Pathway to Japanese Literature

I “Oh, you’re all here!”

The man who pushed open Café Mermaid’s door and burst in with the cold wind was Hayasaka Isamu—nicknamed “Footwork Isamu”—a reporter for the Kantō Shinpō newspaper, more skilled with his legs than his pen. “Mr. Hayasaka! How’s business?” The one who called out was Takagi Tetsuya—a star reporter for the Tokyo Shinpō and a business rival of Footwork Isamu—a competent young man who seemed to harbor far more goodwill than animosity. “A bonus? Nah, I got so much I can’t even spend it all. Should I lend you some?”

“My, Mr. Hayasaka, you’re doing quite well for yourself!” “Well, if it isn’t Ms. Sono joining us! Now that’s a rare sight.” Surrounded by a few newspaper reporters, the one who flashed a brilliant smile was Sono Hanae—a female reporter for the same Dai Tokyo Shinpo, renowned for her skilled pen, mysterious background, and above all else, her extraordinary beauty. Dressed deliberately like a career woman in a modest gray suit of faintly grape-tinted thin wool, she had her beautifully waved hair casually gathered at the nape of her pale neck. Her black fur coat lay tossed over the chairback as she sat with legs—more elegant than any prima ballerina’s—carelessly crossed beyond the table’s edge. The overall impression blended tomboyish nonchalance with refined charm.

“When I said ‘business,’ I wasn’t talking about bonuses. You’re no different with that mouth of yours, but tonight’s when the real show begins.” Takagi Tetsuya ordered a whiskey for Footwork Isamu while exchanging glances with Sono Hanae, his smile brimming with mischief. The sharp eyes behind the young reporter’s Lloyd glasses and his charming goatee created a peculiar contradiction in his expression. “What’s this? It’s not about money anyway. Quit beating around the bush.” “Just lay it out straight!”

“That’s the bet.” “What’s this—the spring sumo tournament? There’s no baseball this time of year—”

“It’s not some old-fashioned notion. I’m proposing we launch a special scoop competition—the very pride of newspaper reporters.” “Hmm.” Footwork Isamu looked slightly stunned. He had never even heard the term “special scoop competition” before.

“The wager begins today. The first one to obtain a special scoop that makes the whole world gasp in astonishment—we’ll all treat that person to whatever they desire!”

“Interesting.” “If that’s how it is, why don’t you let me in on this too?” “It’s a shame, but I’ll have you drinking through every last one of Tokyo’s top twenty or thirty restaurants!” Footwork Isamu tapped his shin over his trousers and smirked. Mistaking a newspaper’s special scoop competition for a marathon race—that was this man’s defining trait.

“It’s better to include as many people as possible from various newspapers, but once you’re in, you can’t back out by calling it a joke.”

“As if I’d say that!” “The condition for a special scoop is that it can’t be some self-serving story only one newspaper cares about. Once that special scoop hits the papers, it has to be the kind that drags every last newspaper in Tokyo along whether they like it or not.” “Of cour—” “A story like ‘the zoo monkey gave birth’—that kind of scoop won’t cut it.” “Quit harping on it, Takagi—I’ve got a solid plan.”

“Really?” “Whether it’s true or false—today’s Saturday, right? Well, in the Kanto Shinpo’s Tuesday morning edition at the latest, I’ll hit you all with an earth-shattering special scoop that’ll make your heads spin. You sure about that?” “What are you talking about? I’m perfectly sane.” “What do you mean, ‘What are you talking about’? I won’t have you looking down on me, you know.” “But you know, Mr. Hayasaka—I’ve got my own ace in the hole too.” “Oh ho—so you’ve got your own ace in the hole too? Can’t complain—when your opponent comes prepared, it gives the game some real stakes!”

“You talk big, huh?” “Waiter—one cocktail each for everyone! Let’s make this our advance toast. Wait—Ms.Sono doesn’t touch alcohol, does she? Given her refined tastes, bring her something sweet instead.”

Footwork Isamu sat looking quite pleased with himself, clutching a large bundle. “Isamu.” “Quite the show you’re putting on.” Just then, Footwork Isamu—who had pushed open the door and entered—placed a hand on a shoulder while nodding in greeting to the assembled group: Takagi Tetsuya, Sono Hanae, so-and-so, and so-and-so. “Whoa! You scared me! Who’s— Oh, it’s you, Brother?”

To Footwork Isamu, he was a senior colleague—Chigusa Jujiro, the renowned reporter and Social Department Chief of the Kanto Shinpo. "You scared me half to death! Showing up like some wanted criminal—"

“Let’s not say such unpleasant things—I may not be a wanted man, but with a beautiful lady present, even the slightest thing could stir up trouble.” “Oh! Mr. Hayasaka.” Sono Hanae blushed slightly and admonished Footwork Isamu. The face that showed playful reproach shone with fragrant beauty like a freshly bloomed lotus.

II

“Mr. Chigusa—a moment of your time.”

Chigusa Jujiro, who had left Café Mermaid a step ahead of the others, was called out to in this manner from the darkness. “It’s someone.” When he stopped before the neighboring Western goods store’s display window, the one who followed and revealed his face in the same light was a man who looked every bit the salaryman—the same man who, until mere moments ago, had been sitting alone in a corner of Café Mermaid sipping Western liquor.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

He removed his soft hat and stroked his face once—a sharp, hawk-like man.

“Ah—Hanabusa—”

That was unmistakably Hanabusa Ichiro of the Metropolitan Police Department—the detective of renowned reputation. “Trouble’s come up—let’s at least walk around here for now.” Detective Hanabusa, both hands thrust into his pockets, began moving wordlessly from Ginza toward Sukiyabashi Bridge—less inviting Chigusa Jujiro than simply cutting forward through the night.

“What happened? If you don’t tell me, I’ll be left wondering.” When Chigusa Jujiro said this, the two were sitting side by side on the Roha benches in Hibiya Park, like two Java sparrows.

It must have been past ten o'clock already.

Ginza was still in the early hours of the evening, but within Hibiya Park, night had fully deepened. Even the distant sounds of the city, heard like the murmur of waves, somehow cast a dispiriting mood.

“The truth is—”

Hanabusa Ichiro finally began to speak. Even so, he appeared to deliberate for a moment on whether he should say it, but soon resumed speaking in a decisive tone. "I suppose it's best I tell you after all." "The truth is this." "Around ten o'clock today, Mr. Sonoda Keitaro called asking me to come to his office immediately." "Now Mr. Sonoda—needless to say, he's the former foreign minister and current chairman of the Diplomatic Research Association—but there was such gravity in his tone that I rushed over at once. What I found was indeed serious: last night, a burglar had broken into the Diplomatic Research Association's office in Nagatacho and stolen the most crucial confidential documents from their safe." "The Diplomatic Research Association is said to be as meddlesome as a nagging mother-in-law to successive foreign ministers—that's how influential they are." "Every important diplomatic matter is researched and debated there without exception—as you well know." "Now then—these stolen confidential documents are critical diplomatic memoranda. Should they by some misfortune be published in a newspaper, not only would the current cabinet undoubtedly collapse, but Foreign Minister Ohara, Mr. Sonoda of the Diplomatic Research Association, and all other committee members would have no choice but to commit seppuku to take responsibility."

Chigusa Jujiro involuntarily held his breath. As he came to grasp the incident's gravity, he couldn't comprehend why the detective would disclose it so casually—what his true intent was. "As for why they were stolen—it's actually quite simple—"

Hanabusa Ichiro proceeded with his explanation, disregarding the other party’s thoughts on the matter.

“The Diplomatic Research Association is usually extremely quiet, so three clerks take turns staying overnight.” “The one assigned to last night’s overnight duty was Koshiba Shizuo—a senior clerk who had once served as Mr. Sonoda’s secretary—so naturally, he was considered absolutely trustworthy.” “That man was found this morning lying asleep on the night duty room’s bed like a dead tuna, with a chloroform-soaked handkerchief pressed to his face.” “The janitor discovered him and was pacing around in confusion when another clerk arrived for work, causing a major commotion. They called Mr. Sonoda, who came immediately to investigate, only to find that the most important confidential documents kept in the conference room’s safe were gone.” “Apparently, even Mr. Sonoda turned pale at this.” “After all, one wrong move and they’d be tools for seppuku.” “It’s only natural that they’d be desperate to retrieve them at any cost before the confidential documents’ contents get published in the newspapers.” “Given the nature of the matter, this incident must be resolved extremely discreetly—if carelessly leaked to newspaper reporters’ ears, it would lead to disaster. Though of course, you are also a newspaper reporter—”

Hanabusa Ichiro turned around with a faint smile. Chigusa Jujiro felt as though he had inadvertently been shown a glimpse of this renowned detective’s friendship, and amidst his anxiety, he couldn’t help but feel a certain reassurance. “Let’s go somewhere warm to talk—Mr. Sonoda should still be at the office, so I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you and have him lend a hand.”

“I wonder if there’s anything even someone like me can do to help.”

The two men fell silent and began making their way up toward Nagatacho. A cold, cloudy wind blew up the deserted slope; occasionally, maniacal automobiles zipped past the two men at terrifying speeds.

“What a dreadful evening.”

Hanabusa Ichiro shrugged his shoulders in annoyance. That a man usually so cheerful should be this sullen tonight—could there be some hidden trouble beyond the missing confidential documents? Suddenly seized by this suspicion, Chigusa Jujiro glanced sidelong at the detective walking beside him.

Three

Sonoda Keitaro, who had remained in the chairman’s office lost in endless gloomy meditation, slightly regained his usual composure when he saw Hanabusa Ichiro return. “Did you find any leads, Mr. Hanabusa?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny their existence. Be that as it may, allow me to introduce Mr. Chigusa Jujiro of the Kanto Shinpo. Given the gravity of this case, I concluded it necessary to enlist his assistance in various capacities, so I personally requested him to accompany me.” “Ah, Mr. Chigusa, I am well acquainted with you.” “Welcome.”

Welcoming the reporter who had stepped out from behind Hanabusa Ichiro, all traces of concern vanished from Mr. Sonoda’s face. Reverting to the renowned magnanimity that had earned him the reputation of making birds fall from the sky in political and social circles, he now offered a gracious smile. “What a dreadful misfortune—” “Regarding that matter—we made a special request to the Police Commissioner to have Mr. Hanabusa conduct a discreet investigation, but given the gravity of the case, we would appreciate your assistance.” “Should someone of Mr. Chigusa’s caliber observe this affair from his perspective as a newspaper reporter, we might uncover an unexpected breakthrough.”

The moment he saw Chigusa Jujiro, he appeared somewhat dissatisfied; however, being a seasoned individual, he reconsidered and extended a welcoming hand without reservation.

“Mr. Chigusa, I’ll show you the scene—come this way.”

Hanabusa Ichiro judged the opportune moment and opened one of the doors to the chairman’s office. “Please, come in.” Hearing Mr. Sonoda’s voice behind them, the two men proceeded straight into the conference room in question. It was a spacious hall where a large mahogany table arranged in a U-shape stood beneath three magnificent chandeliers. Cream-colored walls encircled by walnut-paneled wainscoting—without a single piece of cheap wallpaper—exuded dignity befitting its purpose. The grand fireplace lined with black marble presented a solemn scene, its remaining coals from the evening-long meeting still emitting faint flames.

“They were kept in this safe, opened effortlessly with a duplicate key.” —— The large safe embedded in the wall beside the chairman’s seat had its sturdy door bathed in bright light—yet in reality remained unlocked, left ajar by the burglar.

“This room has two entrances: one leads to the chairman’s office—which we just came through—and the other faces the cafeteria doorway across the hallway on the opposite side.” “The windows were securely shut with no signs of disturbance.” “The culprit climbed over the back fence, smashed one of the glass panes at the cafeteria entrance, twisted the key that had been left in the lock, and slipped inside effortlessly.” “The janitor—who’d secretly had a nightcap—apparently slept soundly through it all.” “The culprit likely first went from the cafeteria into the night duty room, pressed an anesthetic-soaked handkerchief over Clerk Koshiba’s face to knock him out, then entered this conference room to calmly take the confidential documents before retracing their steps and leaving with perfect composure—”

Four “By the way, Mr. Chigusa—there’s a matter I’d particularly like to have your judgment on.”

“…………”

Hanabusa Ichiro, as if to take Chigusa Jujiro’s hand, made him stand close to the safe.

“You notice there’s some sort of writing on the wall where they embedded that safe, don’t you?”

“I see.”

When he looked—right around where the safe met the wall—there on the cream-colored surface were two lines boldly scrawled in pencil: "For a time," "Borrowing this." "What do you make of that?" "Well..."

Chigusa Jujiro groaned for a moment but must have thought there’d be no purpose in having been invited all this way if he didn’t say something.

“It’s probably the culprit’s prank.”

When he timidly said this and stepped back, “No.” Hanabusa Ichiro denied it in a resolute tone. “Then are you saying this graffiti has some special meaning?”

The pitfall of an amateur—oppose them, and they immediately lose their nerve.

“I believe there is,” he said. “A culprit who risked such grave danger to steal confidential documents wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave meaningless graffiti as evidence. From these two lines of text alone, I can determine at least this much—” “For instance,”

“First, it appears this culprit intends to take a ‘copy’ of the confidential documents and return the originals. That’s why they wrote ‘Borrowing for a while.’ As for someone trying to steal only the contents through certified copies—now, who could that be? I think it’s either political enemies aiming to topple the current cabinet or newspaper reporters blinded by the documents’ immense news value. Even revealing just a fraction of these confidential materials would make the world reel and buzz like a stirred hornet’s nest. In such circumstances, keeping originals risked searches or indictments—so they’d inevitably return them after copying. Second, I’d wager nine times out of ten this culprit’s a newspaper reporter—that face you’re making—I’m not just shooting in the dark here—”

Hanabusa Ichiro’s face brimmed with quiet confidence as he pressed forward phrase by phrase, advancing upon Chigusa Jujiro like a man intent on overwhelming through sheer force of persuasion.

“If this were the work of political fixers, even if they left such graffiti, they’d use a fountain pen or at least a mechanical pencil.” “However, this pencil—as you can see—has a thick lead, uneven coloring, and when you observe how it leaves a powdery residue, I believe it must be the lowest quality product made with extremely poor-grade graphite.” “In the heart of Tokyo, the only ones who use pencils like this are newspaper reporters.” “Newspaper reporters couldn’t write manuscripts at that terrifyingly fast tempo—two to three hundred lines an hour—if they used luxurious fountain pens or mechanical pencils.” “This came from you, so it can’t be a lie.” “And isn’t the weapon used to write those manuscripts none other than the dreadfully crude utility pencils provided by the dozen by the company?” “I know very well that newspaper reporters certainly have two or three such pencils stashed in their pockets.” “Thirdly, this culprit is a small-statured man around five shaku one sun (approximately 154 cm) in height with remarkably agile movements.” “This requires no explanation—it’s something one can discern by applying the basics of detective work. When people write on walls or such surfaces, they invariably write at their own eye level.” “Judging from the height of this writing, the culprit is rather short in stature—it’s certain they’re not a beanpole like you.”

As the discussion grew increasingly concrete, even within Chigusa Jujiro’s mind, he became able to visualize the culprit’s appearance. “So, have you identified the culprit?” “Well, yes and no—to tell the truth, I’ve brought you here to trouble you into making the final determination.” “Meaning…”

“Tonight, for that very purpose, I went to Café Mermaid. Since that place practically serves as a nest for newspaper reporters, I thought that by listening to people coming and going, I might catch some hint.” “And?”

“Just as you’ve heard, that special scoop competition did indeed begin at Café Mermaid.” “I don’t know much about it since I went later, but they say the one who started it was Mr. Takagi Tetsuya from Tokyo Shinpo.” “However, I believe it was Mr. Hayasaka Isamu from your company who said he would provide an earth-shattering special scoop within a couple of days—” “What?”

The riddle had been solved. Hanabusa Ichiro suspected Isamu the Fleet-Footed and lured Chigusa—who held a supervisory position at their company—to this spot to try drawing out clues through conversation. "There’s no way something so absurd could happen! There’s no way that honest Isamu could pull off such an outrageous scheme!"

“Now, hold on—”

“There’s absolutely no way such a thing could happen! First of all, those characters on the wall don’t resemble Isamu the Fleet-Footed’s handwriting in the slightest.” “However, there is such a thing as altering one’s handwriting.” “A skilled hand might change their style to write crudely, but someone like Isamu the Fleet-Footed—infamous for his dreadful penmanship—could never produce such deft characters no matter how he tried. Isamu isn’t the sort to do such a thing, I tell you. I guarantee it. And if he meant to steal confidential documents and publish them in the paper, there’s no way he wouldn’t have consulted me, the social department chief!”

Chigusa Jujiro desperately defended Isamu the Fleet-Footed, but Hanabusa Ichiro’s deep-seated suspicions showed no sign of being dispelled by such arguments.

5 “There’s no way something so absurd could happen! Isamu the Fleet-Footed isn’t the kind of man who’d commit theft!” Even as he desperately struggled, Chigusa Jujiro had not a single piece of counterevidence. However—perhaps sensing something—Hanabusa Ichiro did not press the argument.

“Very well—I’ll respect your opinion. Even one or two would suffice—could you show me evidence that the culprit isn’t Mr. Hayasaka? I know that man well too; for the most part, I don’t want to tarnish that upright man’s name.” “There’s plenty of evidence.” As if being dragged along, Chigusa Jujiro ended up saying this. “For example,” “For example—”

Could a layperson armed with nothing but zeal—and lacking any evidence capable of overturning in an instant the deductions of Hanabusa Ichiro, renowned as a great detective—possibly obtain such counterevidence? This loyal newspaper reporter, without uttering a word for some time—like Sherlock Holmes—searched every corner of the vicinity.

“This is it!”

“——” “You said that when people write on walls carelessly, they write at their own eye level, didn’t you?” “Ah, I did say that.” “What if they didn’t write it carelessly, but schemed to hide their height?”

“What?” “What?”

Hanabusa Ichiro stood up in shock. “Take a look at this—the vertical strokes in this pencil writing start with force at the beginning but lose pressure toward the bottom. Why do you think that is? When a tall person tries to make it look like a short person wrote something by writing around chin height, the pencil tip points downward—that’s exactly how you get this kind of handwriting.”

“——” “Mr. Hanabusa—even then—could these characters have been written by Isamu the Fleet-Footed, a short man?”

Chigusa Jujiro felt like sounding a triumphant fanfare. “And then—” “And then—how could Isamu the Fleet-Footed have obtained a duplicate key to the safe?”

“——” “Even if obtaining a duplicate key were somehow possible, the safe would have had a password.” “There’s no way Isamu the Fleet-Footed—who has no connection to Mr. Sonoda—could possibly know such a thing!”

Victory already belonged to Chigusa Jujiro. As Chigusa pressed his argument, Hanabusa Ichiro listened in silence,

“Thank you.” With this, my confidence had solidified. Well, I may have caused undue alarm, but any point harboring even the slightest doubt must be investigated thoroughly to the very end. The problem now seemed to be converging on how the safe’s password had been leaked. “I should meet with Mr. Sonoda again.” As he said this and turned to leave, Mr. Sonoda—having finished preparing to depart, still wearing his overcoat and holding his hat—appeared before the two men.

“I shall take my leave now. I have left two clerks here, so please do not hesitate to inform us should you require anything.” He was about to depart after a courteous bow when— “I must request you wait a moment.”

Hanabusa Ichiro called out to stop him. "What is it, Mr. Hanabusa?" "Since this concerns a matter of utmost importance, I must ask you to answer clearly—"

“——”

“The only ones who know the safe’s password are you and—” “As I stated earlier, I believe it’s only myself and my daughter who know it, but—” “Is your daughter presently at the residence?” “No, she isn’t at home.” A faint trace of bitter anguish surfaced on Mr. Sonoda’s face.

“Then where is she?” “Must I really say such a thing?” “This is likely the most critical point in investigating this case.” “No, that cannot be. This is a private family matter.” “Please refrain from inquiring about my daughter’s whereabouts for the time being.”

“——”

Leaving behind the strained atmosphere of the gathering, Mr. Sonoda had already stepped outside the door.

“There’s one more request I have to make.” “What is it?”

“Is there anything important left in the safe?” “There’s nothing at all.” “The remaining confidential documents have been entrusted to the Foreign Ministry.” “In that case, I would like you to completely remove the security at this office and return things to normal. How does that sound?” “By that, you mean—”

“The culprit will sneak back here tonight or, at the latest, tomorrow night to return the stolen confidential documents.”

“What?! Could such a thing truly occur?”

“That is certain. With lights blazing and five or seven people standing guard all night, even someone wanting to return them couldn’t manage it. When they’ve gone to such lengths intending to return the documents, it would be nonsensical not to let them. We should give the culprit every possible convenience.” “Please handle this as you deem appropriate. Having those documents returned would be my greatest relief.” “It may still be premature for celebration, but rest assured—the documents will unquestionably find their way back.”

“I do hope that will indeed be the case.”

With a strange feeling gnawing at him，Hanabusa Ichiro bit his nails as he watched the viscount’s retreating figure. "This case is extremely complicated—I’ll have to start over from scratch." "Is Mr.Sonoda’s daughter somehow involved in this case?" "She might be...or she might not. In any case，I’ll empty this office for two nights and see what move our opponent makes. I’ve got no trump cards left."

Hanabusa Ichiro lowered his profoundly composed face and sank into unfathomable meditation.

Six

Two days later.

A triumphant phone call came through from Hanabusa Ichiro to Chigusa Jujiro.

“Mr. Chigusa? This is Hanabusa. “The documents have finally returned to the safe—exactly as they were originally, completely untouched. “Mr. Sonoda is overjoyed, but the real substance of the case begins now. “If you’re free, could you come to the Diplomatic Research Association immediately? I’m waiting. “There’s something interesting—plain as day— Goodbye.”

After saying everything he wanted to say, the phone line cut off with a click.

When he hurried over, Clerk Koshiba Shizuo, who had been anesthetized with chloroform the previous night, had fully recovered and guided Chigusa to the chairman’s office. When they reached the chairman’s office, “How can one possibly claim we’re safe now?” Mr. Sonoda’s voice carried through the door all the way to the hallway.

“The culprit’s work is only just beginning.” Hanabusa Ichiro’s voice rang out no less resolutely. Under these circumstances, it seemed impossible to hold any confidential discussion.

When he knocked and entered,

“Ah, Mr. Chigusa! Perfect timing.”

Mr. Sonoda considerately stood up to greet him.

“I hear the documents have been returned, so first and foremost, you must be relieved.” “However, Mr. Chigusa, Mr. Hanabusa here says that doesn’t mean we’re safe at all.”

“And I stated that the culprit’s work will now enter its main phase.”

Hanabusa Ichiro stated thus in a businesslike tone, not moving an eyebrow.

“The main phase? What do you mean by that?”

“The culprit had no need for the genuine confidential documents.” “In other words, what they wanted was that certified copy.” “What?!”

“What I mean by ‘the main phase’ is this.” “They likely don’t intend to sell them to anyone, but either the government’s opposition party or the newspapers needed that certified copy of the documents.” “Could there be such a thing?” “There’s no other possibility.” “Moreover, by obtaining a photograph of the culprit, I’ve grown even more convinced of that conclusion.” “The culprit’s photograph?”

Both Mr. Sonoda and Chigusa involuntarily widened their eyes in surprise at Hanabusa Ichiro’s words.

“Here it is. Take a look.”

Hanabusa Ichiro, without any fuss, took out a playing card-sized photograph from his pocket and thrust it before the two men.

The photograph, not mounted on any backing and apparently developed in great haste, was still freshly damp, but it showed with remarkable clarity the culprit’s face—a fedora pulled low over his eyes and a handkerchief concealing the lower half. From beneath a fedora rat-like in color came the gleam of thick-rimmed Lloyd glasses; from under the handkerchief, though just barely visible, the peek of a goatee—no matter how one looked at it, this had to be a portrait of Takagi Tetsuya, a reporter for the Tokyo Shinpo.

“Isn’t this Takagi’s photograph?”

At the same moment Chigusa Jujiro cried out in surprise, “Ah!”

Mr. Sonoda turned almost completely pale.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Sonoda?” “No, no— This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!” Mr. Sonoda, like someone shown something filthy, stubbornly pushed the photograph back toward Hanabusa Ichiro while,

“This is utterly unbelievable. Mr. Hanabusa, how did you take this photograph? No—how did you obtain it?” “Your suspicion is entirely reasonable, but this is neither a doctored nor counterfeit photograph—it is indeed an image of the culprit who came to return the documents to the safe last night. However, merely stating this may still not earn your trust. In fact, this photograph was taken using ultraviolet light. Needless to say, photographic dry plates are most sensitive to ultraviolet light.” “Ultraviolet light refers to rays beyond violet when sunlight is split into seven colors—invisible to the human eye. If one can extract this light, photographs can be taken freely even in complete darkness. To generate ultraviolet light artificially, one could use a Giba sun lamp or a Cooper-Hewitt lamp—there are various methods—but essentially, it suffices to pass electricity through a mercury lamp to make it emit light.” “However, with just that setup, the light would still be visible to human eyes. Therefore, by placing the lamp inside a special filter that absorbs visible light while permitting only ultraviolet rays to pass through, almost no illumination becomes perceptible—yet photographs can be adequately captured. The term ‘filter’ may sound complicated, but it’s simply a black glass colored with nickel oxide, complete with a glass number—30651—stamped on it.” “I installed this lamp inside the safe and set it to ignite simultaneously with the door opening, while also connecting it to automatically trigger the shutter of a small camera I had likewise placed inside—thus ensuring the culprit would be photographed instantaneously. It’s really just a simple, toy-like contraption, but if you wish, I can demonstrate it for you later.”

Hanabusa Ichiro’s explanation grew increasingly bizarre, but Mr. Sonoda wasn’t even listening anymore.

“Excuse me, but I must briefly step out. I plan to return within thirty minutes. Please wait here until then.”

He staggered to his feet as though unable to remain seated any longer and stumbled out of the room without another word.

Seven “What’s going on, Mr. Hanabusa? I can’t make heads or tails of this—”

“You’ll understand soon enough. The case will grow increasingly intriguing.” “Where on earth has Mr. Sonoda gone?”

“That too will become clear soon. Let me think for a moment—I still have one doubt remaining, just a needle’s eye of suspicion, but this one’s proving rather knotty.”

Hanabusa Ichiro fell completely silent after that.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes passed—then just as nearly an hour seemed to have gone by, sudden commotion erupted from the entrance hall corridor. From behind a door that swung open with violent force, a man and woman came bursting in like a whirlwind. One was Mr. Sonoda Keitaro, his usual composure lost to fury and anguish; the other, being dragged in by the hand while resisting, was the Tokyo Shinpo’s female reporter—that woman of radiant beauty that seemed to spill fragrance—Sono Hanae. “What are you doing, Father? That hurts!”

“Be quiet and come here. I have something to show you.” “Father, to resort to such violence—” “What do you mean 'violence'? For an unfilial child who’s disgraced her parents and still isn’t satisfied—now trying to hang a noose around her own father’s neck—this treatment remains too lenient!” The female reporter Sono Hanae was indeed Mr. Sonoda’s daughter. Yearning for freedom, this beautiful young lady had defied both her father and family prestige to throw herself into the ranks of pen-wielding workers, ultimately changing her name to become a female reporter for the Tokyo Shinpo. However, she herself had concealed her true identity, while the old-fashioned family members, ashamed of their family prestige, never breathed a word about the young lady's whereabouts or her unconventional profession.

“Hanae, look at this photograph.” “Isn’t this Takagi Tetsuya—the one who seduced you and dragged you into that profession?” “I thought he showed some talent and kept an eye on him, only for that troublesome man to fill your head with wicked ideas before I knew it—turning you into a lady writer or newspaper reporter.” “He’s truly despicable, but I never imagined he’d stoop to theft—” “Father, that is going too far.” “When did Mr. Takagi ever commit theft?”

Though seized by her father, Mr. Sonoda, like a tiny sparrow, the beautiful Hanae desperately resisted the sheer outrageousness of it all. “He stole crucial confidential documents from this safe, made certified copies, and was caught in the act of returning the originals—right here in this ultraviolet ray photograph.” “Well? This is the figure of your idolized Takagi Tetsuya—impressive, isn’t it? Ugh.” “There is no such thing. It must be some kind of mistake.” “Mr. Takagi is not that kind of person.”

“What nonsense are you saying?!” “The evidence isn’t limited to that—only you and I know this safe’s password.” “The home safe uses your late mother’s name as its password, and the office safe uses your name Hanae—no one besides us could possibly know this.” “You taught Takagi the password and made him steal the documents from the safe.” “If those documents get published, I’ll have to disembowel myself to atone!” “Enough! Without more trouble—if you taught him, admit it! If you stole them, confess!” “Detective Hanabusa from the Metropolitan Police is right here—one phone call, and within thirty minutes Takagi Tetsuya will be trussed up!”

“Father, Father, there is no such thing! Since I know absolutely nothing about it, there’s no reason Mr. Takagi could have opened the safe.” The beautiful Hanae, clinging desperately to his knees, looked up at her father with tearfully imploring eyes, but her father’s blazing fury could not be appeased by such gestures. “Mr. Hanabusa, make the call immediately! Have Takagi bound at once and recover the certified copies—it must be done!”

“Understood.”

To Hanabusa Ichiro’s arm reaching for the desk phone, Hanae clung with her entire body like a shattered full-blown flower, “Wait—please wait, Mr. Hanabusa! It was me who opened the safe! Me who stole the documents! Mr. Takagi knows nothing about this!”

“What?!” “Mr. Takagi knows nothing! When he returned the documents to the safe at my request, he simply had the misfortune of being photographed.” “What is the meaning of this?” “Is that—is that how a child should behave?! You disgraceful creature!” Mr. Sonoda ultimately refrained from striking her but glared down at his beautiful daughter collapsed on the floor and unconsciously stamped his foot on the mosaic tiles.

“I’ll have the certified copies returned now. Please let me make the call.” Crawling closer to grab the desk phone, Hanae’s face—trembling and contorted with terror and agitation as she sobbed convulsively while dialing—nonetheless radiated a strange beauty within its pearl-white pallor: that of a woman striving to shield her lover. ——It would be fine to just forgive her like this——Chigusa Jujiro even felt such an impulse out of sheer pity for her plight. But when he saw Mr. Sonoda’s unforgiving face and Hanabusa Ichiro’s cold eyes, there was nothing this outsider Chigusa could do.

Before long, Takagi Tetsuya seemed to have answered the phone. “Ah—you’re Mr. Takagi? I’m Hanae—um—please return the certified copies—to Father’s hands.” “Huh? What?” “The certified copies of confidential documents—the ones from the Diplomatic Research Association’s office safe—don’t you understand?!” “I’m at the office now—no—there’s no need for you to come—if you’d just return the copies.” “Don’t you understand?” “What’s wrong? That shouldn’t be possible.” “It’s urgent now—you were photographed with ultraviolet rays.” “What? You’re coming here?” “That won’t do! Father—Mr. Hanabusa—Mr. Chigusa are all here—What? —The copies?” “You don’t know—absolutely—”

Hanae, still gripping the receiver, looked around dazedly and at a loss—first at her father’s face, then Detective Hanabusa’s, and finally Chigusa Jujiro’s.

VIII

Takagi Tetsuya finally plunged into the midst of the assembly. Because Hanae’s phone call had been unclear, he had taken it upon himself to come into the turmoil at the Diplomatic Research Association. “Takagi, you are truly an outrageous man.” When he saw Takagi Tetsuya’s trim figure entering the chairman’s office, Mr. Sonoda Keitaro could no longer contain himself and barked a sharp rebuke. “What are you saying?”

Takagi courteously greeted him, but upon receiving Mr. Sonoda’s sharp rebuke, he involuntarily stiffened and came to an abrupt halt. His Lloyd glasses, goatee, and pale face—all somehow giving him a philosopher-like air—did not seem to mark him as someone who would steal confidential documents. Yet at the same time, he bore an unmistakable resemblance to the culprit captured in Hanabusa Ichiro’s ultraviolet ray photograph. “It was you who took the confidential documents from this safe, wasn’t it?” “What are you saying? If you’re truly serious about saying such things, then even you, Mr. Sonoda, I will not forgive.”

“Don’t you dare speak so insolently! Take a good look at this photograph—can you honestly claim this isn’t you?” Takagi Tetsuya gazed at the photograph thrust before him. “Hmm.” Takagi Tetsuya could only groan.

“Now, first and foremost—return the certified copies at once. Then I may yet have room for reconsideration.”

“There seems to be some terrible mistake here. “I have not the slightest idea what this is all about.”

What an elegantly composed face. Having suppressed his momentary anger, when one looked at Takagi Tetsuya’s face—his eyes now wide open with crystalline clarity—no matter how incriminating the photograph might be, one simply couldn’t bring oneself to suspect this man of being the culprit. “No, don’t play dumb—my daughter has already confessed! Mr. Hanabusa, why stand on ceremony? Bind that villain and retrieve the certified copies!”

“Understood.” “In that case, I trust it’s acceptable to restrain the culprit here, Mr. Sonoda?” “Very well. With this much evidence, it’s no different from catching him in the act.” “Then, if you’ll excuse me.”

Hanabusa Ichiro turned around, pretended to grab Takagi Tetsuya’s arm, and swiftly pulled back the curtain behind him. Behind it was a man who, startled, tried to bolt into the hallway—only for him to seize him firmly by the scruff from behind and yank him back. “Ah! You’re Koshiba!”

“This guy is the confidential documents culprit!” “What?!” The assembly’s astonishment reached its zenith. Clerk Koshiba Shizuo wrestled furiously to escape Hanabusa Ichiro’s hold, thrashing with death-defying desperation—but when he understood the fearsome might crushing him left no room for even a pauper’s squirm, he resigned himself and crumpled bonelessly onto the floorboards.

IX When they called the janitor and had him search, there in Koshiba’s desk—audaciously enough—lay the certified copies of the confidential documents, perfectly preserved. He must have thought to hide them in such an obvious place, clinging to the notion that the last spot anyone would check is right under their noses. “How did you know Koshiba was the culprit? Why does this photograph show Mr. Takagi?” “Why on earth does this photograph show Mr. Takagi?”

Forgetting even his awkwardness, Mr. Sonoda pressed Hanabusa Ichiro with questions.

“Before we address that—let’s settle matters with this one.” “Mr. Sonoda, shall we take this one to the Metropolitan Police Department after all?” “No, no—I’d prefer not to let this incident become a public scandal. “An attitude that repays years of kindness with enmity is truly detestable—but I will endure it by cutting ties. “If the documents are safely returned and the certified copies obtained, that will suffice for me.” Mr. Sonoda had finally returned to his usual broad-minded self.

“Did you hear that, Koshiba? It pains me to let you off like this, but my lord’s judgment stands as fair. If you keep loitering here, I won’t have it! Now scram to the western sea!” The window was flung open, and Koshiba went tumbling out into Nagatacho’s bustling thoroughfare. “Now then, Mr. Hanabusa—I shan’t feel at ease until I hear how you identified Koshiba as the culprit.”

Mr. Sonoda continued pressing Hanabusa Ichiro. “Oh, it’s nothing at all—over these past two days, as I thoroughly investigated various matters, this is what I uncovered.” “While working as a secretary and frequently visiting your mansion over many years—though I shouldn’t say this in her presence—Koshiba developed feelings for your daughter.” “However, your daughter became close to Mr. Takagi Tetsuya and ran away from home, so he devised that scheme with two aims: one, to take revenge on Mr. Takagi as a romantic rival, and two, to sell those certified copies to the opposition party and make a fortune.” “My initial suspicion of Mr. Hayasaka Isamu was a grave mistake, and being lured by the ultraviolet photograph into suspecting Mr. Takagi was a terrible error.” The culprit Koshiba—appearing to be a man of frightful monkey-like cunning—had devised everything from the start to direct suspicion toward Mr. Takagi, making it seem like a newspaper reporter’s handiwork. On the night he came to return the documents, thinking his face might unexpectedly be seen under any circumstance, he arrived fully disguised as Mr. Takagi with Lloyd glasses and a fake goatee. It was a close call. “I was nearly deceived myself—but upon closer inspection, while Mr. Takagi suffers from severe myopia, the culprit in this photograph”—he gestured—“though wearing similar Lloyd glasses—has lenses with absolutely no prescription, completely plain.” “This would be obvious to anyone.”

When it was explained, one could indeed see how it made sense—but the outcome was so utterly unexpected that Mr. Sonoda, along with Chigusa, Takagi, and Hanae, could only stand dumbfounded, utterly speechless for some time. Hanabusa Ichiro paid no heed to this and continued speaking, “Koshiba’s face becomes exactly like Mr. Takagi’s when he puts on Lloyd glasses and attaches a goatee. The only difference is that Koshiba’s eyes have slightly more white visible below the iris—even in photographs, if you look carefully, you can distinguish them. As for the safe’s password, Clerk Koshiba had the most opportunities to learn it. If he constantly observed you, Mr. Sonoda, opening the safe, with a lover’s keen sensitivity, he would quickly realize that the password was your daughter’s name—the same applies to the key. It goes without saying that Clerk Koshiba occupied the position most advantageous for obtaining them. Breaking the cafeteria window from outside or fabricating traces of climbing over the wall—he could have done any of those with ease. Finally, once it became clear that Koshiba was the one hiding behind the curtain in this room and observing the situation, there remained no room for doubt. I just abruptly grabbed him and threatened him outright—that’s all it was. However, he truly plotted it out remarkably well. Since he’s such a cunning man that he even sniffed chloroform himself to make it look like the culprit had drugged him, even someone as experienced as me was almost completely taken in.”

In Hanabusa Ichiro’s manner as he proceeded with this explanation, there was a dispassionate calmness entirely devoid of pride.

“Thank you, Mr. Hanabusa. Thanks to you, everything has been resolved safely.” Mr. Sonoda rose from his chair and extended a hand of heartfelt gratitude. “No, Mr. Sonoda—there’s still one unresolved matter.” With a mischievous air, Hanabusa withdrew his hand while looking up at Mr. Sonoda and spoke bluntly. “Still one more?—” “Please forgive my rudeness—the other matter I must address concerns your daughter and Mr. Takagi.” “...”

“Mr. Takagi is a man of rare integrity and by no means a shameful match for your daughter.” “I earnestly wish you would allow these two well-suited individuals to join hands permanently—to atone for having doubted Mr. Takagi even once.” “Through your daughter’s self-sacrificing attitude—persisting in protecting him even while believing Mr. Takagi to be the culprit until the end—you must fully grasp the sentiments of these young people.” “The role your daughter undertook in this case is truly splendid.—Now then, everyone—Mr. Chigusa, let us return together. I’ve caused you quite unnecessary worry, haven’t I?”

Hanabusa Ichiro bowed politely and then attempted to exit into the hallway. “Ah, please wait! After all your considerable efforts, I must express my gratitude at once—I shan’t rest easy otherwise.” “No, no—a petty official of the Metropolitan Police Department cannot accept any reward for such a trivial matter.” “If you would take an ultraviolet ray photograph of your daughter and Mr. Takagi side by side, that would be more than enough for me.”

Leaving behind the beautiful Hanae and Takagi Tetsuya’s thoroughly embarrassed faces, the two hurried out into the afternoon streets.

“Well? Feeling refreshed now?”

Outside was a beautiful winter day. Hanabusa Ichiro stopped and took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Shall we head to Café Mermaid and raise a glass as fellow bachelors?”

“Very well.”

Before they knew it, the two had joined hands.