterly unmanageable. When this article appeared in newspapers with photographs, Takeya Department Store erupted into chaos—so packed with curiosity-seekers it was nearly crushing—while day after day before Sekiko, standing on the fifth floor’s “Complete Bridal Set Exhibition Hall” in Western-style bridal attire clad in white silk, her radiantly divine beauty drew a veritable mountain of spectators.

Even Sekiko was taken aback and expressed her desire to quit being a mannequin, but the manager of Takeya Department Store—intoxicated by the crowd’s frenzy—adamantly refused to listen, citing the contract period as his shield. In exchange, however, he offered to increase her salary as lavishly as she wished.

The Second Victim "That's Sekiko, I tell ya." "Damn, what a looker!" "She's the murdered Ishii Kaorinosuke's daughter!" "Hmm." "Hey! You up front—hats off!" "Back here can't see shit!" This commotion repeated endlessly at each scheduled mannequin appearance. Amid terrifyingly extravagant wedding displays, Sekiko stood doll-like in white gauze—one hour each morning and afternoon. Her explosive popularity risked crowd surges; they piled bridal props before her and built a raised platform behind, pressing her flush against a white partition curtain.

Adorned in pure white with Western-style refined makeup, Sekiko’s bridal figure was exquisitely beautiful and dignified. Her slender yet full face—dreaming eyes cast downward, lips like crimson seashells pressed together with a faint smile, pearl-toned complexion barely veiled by gauze—would have driven the entire capital’s populace to distraction through its elegance alone, even had it borne no connection to Ishii Kaorinosuke’s poisoning case. “This is utterly breathtaking.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah!”

Before the murmuring crowd, Sekiko, in her bridal attire, staggered forward a step. “Ugh…”

With a gasp, her beautiful face contorted in agony, suddenly turning as pale as indigo before collapsing like a white lily. Behind her, a surge of blood blossomed forth—swiftly dyeing the gauze, staining the curtain, and soaking the floor. Amidst this, the fallen mannequin’s body convulsed with one final, thunderous agony.

The vast crowd fell completely silent for a time, as if water had been poured over them. Confronted with such a ghastly scene, they forgot how to speak or move. Soon, two or three seconds later, a terrifying upheaval and deafening screams set the crowd in the venue—already at the bursting point—seething and boiling over.

“Aghh!” “Aghh!” A heavy, dull chorus interspersed with terrifying shrieks continued for some time. Detectives arrived, doctors arrived; they expelled the crowd and tended to the wounded mannequin—it was only after ten minutes had passed. The wound pierced her heart clean through from directly behind the curtain—a strike so precise it left her utterly beyond saving. It was about another hour later that the authorities arrived and began their investigation.

The back of the bridal furnishings exhibition hall had been converted into a temporary passageway using hung curtains, making it impossible to determine who had passed through. Moreover, during the mannequin’s viewing hours, the crowd had all shifted to the front, leaving the space behind the curtain utterly vacant—thus, there was no witness to what manner of person had committed the act. In any case, though she wore only a single layer of bridal silk, since the fatal strike to her heart had been thrust through the curtain from behind, the perpetrator’s technique must have been extraordinarily precise.

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

“It’s someone related to the Ishii family.” Around the time rumors of the inheritance lawsuit began circulating, people immediately seized upon that theory. Since even the general public had reached this conclusion, the authorities focused their investigation entirely along these lines—yet found nothing. Everyone agreed the same hand that poisoned Ishii Kaorinosuke must be responsible, but with no understanding of how he had actually been killed, there remained no starting point for investigation.

Web —That dagger belongs to Ashina Heizaburou— —Widow Toushi used Ashina to have Sekiko stabbed— Letters making such claims—each in entirely different handwriting—poured into the police station, two or three of them arriving in quick succession. Without even needing to review these, Ashina Heizaburou—who had years prior undertaken an extended journey from southern France through Italy—was summoned by police that very day and subjected to a rigorous interrogation. “Is this dagger yours?”

“Yes, it is undoubtedly mine.”

“How can you tell? There must be countless similar daggers—” “Since I bought this at a Corsican specialty shop, while many identical daggers exist in circulation, mine alone has my initials carved into the ivory hilt.”

Before the bloodstained dagger, Ashina Heizaburou calmly stated these things. “Then why was it in that place?” “I don’t know. This dagger was stolen from me a month ago.” “Is that true? Does anyone exist who can prove this?”

“Unfortunately, there is none. As it was a trivial item, I neither filed a report nor informed anyone.” Given this trajectory, suspicions toward Ashina Heizaburou only deepened further—yet he himself, though clearly aware of this, appeared incapable of taking any meaningful action. “On that day when Ishii Sekiko was killed—between exactly two and three in the afternoon—where were you?”

“I was strolling through Ginza.” “Did you meet anyone?” “I don’t recall meeting anyone.”

What a pitiable lack of substantiation—with this, he effectively had no alibi.

Ashina Heizaburou was detained then and there.

Meanwhile, Hanabusa Ichirou, after conducting a preliminary investigation of the scene where Sekiko had been stabbed, immediately returned to the Ishii residence and announced he might stay there for the time being, as he wanted to investigate freely for a while. Widow Toushi, having no reason to refuse it, “Please make yourself at home.” she consented. However, she seemed to have some unresolved doubts and spoke very little. Mihoko, feeling indebted to Hanabusa Ichirou, attended to his every need, and Tamura Shouhei—who seemed solely preoccupied with keeping Mihoko in good spirits—followed suit by likewise showing Hanabusa Ichirou every courtesy.

A few days later, on a certain afternoon when Chigusa Juujirou went to visit the Ishii residence, Hanabusa Ichirou was busily circling the house's exterior framework, inspecting the foundation, window openings, walls, and such. "That person seems to think the culprit came in from outside and put poison in the chocolates."

The beautiful Mrs. Toushi pointed through the window at the elongated figure of Hanabusa Ichirou—who was searching for holes in the wall—while uttering these words in a tone carrying intensely hostile undertones. “Since that man has such an excellent mind, he’ll undoubtedly uncover the culprit soon enough.” “That’s exactly why his feigned ignorance is so infuriating.” “If I’m suspect, why won’t he declare it plainly? Why doesn’t he act like a proper man and search my quarters or examine my person?”

Madam Toushi’s beautiful brows twitched with sharp nervous tension. The awareness that Hanabusa Ichirou suspected her must have been unbearably unpleasant for this beautiful widow.

About ten minutes later, Chigusa escaped from Madam’s captivating charm and irritable temper and dashed outside the house. “Whoa, Madam’s in quite the foul mood.”

Chigusa crossed the garden and approached Detective Hanabusa. It was a rather spacious and grand garden, and once he reached this area, there was no concern of being seen from anywhere. “Leave it be, leave it be. It’ll become clear soon.” “Have you got a lead on the culprit?” “Nope, not a clue.”

Hanabusa Ichirou calmly raised his serene face and continued gazing up at the autumn sky.

“But it’s certain Ashina Heizaburou isn’t [the culprit].”

“Huh? Is that really true?”

“It certainly is.” “If Ashina were the culprit, he wouldn’t go to such lengths to gather so much evidence to frame himself.” “Using something as foolish as arsenic for poison, stabbing someone with his own dagger and leaving it at the scene, failing to create even a simple alibi—” “...” “That’s why I proved it and had him released this morning.” “So, what do you plan to do now?” “I’m in the process of weaving a net—a big, big net.” “The places I’ve walked like this become the web of incantations—don’t you see?” “Ha ha ha ha ha!”

“...”

It was utterly impossible to predict what he would say next. Chigusa stared in astonishment, gazing at Hanabusa’s face.

“I’ll tell this quietly to you alone—tonight, somehow manage to arrange for me to stay in the old servant’s room. You’ll get to see quite a show.”

“Will you catch the culprit?”

“Well, perhaps… but you mustn’t tell anyone—not Madam, not Miss Mihoko, not even Shouhei-kun.”

“...” Chigusa Juujirou’s chest pounded with anticipation. “Understood? Once you’ve said your goodbyes and gone outside, look—slip in quietly through this hole here.” Hanabusa Ichirou quietly pointed to a hole in the hedge with the tip of his foot. “And you?”

“I’ll go back once too. If Hanabusa Ichirou stays in this house, the fish won’t enter the net.” Having uttered these words dismissively, Hanabusa Ichirou walked off without turning back.

Just how many holes in the hedge was he planning to find?

The Devil’s Visage

That night, around two o’clock, a dreadful noise was heard from the rear of the house.

Chigusa, who had been holding his breath in the old servant’s room, dashed straight into the hallway and bounded up the stairs two at a time,

“Here! Here, Mr. Chigusa!” Hanabusa Ichirou’s voice could be heard from Mihoko’s room, of all places. When [he] pushed open the door and rushed in with the beam of his flashlight, Hanabusa Ichirou was pinning something down on the floor, “Now, this is the culprit! Behold the Devil’s Face!”

and thrust the subdued murderer’s face into the flashlight’s beam. “Ah, Ta—” Pinned beneath Hanabusa’s knee—burning with grotesque fury and bitter disappointment—lay unmistakably the visage of Tamura Shouhei, that timorous, frail man who habitually wore an air of delicate melancholy. Yet not a trace remained of his customary gentle gloom. This truly was the Devil’s Face, exactly as Hanabusa Ichirou had proclaimed.

“Finally caught in the net—a terrifying fish.” The widow, the old servant, and Mihoko—seeming to have perceived the situation and rushed over—were huddled in the hallway, trembling as they peered into the room. “It’s all right now.” After tying up Shouhei and dusting himself off, Hanabusa Ichirou turned on the light and beckoned to the people in the hallway while— “This fiend is a true devil. What’s more, he’s frightfully clever—he nearly got me killed.” “Everyone, take a look at this.”

Approaching Mihoko’s bed—the very one he had apparently been lying on until now—he removed the pillow and peeled back the white sheet to reveal a long grape-gray silk cord positioned precisely where the neck would rest. Hanabusa Ichirou approached, took one end of the cord, and pulled it—the opposite end appeared securely tied to an iron rod on the far side of the bed frame. “This afternoon, I happened to discover this mechanism by chance, so I urgently had the young lady vacate her bedroom and took her place to sleep here myself.” “Just as I anticipated, shortly after two o’clock struck, this fiend crept in stealthily. In the pitch darkness, he groped beneath the sheet for the cord’s end, attempted to loop it over my neck, and tried to pull it through to the other side.” “Since I had anticipated something like this, I immediately pulled back my neck and slammed this fiend onto the floor. It was truly a close call—had it been the young lady, she wouldn’t have lasted a moment.” “As you can see, the cord is thin yet sturdy—six feet long. If one end is tied to the rod on the far side, you can rig it without waking the target. Truly, isn’t this the kind of clever method a cowardly, ruthless villain would devise?”

“...” Upon hearing Hanabusa Ichirou’s explanation and overwhelmed by the sheer horror of it all, Mihoko staggered and nearly collapsed into her stepmother’s arms. “Miss, you’re safe now. With that, everything has been resolved.” “By the way, Madam—whose cord is this—”

“Ah, that’s mine!”

The beautiful widow, still holding Mihoko, staggered and nearly collapsed on the spot. This time, Chigusa Juujirou had to rush over and support them. “That’s right—do you understand, Madam? You were nearly accused of stepchild murder.” “I’ve encountered all manner of villains in my time, but one as meticulously cold-blooded as Tamura Shouhei here is a first.” “Truly a genius villain—when you consider his intellect, he must be some kind of deviant.”

After receiving Widow Toushi and Mihoko’s gratitude, the two made their way back through the dawn-lit streets to Marunouchi.

Along the way, Hanabusa Ichirou proceeded to explain to Chigusa Juujirou as follows. “The source of the arsenic? “It’s nothing. Tamura’s hobby was zoology—he occasionally made animal specimens, so arsenic was readily available at his research institute. “I was more astonished by the meticulousness with which he’d framed Miss Mihoko and the diabolical ingenuity of exploiting Mr. Ishii’s diabetes. “The act of feigning interest in Miss Mihoko was all that villain’s performance. “A man like that could never harbor true love. “Then there’s how he made Mr. Ashina buy arsenic under the pretense of pest control, and how he stole the dagger to stab Miss Sekiko—all Tamura Shouhei’s doing. No one without anatomical knowledge could’ve cleanly pierced a human heart through a backdrop curtain from behind like that. In short—after killing Mr. Ishii, he engineered the murders of both daughters to direct suspicion toward Mr. Ashina and the widow.” “Motive for the murders?” “That goes without saying—it’s Mr. Ishii’s vast fortune. “If everyone were to die, the nephew Tamura Shouhei would be the legal heir.—Thanks to this, the widow would come to her senses and treat Miss Mihoko with care.”

The car carrying the two arrived in Marunouchi.