Pathway to Japanese Literature

Mysterious Letter

“Boss, seems like this guy’s been taken for a ride, I tell ya.”

“Quiet!”

Chigusa Jūjirō—social affairs chief at the Kantō Shimpō and a journalist of some renown—gestured toward the narrow path leading in from Kasumimon as if admonishing his subordinate Hayasaka Isamu (known colloquially as “Legwork Isamu”), who had a penchant for such brash language.

“Look there, Isamu.”

“A woman.”

“And not just any woman—young, beautiful, and dripping with luxury.”

“Now this is interesting.”

The two men whispered thus into each other’s ears before abruptly falling silent.

They had been keeping watch over a forgotten-looking bench behind Hibiya Park’s new concert hall—a place where people seldom came—enduring for over an hour.

The young, beautiful, and extravagant woman walked up to the side of the bench.
Looking around uneasily in all directions, she collapsed onto the bench.
The slightly distant electric light cast a bluish-white glow on her face.

The two newspaper reporters silently nodded at each other in the shadow of the bushes.
This beauty was unmistakable.
It was Teito Theater's star actress Yanagi Itoko trying to avoid notice.

The square was crowded with azalea viewers, but this area remained serenely quiet with no sign of people.
At times through the wind came what sounded like lapping waves—likely Johann Strauss’s waltz.
A soft, sweet melody it was.

The mysterious letter that had lured Chigusa Jūjirō here had been delivered to the newspaper office just about three hours prior. Sent via express registered mail from Shibuya Post Office, inside was written as follows.

I shall provide you with splendid news material—keep watch over the bench behind Hibiya Park’s new concert hall around nine tonight.
However, if you show yourself, the bird will fly.—
Nine out of ten letters that came flying into a newspaper office were foolish things, but there had been something strangely compelling about this particular letter’s reckless wording.
Prompting the available Ashi no Isamu and positioning themselves in the park’s darkness was no easy task for one of Chigusa Jūjirō’s standing.

A Fast-Paced Life

For about ten minutes, the beautiful actress remained motionless.

At last,

“Tch.”

She clicked her tongue and rose from the bench.

With a click of her tongue, she rose from the bench.
Though she deliberately wore a plain kimono to avoid standing out, her extravagant habits could not be concealed even in the dark of night—with every movement of her body, rainbow-like jewels glinted and glittered from all over her figure.

At this moment—from where had he appeared?—
“…………”

The one who silently blocked the actress's path was a thin man clutching a decayed soft hat like an eagle's talon, wearing an unlined summer kimono. From beneath hair resembling a shrike’s nest protruded two unnaturally large eyes that stared fixedly at the beautiful actress’s face as if entranced.

“Ah—”

The actress stepped back a step but regained her composure and peered at the man’s face in the distant light while—

“As I thought—it’s you.”
“I thought it was strange because the handwriting differed, but when told such a thing, I couldn’t not come—”

A spirited alto voice resonated provocatively through the night air.

“If I hadn’t done this, you wouldn’t have come to meet me.”

“I’m impressed you at least realize that.”
“Now then, a perceptive young man like you wouldn’t pen such affected theatrics—quietly let me go home.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“Am I not still your good husband from the old days? Surely you can spare an hour or two for me.”

“I must decline, darling.”
“Tonight I’ve invited a crowd of guests to my apartment, so I can’t possibly entertain an ex-husband from my past.”
“As you know, my life’s tempo is simply too fast for that.”

“What?”

“When I see your face, my chest tightens—it’s like looking at a Yokosuka-bound train.”
“Oh-ho-ho-ho!”

Unrestrained coquettish laughter ripped through the darkness.

"Damn you! Still mocking me?!"

"Oh, I'm sorry—that wasn't my intention."
"But I really can't humor you tonight—let's make it next time, all right?"
"Indefinite postponement, hmm? Hmm?"

"Not a chance."
"The man who lost his honor, fortune, dignity, and self-respect for your sake made this chance to voice his final grudge."
"Even you—hopping from man to man like stepping stones—might feel something seeing Tanba Kōichi reduced to this wretched state."

“How pitiful. I don’t feel a thing.”
“Even if it was just a year or half a year that you had a woman like Yanagi Itoko at your mercy, so what if you threw away fifty or a hundred thousand yen? It’s nothing, isn’t it?”
“Farewell, Mr. Tanba.”
“Cut it out with this pretentious act—it’s only making you less endearing, oh-ho-ho!”

As the actress swiftly turned around and attempted to flee toward Kasumimon, the man’s hand clamped down on her collar.

“Ah—”

“Heh, clever thought—go on, scream your loudest.”
“If word got out that Yanagi Itoko of the Teito Theater had been cornered by her ex-husband—Tanba Kōichi, fallen to beggar’s depths—imagine how Tokyo’s papers would feast.”

“Bastard! Damned bastard!”

“No need for theatrics—this show’s already got spectators.”

“What?!”

“Don’t wet yourself—I won’t kill you yet.”

“Then say what you want—quick!”

“Easy enough. Just give me back that ‘Dancing Beauty Statue’ I poured my heart and soul into carving.”
“When I grew tired of you as a person, I suddenly found myself longing for that sculpture.”

“No way.”
“Besides, it’s not like I’m carrying around something that big.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. I’ll just take the collateral for later.”

“I don’t have any collateral!”

“First, hand over that ring.”

“This… you—”

“I know. You’ve been obsessed with it lately—Mr. Ishigo bought it for you, didn’t he?”

“……”

Yanagi Itoko silently removed the ring.
An expression that seemed to say *If this is all it takes to settle things, I’m lucky* violently agitated that beautiful face’s features.

“Next, the obi.”

“What?!”

“That wasn’t cheap either. Didn’t I buy it for you? There’s nothing strange about me stripping it off—”

Perhaps having realized the disadvantage of resisting, Itoko deftly untied her obi.
“Next, the kimono.”
“You’re not actually planning to strip me naked, are you?”

The actress, now down to a single underbelt, finally began trembling violently upon hearing Tanba Kōichi’s coldly methodical words.

"You stripped me naked once, didn’t you?"
"I’ve lost everything, but you still have plenty waiting at home."
"Yanagi Itoko making her way naked from here to her Toranomon apartment would have a certain flair, don’t you think?"

"What?!"

"Now, strip."
"If you won’t do it yourself, I’ll help you."
"If you’re unhappy with this, go ahead and call a constable, gawkers—whatever you like."

It was a dreadful act of vengeance.
To force a leading actress to walk naked through the teeming streets from Hibiya Park to Toranomon—what a twisted scheme this was!
Moreover, that he had summoned two reporters from the Kantō Shimpō to those prime hidden seats in the thicket—it now became unmistakably clear that this was all the man’s handiwork.

“No, no, I won’t!”

“When I tell you to strip, you strip. If you don’t—”

Two eerie eyes pursued the beautiful actress’s form with a madman’s fervor.
In his hand was what appeared to be a blade; if she were to resist and say she didn’t want to comply, there was no telling what he might do.

Isamu the Fleet-Footed—who had been waiting for the right moment to leap out, torn between acting or not—found himself pinned by Tanba Kōichi’s unnervingly unsettling gaze; his initial resolve to play the hero in vanquishing this thief was thwarted at the very outset.

“Damn it! Stripping a woman like Yanagi Itoko—that poor sculptor must be his heart’s desire.”
“Model fees aren’t cheap.”
“Go ahead and look.”

The woman untied the thin cord.
Even so, against the lamplight, when she slid open the lined collar of her kimono, her round pearl-like shoulders seemed to emit a faint fragrance into the night air.

Press Manipulation

“Isamu, chase after that man. Then, hail the first car you come across and have them wait outside Kasumimon Gate.”

“Got it.”

This was Fleet-Footed Isamu’s specialty—so much so that he’d even earned a nickname for it.
After seeing Isamu dash off with the technique of a middle-distance runner, Chigusa Jūjirō moved toward the woman.

“Now, Ms. Yanagi.
At least put this on and let’s get out of here.”

He took the gauzy summer haori he had been wearing over his shirt and placed it around the pearl-like shoulders of the woman who seemed ready to vanish.

“Ah, Mr. Chigusa!”

Due to the nature of her work, Yanagi Itoko—who recognized this renowned journalist—had a new look of anguish surface on her face.

"I was lured here by an anonymous letter without knowing anything about this setup. But if that man thought journalists would publish everything they witnessed in the papers, he made a fatal miscalculation."

"Huh? Then tonight's incident—"

"Don't worry—you won't write about it. Let's hurry back instead. Isamu must have arranged a car waiting for us at Kasumimon Gate by now."

"Thank you, Mr. Chigusa... I'm truly grateful."

When he carried the beautiful actress out of the park as if lifting her up, sure enough, a single car stood waiting with an expectant air.

To the driver wearing a puzzled expression, he pressed several hundred-yen bills into his hand, thereby sealing all matters.
Wrapped in a gauze haori and accompanied by the beautiful actress, they reached the Toranomon apartment just past half past nine.

“Mr. Chigusa, I don’t want you to leave from here.”
“I’m expecting private guests tonight.”
“Do become a temporary guest yourself and go straight to my room from the entrance, won’t you?”
“I’ll slip in through the back—have the maid bring a kimono before making my proper entrance.”
“That’s acceptable, yes?”
“Otherwise we’ll never maintain appearances before the guests—I did ask Kumiko to hold things together briefly—Kumiko Tachibana from the Teito Theater—but she’s such a bumbler I’m anxious, you see? You see?”

…………

Despite this, Chigusa Jūjirō considered leaving as he was, but Yanagi Itoko had already sensed his inclination and—

“You’re truly kind—I want to properly thank you. No, I don’t want you to go.”

Suddenly, soft arms seized Jūjirō’s body.

Vortex of Revelry

“Oh my, what on earth happened?”

“Leaving your guests behind and pulling a disappearing act is just awful.”

“That took quite some time.”

“You didn’t try to run off in the middle of the night, did you?”

The group of guests surrounded Yanagi Itoko, forming a semicircle.
There were six in total—half actresses and half men—all of them the sort who bore not a trace of trouble with money or wit.

The circle of dancers must have collapsed abruptly upon seeing the beautiful protagonist return.
The jazz record left spinning on the electric phonograph continued to brazenly belt out its most vulgar and stimulating song without a hint of shame.

“I must apologize, you know.”
“Instead, I went and had a wonderful adventure, you know.”

“What on earth happened?”

“I was lured out to Hibiya Park and had everything taken from me.”
“It didn’t quite come to that, you know.”

“Oh my.”

Indeed, when one noticed, Itoko’s kimono had transformed into a splendid Western-style unlined *yuzen chirimen* garment—the kind Westerners would wear.

“Instead, allow me to introduce the brave savior who rescued me, you know.”
“Chigusa Jūjirō, Social Affairs Department Chief of the Kantō Shimpō Newspaper here.”
“If you don’t know this gentleman, even as a performer or artist, you’ll be considered a fraud, you know.”

With his back to the indicated entrance door rose the kimono-clad figure of renowned journalist Chigusa Jūjirō—a presence utterly incongruous with the atmosphere. Familiar faces and unfamiliar ones exchanged cursory nods, whereupon the conversation’s focus shifted back to Yanagi Itoko’s assault incident.

“So, were you hurt anywhere?”

The renowned Ishigo-shi curled his wedge-shaped mustache and spoke thus magnanimously. A wealthy man serving as Yanagi Itoko’s new patron, the arrogance in his diction arose not merely from his station.

“Not that I got hurt, but being stripped naked right in the middle of the park—how utterly mortifying,” she said with a theatrical pout. “If I’d known this would happen, I should’ve brought this along after all.”

In the middle of the room, Itoko opened the drawer of a window-side table and withdrew something glinting.

It was a dainty pistol so small it might vanish within one’s fist.

“How reckless!” Chieko cried with feigned alarm. “Waving that thing about!”

“It’s fine—this thing still has all six bullets properly loaded, you know.”

“Oh dear, that’s even worse!”

“Stay still—I can’t have the target moving around, you know.”

“You must be joking! Please stop that! Oh—!”

The one who let out a shriek and leaped up was Shinoi Chieko—an actress who rented the neighboring room in the same apartment building, a fellow star of the Teito Theater no less beautiful than Yanagi Itoko yet who maintained a sisterly closeness with her.

The fact that these two rivals maintained such a close friendship must have been an immense boon for the Teito Theater. To be sure, Yanagi Itoko was comedic and bright while Shinoi Chieko was tragic and somber—though equally beautiful, their differing personalities and roles may have instead deepened their friendship.

In the roughly ten-tsubo room, the beautiful men and women ran about for a while, giggling shrilly.
This was the room Itoko used ambiguously as neither guest parlor nor living space. On one side stood a firmly closed partition door leading to Shinoi Chieko’s rented room; on another, it faced the maids’ quarters across a corridor; on yet another was a window; and on the last, a single door connected to a small bedroom.

The room's furnishings were quite stylish, with its window hangings, chairs, tables, and decorative lamps all speaking of both luxurious taste and reckless extravagance. As the building was constructed of reinforced concrete like the high-class apartments of that era, even if they made noise until midnight, it would rarely trouble their fellow residents.

After chasing the women around for a while, Itoko suddenly threw herself onto the sofa,

“Ah, ah, what cowards you all are! If you’re like this, you couldn’t even pass in front of a gunsmith!”

“It’s not the pistol that’s scary—it’s the one holding it that’s terrifying, you know.”
“It’s impossible to predict what you’ll do next—”

“You said it, Chie-chan.”

“I wasn’t going to say it. You’re acting rather odd tonight, you know.”

“Well obviously! If you’re dragged out to Hibiya Park and stripped naked, anyone would act a little strange!”

Chieko sat down on the same sofa and quietly moved her hand toward Itoko's hand holding the pistol.
Seizing a careless moment, she must have intended to snatch it away.
A flamboyant kimono and a gaudy Western-style dress—though the two made for an utterly mismatched pair, the air around them held a dramatic, almost theatrical quality.

"Not so fast! I knew you'd pull something like that."

“Gah!”

Chieko leapt up in surprise as the pistol was thrust at her.
Her attempt to seize it during a lapse in vigilance had ended in miserable failure.

"Since everyone's frightened, let's do it this way, Chie-chan."

Itoko stood up and pulled the curtain behind the large desk used as a study in one part of the room.
As stagnant light swept through the heavy drapery, what appeared from within seemed at first glance to be a beautiful woman mid-dance—but in truth stood an exquisitely crafted life-sized statue of a beauty, its artistry unmatched in all creation.

The pistol was in the Dancing Beauty Statue’s hand.

“Ah.”

The assembled guests involuntarily let out murmurs of admiration. They had only heard rumors of it—this was none other than the Dancing Beauty Statue into which Yanagi Itoko had poured her soul and cherished so dearly, renowned even among connoisseurs.

From the beginning, it was no ordinary doll like those commonly found in display windows. This was the breakthrough work of sculptor Tanba Kōichi—once celebrated in artistic circles—who had poured his soul into carving it. A wooden sculpture where the chisel marks still seemed fresh, colored just enough to accentuate the wood grain, appearing infinitely beautiful to laypeople's eyes through its exquisite finish.

About three years prior, it had been exhibited at a certain art show—a work that gathered public attention amid tumultuous debates of praise and criticism. Around that time, Yanagi Itoko—then an actress rising to fame—had begged its creator Tanba Kōichi to let her have it. This became the catalyst for them to live together, making it a sculpture imbued with such history.
While art connoisseurs denounced its subject matter as excessively modern and vulgar, even its beautiful delicate coloring became a significant point of contention among specialists at the time.

Despite this, its popularity among laypeople was extraordinary; during the exhibition period, spectators formed a veritable human mountain before this statue, and picture postcard sales were said to have broken records.
The face, elegant and dreamlike in its beauty, paled beside what was considered the statue's true worth—a bewitchingly seductive allure full of mysterious charm that defied its noble expression.

"This should do, don't you think?"

Itoko stood before the Dancing Beauty Statue and tried placing the pistol in its right hand, but the firearm stubbornly refused to stay put in the dancing pose's grasp.

“Shoot the bad people without hesitation, okay Kyo-chan?”

She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and finally fastened the pistol to the Dancing Beauty Statue’s hand.
“Kyo-chan”—this was the name Tanba Kōichi and Yanagi Itoko had given to this “Dancing Beauty Statue” that watched over their love nest during that time.

“It’s gotten a bit dusty, you know.
Poor thing.”

Casually wiping away dust with her sleeve, she pressed her warm cheek to the doll’s cold one.

“Oh my, Mr. Ishigo—there’s no need to be jealous. Even if this has a soul, it’s still a woman doll—ho, ho, ho, ho.”

Once more, she pressed her cheek to the Dancing Beauty Statue’s cheek before swiftly turning away.

“Come on—let’s dance like there’s no tomorrow!”

The electric phonograph once again ferociously roared a fox-trot, and the maid busily replenished the cups.

“Tomorrow is the opening day at Teito Theater—shouldn’t we begin wrapping things up?”

Ishigo-shi said this to no one in particular.
“Perhaps everyone should withdraw now.”
It might have been a cryptic way of saying he had meant to stay behind alone.

“It’s perfectly fine—hasn’t it just gone a little past ten? We’re fine until twelve.”

The circle of dancers began to spin vigorously again.
Kimono-clad Chigusa Jūjirō watched this whirl of revelry with a sense of incongruity, his gaze fixed intently.
Having trespassed into a forbidden sanctuary and now witnessing what seemed like the frenzied dance of wicked fairies one ought not see, he found himself panting with an uncanny sense of self-reproach.

The circle of dancers bloomed and crumbled in uncanny yet gorgeous splendor.
The alcohol-soaked air of the cramped room must have been luring these six men and women into a maddening frenzy.

“Mr. Chigusa.”

Someone called out in a soft whisper.
When he turned around, there stood a young, lonely girl like a flower blossoming in shadow, peering at Jūjirō’s face with an air of wanting to speak.

“Who—what?”

“I—am Yanagi’s younger sister, Yukiko.”

He had indeed heard that Yanagi Itoko had a beautiful singer for a younger sister, but he never could have imagined that she would be here in this room swirling with revelry—left unnoticed in a corner like a forgotten doll.

However, upon closer inspection, Yukiko had impaired legs.
How utterly miserable it must be for someone with impaired legs to be part of a troupe madly dancing to jazz.
Jūjirō directed eyes that seemed sympathetic at this girl's lonely face.

“There’s something I wish to tell you, and I’d like to borrow your wisdom—”

When faced with that imploring gaze, Jūjirō found himself compelled to say this.

“Let’s step out to the hallway.
A little fresh air would do us good.”

The two proceeded straight down the hallway and emerged onto the apartment’s shallow balcony.

“Mr. Chigusa, what happened to my sister tonight?”
“Could you please tell me everything in detail?”
“There’s something I’m unbearably worried about.”

Yukiko clung forlornly like a shadow.

“You mean...”

“My sister’s life is being targeted by someone.”

“How do you know such a thing?”

“As you know, my sister doesn’t care one bit, but truly dreadful threatening letters come in almost every day.”

“…………”

“Then there was the time on stage when a heavy prop that shouldn’t have fallen came crashing down right above my sister’s head. Poison was sprinkled on the lunch she ordered. These terrifying things kept happening one after another.”

This devoted younger sister was likely tormenting her nerves more than Itoko herself. Even as she spoke, her slender body trembled painfully.

“That can’t be left alone. I’ll speak to Detective Hanabusa at the Metropolitan Police Department tomorrow and have him do something about it.”
“Well, it would be best not to worry too much.”

Even while knowing it was empty reassurance, such superficial words involuntarily escaped Jūjirō’s lips.
So timid and easily frightened was Yukiko before him.

A Love’s Casualty

“Mr. Reporter, that was entertaining, wasn’t it? Ha! Ha! Ha ha ha!”

When addressed in this manner, Ashi no Isamu involuntarily froze in place. If called out to by someone who had been tailing you, anyone would be momentarily taken aback.

“Don’t act so surprised—I went through the trouble of inviting you by letter to give you a front-row seat to that thrilling spectacle. No need to hold back. For tomorrow’s paper, give me a three-column spread or something—‘Actress Yanagi Itoko Stripped Naked in Hibiya Park.’ Truly a splendid headline, huh. You should cough up a little special fee—”

The one who thrust out a hand before Isamu was none other than the disgraced sculptor Tanba Kōichi.

"After all, when a husband strips his own wife bare, that's not robbery."
"If you stand there panicking like some coward, you'll make a humiliating blunder—just giving you fair warning—"

"…………"

"A guy like you must use this trick often enough."
"Ha ha ha! Don't play dumb, don't play dumb. What?"
"No wife yet, eh? What a cold bastard. If you're so desperate, go strip some barmaids or shopgirls instead—"

Before they knew it, the two men had come out to Hibiya’s streetcar thoroughfare.

“Let’s grab a drink around here.”

This time, Isamu made the first move.

“How generous of you.
“You’re quite enthusiastic about gathering news material—you’ll surely get promoted.”

Ashi no Isamu clicked his tongue in irritation, but reluctant to let the man get away, he dragged him into the nearest bar.

For over three hours thereafter, the two became fast friends, drinking their way through five or six establishments from Sukiyabashi Bridge to Ginza.
Both being capable drinkers with entertaining banter, Ashi no Isamu—who had initially found it galling—had unwittingly linked arms with this grubby Bohemian and become so drunk he was staggering down Ginza’s pavement while humming a tune.

“Guep.”
“Hey, Mr. Reporter—speaking of which, women are devils.”
“You’d better watch yourself too.”
“—Yanagi Itoko wasn’t always that kind of woman, you know. Before anyone noticed, she’d plunged into a life of debauchery—now she’s turned into an uncontrollable fiend.”
“There’s no telling how many men have thrown away their lives and reputations for that woman.”
“Even I’m one of them.”
“Since there must be people who’ve committed suicide or been killed over this, even I’m among the lightly wounded.”

The lewd and monstrous demon Yanagi Itoko’s history of sins was exhaustively laid bare by Tanba Kōichi’s tongue blazing with alcohol.

“Well, looks like the trains have stopped running. Let’s head back.”

It was at the seventh bar, when they heard the clock strike twelve, that he made this suggestion.

“Hey, Mr. Reporter—since I’m letting you take this top-grade scoop, tonight’s tab’ll be on your paper’s dime anyway. But even so, it’d be a disgrace if they said a man of my stature, Tanba Kōichi, didn’t chip in a single penny. Here, barkeep—take this and keep it safe.”

What was plopped down before the bartender, who was fretting over customers overstaying their time, was the diamond-studded ring he had earlier slipped off Yanagi Itoko’s finger.

The Actress’s Bizarre Death

The fact that actress Yanagi Itoko had died in a mysterious manner became known on the afternoon of the following day, as the evening edition's deadline approached.

“Isamu, go there immediately.
“Do everything you can to get the details of the autopsy into the evening edition.”

“Got it!”

Ashi no Isamu rushed out with such force that he couldn’t even spare a moment to push a car.

Chigusa Jūjirō wanted to rush over and see for himself, but with the evening edition’s work at hand, there was nothing he could do.
He couldn’t very well use work as an excuse to leave now, given the editor-in-chief’s usual admonition: “Even if there’s a murder outside the window, editors mustn’t budge from their desks—losing composure is the worst sin.”

Before long, information about the actress’s murder began pouring in from various quarters.
Synthesizing several reports from the social affairs department, calls from city informants, special dispatches—and others—Chigusa Jūjirō had to organize the evening edition’s articles.

By 2 PM, when the final deadline had arrived, the information that had been gathered regarding "Actress Yanagi Itoko’s Bizarre Death" was roughly as follows.

Last night, Yanagi Itoko’s guests had left around 10:30 PM. Ishigo-shi—who was thought to have a special relationship with Itoko—remained after everyone else and had been arguing with her, but he too had withdrawn before 11 PM.
The content of their conversation remains unknown, but Yukiko—Itoko’s younger sister, who had remained in the hallway intending to bid her sister farewell—and actress Shinoi Chieko, who was renting the adjacent room, testified that there had been a heated argument.

Ishigo-shi and Yukiko returned one after the other.
Shinoi Chieko in the adjacent room turned off the light and went to bed exactly at eleven o'clock, and from then on there was not a single visitor to this building—a fact the caretaker couple clearly attested to.

The next day—that is today—Itoko, who usually rose around ten o'clock, still had not shown face past eleven. The maid Naoshi in the servant’s quarters across the hallway was first to grow concerned.

At twelve o'clock came a call from the Teito Theater stating there was an opening-day meeting requiring her presence backstage before two.
Naoshi tried to relay this but found herself unable to open the door.
Knocking proved futile; calling out loudly achieved nothing.
With no alternative left, she summoned the caretaker who opened it using a spare key.

Not only did the maid Naoshi not have a key, but the key that Itoko had also remained inserted into the door’s keyhole from the inside.
The door had to be regarded as having been tightly closed from the inside by Itoko’s own hand.
The caretaker’s spare key was kept in a strongbox placed between the childless caretaker couple as they slept side by side, so the notion of someone stealing it and returning it undetected was beyond imagination.

By the way, the old caretaker and Naoshi the maid, who had opened the door, were utterly stunned in a single glance.
Yanagi Itoko, her mistress, lay face down on the table, still in the same state as last night, still clad in her gaudy Yuzen-dyed crepe.
From behind, a terrifying gush of blood had spurted out, pooling on the obi with its bold yellow-and-silver pattern before flowing onward to the floor, where it left a ghastly stain on the luxurious carpet.

The officials were dispatched without delay.
The postmortem examination revealed that the wound had been inflicted by a pistol shot fired straight from behind, but since the bullet had lodged in the sternum, it absolutely could not have been suicide.
Yet simultaneously, there were absolutely no traces of an intruder.

Not only that.
The bullet had been fired from a pistol bound with a handkerchief to the hand of the Dancing Beauty Statue positioned about two ken behind Itoko; in this case, unless one assumed the statue itself had pulled the trigger, there was simply no way to interpret the situation.

If we assume that the corridor-facing door was firmly shut and locked from the inside, then there was no possible way anyone could have entered through there. There were two external doors: one leading to the bedroom—the bedroom being a single entrance, so this posed no issue—and the other connecting to Shinoi Chieko’s adjacent room, which had been nailed shut for a long time and showed absolutely no signs of having been opened.

As for both the floor and ceiling—aside from the small vents with wire mesh covering their four corners—there were no gaps wide enough for even a mouse to pass through; the windows—both those in the bedroom and the guest room—were securely locked, each with its latch firmly fastened, making entry through here utterly impossible—

The information gathered on the editorial department’s desks was only this much.
After organizing the article and adding a sensational headline, Jūjirō wiped forehead sweat with a sigh of relief.

“Bad people, shoot them without hesitation!”—murmuring this, she had made the Dancing Beauty Statue hold the pistol and pressed her cheek against it as though drawing it near. Remembering Itoko’s coquettish antics from the previous night, Chigusa Jūjirō sank into profound melancholy.

“Mr. Chigusa, you have a call.”

When he noticed, the assistant was holding the receiver and staring at him.

“Who is it?!”
“Oh, Isamu? What’s wrong?”
“What?”
“A suspect’s been identified? Who?”
“Mr. Ishigo? How’d he kill her? What—they haven’t figured that part yet?”
“Ridiculous. Fine, fine—we’ll run that much in the evening edition.”
“Keep digging—depending how it goes, we’ll plaster last night’s incident across the morning edition too.”
“That’ll make one hell of a scoop. With Itoko dead anyway, no harm done.”
“Right then—I’m counting on you—”

A Person Crawling Through the Keyhole

“The Mysterious Death of Yanagi Itoko” was nothing short of a sensation.
The newspapers splashed the story daily in a frenzy, but not only was the culprit nowhere to be found—the truth of the incident remained utterly beyond grasp.

Ishigo-shi was questioned through voluntary accompaniment due to his social standing, but he was soon released.
It was true he had argued with the actress last, but this stemmed merely from having been shown Itoko’s peculiar attachment to the Dancing Beauty Statue—said to have been gifted by a former lover—which had stirred strange jealousy within him.
No matter how gaunt Ishigo-shi might have been, there was simply no way he could have slipped through keyholes or door cracks to kill someone.

Subsequently, they had likely taken a hint from the Kantō Shimpō article—"Yanagi Itoko was threatened in Hibiya Park the previous night." Tanba Kōichi was apprehended from a boarding house. However, even that—beyond the diamond ring and the fact that he had attempted to pawn Itoko’s kimono—not a single piece of evidence related to the crime had surfaced. Moreover, during the estimated time of Itoko’s murder—around midnight—Tanba had been bar-hopping around Ginza with Ashi no Isamu, giving him a solid alibi.

Some people proposed a theory akin to the crime in Gaston Leroux’s *The Yellow Room*—that Yanagi Itoko, having been shot outside, might have endured the pain to enter the room and collapse for some critical reason.
However, the autopsy results proved that such a thing was absolutely impossible.
Since not a single drop of blood had flowed outside the first room, such an interpretation—straight out of a detective novel—could not hold water even without waiting for an autopsy.

“Boss, they’ve identified a third suspect!”

Ashi no Isamu returned the following day.

“Who is it?”

“The actress in the neighboring room—Shinoi Chieko.”

“Huh?!”

“This seems the most plausible.”

“What on earth—are they saying Chieko crawled through the keyhole to attack Yanagi Itoko next door?”

“Don’t joke—listen properly. They claim Chieko inched along the three-inch concrete ledge outside the apartment window to reach the neighboring room, then likely entered through the one open window and killed Itoko.”

“So where did she return from and how?”

“She’d exit through the original window and edge along that concrete ledge again—”

“Wait—are you saying after Chieko fled, the dead Itoko got up and closed the window her killer used? To help destroy evidence?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.
“No—they claim when Chieko exited, she slammed the window down so hard the latch engaged by itself.”

“Are there really people who’d spout such nonsense? Ridiculous.”
“That latch is the newest type—you need to twist it firmly with your fingers to lock.”
“A shame, but go stake out again—they’ll release Chieko any moment now.”

“Goddammit, this’s hopeless.”

Though he grumbled verbally, Ashi no Isamu dashed out with his characteristic ease, like a hound on the scent.

The Famous Detective Steps In

Three months had passed.
The case had become a complete labyrinth, and the culprit in the actress’s murder seemed destined to remain at large forever.

Probably—so people said—the Dancing Beauty Statue had killed that woman out of hatred for her licentious lifestyle.
Masterpieces have always been accompanied by strange omens—so they said.

It was after summer had fully arrived that Hanabusa Ichirō of the Metropolitan Police Department plunged into the heart of the case.

The incident began when Yukiko, Itoko’s sister, tearfully pleaded with Chigusa Jūjirō, “At least avenge my sister.” For the sake of this lonely girl—and because he had failed to fulfill his promise to protect her sister—Chigusa immediately set out to visit Hanabusa Ichirō.

“That would be problematic.”

Due to deference toward the jurisdictional police station, Hanabusa Ichirō had been reluctant to take action, but after being pestered relentlessly by Jūjirō and Yukiko, he finally,

“Well then, I’ll at least look into it.”

Thus, it was decided.

For three days thereafter, Hanabusa Ichirō literally shut himself in the room where Itoko had been killed.
Rumors spread that he was “probably trying to discover secret passageways rarely found in Japanese houses” or “inspecting every one-shaku square section from floor to walls to ceiling with meticulous praise,” but the reality was starkly different: Hanabusa Ichirō, shut away in Itoko’s room, spent his days listening to the electric phonograph, reading newspapers, smoking cigarettes—carrying on with utterly aimless composure.
On the morning of the fourth day, when Yukiko and Jūjirō, having been suddenly summoned by phone, arrived,

“Please hold a small ball tonight. You must recreate everything exactly as it was done that night—with the same lineup and exact number of people. The conversations, the drinks, every single thing must be recreated exactly as they were that night. You must tell them to attend in memory of the deceased, regardless of their circumstances. If anyone still refuses, you may invoke my name.”

In Hanabusa Ichirō’s mind, there seemed to be some kind of brilliant plan.

A miracle appeared.

“Please recreate everything exactly as it was that night—not a single thing may differ.”
“Just as two times two will always equal four, if you accumulate the same causes, you will invariably arrive at the same result.”

At Hanabusa Ichirō’s words, the group of attendees were left dumbfounded.
The attendees included Ishigo-shi—whose reputation had been thoroughly tarnished since the incident—as well as actress Shinoi Chieko, who had moved out of the neighboring room on the third day claiming it gave her “the creeps”; Yanagi Itoko’s younger sister Yukiko; Chigusa Jūjirō; Itoko’s female disciple Tachibana Kumiko; two young gentlemen who had frequented the place as Itoko’s admirers; and Hanabusa Ichirō himself—making eight people in total.

When informed of Hanabusa Ichirō’s plan, Ishigo-shi made a face that said “Hmph,” but given who he was dealing with, he swiftly composed himself and nodded solemnly.

“Now, for the role of the late Ms. Itoko, just as on the stage of the Teito Theater, we must have Ms. Shinoi Chieko perform it.”
“As for Ms. Shinoi’s replacement, Ms. Yukiko will take on the role.”
“Now—”

Hanabusa Ichirō, wholly absorbed in his own plans, rapidly put on jazz records and launched into extravagantly lively chatter, but the group’s mood fell far short of recreating that fateful night.
The dancing was half-hearted, the conversations kept slipping into gloominess, and a heavy atmosphere—like that of a wake—pervaded the room.

“This should do it. And right about here, Mr. Chigusa would have entered. Ms. Onao, make sure not to mix up the drinks.” What a bizarre recreation this was. The more exuberant stage director Hanabusa Ichirō became, the more discordant the room’s atmosphere grew.

“Around this point, Ms. Yanagi must have had the Dancing Beauty Statue hold the pistol. I will take over this part.”

He tightly bound a similar small pistol he had prepared beforehand to the Dancing Beauty Statue’s right hand using a woman’s handkerchief that he had also specially prepared.

Eleven o'clock struck.

“It’s time for all of you to leave—no, you mustn’t actually leave.”
“Pretend to depart—open just the door, close it again, station yourselves in the room’s corner, and keep watching the situation a while longer.”
“Next comes the unfortunate part—Mr. Ishigo, you must quarrel with Ms. Itoko’s replacement: Ms. Chieko.”
“What exactly did you say first, Mr. Ishigo?”

“——”

What an absurd farce this was.
Ishigo-shi became completely angry and fell silent.

“Very well—even if we don’t force a live reenactment, let us assume there was an argument. Now, this time, I will take Ishigo-shi’s place: I’ll get angry and step outside. Ms. Chieko, please remain seated at the table just as you are, and keep your head slightly bowed like Ms. Itoko did.”
“Don’t look back now.”

Chieko turned deathly pale.
She was in no state to even consider turning around.
Sitting before the table in the same posture as the deceased Itoko must have been as terrifying as facing the executioner’s block.
But Hanabusa Ichirō paid no heed to such matters.

“When I step outside in Mr. Ishigo’s place, someone must lock the door and leave the key in the keyhole.”
“Ah—this task will suit Mr. Chigusa.”

Chieko, now occupying Itoko’s role, sat before the table with her back to the Dancing Beauty Statue, tormented by terror so intense she couldn’t move.
Her eyes had widened completely, and terrible nervous spasms coursed across her ashen face.

The remaining seven people were huddled in a corner of the room, staring at the tip of the Dancing Beauty Statue's hand—visible through a gap in the curtains, where the pistol gleamed eerily—and at Chieko's trembling figure.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed.
Even Mr. Ishigo’s face, which had initially been sneering, had completely stiffened, and not a single person in the group dared to exhale audibly.

At last, a miracle appeared.

Suddenly,

Boom—the pistol roared, and in that instant, a streak of flame shot from the Dancing Beauty Statue’s hand.

“Ugh…”

Having become the target, Chieko fainted on the spot and fell forward onto the table.

When the door was unlocked, Hanabusa Ichirō rushed in with a gust of wind,

“The Dancing Beauty Statue indeed fired the pistol, didn’t it? However, these were blanks, so there should be no injuries.”

He stomped over to where Shinoi Chieko lay unconscious. Just when it seemed he might lift her up to render aid, he instead clamped handcuffs onto the woman who remained insensate.

“My apologies for the disturbance.”

“The criminal is this woman.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, you may all now take your leave at your convenience.”

Hanabusa Ichirō courteously bent his knees in a slight bow.
In an instant, his countenance transformed into one as keen as a falcon’s.
Not a trace remained of the slackened features that Ishigo-shi had mocked.

“How did you figure out Chieko was the culprit?”

The next morning, at the Metropolitan Police Department’s press club, Hanabusa Ichirō answered this question with a smile.

“The only person who could have fired the pistol bound to that Dancing Beauty Statue’s hand was none other than Chieko. —That night, immediately after Ishigo-shi left, when Chieko visited Itoko’s room once more, she found Itoko crying with her face buried in the table, her back turned to the statue’s pistol.”

“Then, upon glancing behind the Dancing Beauty Statue, she discovered that there was a door separating it from her own room. Though tightly shut, about a foot horizontally behind the pistol lay a keyhole.”

That was a terrible temptation for Chieko. Just when she had observed not only her rival on stage but even Ishigo-shi—who had long favored her—now completely becoming Itoko’s possession, though maintaining an unaffected demeanor, her insides had been seething.
“By the way—you still don’t understand how the pistol was fired, do you?
Chieko prepared a thin but sturdy string, wrapped one end around the pistol’s trigger three or four times, then threaded the other end through the keyhole of the adjoining door into her own room.
‘Since it’s dangerous, please close the back door after I leave’—or something like that,” she deceitfully told the weeping Itoko before withdrawing. After confirming through the keyhole that Itoko had closed the door and returned to her original position at the table, she abruptly yanked the string entangled with the trigger through the keyhole from her own room.
The pistol fired.
Since the string’s end wasn’t tied, it simply got pulled through to her side.
Not a shred of evidence remained, and her loathed rival was shot dead—that’s all there was to it.
If they understood the case so thoroughly, why go through reenacting that night’s events?
——It was like this:
That crime was far too ingenious to be an ordinary woman’s handiwork.
Even if surface logic pointed conclusively to Chieko, it would be disastrous if she were innocent.
So he devised that clumsy performance and reenacted the crime exactly as it happened that night.
No matter how strong-willed a criminal may be, they can’t calmly repeat their crime twice.
‘I wanted to observe Chieko’s psychological reactions, you see.’”

Hanabusa Ichirō left the press club after saying this.