Pathway to Japanese Literature

The author—Mr. Edogawa Ranpo—says:

I have recently wanted to break away from conventional "small detective novels" and advance into "grand detective novels" with broader stages. This work, *Golden Mask*, is truly that first step.

The protagonist active in this main story remains none other than that familiar amateur detective Akechi Kogorō—though even he continues evolving. Herein lies his opportunity to undertake a far grander role. This demonic antagonist stands fully capable—nay designed—to astonish readers. Yet I myself harbor doubts: can one truly harness such an astonishing creation? That very uncertainty becomes my compulsion—the very reason I must write...

*King* August 1930 Issue

The Golden Terror

In this world, once every fifty years—or perhaps a century—there occurred bizarre phenomena as extraordinary as cataclysms, great wars, or pandemics: things more unimaginable than any nightmare, more preposterous than any novelist’s fancy, manifesting abruptly. It might be that this single giant organism called human society had been afflicted by some acute, inexplicable disease and temporarily gone mad. Common sense-defying, bizarre events could occur so abruptly.

And so, even those utterly preposterous rumors of the “Golden Mask” might have been another instance of that once-in-fifty-or-a-hundred-years social madness.

In a certain year’s spring—early March, when winter coats could not yet be put away—rumors of a mysterious figure wearing a golden mask arose from nowhere, spread from person to person, grew stronger with each passing day, and finally became a sensation so great that they filled the social sections of every newspaper. The rumors were highly varied, akin to aimless ghost stories, yet the peculiar supernatural quality contained within them stimulated people's curiosity. Consequently, this specter of the new age gained immense popularity among Tokyo’s citizens.

A certain young woman claimed to have seen the man in front of a Ginza shop window. Leaning against a brass handrail, a tall man had been peering into the glass window, but with his soft cap pulled down to the bridge of his nose and his overcoat collar turned up to his ears—completely concealing his face in a manner that seemed somehow odd—the young woman, feigning absorption in the displayed items within the window, stretched her neck and abruptly stole a glance at the man’s face. Then, from the narrow gap of barely an inch between the cap’s visor and the overcoat’s collar, something glinted dazzlingly, as if piercing her eyes. Startled and turning pale, the young woman stepped away from the man, but his face—indeed, indeed—was made of expressionless gold, like an old gilded Buddha statue.

With her heart pounding, she watched from afar as the man, like a supernatural creature whose true form had been exposed, panicked and vanished into the darkness and crowd as though swept away by the wind. The man had been peering into the display window of a certain famous antique dealer, where at its center stood a dignified Hantanda-Otoko Noh mask—its black-lacquered teeth bared in a half-open mouth—glaring straight ahead through narrow eyes. Regarding the uncanny resemblance between this eerie Noh mask and the Golden Mask’s expressionless visage, various unbelievable rumors began to circulate.

A certain middle-aged merchant, passing through a Tokaido Line railroad crossing at night, came across the gruesome body of a woman who had been struck by a train—but when the crowd of onlookers had not yet gathered, while he was still alone, he reportedly saw a strange man in Western clothes loitering near the corpse. That man too had his soft cap pulled down low and his overcoat collar turned up to hide his face, but under the hazy moonlight, the merchant clearly saw that face glowing golden. But that wasn’t all. From the mouth of the expressionless Golden Mask down to its chin, a single crimson liquid trickled, and that mouth grinned mockingly at the merchant, or so it was said.

Moreover, one old woman, in the dead of night, saw a single brilliantly golden mysterious figure pass swiftly by the thoroughfare outside through the window of her home's toilet. This one differed from the previous two examples in that not only the face but the entire body was a dazzling gold, and the figure apparently wore some sort of translucent golden garment over the mask.

It was an almost unbelievable bizarre incident. It might have been the hallucination of a senile old woman. But she herself insists she truly saw a revered golden figure like Amida Buddha. It would be futile to recount every one of the countless other rumors. Be that as it may, for a time, this anachronistic ghost story had dominated all conversation among Tokyo’s citizens. Though called a ghost story, at least a dozen mentally sound individuals had indeed encountered this Golden Mask figure across differing days and locations. Within this fantastical tale lay an undeniable reality.

There were those who said it might be an omen of some terrible calamity. On the other hand, there were also those who claimed it was no different from supernatural tales of stones raining from the sky or a baby’s cries heard in an old pond—mere harmless mischief when scrutinized.

However, timid people walking alone late at night would be terrified out of their wits if they happened to pass a man in Western clothes who had his overcoat collar turned up, fearing it might be “that guy.” The expressionless Golden Mask’s eerie quality—something artificial yet humanoid—terrified modern people who didn’t believe in ghosts. Up to this point, this monster had merely appeared in various places like some ill omen without causing actual harm. If one set aside its gilded-Buddha-like eeriness, there was no distinguishing it from a papier-mâché advertising doll. Now, while the police were not unaware of these rumors, they kept silent and observed developments—fearing rash intervention might reduce them to laughingstocks, like mistaking a baby’s cry for an edible frog’s croak.

However, the time soon came when it became clear that Golden Mask was no mere prank by delinquent boys or anything of the sort. One day not long after April began, this enigmatic phantom man suddenly manifested before Tokyo’s citizens as a singularly bold and reckless criminal. Moreover—regarding the crime’s location, target object, method of execution, and escape maneuver—everything from start to finish defied expectations through an unimaginably audacious feat surpassing anything anyone had ever conceived. Within its sheer boldness and utter absurdity lay something unnervingly inexplicable. He was no blood-and-flesh human being. He carried with him a truly bizarre quality—like some heartless metal automaton.

The Great Pearl

That year, from April 1st for five months, Ueno Park hosted its first grand exposition in a decade. It was an Industrial Exposition hosted by Tokyo Prefecture and City, but its scale was national in scope—so much so that a vast pavilion had been established for exhibits from foreign countries.

There were various attractions: among architectural feats stood the 150-foot-high “Industrial Tower” soaring before Yamauchi Ryodai Temple; among entertainments, a grand troupe performing comedy and dance incorporating South Seas natives—and notably, one comedy bore the title *Golden Mask* (undoubtedly a promotional ploy by the show’s producer)—and among exhibits was a Japanese great pearl from Mie Prefecture’s “Pearl King,” boasting a price of ¥200,000. Moreover, that each of these attractions bore a distinct connection to Golden Mask’s crimes must be called a truly uncanny twist of fate.

The domestic pearl in question was “Shima no Joō”—a name known to all connoisseurs—Japan’s foremost great pearl, a rare natural specimen discovered within an abalone shell off the coast of Ōwazaki in Shima Province. Its form was a splendid eggplant shape, a masterpiece weighing over three hundred grains. Even if ¥200,000 was a somewhat inflated price, the fact that a bean-sized item could hold a value equivalent to a person’s ransom struck a chord with the curiosity of rural visitors, resulting in an unbroken black mass of people crowding before its display stand.

The pearl exhibition hall had security installations equivalent to ¥200,000. The sturdy thick glass door was fitted with a special lock whose key was kept by a trusted employee of the pearl shop stationed at the Exposition Office, and the guard too was not some young woman recruited publicly but a burly middle-aged man hired by the pearl shop. Moreover, rumors even circulated about an ingenious secret device installed to prevent potential thefts, with such ostentatious security measures further stoking spectators' curiosity.

Now, this was an event that occurred on the fifth day of the exposition.

That day, as they were honored with a visit from a certain noble personage, from 2:00 PM onward, they closed the entrances to each exhibition hall and temporarily expelled the general spectators to a section lined with entertainment halls.

As Building No. 1—where the great pearl "Shima no Joō" was exhibited—lay on the initial route of the distinguished guest’s inspection tour, they expelled spectators earliest, cleaned the hall, replaced the guards, and quietly awaited the arrival. The hall, which had been bustling until moments ago, now lay utterly deserted—as far as the eye could see, beyond the guards standing as motionless and well-behaved as mannequins, not a soul remained. No sound echoed through the hollow cathedral-like space, its daytime silence deeper than midnight.

On one side of the great pearl display stand were stationed four guards. The middle-aged man in charge of pearl security stood flanked by three young female guards spaced five or six ken apart on either side—seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds up to around twenty years old. Beyond them lay a curved section of passageway where visibility became limited, making this area effectively their assigned patrol zone. These four had been chatting companions even in the guards’ waiting room. They had left the waiting room together during shift change—but just before that moment, someone had brought tea to them,

“You’ll be in the presence of a noble personage. Have some tea to settle your nerves.” While saying this, he distributed a teacup to each person. The Exposition had only just begun, and since the four inexperienced individuals were encountering such a situation for the first time, they found themselves feeling a sort of parched nervousness in their throats. They promptly downed the tea. “Ugh, that’s bitter!” To the extent that one of the girl guards had involuntarily muttered, the tea was bitter. “Did I put in a bit too much?”

The man laughed, collected the teacups, and went off.

Before long, the guards entered the hall and took up their assigned positions. At each gap in the display stands were small chairs, and they were now sitting on them, waiting until the time of the inspection. There was still about twenty minutes until then. “It’s so quiet… Feels kind of creepy.” A girl spoke in a voice barely audible to the male guard stationed before the pearl. No one answered. The male guard and the two girls outside both narrowed their eyes, staring fixedly at one spot as if deep in thought.

“Aah, aah… I’m getting sleepy.” The girl who had spoken let out a long yawn, then she too narrowed her eyes and became still.

And then, something unimaginable began. All four guards hung their mouths open, drooling as they began to doze off. Nor was this some gentle nodding like rowing a boat. They bent their bodies double, thrusting heads between knees, and within moments fell into helpless slumber. The male guard even tumbled from his chair to crouch grotesquely on the floor. Yet due to their positions, none of the outer guards could witness this scene. No one noticed. Only ten minutes remained until the distinguished guest's inspection tour.

At that moment, a Western-suited man—his soft cap gleaming, overcoat collar upturned, face half-concealed by a large handkerchief—approached the area of the dozing guards with hurried steps, as though attending to urgent business. Not a single guard in the outer corridor suspected this man. To harbor suspicion would have required his demeanor to be less overwhelming and brimming with confidence. The young women took him for a plainclothes detective from the security detail. They straightened their sitting postures and stiffened their stances further, as though this were the precursor to the distinguished guest’s inspection tour.

When the man reached the area of the dozing guards, he looked around at the four deeply asleep individuals and removed the handkerchief from his face with a relieved air. What appeared from behind the handkerchief was, needless to say, a chillingly expressionless golden face. Golden Mask briskly approached the great pearl’s display stand, pressed his face against the glass, and gazed intently at the dazzling “Shima no Joō.” His golden nose tip touched the glass with a clack-clack. From the golden crescent-shaped mouth came an eerie muttering sound. The monster now trembled with joy.

The glass-cutting tools were all prepared in the pocket. With what dexterity—in the blink of an eye, a hole was bored through that thick glass panel. From there, the monster’s hand slithered in like a snake. Ah! The pride of Japanese pearls, the “Shima no Joō,” fell at last into the monster’s clutches. He snatched the great pearl from its velvet pedestal.

At that instant—Jiririri…!—a shrill electric bell reverberated through the building’s lofty ceiling.

The monster let out an enraged "Agh!" and leapt into the air. Using the momentum from his leap, he suddenly charged toward one of the exits.

The secret theft prevention device had been this very electric bell mechanism. It was an emergency alarm designed to blare instantly should anything touch the velvet pedestal. Then erupted through the hall—the girl guards’ shrieks, the panicked stampede of footsteps. Yet those present were no mere gaggle of helpless maids. Supervisors promoted from police ranks and officers dispatched for security detail had massed at one exit, poised to receive the distinguished guest. The instant those brawny men glimpsed the thief’s silhouette, their swords sang from scabbards as they surged forward.

A macabre game of cat and mouse began. Through the maze formed by display stands fled the golden monster in panicked zigzags, while the pursuers grew frantic in their attempts to execute a pincer attack. Seeing that complete escape was ultimately impossible, the monster charged forward from his position toward the most thinly guarded flank of the pursuers. There stood a police officer with his back to a small exit, but when he saw the thief charging forward recklessly, he abruptly turned pale yet bravely spread his arms wide.

Two fleshy masses collided with violent force. But the police officer was no match for the metallic monster. In the blink of an eye, he was thrown to the ground. The monster disappeared outside the building. A roar of battle cries erupted from the pursuers. They rushed to the exit while shouting incomprehensible things. But already, the thief’s figure was nowhere to be seen. It was the rear of the building, and about nine to eleven meters ahead, the backside of another building also towered. Although the left and right sides were passable, barbed wire-like fences had been installed at both ends to prevent spectators from entering. Beyond that lay the venue’s main thoroughfare. Due to the security measures for the distinguished guest today, several police officers could be seen on the main thoroughfare.

“Hey! Did anyone see that bastard who just crossed the fence now?” When one police officer shouted, the officers stationed on both sides of the main thoroughfare all turned toward him in unison and answered together that they hadn’t seen such a fellow. The people exchanged glances and stood frozen. Despite there being no escape route, the thief had vanished. “Hey, what’s this building right in front?”

When one of the officers asked, the guard supervisor replied.

“This is the back entrance of the entertainment hall.” “From here onward lies the entertainment hall.”

“Is the show still running?”

“Yes, you can hear the festive music playing, can’t you?”

“There’s no way that bastard actually jumped into the middle of the crowd during the performance.” “No matter how you look at it, he wouldn’t do something that reckless, right?” “But if he didn’t flee to the left or right sides—no matter how reckless—we must conclude that bastard jumped in here.” “Unless he’d evaporated.” “In any case, let’s check inside.” The group noisily entered through the entertainment hall’s back entrance.

A Terrifying Comedy

Meanwhile, on the stage of the entertainment hall, the comedy *Golden Mask* had just concluded its first act. The thousands of oblivious spectators were laughing uproariously at the fake monster “Golden Mask” on stage.

It was an opportunistic comedy play capitalizing on the phenomenal popularity of “Golden Mask,” the phantom of the new era. The showman’s clever strategy succeeded brilliantly. People were drawn to the large billboard emblazoned with “Golden Mask” and bought tickets solely to see this performance. Of course, it was packed to capacity without an inch to spare.

However, just as the curtain was about to rise for the second act of the comedy they had been laughing uproariously at, the audience members encountered a truly bizarre incident. This was because a single police officer had suddenly appeared outside the curtain and begun shouting something.

“Ladies and gentlemen, just now from the exhibition hall behind this venue, a scoundrel has stolen the renowned great pearl and fled.” “There are no escape routes to the exterior.” “He must have slipped into this hall.” “Today marks the occasion of distinguished guests’ attendance.” “They should have arrived by this time.” “Any mishap would constitute a grave incident.” “We have thoroughly inspected the stage and entry gates.” “However, the auditorium’s capacity crowd makes searching impossible.” “Therefore, I must request your cooperation.” “Each of you must vigilantly examine your immediate vicinity.” “Should you discover any suspicious persons, please notify me at once.”

Due to the din in the auditorium, they could only catch fragments of the announcement, but managed to grasp the gist. "What does he look like?"

A spirited, craftsman-like man shouted in a voice that mimicked an actor’s tone. “You’d recognize him at a glance.” The police officer began to answer but hesitated briefly. Using a term like “Golden Mask” felt incongruous with his professional duty. Yet there was no other suitable way to refer to the thief. “A man wearing a golden mask,” he declared. “The notorious Golden Mask.”

A burst of laughter erupted. Suddenly, the name of the protagonist from the comedy currently being performed had been mentioned. Some thought this officer might actually be an actor in disguise, planning to scare them now only to get a big laugh later. But the police officer on stage showed no sign of dropping the act. With a deathly solemn, pale face, he kept bellowing the same warnings repeatedly. Seeing this, the spectators found themselves unable to laugh anymore. The hall fell deathly silent. People began scrutinizing their neighbors with suspicious eyes, scanning around intently. Some even crouched down to peer fearfully beneath their chairs.

However, the golden man was nowhere to be found. “Would a thief really jump into a crowd? That’s absurd! What are you thinking?” “Why don’t you search outside instead!” The spectators, their enjoyment disrupted and now indignant, began muttering complaints. In the end, the police officer had no choice but to give up and withdraw. As the commotion finally subsided, the delayed second act’s curtain was raised at last.

The stage depicted a nighttime park scene. The backdrop was a black curtain; before it stretched a dense thicket of trees, the only illumination being a single bluish night lamp. It was a scene straight out of a ghost story. First, several minor characters appeared and discussed the rumors of “Golden Mask” as terrifyingly as possible. Once they withdrew, what could be called the play’s secondary protagonist—an extreme coward—made his entrance. Just as he was delivering a soliloquy, Golden Mask suddenly emerged from behind, parting the grove of trees. Such was the sequence.

And finally, the monster made its appearance. Unlike the previous act, it was now clad not only in a golden mask but enveloped entirely in a loose, mantle-like golden garment—a bizarre figure. The coward’s exaggerated gesture upon seeing it—this should have been a scene where uproarious laughter erupted from the audience. But no one laughed. The commotion caused by the real Golden Mask had not yet left people’s minds. And the uncanny resemblance between reality and the stage gave the spectators an indescribably bizarre sensation.

At last, the first act’s highlight began. The phosphorescent spotlight illuminated the monster’s face in a perfect circle within the darkness. On the stage, only a single point—the face resembling a golden Noh mask—was aglow with phosphorescent light. Then, from somewhere, a strange hissing sound began to be heard. Simultaneously, the mask’s black, split mouth gradually changed shape, finally forming a large crescent moon-like expression of laughter. The spectators involuntarily startled, and when they strained their ears, they realized the hissing sound was the monster’s laughter. Ah, what a repulsive laugh that was. He kept laughing and laughing. And when they looked, he was laughing while vomiting blood. A thin, thread-like stream of blood slid down his chin, and at its end, from the tip of his chin, it fell in drops—plop, plop.

Even knowing it was a comedy, the spectators were so terrified that they held their breath, fell silent, and couldn’t tear their eyes away from the monster’s face. Needless to say, the playwright had directly incorporated into the play that merchant’s story about encountering the monster at the railroad crossing. Additionally, the full-body golden costume was likely conceived from the old woman’s eyewitness account. A sensitive few among the spectators were already seized by a dreadful suspicion. Could this be mere coincidence—that the real Golden Mask had fled into the theater of the *Golden Mask* play? Could it be that the demon’s audacious evil scheme was concealed there?

Those people found the passing of each second utterly terrifying. At any moment... Ah, at any moment. They were so utterly terrified that even the sound of other spectators coughing made them jolt upright. Suddenly, the stage brightened. A shift from horror to comedy. At that moment, three comical policemen came rushing to the scene upon receiving word from the coward. The few spectators who had been trembling with a certain premonition involuntarily cried out in unison at the sight, but the general crowd burst into raucous laughter instead. At last, the comedy began. It was a feeling of finally being saved.

From the first day, it had been decided that three police officers would appear there. And it was clear that the play would become utterly absurd from there. It was only natural that the spectators burst into laughter.

One of the policemen cautiously approached the monster and, trying to project as much authority as possible, shouted. “Hey! You there! Take off that mask.” “Show your face.”

Golden Mask stood vacantly, as though it hadn’t heard. Exposed by the electric lights, the glistening golden monster appeared absurdly comical.

“Can’t you hear? “Hey!” “Answer me!” “Show your face.” No matter how much they shouted, the monster remained silent, so one policeman, unable to bear it any longer, suddenly lunged at the creature. Clattering footsteps echoed with the clang of swords. The monster slipped away deftly. What incredible speed. He leaped far away, crouched into a half-squat, and wiggled all five fingers before his nose. The three policemen gave chase in unison. A fierce melee ensued. The audience seats erupted in thunderous applause, seeming to boil over in a whirlpool of roaring laughter and uproarious guffaws.

At last, something terrible began. Cornered, Golden Mask fluttered the golden garment like a flame and leapt from the stage into the audience seats.

“I knew it. “It’s him!” One of those sensitive spectators turned deathly pale and involuntarily muttered. But the audience’s roaring laughter grew even louder. The actors’ outstandingly mischievous prank had pleased them. The monster dashed out through the narrow aisle between the chairs toward the front. The policemen also jumped down from the stage and chased after him. “Catch him! “That guy’s the culprit! “That guy’s the real culprit!”

The policeman’s desperate, anguished cry. But the spectators’ laughter did not cease.

“Come on, come on! Get him!” The bystanders, amused, shouted in shrill voices.

The people were utterly convinced that this bizarre chase would circle through the audience seats and return to the stage. But the monster kept running straight ahead without stopping. He passed in front of the director’s seat. At those seats, two police officers were laughing uproariously along with the spectators. “You! Don’t let him escape!” “Hey! Idiot! Imbecile! What are you gaping at?”

The pursuing policeman shouted like a madman as he ran. However, it didn’t reach the police officers at the director’s seat. They were convinced that even that was part of the play’s script. At that moment, several people who were clearly not actors appeared on the stage, jumped down into the audience seats with heavy thuds, and began running after the police officers. Among them was also visible the face of a police officer who had spoken to the spectators outside the curtain earlier—a familiar face. Even the dull-witted crowd finally understood the truth of the matter. The laughter stopped abruptly.

A momentary death-like silence, followed by a surging uproar of terror. Unintelligible curses. But by that time, the monster had already slipped through the exit gate and was dashing straight across the open ground within the venue.

At the risk of making this sound drawn out, the entire frantic event—from when the stage lights came on until the monster vanished beyond the exit gate—had lasted a mere twenty or thirty seconds.

What a strange affair! What an audacious trick! The one who had been performing the comedy on stage was none other than the terrifying pearl thief—the real Golden Mask. The policemen were not actors either. They were genuine police officers who had pursued the criminal from the Pearl Exhibition Hall. In the middle of the play, they finally saw through the monster’s trick and—disregarding the ongoing performance—leapt onto the stage. This had coincidentally matched the comedy’s plot.

The overlapping of the stage and the play—what in the world had transpired? The stage director, the actors, the stagehands, the audience—all found their mental faculties hopelessly tangled, left agape in utter disbelief.

It was later discovered—and let me add this for the readers’ benefit—that after the commotion had subsided, the jurisdictional police chief summoned the show’s manager to inquire about the identity of the actor who had played Golden Mask and searched the residence, only to receive the unexpected answer that the actor in question had remained confined to the house all day and had not ventured outside even once.

When they asked why he had skipped the performance,

“I deeply apologize. I was blinded by greed. He was a complete stranger, but he came to visit me early in the morning—in exchange for promising not to go out all day today—and I received fifty yen in cash. I sincerely beg your pardon.”

That was the situation. In other words, Golden Mask had disguised himself as that actor and had been hiding in the dressing room of the exposition’s entertainment hall since morning. He waited for the venue to fall silent for the VIP tour, slipped out through the dressing room exit, made the four guards drink the anesthetic, and infiltrated the Pearl Exhibition Hall. And then, with an innocent face, he returned to the original dressing room and even performed the lead role in the comedy *Golden Mask*. The golden mask provided the perfect cover. His fellow actors, due to their roles, did not find it particularly suspicious that he continued wearing the mask even when in the dressing room. Moreover, since he was the head actor and had exclusive use of a small dressing room, it was no wonder his disguise remained intact.

At first glance, he seemed audacious and reckless, but indeed, as a master thief targeting a ¥200,000 jewel, he had devised an intricately calculated plan. But even the wisest have their oversights—despite his cunning, he was no god. He had never dreamed that an emergency alarm was built into the pearl’s pedestal. For a thief, how utterly infuriating this must have been.

Golden Lizard The phantom thief, having finally escaped the entertainment hall, now had to battle against the vast crowd in the open ground. There was no telling how much more difficult that would prove. It was truly a disastrous struggle.

From all directions came swarms of police officers; from the gawking crowd came hurled stones. Through this onslaught, the golden and resplendent—yet pitiful—phantom thief, drenched in sweat and driven to mortal desperation, darted right and left in his flight. As he fled toward desolate stretches and ever more desolate stretches, he found himself emerging onto the VIP procession route. The broad, level boulevard stretched unobstructed straight ahead to the "Industrial Tower" marking the venue's end. On both sides, welcoming crowds lined the path as if expressly arranged to spectate Golden Mask's escape, keeping the way clear.

When he suddenly turned around, he found himself face to face with the VIP procession that had just emerged from a building and was advancing slowly about eighteen meters behind him.

This was a grave matter. The startled security police officers, at that, rushed toward the phantom thief from all directions. And just as they piled on and were about to subdue the thief. What had happened? They let out a startled cry and falteringly retreated. When they looked, there was something glinting in the thief’s hand. The muzzle of a pistol. He had concealed the final weapon until that very moment. Seizing the moment when the crowd recoiled, the golden demon advanced two or three steps toward the VIP procession, pistol in hand. Had he gone mad? Had he taken the wrong path in his flight? Or perhaps... could it be... The crowd erupted in a roar.

But then, to everyone’s astonishment, the fiend struck an upright and motionless pose before the procession—and in the next instant, pressed the hand holding the pistol to his chest and bowed reverently. It was a solemn bow of deepest respect. Ah, what audacity—even while surrounded by pursuers, he seemed intent on sincerely apologizing for today’s insolence of having startled the VIPs. When he finished bowing, he smartly executed an about-face. And then, in the opposite direction, he dashed off with gale-like force. The crowd, captivated by the fiend’s striking demeanor, forgot to block his path and vacantly gazed at his radiant form.

As he ran, his golden garment fluttered backward; combined with the blazing glare of the setting sun behind him, it appeared as though a golden rainbow had formed in the wake of the mysterious figure’s flight. However, the crowd’s enchantment lasted but an instant. Snapping back to their senses, they unleashed another fierce barrage of pelting stones. The police force’s pursuit intensified with reinforcements. At the very end of the broad avenue stood the 150-foot “Industrial Tower,” looming as if determined to block the phantom thief’s retreat. Golden Mask had finally reached a dead end there. From behind the tower’s base emerged a police detachment closing in relentlessly. Keeping their distance from them, the crowd formed a massive encircling ring. Neither pistol firepower nor swift maneuvers could prevail against this wall of flesh.

The phantom thief, cornered with no way out, had inched backward into the tower’s interior when—in a final gambit to snatch life from certain death—he lunged at the spiral staircase within and scrambled upward. When looking up from below through over a dozen turns of the spiral staircase, the thief appeared to grow smaller and smaller while seemingly circling the same spot. When the stairs ended, hundreds of feet in the air, there was a small room like a fire watchtower—open on all sides and equipped with a searchlight. That was the dead end.

The thief sat down on a wooden box containing the searchlight operator’s tools and let out a relieved breath. But there was no time to rest; the pursuing police officers were already closing in beneath him. Moreover, when had they prepared them? In the hands of the suicide squad were gleaming pistols.

He ran round and round the small room. But there was no path of escape to be found. When he clung to the pillar and looked down at the ground below, he saw an ant-like crowd gathered around the tower—every face turned skyward as people shouted incoherently. Above his head loomed only a steeply sloped roof like a clown's pointed hat. But now that matters had reached this point, there remained no means of survival save climbing onto that roof.

The front of the police squad climbed to the top of the staircase, and their heads and pistol-wielding hands began to appear above the floor. This was finally the end. Golden Mask finally made an astonishing decision. He would attempt the impossible. He firmly grasped one end of the roof with both hands and, with gymnastic precision, hoisted himself onto the rooftop in an inverted climb. But this roof was like a sheer cliff—a pointed hat shape. Not a single foothold or handhold existed anywhere, and moreover, it loomed at a dizzying height of 150 feet.

A grueling, pitiful struggle. He began pivoting inch by inch while inverted like a flat spider, clinging to the slippery roof surface. Using his palms, abdomen, and toes to anchor himself against constant slippage, he painstakingly shifted direction until his head finally faced the summit. It was an acrobatic feat none had ever dared attempt. To the distant crowd below, he resembled an uncanny golden gecko.

Now that he had turned around began the agonizing crawl toward the summit—a peristaltic struggle against gravity itself. At a pace barely distinguishable from stillness, yet he advanced steadily upward. An inch... two inches... three... until finally one foot... two feet... Just one more stretch and his fingers would graze the metal pillar crowning the peak—ah, just one more reach! The crowd below, though witnessing a villain’s plight, collectively held their breath, palms slick with sweat. Precisely then—his legs faltered beneath oily perspiration’s slick betrayal. A gasp escaped him as his body slid catastrophically downward. A collective scream surged from the throng below. The golden figure—balance shattered—tumbled inexorably toward oblivion. “It’s over,” reality declared. Many spectators squeezed shut their eyes; others averted their faces entirely.

But what incredible tenacity! The fiend held firm at the final moment. His entire body rippled visibly from the effort, discernible even from the ground. And after taking a brief respite, he began squirming toward the peak once more. At last, at last, his right hand grasped the pillar at the summit. If he could just secure a handhold, there would be no more danger. Using that pillar as his fulcrum, he thrust himself upright into the 150-foot void. A gallant golden figure in the sky. A strange sentiment indeed. The crowd, seeing the thief had reached safety, finally let out a relieved breath.

During this daring feat, the police squad beneath the roof could only clamor futilely. No matter how brave they were, the police officers had no energy to climb this steeply sloped roof. This was beyond human capability. But even if they tried to threaten him with their pistols, the roof’s overhang obstructed them, making it impossible to even see the thief. A theory was proposed to build a makeshift scaffold from the top room and arrest the thief, but the thief had a pistol in his pocket. If they built a scaffold and stuck their heads even slightly beyond the roof’s overhang, they would immediately receive a pistol greeting from above. No matter how skilled the craftsman, there wasn’t a soul who would take on such perilous work.

After much debate, they ultimately descended to the ground, resolved to aim their firearms from there and subdue the thief through sheer firepower. Borrowing matchlock guns brought by nearby volunteers and rifles from the military police, they aligned over a dozen barrels and repeatedly fired blanks in attempts to intimidate—yet it had no effect whatsoever. From the sky, only the thief’s eerie, high-pitched laughter rained down distantly. What audacity! He was cackling in this utterly hopeless predicament. It was so uncanny that one couldn’t help but harbor the bizarre suspicion: Could this truly be a human made of flesh and blood?

The only remaining course of action was to patiently maintain the siege and wait for him to either surrender from sheer exhaustion or fall to the ground.

Amid the commotion, night fell completely. The Golden Mask's radiance vanished as well, and the colossal tower could only be seen dimly. The searchlight atop the tower emitted no light tonight of all nights. It was because the attendants were too frightened to climb up.

At the base of the tower clustered the lanterns of police and youth groups, their siege formation fully deployed. Among the crowd were those who had resolved to stay through the night, purchasing provisions and settling in for prolonged vigilance. This likely marked an unprecedented event since the police force's founding. Given its location at Tokyo's very heart, it dwarfed even the notorious Onikuma incident of prior years. Profit-driven newspaper companies stirred such commotion over a lone thief that they rushed out special editions. Consequently, rumors of this phantom criminal spread across all Tokyo - citizens already unnerved by Golden Mask's eerie legends now found themselves shuddering before an entirely new terror.

An hour after sunset had passed when a peculiar unease began welling up in people's chests. Was the monster still in its original position? No laughter could be heard anymore. Through the darkened sky, it proved impossible to make out any human figure smaller than a bean. Yet despite there being nowhere to flee, something about the pitch darkness made people strangely timid. With the enemy's form completely invisible, they found themselves unbearably anxious.

At that point, one police officer came up with a clever idea. Within the exposition grounds, there was another searchlight installed outside this tower. It was still active now, casting a white beam into the night sky. The proposal was to fix this searchlight on the tower’s roof and keep the thief illuminated throughout the night. Of course, everyone agreed to it, and immediately the arrangements were made.

Before long, an intense circular beam caused the entire tower roof to stand out sharply against the dark sky. The crowd strained their eyes and looked at the pillar at the summit. At that instant, a thunderous cry of astonishment erupted. At the tower’s summit, an utterly unexpected catastrophe occurred. It was not that the thief’s figure vanished. The Golden gecko was clinging to the rooftop as before. But... but... Ah! What is this? The crowd, utterly stunned by the unexpected turn of events, remained staring skyward in dumbfounded bewilderment.

A Hanged Corpse in the Sky

The thousands of people surrounding the Industrial Tower could not forget, for a long time afterward, the strikingly impressive and beautiful yet bizarre spectacle upon the spire—appearing like a white mirage within the searchlight’s harsh glare. From the golden rod atop the roof hung dangling and swaying left and right like the pendulum of a colossal clock—the Golden gecko—its mask resembling a gilded Buddha statue—with a profusion of fresh blood glittering fiercely around its mouth.

Cornered atop the tower and driven into a dead end, the monster chose death rather than surrender in disgrace. He, still clad in his golden mask and golden robes, fastened the leather belt he wore to the rod at the summit and achieved a resplendent death by hanging worthy of a warrior from the demon realm. He vomited blood from his face to his chest and, overwhelmed by agony, thrashed about like a clock’s pendulum. “He’s dead!” “He’s gone for good.” From the mouths of thousands in the crowd, the same words resounded as a roar. Did they feel relief at this demon’s death? No, no—that wasn’t it. They were struck by intense disappointment. This golden hero’s all-too-abrupt death—a sigh of anguish.

A squad of police officers immediately rushed up the tower, but they—being no monsters—lacked the ability to climb to the roof without scaffolding. No, the roof’s overhang obstructed their view, making it impossible to even see the golden hanged corpse. What were they panicking about? The proper procedure would have been to first send someone running to call a scaffolder to build a platform before rushing up.

“Someone, run to the exposition’s construction office and tell them to bring scaffolding materials and a scaffolder!” When the inspector issued the command, a tall man wearing an exposition employee’s uniform and cap emerged from the dark corner and mumbled something.

“I will go and fetch them.” The words came through clearly enough, yet there was something unnervingly inhuman about the voice. However, not a single person noticed this at the time. “Ah, so you had climbed up here too.” “You’re the searchlight operator, aren’t you?” “Yes.” “Then go make a quick run there and come back.”

The searchlight operator flew down the spiral staircase. The remaining police officers stood idle and irritable, but when they suddenly noticed, a pistol was glinting by the searchlight operator’s toolbox. “Ah, he must’ve dropped the pistol here.” One police officer picked it up and showed it to everyone. “Nothin’.” “So when he climbed up to the roof, he didn’t have the pistol.” “We didn’t need to be nervous at all.”

Another police officer muttered.

“Hey, this is strange.” The police officer who had been twisting the pistol around said in a shrill voice. “Hey, gentlemen! This pistol that’s had us so scared—you know what? It’s a toy!” Upon examining it, it was indeed a toy pistol. The thief had taken a prop pistol from the theater’s backstage and brandished it as though it were real.

A low laugh arose among the police officers. But that laughter, tinged with awkwardness, soon died out. When they considered how dozens of officers had been so thoroughly toyed with by this single toy pistol, the sheer absurdity and bitter frustration left no room for laughter.

Since the scaffolder was taking too long to arrive, another police officer ran to the office. And finally, the scaffolding was completed about an hour after that.

The task of retrieving the thief’s corpse fell to a spirited firefighter named Kumesan from the jurisdiction—a master of ladder work. True to his profession, Kumesan climbed up the steeply sloped roof without any sign of difficulty. On the scaffolding jutting out beneath the roof, two scaffolders stood ready to receive the corpse. When the long-awaited scaffolding was finally completed and the local favorite Kumesan appeared within the searchlight’s circle of light, the crowd on the ground erupted in a thunderous cheer.

A giant white pointed hat floating in the dark sky—Kumesan, who resembled a black lizard—appeared like a scene from a motion picture as he crawled upward toward the golden gecko dangling at the summit. Kumesan finally reached the summit. A hand grasped Golden Mask’s corpse. But then—what was this? Had this firefighter gone mad? No sooner had he detached the golden corpse from its leather belt than he swung it lightly once and hurled it downward from that 150-foot height toward the ground.

The golden garment fluttered glitteringly like a strange firework, departed from the searchlight’s circular beam, and fell through the darkness like a meteor to the ground before the crowd’s eyes.

As soon as it fell, with a resounding shout, police officers and youth group lanterns swarmed around it. One police officer strode over, picked up the golden garment, and whirled it around. It was only natural that Kumesan had hurled it down. There was nothing inside this Golden Mask and golden garment. In other words, the thief had created a scarecrow using the mask and garment, pretended to hang himself, and escaped somewhere. Inside the core of the mask and garment, the jacket, pants, shirt, and such that the thief had been wearing were rolled up and tied.

A strange voice. The thief had managed to escape. But from where? Why? It was impossible. Around the tower stood a human wall; beneath the staircase, police officers kept watch. Unless he had wings, no monster—no matter how formidable—could have slipped through this iron cordon. Suspecting he might be hiding inside, they scoured every corner of the tower but found not a trace. With all search methods exhausted, the police officers stood blankly at the tower's stairway base.

“Moreover, he had to escape completely naked.” “Because he’d used all the clothes he was wearing—even his shirt—as stuffing for the scarecrow.”

“It’s strange.” “With a crowd this size, even if it’s night, there’s no way they’d overlook a completely naked man!”

“Hey, he might’ve gotten his hands on a disguise costume!”

One of the police officers said something strange. It was the man who had discovered the toy pistol earlier.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Another officer, startled, stared at his counterpart’s face.

“He might have been completely naked when he descended from the roof to the top room. But once he reached the top room, there was a tailor-made disguise costume waiting right there.”

“Where?” “It’s inside the searchlight operator’s toolbox. Isn’t it perfectly reasonable that an exposition staff’s uniform was kept inside there?”

“It’s just conjecture. Unless we verify it…” “Unless we verify it…” “Check?” “Of course.” “Look there—the searchlight operator has come over.” “Just ask him and we’ll know immediately.” “Hey you—you’re the searchlight operator here, right?” “Yes.”

The uniformed man opposite answered.

“In the toolbox in the searchlight room—didn’t you have your change of clothes or something in there?” “No, it’s not mine, but there’s another man’s uniform and cap inside.” “That man—” “He’s taking the day off due to illness.” Somehow, the story had taken a bizarre turn. “Then who was it that went to call the workman from the top of the tower earlier? It wasn’t you, was it?”

“No, I have never once gone up the tower.” “Ah, perhaps… Anyway, let’s check that toolbox.”

A police officer rushed up the tower as if dragging the searchlight operator. When they opened the toolbox, sure enough, the uniform and cap that should have been there had vanished. Indeed, indeed—the audacious phantom thief had once again mocked the police officers and the crowd, skillfully exploiting a blind spot in their vigilance. Disguising himself as none other than the searchlight operator himself, he had slipped through their tight encirclement with consummate ease. In Golden Mask’s dictionary, the word 'impossible' likely did not exist.

Immediately, the police officers and youth group scattered in all directions and conducted an exhaustive search of the grounds, but it was naturally too late. That agile monster couldn’t have been loitering in the dangerous grounds for over an hour. After more than half a day of grueling effort, the police officers had finally cornered the monster atop the tower, only to let it slip away at the last moment; in their bitter frustration, they stamped their feet and lamented. They searched for anyone who might have remembered the face of the thief disguised as a searchlight operator, but given that it was a dimly lit room atop the tower—and upon later reflection, since the monster had kept his cap pulled low and tended to look downward suspiciously—combined with the fact that not a single person had ever dreamed of suspecting him to be the thief, no one had paid particular attention to observing his face closely. All that remained in their memory was that he had been an exceptionally tall man with indistinct pronunciation.

“No wonder things felt off,” said the patrolman who had rushed to summon the workman a second time. “When I went to the construction office earlier, they told me nobody had come to inform them yet—everyone looked utterly baffled.” The thief disguised as a searchlight operator had naturally never visited any office. The next morning saw every newspaper nationwide—down to provincial publications—splashing sensational headlines about the unprecedented spectacle at Ueno Exposition. Though slightly blurred, photographs of Kumesan scaling scaffolding toward the spire achieved what one might call full newspaper impact. It set readers across the country buzzing like swarming bees.

However, the citizens of Tokyo could not read those articles with mere curiosity. Golden Mask, which until now had been nothing more than a modern-day ghost story, finally revealed itself—and in the most unthinkable place, before the massive crowd at the Exposition—to pull off an eerily audacious feat. Moreover, the monster who effortlessly escaped an encirclement by dozens of police officers was undoubtedly lurking somewhere in the city.

The fact that what lay hidden beneath the Golden Mask—the thief’s true identity—remained utterly unknown terrified people all the more. Moreover, sensitive readers found themselves unable to forget a passage so eerie it sent shivers down one’s spine—contained within a certain inspector’s statement in the newspaper articles. The passage in question was: “The thief disguised as a searchlight operator had no memorable features aside from his height, but when they heard that guy’s voice—the single phrase he spoke at the time—they were struck by an indescribably strange feeling.” “The words were extremely ambiguous, but more than that, the tone of his voice—how should I put it—did not seem like something that could have come from the mouth of a human being like us.” …”

What did this mean in the first place? The terrifyingly expressionless Golden Mask; arm strength as brazenly precise as a steel machine; and on top of it all, this uncanny voice. There was no way a lifeless automaton could move about so freely—and yet...

Would the monster fall silent merely after stealing the great pearl “Shima no Joō”? No, no—that was unthinkable. He would undoubtedly reappear in that eerie form somewhere without fail. When? Where? And what? It was by no means certain that his targets were always limited to treasures. Might he not wield that superhuman, invincible strength of his to plot some horrific murder? Those of a nervous disposition turned deathly pale merely by suddenly thinking of it and could not help but tremble in great terror, with no means of defense.

Princess Miko

The terror of Tokyo’s citizens was justified, yet also unfounded.

That is to say, the phantom thief did indeed plot another heinous crime—one so dreadful to hear of—mere days later. The location? None other than the grand villa of the Washio marquis family, nestled deep in the Nikkō Mountains, far removed from Tokyo—a testament to his uncanny ability to appear anywhere.

Marquis Washio was a daimyo aristocrat of a northern domain; though his main residence stood in Tokyo, Masatoshi—the current head of the house—so favored his villa at Lake C in the Nikkō Mountains that he dwelled there nearly year-round. Such was his devotion that he had even built within its grounds a small art museum to house his renowned passion: antique artworks.

Nineteen-year-old Princess Miko, the Marquis’s only child—those who had encountered her appearance in women’s magazines or photographic pictorials could not help but be enraptured by her gaze: a dreamlike thing brimming with indescribable innocence and a mysterious allure.

That day, Princess Miko leaned against the study window, gazing out at the slumbering lake spread below while lost in thought.

Her thoughts lingered on Mr. Chisaki, her betrothed lord pursuing studies in distant foreign lands. Mr. Chisaki—the noble orphan left by the Marquis’s late biological sister—would soon complete his education in the British capital and return home to formally wed Princess Miko. Visions floated before her eyes: Mr. Chisaki’s gallant figure in cricket matches from photographs he had sent abroad; the famed boat races at his university; and hazy impressions of the European continent, permeated with the aromatic scents of Western liquors and tobaccos.

Yet what weighed most heavily on her mind was today’s visit by Count Rougel, the French Ambassador—who had made the long journey by car from Tokyo to view Father the Marquis’s collection of ancient artworks. Entertaining a Western person—and one holding such an important position as an ambassador—was my first experience. I mustn’t do anything odd and be laughed at. But there was an even greater concern beyond that. That is to say, there were rumors that the abominable phantom thief Golden Mask had been loitering near the estate these past two or three days. No—it was more than mere rumors. In fact, as many as three villagers from nearby hamlets had seen that chillingly expressionless golden face in the woods—or so they claimed.

A man in a suit loitered right outside the wall beneath her eyes. Those were plainclothes detectives sent over from the police—one, two, three at just the front gate alone. The back gate had the same number; moreover within the estate grounds, including a certain Inspector Namikaze who had specifically come from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, there were nearly ten people in total. But given that Golden Mask was such an audacious villain—calmly escaping even when surrounded by thousands—could this level of security truly suffice? We of the Washio family must not resign ourselves to disaster. If anything were to happen to Count Rougel’s person, it would become a major issue with repercussions on international relations. Marquis Washio had proposed postponing the ambassador’s visit out of concern for potential risks; however, Count Rougel—a veteran warrior who had fought in World War I and been reported killed during the Champagne campaigns—dismissed such trifles as a “charming Japanese thief” and refused to alter today’s schedule. Thus this heavy security within the estate grounds had been arranged by Father the Marquis to protect the ambassador’s person.

It was Koyuki, Princess Miko’s favorite maid, who suddenly rushed in with a deathly pale face. She was twenty years old, one year younger than the Princess. She was the daughter of a house of former senior vassals to the marquis family, having served as the Princess’s maid since the age of seventeen—a relationship where they sometimes spoke to each other like friends. “Young Mistress, I—oh, oh—I’ve never experienced anything so terrifying.” “What should I do? What should I do?” “What should I do?” “Oh, Koyuki, what’s the matter?” “I went deep into the hillside garden just now to look for fresh flowers for your room.”

“Yes, and then?” “I happened to glance into that dimly lit forest.” “Yes?”

“Young Mistress,” Koyuki said in a trembling voice, as if whispering, “I saw it… That…” “Golden…”

Princess Miko shuddered and involuntarily stood up.

“Golden Mask…” “Did you truly witness it?” “Yes… From deep within the forest thicket… It appeared he was laughing through that crescent-shaped mouth.” “And did you inform Lord Washio?”

“I reported it both to My Lord and to the officials from the Metropolitan Police Department.” “The officials from the Metropolitan Police Department are currently inspecting behind the artificial hill.”

Under terror that made their hearts go numb, the two of them exchanged utterly terrified glances and remained frozen in silence—until at last the Princess murmured, as if to herself. "What on earth could he be plotting there? Is it theft he’s after, or is there some more terrible purpose beyond that?" Poor Princess Miko, unaware that the monster Golden Mask and her own fate were connected in some terrifying way, could only tremble with vague terror, her lips drained of color.

At that moment, Father the Marquis came into view. “Ah, Father!” “Did Koyuki talk?” The Marquis took in the situation and spoke as if scolding the talkative maid. “Father, have the police caught him?” “No. I had them search every last corner, but there’s no trace of him anywhere.” “Because Koyuki was so frightened, she must have seen an illusion.” Even so, the Marquis could not conceal a sliver of unease.

“Absolutely not, My Lord.” “It was no illusion or anything of the sort!” “I am by no means such a coward!”

Dismissing Koyuki’s protests, the Marquis changed the subject. “Miko, there isn’t much time left before our guest arrives.” “We must prepare to welcome our guest.” “But even though such a thing has infiltrated the estate grounds, is it truly appropriate for us to welcome our guest?” “I’m not unaware of that.” “However, there’s nothing we can do about it now.” “There has already been a call informing us that he left the embassy some time ago, and Count Rougel is a man of bold character.” “Moreover, even if he is a master thief,” “there’s no reason to think he’d go out of his way to cause trouble for an ambassador with whom he has no connection whatsoever.”

The Marquis declared emphatically, as if to console himself.

Small Art Museum

About an hour later, Count Rougel, the French Ambassador, accompanied by his secretary and interpreter, pulled up a large automobile bearing the embassy’s crest to the porte-cochère of Marquis Washio’s residence. There, he was welcomed by the Marquis, Princess Miko, steward Old Man Miyoshi, and the rest of the group before safely entering the Western-style grand hall. Count Rougel, having presented his credentials as the new ambassador in late February of that year, had attended an official welcoming banquet at the Imperial Hotel at the time—where Marquis Washio was also present—and today’s visit had been a long-delayed fulfillment of the promise made during that occasion. The Marquis and the Count were now meeting again after two months.

Count Rougel was, like other foreigners visiting this country—no, rather, even more so than most—an ardent lover of Japanese antiquities. Over these two months, during his leisure hours away from official duties, he had toured museums, shrines, and temples in Kyoto and Nara, his days proving too short for fully appreciating Eastern art. Yet finding such public spaces insufficient to satisfy him, he resolved to view privately held masterpieces—famous paintings and Buddhist statues preserved by distinguished families—and thus the Washio Marquisate was selected as the first stop on his itinerary.

The art museum stood apart from the main house—a newly constructed two-story concrete building spanning over 100 tsubo. First, steward Old Man Miyoshi used his key to open the large entrance door; then the procession filed in—the Marquis leading, followed by the ambassador’s party, Princess Miko, and Old Man Miyoshi himself. The storehouse-style structure, with its small windows, required electric lights to illuminate the interior even at midday. A high ceiling arched overhead. The air held a clammy chill, faintly scented with insecticide. Grotesque Buddhist statues stood in rows alongside armor that seemed poised to stir into motion at any moment—an array of swords and picture scrolls that traversed a thousand years of dreams completed the collection. The place exuded an indefinable chill.

Marquis Washio, leading the procession, could not help but feel an uncanny terror the moment he set foot into the art museum. The suspicious entity that Koyuki had reportedly seen earlier and the eerie Buddha statues jutting up rigidly throughout the hall combined to form a bizarre association that menaced him. Could it be that the phantom thief had been lying in wait for this very moment of the distinguished guest’s visit? I don’t know by what means. But isn’t he plotting to steal the treasures from inside the art museum by exploiting this opening?

When he thought this, the Marquis grew so preoccupied with the dimly lit corners that even his responses to the Count began tending toward negligence.

But Count Rougel was an unexpectedly superb connoisseur. He was well-versed in the art history of Japan and China, and his critiques delivered through the interpreter not only struck at the heart of each matter—what most delighted the Marquis was how the Count lingered longest before the Fujiwara-era polychrome Buddhist painting *Enmaten-zo*, a priceless treasure deemed irreplaceable even for millions in currency, and the contemporaneous gilt-wood seated statue of Amida Nyorai, appearing unable to hide his covetous admiration.

The group gradually proceeded and reached the foot of the staircase leading to the second floor. In the triangular shadow behind those stairs, there was something so startling one couldn’t help but gasp upon suddenly noticing it—a life-sized gilded Buddha statue from a relatively recent era, brilliantly golden. It emitted an uncanny radiance under the dim electric light, jutting up rigidly. Princess Miko had been staring fixedly at the gilded Buddha statue in the far corner since entering the art museum. A golden face… a golden robe… She was utterly terrified by the startling delusion that perhaps that statue was alive.

As they drew closer, it even seemed that the Buddha statue—as large as a giant man—was furtively, furtively breathing beneath its gilded surface. Ah! At any moment—at any moment—that gentle mouth would twist sharply into a crescent moon shape, spewing thread-like streams of blood as it began to grin mockingly. The thought sent a shiver crawling over her skin, and she felt an impulse to scream suddenly at the top of her lungs. Even Marquis Washio, though not to the same extent as his daughter, was tormented by the same thought. He brought his face close to the gilded Buddha statue and glared at it with piercing, terrifying eyes—but then suddenly reached out and grabbed the statue’s arm with all his strength. Because he thought that perhaps it was lukewarm and soft like a living human’s arm.

“Ahahaha…” Count Rougel burst into laughter upon sensing the Marquis’s state of mind. “So the thief called ‘Golden Mask’ remains uncaught, I see.” “No doubt the scoundrel has a face like this Buddha statue.” “Exactly so, Marquis!” he snapped. The Marquis, made acutely self-conscious by the ambassador’s remark about his overly timid act, quietly withdrew his hand.

At that very moment. Suddenly, from Princess Miko’s mouth burst a scream like tearing silk. The people were caught off guard and jumped up. The Princess’s eyes—opened so wide they might burst—were nailed to the small window behind the gilded Buddha statue; her complexion was paper-white, teetering on the brink of collapse. When they looked, there at the small window was a strange human face. The figure had instantly ducked out of sight, but there was no mistaking it—someone had been spying on the ambassador’s party. Moreover, it was a completely unfamiliar, bizarre figure—neither one of the mansion’s servants nor any of the police officers on alert.

The Marquis suddenly flew over to the small window and opened the glass door. A figure fleeing as though sliding along the eaves. A tall figure with long, girlish hair, wearing a black cotton kimono bearing a family crest and black serge hakama—an indescribably bizarre appearance.

“You there, wait a moment!” When the Marquis shouted, the man spun around sharply and, grinning slyly, gave a bow—a figure both eerie and bizarre, with shoulder-length hair falling over a face covered in a beard like an Ainu chieftain’s.

“Who are you? What were you doing just now?” Before the fleeing man could respond to the Marquis’s interrogation, Old Man Miyoshi suddenly interjected from the side. “Mr. Kiba—when you go and do something like this, it really puts me in a bind! I cannot let you stay even one more day! …No—My Lord, I have no excuse. That man is actually…” “Understood, understood,” said the Marquis with relief when the mysterious figure’s identity became clear. “The teacher of your Tenrikyo faith, I take it? However, you should properly instruct him to ensure such blunders don’t recur.”

Old Man Miyoshi was an ardent believer of Tenrikyo, and missionary teachers on preaching tours would occasionally stay over at his residence within the estate grounds. Mr. Kiba was one such individual; though a stranger, he had brought a proper letter of introduction from the church, so Old Man Miyoshi had felt secure in letting him stay. When they asked why he had been peeking, he answered that he had wanted to catch a glimpse of His Excellency the new French Ambassador.

After that, there were no further incidents, and the ambassador’s party’s tour of the art collection concluded with complete satisfaction for both host and guests.

Phantom of the Bathhouse

Princess Miko had a nightly ritual of purifying her body in the bathhouse before entering her bed. Though tonight’s hosting duties for the ambassador’s overnight guests had pushed her bedtime far later than usual, the strain of attending to such distinguished visitors—compounded by the terror of Golden Mask—had left her utterly exhausted in both body and spirit. For the sake of calming her nerves, she could not bring herself to forgo her bath.

It was already past midnight when Princess Miko, assisted by her maid Koyuki, took off her kimono and immersed herself in the marble bathtub.

The dazzling electric light reflected off pure white marble. With stalwart Koyuki standing guard holding a large towel—even deep into night at this bathhouse—the Princess relaxed freely as warm water seeped into her skin. Her creamy white skin lay flatly afloat within transparent water. Like countless women before her—entranced by my own body’s beauty—the Princess lingered. This shameful awareness of my skin’s uncanny allure soon melted into wordless longing for distant Chisaki across foreign shores.

Entranced in thought, the Princess suddenly grew frightened by the midnight silence that seemed to assault her. When she turned around to speak to Koyuki, the maid’s figure had vanished—gone without a trace. Where could she have gone? She must have gone to fetch a change of nightclothes. Even as she waited eagerly, Koyuki did not return.

When she strained her ears, there came drifting through the dead silence of the night—faintly, faintly, barely perceptible—the cries of night birds from the back mountain. In the bath, the Princess shuddered with goosebumps, her frightened eyes involuntarily fixed on the window opening onto the garden. She felt as though she could even hear someone stealthily approaching beyond the frosted glass door. Not only could she not leave the bathtub, but even moving her body in the water felt daunting. Pressing a hand against her pounding chest as she crouched motionless—ah! What was this? The window door creaked open inch by inch of its own accord.

It was a hallucination. If not, she must be seeing a nightmare. She prayed that if this were a dream, she would wake—but instead of waking, the gap in the door widened inexorably, and through it, along with the cold night air rushing in, the pitch-black void peered inward like a living thing. The Princess could not move; her throat had closed up, and she lacked even the strength to make a sound. But her eyes remained fixed on the gap in the door as if pulled by invisible threads. Ah—at any moment now—that expressionless golden face would peer through the pitch-black gap. It was certain to peer through. As if her trembling heart had materialized into form, from that very spot did the Golden Mask—its crescent-moon-shaped mouth twisted in a grin—appear with a swift motion.

In that instant, half-conscious, the Princess smiled involuntarily at the Golden Mask monster as though he were a dear friend. Had extreme terror—a fear so profound she could neither cry out nor scream—finally driven her to laughter?

The monster, as if lured by the Princess’s mysterious smile, climbed over the window and strode purposefully into the bathhouse. His face was the Golden Mask; the back of his head lay completely wrapped in black cloth. He wore the familiar loose-fitting golden coat. The Princess sensed mortal danger. Hurry, hurry—she had to get away! In a desperate struggle to regain her fading consciousness. With great effort, she managed to get out of the bathtub and, forgetting her maidenly modesty, staggered toward the door stark naked.

But Golden Mask was swift as a swallow. Before the Princess had even halfway run, he was already blocking the door. When she looked, in the monster’s right hand was a sharp dagger he had hidden under his golden mantle, gleaming menacingly. The stark-naked Princess, her blush-inducing nudity, and the monster aglow in gold from head to toe—an utterly bizarre standoff. Once again, the monster laughed—a grin stretching across his entire face with those crescent-moon-shaped lips. In the blink of an eye, the golden mantle flared open. He pounced in a single leap, pinning down the Princess’s white mass of flesh.

The monster took aim at the Princess’s ample bosom and raised the dagger overhead. The frail woman’s desperate struggle in her death throes. The Princess’s hands, thrashing wildly, struck the face of the monster bearing down upon her with a metallic clang. In that impact—somehow—the Golden Mask slipped off! The monster let out a sharp cry and swiftly readjusted his mask, but in that split second, the Princess had plainly seen the monster’s true identity. “You!”

The Princess’s scream of shock and hatred.

The monster swung down the dagger in a frenzy. The needle-like tip sliced through pure white skin. Spurting blood, a choked gasp, and pale fingers clawing at empty air...

At that very moment, Marquis Washio and Count Rougel, not yet retired to bed, were engrossed in an art discussion that had continued from dinner. Both the secretary and the interpreter were present, acting as listeners.

Into this gathering came tumbling in, quite rudely, the maid Koyuki.

“My Lord, something terrible has happened. Princess Miko was stabbed in the chest… in the bathhouse…” Both host and guest turned pale and sprang to their feet. The Marquis left his guest behind and rushed to the bathhouse under Koyuki’s guidance. A student who had heard the commotion followed after them. When they arrived at the bathhouse, Princess Miko lay dead in the marble bathtub, half-submerged and thrown backward as if clutching at empty air. Between her voluptuously high breasts stood a magnificent dagger with a golden hilt plunged straight down. From the wound gushed a beautiful deep crimson fountain in thick, pulsing streams.

The Marquis approached the bathtub still in his slippers and, embracing the Princess’s corpse,

“Hey, call Miyoshi!” “And notify Inspector Namikaze as well.” he commanded.

The student ran.

Before long, with Inspector Namikaze leading the way, nearly everyone in the household—police officers, servants, and all—gathered at the murder scene.

Upon investigation, they found that Princess Miko’s heart had been gouged out, leaving her utterly lifeless. There was nothing more to be done. How had the dagger been stolen? It was Marquis Washio’s treasured Spanish-made one that had been kept in the study. The thief’s point of entry was not outside the bathhouse window facing the garden. Inspector Namikaze led his subordinates into the garden and, following a single set of geta footprints, thoroughly searched from the depths of the garden to beyond the wall—but found nothing. The geta footprints vanished into hard ground about five ken (approximately nine meters) from the window, leaving no way to determine the thief’s escape route.

Even Marquis Washio, normally unflappable, was so distraught by his only daughter’s unnatural demise that he forgot about the important guest Count Rougel and his entourage, gave no thought to necessary arrangements, and clung desperately to the beautiful Princess’s lifeless form as he wept bitterly. But when Inspector Namikaze and his men returned from their fruitless search and called off the investigation, he finally regained his composure. Realizing he had no choice but to rely on his seasoned steward Miyoshi’s wisdom in such circumstances, he looked for the old man among the servants—yet strangely, not even a shadow of Miyoshi could be found.

“Miyoshi—where is Miyoshi?” In response to the Marquis’s voice, Old Man Miyoshi’s wife timidly showed her face. “Miyoshi seems rather strange.” “And also Mr. Kiba, who is staying at the house.” “Both of them are lying in the same room, snoring away, and no matter how much we try to wake them, they won’t open their eyes.” “Could someone please come take a look…” “Sleeping, you say? “That’s strange.” The idea of an anesthetic flashed through the Marquis’s head. “Inspector Namikaze, could you take a look at this?”

When Inspector Namikaze rushed to Old Man Miyoshi’s quarters and looked inside, there in the innermost room lay the old man and a long-haired suspicious figure, using their arms as pillows as they snored away. Even when poked or struck, they remained utterly unresponsive—like dead men. It appeared they had drunk tea before falling asleep, as a tea set lay beneath their pillows. Undoubtedly, the thief had sneaked into the house’s kitchen and laced the tea set with anesthetic. But why on earth had he needed to put those two to sleep?

They tried various treatments, but perhaps the drug had been too potent—both men remained unconscious until daybreak.

Meanwhile, Count Rougel’s entourage, unable to remain in the wake of this unforeseen calamity, waited for dawn to break, left formal condolences for the Marquis, and withdrew to Tokyo in their large emblem-adorned automobile.

The A・L Symbol Inspector Namikaze frantically tried to grasp either the motive behind this inexplicable atrocity or some clue about the perpetrator before court officials arrived in the morning. Once again meticulously examining footprints, searching for fingerprints on the dagger, interrogating Koyuki about the Princess's daily life—no sooner would he become engrossed in one task than he'd rush off to comb through every corner of Old Man Miyoshi's residence—he devoted himself to detective work until around eight o'clock. By the time the local police chief arrived from a distant town, he appeared before the Marquis alongside the chief with a somewhat triumphant expression, having seemingly gathered several pieces of physical evidence.

“Is Mr. Kiba, the Tenrikyo teacher staying at steward Miyoshi’s house, someone you are acquainted with?” The inspector asked with pointed significance.

“No, yesterday was the first time I saw him.” “Miyoshi also seems unfamiliar with the man.” “However, since he had a proper letter of introduction from the church, we allowed him to stay.” “Then, may I proceed to summon that man here and question him?” “By all means—I myself had thought that man was rather a strange fellow.” Thereupon, the long-haired, long-bearded suspicious figure who had finally awoken from the anesthetic was led out to this temporary courtroom. “Where were you around midnight last night?”

After Inspector Namikaze had inquired about the temporary defendant’s address, name, and other details, he loosed his first measured volley.

“A little before twelve, I was having tea with Mr. Miyoshi.” “After that, as you are aware, I know nothing.” “I can only wonder why the culprit needed to put someone like me to sleep.”

“You claim you drank tea before twelve,” “But neither Mr. Miyoshi nor his wife remember the exact time.” “Mr. Miyoshi states he returned to the mansion around twelve o’clock.” “That would mean we must conclude you had tea well past midnight.” “I don’t have a precise memory either—but supposing it were past twelve, what would that signify?”

“Before you fell asleep from the anesthetic you put in yourself, there was time to sneak into the bathhouse.” “That’s what it means.” “In other words, are you saying I’m the one who harmed the young lady?” “And do you have any proof?” Kiba stated calmly. “Hey! You still think you’re safe just because we haven’t found evidence yet?” “That won’t fly.” “First evidence: your magnolia-wood geta.” “Nobody else in this mansion wears geta with magnolia teeth.” “Yet the footprints outside the bathhouse window match yours perfectly.”

The long-haired man offered no defense. Not only that, but he even appeared to be greatly shocked by this irrefutable evidence.

“That’s not all.” “There is more conclusive evidence.” Inspector Namikaze seized the moment to tower over him. “Look at this!” “This golden toy was discovered in your luggage.”

In the inspector’s hand was a golden mask and a golden cloak. It was the phantom thief Golden Mask’s costume. So—was this man the monster that had been terrorizing society all along? When Kiba saw this, his astonishment only deepened. After remaining silent and lost in thought for some time, “Ah… There’s no helping it.” he murmured with a sigh, then abruptly leaned close to Inspector Namikaze’s ear and whispered something.

A look of astonishment flashed across the inspector’s face.

“Lies…! “Lies…!” He growled like a petulant child.

“Inspector Namikaze, you’ve finally gotten in my way. If you doubt me so much, then look at this.” No sooner had Kiba put his hand to his head than he suddenly tore off his long hair and threw it away, then proceeded to pluck off all the beard covering his face. What appeared from beneath was, “Ah, Akechi-kun.” “I never imagined it was your disguise.”

Inspector Namikaze cried out.

To everyone's astonishment, the one who had appeared as a Tenrikyo missionary was none other than amateur detective Akechi Kogorō.

The assembled people felt no small interest in this dramatic scene. Anyone who read newspapers knew of the famous detective Akechi Kogorō. Even Marquis Washio was no exception to this. Inspector Namikaze, as if he had completely forgotten his recent blunder, introduced his illustrious friend with a touch of pride.

“But Akechi-san, that you were drugged at the crucial moment was a bit of an oversight, wasn’t it?” The local police chief spoke sarcastically, lacing his words with resentment.

“Yes, but even Sherlock Holmes would likely have made the same mistake as I did. Why? Because last night, something nearly impossible occurred. If my imagination is not mistaken, an incident without precedent in all of history has occurred. I find it so terrifying to even put into words. Of course, even I haven’t yet fully grasped the truth.”

Akechi said something enigmatic with a genuinely fearful expression. “By that logic, you seem to know last night’s culprit.” The Police Chief, misinterpreting Akechi’s cryptic words as an attempt to hide embarrassment, persisted with sarcasm. “When you say ‘last night’s culprit,’ do you mean the perpetrator of the young lady’s murder?”

“It goes without saying.” The obtuse police chief, remaining oblivious to the hidden meaning behind Akechi’s question, nodded. “Probably, I know.” “What I mean by ‘probably’ is… Inspector Namikaze, what are the results of last night’s search?”

“Nothing,” Inspector Namikaze replied. “Unless you yourself are the culprit—” “Precisely,” Akechi countered. “Which means I can now declare plainly: this criminal is the very person I’ve been pursuing these past few days.” “Mr. Akechi,” the Marquis interjected, his voice fraying at the edges, “who is this man? Give me his name this instant!” The Marquis’s demand sliced through the room like a blade.

“No, Marquis—before that, there’s an issue nearly as grave as your daughter’s death for you.” “I want to verify it at once.” “That would mean… Ah, could you be…” “Yes—your art collection comparable to national treasures.” “Why would such varied crimes overlap and erupt precisely during the ambassador’s visit?” “Might the thief have waited for yesterday’s rare opening of the art museum’s great door for the ambassador’s party?” “As proof, for instance—”

“For example?” “For instance, why Mr. Miyoshi was compelled to ingest the anesthetic.” “Pardon my frankness, but Mrs. Miyoshi is an elderly lady both blind and deaf.” “While Mr. Miyoshi slept, the thief could extract the art museum’s key from its concealed cupboard and stealthily restore it afterward.” “Had the thief lacked prior knowledge of that hidden compartment, he’d have needed to await an occasion like yesterday—when the museum opened—to verify its location.”

“Akechi-san, please come here. “Let’s take another look at the art collection.” When it came to ancient art, Marquis Washio—who became like a fanatic on the subject—had already turned pale with worry and urged Akechi forward. The Marquis received the key from Old Man Miyoshi and, accompanied by Akechi, Inspector Namikaze, and the Local Police Chief, entered the art museum. However, after walking around once and looking, they found no items missing.

“Akechi-san, that was a bit of unnecessary worry, wasn’t it?” The Marquis let out a sigh of relief and said. “But Marquis, what about this Buddha statue?” “It is a wooden carved Amida Nyorai statue from the Fujiwara period.” “No, what I mean is…” Akechi Kogorō had been staring at the Buddha statue for a long time when he suddenly clenched his fist and struck the side of its face. “Hey! What are you doing? You! Have you lost your mind?”

When the Marquis ran up in a rage, the Buddha statue had already slipped off the pedestal and shattered into pieces on the hard concrete floor.

“Marquis, look. Is this supposed to be a wooden statue from the Fujiwara period?”

Upon closer inspection, it was unmistakably a plaster counterfeit.

Ah, what a splendid counterfeit! How had the thief managed to prepare such a plaster statue without anyone noticing? The Marquis remembered that when he had guided the ambassador yesterday, it had certainly not been a counterfeit. Akechi casually picked up a fragment of plaster from the base of the Buddha statue and, while turning it over in his hands, discovered characters resembling the letters *A・L* scratched into its surface.

What on earth could the symbol A・L signify? Surely, the creator wouldn’t sign such a criminal counterfeit. In that case... Akechi seemed lost in thought, as if trying to dredge up some secret interpretation from his mind’s deepest recesses—but then, upon realizing something, even the renowned detective appeared struck by such profound shock and dread that his very countenance transformed utterly. The Marquis, for his part—overwhelmed by despair—had been staring blankly into space in silence, but then, as if somehow rallying himself, suddenly let out a hollow laugh,

“No, there’s no need to worry much about the treasures.” “It’s impossible to discreetly dispose of such items.” “Moreover, buyers won’t come forward so quickly.” “There will come a time when their whereabouts are discovered.” “But my daughter will never return......” Having trailed off, the Marquis appeared unable to contain his fury, “Akechi-san, you mentioned earlier that you know the one responsible for my daughter’s death.”

His tone was as sharp as an interrogation. “Yes, I know.” “It’s someone you know very well, Marquis.” “Who?” “What manner of man *is* he?”

The Marquis, forgetting his usual composure, closed in on the amateur detective.

Unbelievable! Unbelievable! “Who is it? Just who is he?” Driven by his beloved daughter’s gruesome death and the theft of irreplaceable treasures, Marquis Washio—having shed all vestiges of his feudal lord’s grandeur—lunged at Akechi Kogorō like a rabid dog. “There’s no need to hurry. He has absolutely no intention of escaping. Because he knows full well that staying put is safer.”

Akechi Kogorō answered calmly. The Marquis and everyone present looked at Akechi with puzzled expressions. What was he talking about? The culprit who committed theft and even murder had no intention of fleeing—how could such a preposterous story exist? This sentiment was etched across their faces. “There is absolutely no need for concern. “The culprit is as good as arrested. “I promise to have him surrendered within five minutes. “However, given these circumstances, I must ask everyone to withdraw to that room over there.”

To declare he would surrender the culprit within five minutes—what extraordinary confidence! Overwhelmed by the renowned detective’s extraordinary confidence, the people withdrew to the main house as instructed. At that moment, overwhelmed by shock and lulled into negligence by the belief that the theft was already over, both the Marquis and Old Man Miyoshi withdrew unsteadily to the main house without securing the art museum’s doors—eager to see the culprit as soon as possible—but this failure to lock up later became the cause of tremendous complications.

The place they had withdrawn to was none other than the spacious reception room where Akechi Kogorō himself had just undergone interrogation under suspicion of the young lady's murder. In one corner of the table lay the golden mask and golden mantle from earlier, left there with eerie stillness. None made any move to sit in the chairs. They simply wanted to see the culprit as soon as possible.

“You have three minutes left of the promised five.” Once again, the Police Chief spoke with unpleasant hostility. “Three minutes, you say? That’s a bit too long. Three minutes? Far from it—one minute, no, thirty seconds is plenty.” Akechi’s swift and satisfying retort. “You’re in no position to be joking.”

His friend Inspector Namikaze, having grown somewhat worried, whispered a caution. To attempt arresting that fiend Golden Mask in a mere thirty seconds—not even God could accomplish such a feat. “Your Excellency, would you be so kind as to summon the maid in attendance on your daughter here?”

Akechi ignored Inspector Namikaze’s warning and addressed Marquis Washio. “Do you have business with Koyuki?” “We’ve already asked that woman everything there is to ask.” The Marquis was wary of Akechi’s capabilities. The magician-like assertion about thirty seconds somewhat grated on his nerves. “I made a promise to surrender the culprit.” “That is absolutely necessary for this matter.” “Then…” Marquis Washio reluctantly ordered the student lodger beside him to summon Koyuki.

Before long, Koyuki—the maid who had been so distraught over the tragic death of Princess Miko, whom she had cherished like a friend, that her eyes were red and swollen from weeping—entered the room. A beautiful face washed by tears radiated an uncanny charm. “Mr. Akechi, interrogating this maid and then finding the culprit—thirty seconds is a bit too tight.” “Look—while you’ve been talking, thirty seconds have already passed.” Due to the course of events, the Police Chief couldn’t help but press further.

“Has it?” Akechi answered calmly. “But I have faithfully kept my promise.”

“Well now, this is curious.” “And? Where’s this culprit?” “The culprit awaits your arrest.” “Where on earth is that man?” “A man, you say?” Akechi replied with an enigmatic smile. “There’s no man here.” “Only the girl called Koyuki remains—trembling like a sparrow.” “Koyuki?” “Then you mean…”

“Yes. I’m afraid this maid is the culprit behind the young lady’s murder.” The accusation was so utterly unexpected that those present found it almost comical. A low ripple of laughter spread through the room. But among them stood one person who did not laugh—none other than Koyuki herself. She who had dismissed all possibility of exposure now found herself singled out by this renowned detective, shocked breathless for an instant. Yet in the next moment, she had already hardened her resolve. Once caught in Akechi Kogorō’s grasp, she realized no excuses would avail her. Thus she resolved to employ that final measure taught to her beforehand by a certain individual—this woman who could kill a person with her bare hands, who could summon willpower surpassing any man’s when cornered. Koyuki’s beautiful face drained of color as her eyes blazed with dreadful resolve, pupils dilating wildly.

“Ah! Stop her!” By the time Akechi Kogorō, terrified by a premonition, cried out, it was already too late. Moreover, the rest of the gathering were still laughing. Koyuki dashed to the corner table, snatched up the golden mask and mantle, swiftly donned them, and planted herself before the gasping crowd. The figure of the lovely maid vanished as if erased, and there stood the fiendish Golden Mask, his crescent-shaped lips curled into a sly grin.

A strange illusion made everyone hesitate for an instant. Though they knew she was merely a young girl, something about that golden disguise appeared terribly frightening. True to form, Inspector Namikaze shook off the illusion first and lunged at the golden fiend, but Koyuki had already prepared her escape during their moment of hesitation. Like a golden swallow, she slipped beneath Inspector Namikaze's outstretched hands and flew through the doorway.

Through winding corridors, a golden streak flitted by like a fleeting shadow as Inspector Namikaze led the Police Chief and detectives in furious pursuit. The monster that had left the main house swept across the garden like a gale and plunged into the still-open art museum. The pursuers grew complacent, underestimating how far a mere girl could flee. For the fugitive, it became a life-or-death gamble—all or nothing. There formed an unexpected opening.

Koyuki jumped into the art museum and closed the heavy door from the inside. The lock snapped shut automatically. In other words, she had locked herself inside a concrete vault. “If she went in there, she’s a rat in a trap.” “There’s no need to panic.” Belatedly arriving with Akechi Kogorō, Marquis Washio shouted. “But what about the windows at the back?”

Inspector Namikaze, already moving to run in that direction, asked in return. “It’s secure.” “Iron bars are installed on all the windows.” “A woman’s strength can’t break those bars.” “Then, the key here.” “…Where did Mr. Miyoshi go?”

“He was wandering about the room.” “Please have someone go fetch him.” “But really—there’s no need for haste.” “Catching her now amounts to the same thing.”

In this manner, Golden Mask’s final efforts proved futile, and at last fell into the pursuers’ grasp. Golden Mask—that is, the maid Koyuki. What was this? Was this not an utterly unexpected truth—nay, one almost beyond belief? Could this young girl truly have performed that death-defying feat at the Industrial Tower during the exposition? Could there not be some monstrous error lurking beneath? The pursuers sensed this possibility in their hearts’ darkest corners. No doubt you too, dear readers, must have harbored identical doubts.

Armored Samurai The golden songbird, through extraordinary mental fortitude, narrowly evaded her pursuers and dashed into the art museum, but one peril passed only for another to arise—the very door she shut to ward them off had instead become a trap sealing her within. Outside was the sound of police officers violently pounding on the door. Inside lay a dimly lit exhibition hall: a sinister tableau of Buddhist statues resembling a hellish panorama. The sparse windows all bore sturdy iron bars. She might as well have willingly thrown herself into a prison. Though Koyuki’s face twisted grotesquely with terror and desperation beneath it, the Golden Mask maintained its usual crescent-shaped, expressionless smile. With that smile still fixed in place, she darted about the art museum like a mouse caught in a net—frantic and wretched.

She knew full well there was no exit anywhere. But she couldn’t remain still. If Old Man Miyoshi were to arrive any moment now and unlock the door with his key, it was certain that a swarm of police officers would come flooding in and bind her in an instant. Then, a police van, a courtroom, a prison cell, the gallows. Horrifying visions raced through her mind one after another with terrifying speed. When she realized that no amount of running would save her, she—like a beast cornered by unseen terrors—hid herself behind an armored samurai in small cherry blossom braid armor that loomed starkly in the darkest corner of the room, held her breath, and listened intently for sounds from outside.

Though called an armored samurai, it was no living doll. It was an empty display piece—a suit of armor heavily perched atop an armor chest, arranged in a seated posture. Koyuki, the Golden Mask, leaned against the armor chest as though collapsing. The frantic pounding of her heart showed no sign of calming, no matter how she tried to still it. Her entire body shook in time with the terrible ringing in her ears, throbbing thump-thump.

Whether due to the uncanny silence or her terrible tinnitus erasing all sound—as if the people outside had retreated far, far away—no signs of them could be heard. In the desolate void, only the unmanned art museum felt as if it floated, poised in solitary isolation.

At that moment, something indescribably grotesque occurred. Outside of her own pounding heart, she sensed another rhythm of pulsation throbbing close by. Thump-thump-thump… went her rapid pulsation; threading through it, from somewhere came a firm, extremely slow pulsation: thud… thud… She shuddered involuntarily. Focusing her attention on it, she understood. She understood. The pulsation was coming through her fingertips. Her fingertips were touching the buttocks of the armored samurai atop the chest. Then—could this armored samurai actually be alive?

Inside the armor was nothing but a wooden pole erected like a clothing store mannequin stand—so why was this hollow suit of armor pulsating so intensely? As she looked, its entire form seemed to begin squirming with writhing movement. A terror completely distinct from the fear of her pursuers crept up her spine. As far as the eye could see stretched an underworld of grotesque Buddhist statues and paintings—and there in one corner, centuries-old small cherry blossom-patterned armor riddled with wormholes throbbed with a dull *thump-thump*.

Koyuki’s Golden Mask, drawn by fear, peered at the armored samurai’s face. Beneath the helmet with its flared neck guard spread like wings, reddish-copper cheek guards gaped like a demon’s maw. In the depths lay a dimly visible white object. Ah! It really was a human! Inside the armor was a real human. “Gyah!” As Koyuki screamed and leapt back, the armor nimbly rose from its chest and spoke. “Don’t be afraid.” “I’m on your side.”

It was not a ghost. An ordinary person had been hiding inside the armor for some purpose. Even though she understood this, the eeriness of his disguise kept Koyuki poised to flee. “Who are you? Who are you?” “Who are you?”

“Even if I told you my name, you wouldn’t know it.” “I’ve been disguised as this armored samurai since last night under the leader’s orders.” “What’s the purpose?” “There’s no time to talk about such things.” “I must save you.” “Saving you is still for the leader’s sake.” “Come on—I’ve already prepared an escape route.” “This way.” “Ah! I see.” “You’re that person’s ally, aren’t you?” “So if I get caught… that person’s secret would be exposed. That’s what frightens you?”

“To put it bluntly, that’s correct.” “In other words, I’m not saving you.” “I’m saving our leader’s secret.” “But for you, at this point, what does any of that matter?”

“Where is the escape route?” “And did you properly prepare that escape route for my sake?”

“I told you—it’s for your sake.” “Ha ha… Who’d have thought your misdeeds would be exposed this quickly?” “If only that guy Akechi hadn’t shown up, everything would have gone smoothly.” “And that meddler.” “So I decided to expose that guy’s schemes.” While speaking hurriedly, the armored samurai discarded his helmet and armor, took Koyuki’s hand, and ran toward the rear window. Just as they reached the window, the large door behind them clattered open with a tremendous noise, and the group of pursuers came stampeding in. But in the sudden darkness, they had not yet noticed the two figures at the window.

“Come on, here we are.” “It’s not for your sake.” “I cut through these iron bars along my escape route and left them prepared.” He grabbed the iron bars and gave them a shake; from four filed points, they popped out cleanly, leaving a large hole. The two slipped through and emerged outside; beyond the lawn of Daradara Slope and the low hedge lay the vast expanse of Lake C. On its shore was a single motorboat. It was the Marquis’s family’s pleasure craft. “Can you operate a motorboat?”

“Yes, I can do it.”

“That’s lucky.” “Then you’ll get in that alone and escape.”

“But if I land somewhere, they’ll catch me right away.” “That’s why,” he said. “There’s a clever plan all prepared for that…” When the man whispered something in a hushed tone, Koyuki—startled—looked at the bamboo pole lying in the boat, slightly longer than a walking stick. “Oh, with this?” “Yeah. To escape these pursuers, that much effort’s only natural.” His voice turned sharp. “You’re a murderer, remember?”

“Yes, I’ll do it.” “After all, I’m bound for the gallows anyway.” “If I act as though I’m dead, even a woman should be able to manage that much.”

Koyuki declared resolutely and boarded the boat alone. The engine was prepared to start at any time. “Hey, don’t take that off.” “As I said earlier, don’t forget how to use that thing.” Koyuki tried to remove the golden mask and cloak, but the man stopped her. There had also been the strange instruction that she must keep wearing this costume—why did she have to remain in attire that would mark her as a target for pursuers?

“Alright, stick to it, you hear?” “I’ve got my own job to do.” The man watched as Koyuki’s motorboat began emitting a valiant roar, then ran off along the shore like the wind—to where, one could not tell.

Who was this armored samurai man in the first place? And who on earth was this leader he called his boss? Those questions would gradually become clear as the story progressed, but for now, it sufficed to remember this: the man disguised as an armored samurai had remained inside the art museum since the previous night, and consequently, he had observed from a dark corner as Akechi Kogorō uncovered the forged replicas of substituted artifacts and even deciphered the A・L mark engraved on them.

Strange Breathing Apparatus

The prey they had been certain was cornered—how had she managed to slip through the window’s iron bars and attempt an escape in a motorboat that had been readied for departure? Even the renowned Akechi Kogorō had never anticipated such an astonishing feat. As for the pursuing police officers, they stood utterly agape at this incomprehensible miracle. They clustered on the lakeshore, able only to gaze helplessly at the receding boat.

On the far-off, hazy opposite shore, farmhouses could be seen here and there; if the culprit managed to land there, things would become troublesome. There was no proper road that could detour around the lakeshore to intercept them. “Is there another motorboat besides that one?”

Akechi shouted. “There’s one!” “There’s one! There’s one!” “Look! It’s coming from over there.” “That’s a boat owned by a local fisherman.” A student lodger from the Marquis’s family who had joined the pursuit shouted. When they looked, how fortunate—a small fishing boat with an engine attached was coming along the shore. The one operating it was a forty-year-old man who appeared to be a local fisherman, wearing a cotton-striped traditional short coat. “Hey, lend me that boat for a second!” “We’re going to chase that motorboat.” “It’s police business!”

When a detective shouted, the fisherman, startled upon hearing it was police business, promptly brought the boat before everyone.

Those who boarded were the police chief, Inspector Namikaze, Akechi Kogorō, two detectives, and the fisherman driver, making a total party of six. “Even if it doesn’t look it, ours has more horsepower. Overtaking that boat won’t be any trouble at all.”

The fisherman began operating it with evident pride, but by then, a distance of about three chō had already opened up between the two boats. Moreover, the fleeing boat had hidden itself behind a cape-like protruding landmass and momentarily vanished from sight. But there was no need to worry about the culprit landing during that time. If they were to land there, it would be the most conspicuous spot possible, with a prefectural road running right alongside. To begin with, there was no such opportunity. The pursuers’ boat reached a vantage point with a clear view beyond the cape in the blink of an eye.

When they looked, the motorboat appeared to have changed direction behind the cape and was charging toward the center of the lake at full throttle. The bizarre figure of Golden Mask, crouching at the stern, glared like a massive gold ingot.

An exhilarating chase across the lake.

The bow advanced, splitting the tranquil surface clean in two. Water spray so thick that the entire boat was obscured from view. Two streaks of white foam trailing magnificent wakes. It was a life-and-death boat race.

The fisherman’s boast was no lie. The difference in mechanical power was undeniable, and the distance between the two boats rapidly narrowed.

The two detectives had been especially permitted to carry pistols in preparation for Golden Mask’s violent resistance. When their boat came within firing range, they raised their pistols high and threatened the fleeing boat. “Hey! Stop the boat, or we’ll shoot you dead!” But Golden Mask on the boat remained motionless. Without glancing around, staring fixedly ahead, he continued advancing at undiminished full speed. No sooner had a mass of white smoke risen from the pursuers’ boat than a gunshot carried across the lake surface. A warning shot had been fired, deliberately aimed wide.

Even so, the stubborn girl didn’t so much as glance back. She clung to the engine so rigidly, it seemed she might have turned to stone. But look. The distance between both boats closed in at twenty *ken*, ten *ken*, five *ken*. Eventually, when they reached the center of the lake, the pursuers’ boat finally managed to catch up to the fleeing craft. No sooner had a detective leaped onto the enemy’s boat than he suddenly lunged at Golden Mask from behind and grappled with him. But...

“Agh, it’s a decoy!” At the detective’s frantic shout, the startled people’s gazes focused on Golden Mask. What was this? There lay only a golden mask and cloak—the inside was completely empty. Two boards had been erected, and a golden cloak had been draped over them. This was Golden Mask’s tried-and-true tactic. The unmanned boat continued moving mechanically in the direction it had been set. So, had there been no one aboard this boat from the very beginning?

That wasn’t possible. The pursuers had clearly seen the golden figure moving inside the boat when it departed from shore. Could she have thrown herself into the water mid-chase to escape? That too was impossible. On this placid lake surface, they couldn’t possibly have missed anyone swimming.

Did she land? There had been no such opportunity. In that case, had Koyuki transformed into a mermaid and vanished into the lake's depths? Or else, they could only think she had turned to mist and evaporated high into the sky. It was impossible.

“Ah, I had underestimated that girl too much. What terrifying ingenuity! Gentlemen, there’s no need to despair yet. Boatman, take this boat back to that cape we passed earlier. Make it quick!” Restraining the panicking crowd, Akechi shouted.

The ownerless motorboat was tied to the fishing boat’s stern. Using it as a tow, they raced back in the direction they had come at full speed. Since no one, starting with the police chief, had any good ideas, Akechi’s proposal was adopted in silence. “Your idea—surely you don’t mean to suggest the culprit came ashore from behind that cape?”

In the moving boat, Inspector Namikaze asked emphatically.

“Of course, such a thing is impossible.” “Then?”

“There remains only one possible method.” “But that’s not something that girl could have devised.” “Yet since there’s no other way to explain this disappearance, however unnatural it seems, we must conclude they used that method.” “…You understand—this likely wasn’t that girl’s own cleverness.” “Given how they broke through the art museum’s iron bars, there’s clearly an accomplice.” “It was that guy’s cunning guiding this frail girl through such a bold maneuver.”

“An accomplice? Do you have any leads?” “It’s likely someone we don’t know. That guy was hiding motionless in the darkness of that art museum, waiting for the right moment to come.” Truly, the renowned detective’s imagination reached for the stars. “But I tell you, there was definitely only Koyuki on that motorboat. Then, the accomplice…” “They finished their business and got away. Where did they go? For us, that guy’s whereabouts are what’s most terrifying.”

Unfortunately, Akechi’s fears proved correct. How exactly it had come to pass would soon become clear.

Eventually, the boat arrived at the shadow of the cape. Though it was called a shadow, from the center of the lake it was a place with an unobstructed view, and from afar, it was clear that there was nothing unusual there.

“Mr. Akechi.” “Your ideas are truly beyond us ordinary folks’ comprehension.” “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by bringing the boat all the way back here?” “Look here! There’s not a single place on land or water where even one person could hide!”

The police chief himself lacked firm convictions, yet he found himself compelled to antagonize this interloping amateur detective. Akechi ignored him completely, directing the fisherman to maneuver their boat through the inlet’s shallows—pushing aside dense clusters of water plants as he scoured the area with feverish intensity. “Ah! So you’re claiming that scoundrel drowned himself?” “Are you hunting for his corpse now?” The chief delivered another barbed interjection. Beyond the water plants blanketing the surface, this stretch appeared to collect drifting debris—straw fragments floated everywhere like scum on broth. The water stood too shallow for drowning, and even had a body sunk below, the murk choked with vegetation and refuse would render it invisible from above.

“Alright, stop the boat. “…Does anyone have a thin piece of paper?” Akechi said something odd. When one of the detectives produced an extremely thin tissue and handed it to him, Akechi tore it into narrow strips, leaned over the gunwale, and held it near the water’s surface. Surely he wasn’t planning to fish with tissue paper. “You—what sort of superstitious ritual is this?” Even Inspector Namikaze began mocking him, so bizarre was the spectacle. “Quiet, quiet. I’m about to show you a strange experiment.”

Akechi, with a dead-serious look, brought the slender strip of tissue paper fluttering closer to the water’s surface.

The onlookers, overwhelmed—of all things—by Akechi’s extraordinary gesture, fell silent and peered at the same water surface. “Look here. Among the water plants, a slender bamboo stick is sticking its neck out, wouldn’t you say?” “Let’s see what kind of reaction this thing will show.” “If this works, it’ll be a little amusement for us.”

While speaking, Akechi brought the piece of paper directly above the cut end of the bamboo. Then, wonder of wonders—the scrap of paper began to dance with a steady rhythm, fluttering up and being drawn back down as if blown upward and sucked in from below. The bamboo stood upright in the water. Without a doubt, some kind of gas was blowing out from beneath it. It couldn’t possibly be natural gas. Moreover, nothing else could produce this rhythm. It was human breath.

Even the most oblivious people finally began to grasp the full picture of what was happening. Ah, what a tragic struggle the fugitive had waged! They shuddered, their hair standing on end, and for a while, no one spoke a word as they exchanged pale faces.

The Second Murder Needless to say, at the lower end of the jointless bamboo was Koyuki’s mouth. In other words, she was clinging to a rock at the bottom of the water, hiding herself, and continuing to breathe through a bamboo tube. Without a doubt, this was her scheme: to wait for the commotion to subside, make landfall unnoticed, and escape under cover of night. But even in spring, it was still mid-April—to think she had hidden beneath the water’s depths for several hours! What recklessness! What determination! A feat only a murderer tormented by visions of the gallows and driven half-mad could accomplish.

“Alright, you stubborn wench. I’ll make you surface like this.” The brutish detective suddenly reached out and pressed the end of the bamboo tube. He thought this agony of suffocation would force her to surface effortlessly. But ah—what depths of criminal terror. Ten seconds... twenty... even after a full minute passed, Koyuki did not emerge. A breath severed—a horrifying underwater struggle. Like an ama diver holding her breath, she clung motionless to the lakebed, bound by desperate attachment to life she refused to relinquish.

“Enough.” “How pitiful.” Unable to endure such wretchedness any longer, Inspector Namikaze shouted out. Even that brutish detective had already wanted to release his grip. Using the inspector’s words as his justification, he freed the pitiful girl’s breathing.

But that had been precisely the limit of Koyuki’s endurance at the water’s bottom. When the detective released his grip, almost simultaneously, the bob-cut-haired girl abruptly surfaced from among the water plants. The half-unconscious girl criminal was immediately hauled up onto the boat. “Ah! I can’t take it anymore! Quickly, quickly—kill me!” Laid out on the boat’s floorboards, she thrashed her limbs and kept screaming as if in delirium, but finally—having spent all her strength—went limp and fell silent.

“If anything I say is wrong, you must correct me.” “Understood?”

Akechi waited for the girl to regain consciousness, then began the interrogation on the unsteady boat. “You killed the young mistress for Mr. Chisaki in England, didn’t you?” “Didn’t you?” Koyuki nodded weakly. “In other words, you had formed a deep relationship with Mr. Chisaki—who was at the Marquis’s residence prior to his overseas trip.” “That Mr. Chisaki will soon return to Japan and marry the young mistress.” “That was something you couldn’t endure.” “I know full well that you have been sending letters frequently to Mr. Chisaki in London.” “The replies always defied your expectations.” “To put it bluntly—you were cast aside by Mr. Chisaki.”

Koyuki once again nodded emphatically. As already stated, an engagement had been established between Mr. Chisaki and Princess Miko. “Due to your inherently fierce temperament, you finally plotted to eliminate your mistress, Princess Miko.” “It wasn’t that you hated Princess Miko at all.” “If you eliminated the competitor, you believed that Mr. Chisaki would return to you.” “For that, it was absolutely necessary that your murder not be discovered.” “It was an extremely difficult task.” “At that very moment, you read a newspaper article about Golden Mask.” “So, you conceived a terrifying plan.” “Right? Isn’t that so?”

“So you acquired a wooden mask and cloak, pressed gold foil onto them, and secretly created a golden costume.” “I, you see, have thoroughly investigated even the store where you bought that gold foil.” “Then, disguising yourself as Golden Mask, you hid in places like the woods and flitted in and out of view to show yourself to the villagers.” “And then, rumors began to spread that Golden Mask had appeared.” The police squad was mobilized. “But that was precisely what you had hoped for.” “You flawlessly accomplished your objective.”

Dear readers, this now clarifies how Princess Miko’s cry of “You!” upon glimpsing Golden Mask’s true face the previous night came to make sense.

“I heard the rumors, changed my appearance, and stayed at Old Man Miyoshi’s house.” “And I had investigated everything thoroughly, but due to the F Ambassador’s visit and that commotion with the anesthetic, I ended up making a terrible blunder.” “The one who made me drink the anesthetic wasn’t you.” “Of course, the swapping of those Buddha statues and Buddhist paintings with counterfeits was also beyond your knowledge.” “In other words, compared to your murder case, a far, far greater criminal suddenly came rolling in.” “Now, are there any discrepancies in the facts up to this point?”

Koyuki shook her head slightly. “Very well. Then I have no further questions regarding your murder charge.” “Your case is an extremely simple one compared to how it appears.” “What I want to ask instead concerns the other criminal you know.” “Namely, the one who stole the Buddha statue from the art museum.” “You must have seen that person.” “You did see him, didn’t you?” Both Inspector Namikaze and the police chief listened with growing astonishment to each word from Akechi Kogorō, utterly captivated. Akechi Kogorō, for his part, intended to inform the relevant authorities of the truth in this manner.

Seeing Koyuki nod, Akechi continued. “Why do you think I came to suspect this? It’s nothing other than your overly flawless escape tactics up until now.” “Such a flawlessly executed and extraordinary feat couldn’t have been achieved through your planning alone.” “There must be someone who instructed you.” “Why would that person go to such lengths to make you escape?” “There’s no other possible explanation.” “Because you witnessed his evil deeds.” “Because he was deathly afraid that if you were to face judgment, his misdeeds would be exposed in the process.” “That’s right.” “Now, please tell me exactly what you saw—who that other culprit is and how they infiltrated the art museum.”

But Koyuki remained silent. Was she gathering her thoughts? Or perhaps she lacked even the strength to speak. Just at that moment, the boat-owning fisherman who had been crouching at the stern let out a shrill cry.

“Ah! Something strange is floating this way!”

The surprised group stood up and peered over the gunwale—and sure enough, a wallet-like object was floating there. When one of the detectives reached out and picked it up, it was a man’s leather wallet that had not been submerged in the water for long. They found it suspicious that a man’s leather wallet—not among Koyuki’s belongings, and with a considerable sum inside at that—was floating in such a place, but this was no time to scrutinize the wallet.

Akechi Kogorō squatted down beside Koyuki once more and resumed his crucial questioning. “Now, Koyuki-san—even a few words will do—please answer my questions.” “The reason I’ve been so insistent on questioning you aboard this boat—awkward as it may seem—is simply that I must learn the other culprit’s identity at once.” “Once we return to shore, there’s no preventing interference.” “As for that other villain—judging by how he instructed you—he’s a frightfully clever and nimble-witted scoundrel.” “Now, I implore you.” “To atone for your crimes, speak just one word.” “A single word from you could prevent a horrific crime unlike any in history.” “Please.” “Miss Koyuki.” “...What’s wrong?” “Stay with me!”

By the time Akechi Kogorō shook Koyuki’s shoulders in alarm， she had already become a lifeless corpse—like a rubber doll—utterly unresponsive. It was an eerily abrupt death. “What’s going on?” “I thought things had calmed down considerably， yet something feels amiss.” Inspector Namikaze was first to voice his doubts. The people gazed silently at the pitiful girl’s corpse， gripped by nameless dread as though some menace might assail them from behind.

“Ah! Blood.” “Blood is flowing!”

Someone shouted.

When they looked, bright red liquid seeped from Koyuki’s limp back toward the bottom of the boat. Akechi lifted the corpse with a detective’s help. “Who did this?” “Who killed Koyuki?”

Two or three people shouted simultaneously.

Something nearly impossible had occurred. Koyuki was killed. In her back, around where her heart would be, a jackknife was buried up to its hilt. From the wound, blood dripped thickly through her wet kimono. When they had pulled her up from the water, no such knife had been stuck in her. In the mere ten-odd minutes since she had been laid in the boat, someone—unknown—had pulled off a murder as if by magic. But on the boat were only people of known backgrounds. Four police officers, Akechi Kogorō, and the boat-owning fisherman. Which of them had killed Koyuki—and when, and for what grudge—had they been compelled to do so?

Even so, there was not a soul in sight on the water’s surface. However impossible it may seem, the culprit must be one of the six.

Then, could it be…

Gradually, bit by bit, an astonishing truth began to dawn on the people.

The Dreaded Water Trap Strange, strange—on the boat were only police officers, Akechi Kogorō, and the boat-owning fisherman; no one else. The place was in the middle of the lake, away from the shore. Something utterly inconceivable had occurred.

In the chests of the dumbfounded people, a certain unbelievable thought dimly welled up. What if… What if… They shuddered at that grotesque thought.

And then, suddenly, an engine's roar reverberated across the lake's surface. Simultaneously, Akechi's shout erupted. In the eyes of the people who whirled around was reflected the bizarre spectacle of the motorboat—until now being towed—now moving away from their vessel at tremendous speed. The one steering it was the fisherman—when had he switched boats?—who was supposed to be their boat's owner.

“Damn it, it’s him! He killed her!” Outwitted, Akechi Kogorō—his visage twisted in fury—rushed to the engine and began operating it. Once more, a pursuit unfolded across the lake’s surface.

“He’s the thief’s accomplice.” “He’s the one who put Koyuki up to this.” “Since just that wasn’t enough for him, he got hold of the fisherman’s boat, disguised himself as its owner, pretended to be our ally, and kept watch on us.” “Then when Koyuki was found and started talking, he couldn’t stand it and stabbed her to death.”

Akechi Kogorō kept steering while yelling at Inspector Namikaze. "When did he manage such a thing—"

“You still don’t get it?” Akechi Kogorō snapped. “The secret of the trick was that wallet from earlier.” “Wasn’t it that guy who told us about the floating wallet?” “Of course he threw in his own wallet.” “And after directing our attention that way, he quickly carried out the crime.”

Looking back, at that moment, everyone had gathered on one side of the gunwale to pick up the wallet and examine its contents, leaving Koyuki unattended for some time. During that time, it wasn’t entirely impossible for someone to stab her to death unnoticed.

Even as they shouted such things at each other, the boat rapidly gained speed, closing in on the thief's motorboat. "Don't worry—our speed is superior." "We'll capture that thief in no time!" The police chief proudly shouted something similar to what the fisherman had said earlier. Huh? Something was wrong. The enemy must have known the pursuing boat was faster. Why would they attempt such an escape when they knew we'd catch them? He wasn't the type of thief to miscalculate like that. This could be dangerous if we weren't careful. Akechi suddenly realized this.

He kept his grip on the helm and glanced around the boat for no apparent reason. An indescribable unease had seized him.

Then, ah—what was this? At the bottom of the boat, water had already risen about two inches deep, making a sinister glop-glop sound. In their excitement, not a single person noticed the water flooding beneath their feet. “Someone check the bottom of the boat! Where is all this water coming from?” At Akechi’s voice, the people finally realized what was happening, suddenly burst into commotion, and began groping through the water to inspect the boat’s bottom.

“This is bad!” “There’s a huge hole!” “Is there anything to plug it with?”

The detective discovered a hole in the boat’s bottom, turned pale, and shouted. Even as they spoke, the water continued rising moment by moment. It soaked people’s shoes and began wetting their trouser cuffs. “This is it. Plug this in here!” Akechi briskly took off his haori and threw it.

The detective frantically tried to roll it up and plug the leak. But it was already too late. There was no way a makeshift plug could hold back water gushing up with force equivalent to six men’s combined weight. Amidst the commotion, the flooding had already reached midway up the boat, and it sank moment by moment. Though the engine still ran, its speed had been halved as the vessel grew sluggish. They found themselves in the middle of a lake of unfathomable depth. Swimmers and non-swimmers alike turned pale and let out a collective, eerie wail.

"Damn it! It's that bastard's trap!" "You idiot!" "Imbecile!" "Ah, what a fool I am!" Akechi grabbed his disheveled, overgrown hair in frustration.

And then, from afar, came the thief’s raucous laughter. He had lured their pursuing boat near the lake’s center before abruptly veering course and racing straight toward the eastern shore. Waving his hands high with grotesque delight, he cackled like a madman. He had rigged their vessel’s hull beforehand—yanking out its plug during his escape. Yet the pursuers lacked even the luxury of indignation at his mockery. Their boat had already plunged entirely beneath the surface.

The Police Chief with his imposing gilded epaulets, the so-called Demon Inspector Namikaze, and even the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō—all were now pitiful figures. They clung to the gunwale of the sinking boat, barely keeping their bodies afloat in the water with only their heads protruding above the surface, managing nothing more than pitiful gasps for breath. But even this precarious state could not last long. While Akechi, being an adept swimmer, might endure, the others faced a most precarious situation—soon to reach the limits of exhaustion and meet whatever fate awaited them.

The Famous Detective's Stomachache

In hindsight, it had been an utterly absurd spectacle. Yet in that moment, it was a matter of life and death. The police dignitaries too forgot themselves—clinging to the gunwale as they glared resentfully at the distant shore—and cried out in mournful unison for salvation: if only a rescue boat might come. But soon, “Oh! A boat! It’s our rescue!”

At someone’s cry, they turned to see a single small boat approaching from the direction of the Marquis’s residence, its engine roaring loudly. As it drew nearer, they realized that the boat carried the police officers they had left behind. They must have found another fishing boat, formed a second unit to pursue the phantom thief, and come to assist. In the end, everyone was merely left with a slight chill but was rescued onto the boat without incident. Koyuki’s corpse had no time to be washed away.

When they turned to look for the thief, amidst the commotion, he had already abandoned the motorboat on the eastern shore of the lake and made landfall. Needless to say, the police force headed toward that location. Akechi and the five others were drenched rats, but they couldn’t afford to care about that. Without a moment to catch their breath—pursuit after pursuit—they couldn’t let a single minute pass without arresting the deeply resented phantom thief.

In the blink of an eye, the group that reached the shore vied to be first to land. “Hey, there’s something written on this scrap of paper,” one said. “That guy might’ve left this behind to make us read it.”

Inspector Namikaze was the first to discover it. When they looked, inside the motorboat was a single scrap of paper. A detective jumped into the boat and retrieved it. It was indeed the thief’s letter. "The one who killed Koyuki is none other than you—Akechi Kogorō! I had absolutely no intention of killing her. First and foremost, our leader abhors the sight of blood above all else. Given how strenuously I worked to help Koyuki escape, you should have realized I meant no harm. But thanks to your meddling, I was forced to take such extreme measures. Withdraw immediately. If you refuse, I will not restrain myself next time. Your turn comes after this."

On it, in a hurried pencil scrawl, was written the following. The drenched group borrowed coats from those who had arrived later and changed clothes—a makeshift and absurd spectacle. Akechi neatly folded the thief’s letter and slipped it into the borrowed coat’s pocket. To one side lay mountains; to the other, a narrow winding path overlooking the lake. Turning right would take them over the mountains for two *ri* to Ashio, while turning left meant passing through the nearby C hotel district and descending toward Nikko. Only two choices remained; there was absolutely no other escape route.

As they were puzzling over which way the thief had fled down that road, a country woman came approaching from the left. She was a forty-year-old woman who looked like a woodcutter’s wife.

“Hey—didn’t a fisherman-looking man pass through this road just now? Didn’t you cross paths with him?”

When Inspector Namikaze asked, “He did pass by here. He bumped into me without so much as an apology and hurried off. He’s someone we ain’t never seen around these parts before,” she replied.

“That’s him. He must’ve passed through quite some time ago, huh? Around where did you bump into him?”

“Just there. “He bumped into me at that mountain bend there, so he ain’t gone far yet.”

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s give chase. “The road’s the only way.” “And if he goes ahead, there’s a bustling town.” “There’s no way he’ll get away now!” Inspector Namikaze, in an absurd getup of a borrowed suit jacket and nothing but long underwear, valiantly shouted. Having worked his way up from a police constable, he had often gone on arrest operations dressed in the attire of craftsmen or laborers; he was not the sort to care about appearances when duty called. Three detectives and Akechi joined the ranks of the valiant pursuers. The police chief and the remaining people were set to head to C by boat to intercept.

When they rounded the mountain corner, a straight, unobstructed road continued for two or three chō. But there was no longer any sign of the thief there. As the five of them ran breathlessly onward, a snot-nosed brat was playing while leaning against the embankment. When they described the thief’s appearance and asked just to be sure, the boy replied that if they meant that old man, he had passed through here earlier.

After winding around the mountain corner and running another two or three chō, they exclaimed, "Ah, there he is!" In the far distance, a man dressed like a fisherman was hurrying away—from the striped pattern of his kimono to his build and the cloth covering his cheeks—undoubtedly the same suspect from before.

“If he realizes we’re onto him, it’ll be trouble. “Since there are no roads branching off toward C, there’s no need to rush. “Let’s track him while staying out of sight.” Inspector Namikaze held back the eager detectives in a low voice. “I’ve come down with a stomachache. “I can’t walk any further. “My apologies—I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Akechi suddenly said something strange. "That’s problematic." "Are you alright?" "Can you walk back to where the boat was?" "Yeah, I can manage that much." "There should be a motorboat left there for us—the one the thief used." "Since you’ll be tailing him to C anyway, I’ll borrow that one and return to the Marquis’s residence." "I see." "Then take good care of it." "We’ll arrest the thief and bring you good news without fail."

The group continued advancing while leaving Akechi behind. To recount the details of their journey would be tedious. In the end, Inspector Namikaze’s squad drove the thief into C’s motor vehicle station. It was as good as an arrest already. The thief sat hunched over in a dim corner of the motor vehicle station, bowing his head so low that his nose nearly touched his knees to avoid showing his face to passersby. With Inspector Namikaze at the lead, they noisily marched into the place. Startled by the footsteps, the thief looked up—and suddenly found himself face to face with Inspector Namikaze at mere arm’s length.

“’Scuse me, may I ask ya somethin’? If I wait here, does the Nikko-bound coach come by?” The man they had been certain was the thief addressed the inspector in an utterly witless tone. No, no. The kimono matched perfectly, but the face beneath was entirely different. This was an authentic country simpleton. The pursuers collectively gasped “Ah!”, their gaping mouths frozen mid-breath. Yet however they scrutinized him—the striped garment, the cheek-wrapping cloth—every detail matched the thief’s attire without question.

When they inquired, they found out what had happened. When the thief disembarked from the boat, he took a traveler who happened to be passing by into a mountain thicket, offered a gold watch he had concealed in his bellyband as a reward, devised a clever pretext to have him exchange clothes completely, and ran off in the opposite direction from the traveler. And that was that. "I didn't mean no harm by it, so please forgive me." "If ya want, I'll give back this here gold watch."

When the country bumpkin realized they were police officers, he turned pale and bowed repeatedly. Ah, now they understood. Akechi Kogorō had come down with a stomachache out of reluctance to witness this debacle. He had had an inkling of it at that time. “You’re sneaky. If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?” Later, when Inspector Namikaze grumbled his complaints, Akechi—

“But you see, I didn’t have any real certainty.” “If it hadn’t been a fake, things would’ve turned dire.” “It’s just that the sight of that guy’s back didn’t sit right with me—that’s all.” “Besides, when it comes to arrests, someone like me isn’t much help anyway.” He said with a laugh.

Of course, they immediately sent telegrams to every police station in the direction the thief had fled, requesting assistance in his arrest. But no matter how long they waited, there came no reports of where or how he had escaped.

Golden Mask’s Love

Thus, the great manhunt at Lake C ended without yielding any results. The perpetrator of Marquis’s daughter Princess Miko’s murder had been identified. But even that perpetrator Koyuki met her untimely end because of that mysterious thief.

The Tragic Deaths of Two Beauties. The theft of ancient art objects comparable to national treasures. But even with the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō’s skills, neither the true identity of the monster Golden Mask nor the whereabouts of his subordinates could be ascertained. It went without saying that newspapers sensationalized this prime social scandal with great fanfare. Consequently, not just Tokyo but all Japan—men and women, young and old—quaked at rumors of this unprecedented phantom thief. About ten days passed without incident, yet during that time rumors bred rumors, and terrified people often mistook withered reeds for monsters.

In the dimly lit store of an antique dealer, next to a worn-out Buddha statue stood a solitary golden Buddha statue that glittered conspicuously. When someone remarked, “Could that be Golden Mask?” the rumors propagated from person to person as though confirmed beyond doubt. On another occasion, a commotion even occurred at Ueno’s Imperial Museum when a cleaning woman fainted. One evening near closing time, while tidying an exhibition hall filled with Buddha statues, she experienced the hallucination of a life-sized gilded Buddha lurching toward her. Certain it was Golden Mask, she screamed and collapsed unconscious—or so the tale went.

Be that as it may, it was discovered that the real Golden Mask was plotting his third crime on a certain day near the end of April.

It was a gloomy, overcast evening—strangely muggy and somehow oppressive—when a peculiar visitor arrived at one of the rooms in the Kaika Apartments in Ochanomizu where Akechi was renting.

As this marks the first time we describe our protagonist Akechi Kogorō's residence, some explanation may be necessary. Shortly after solving *The Spider Man* case, he had abandoned his uneconomical hotel residence and moved to this apartment—for a bachelor like him, this arrangement proved more comfortable and convenient than maintaining an entire household. The rented space consisted of two rooms on the second floor facing the street: one was a spacious guest room doubling as a study of approximately seven tsubo, and the other was a compact bedroom.

Because Golden Mask had gone quiet, Akechi was feeling somewhat bored. That day too, out of sheer boredom, he was leaning his cheek on his hand at the large desk that doubled as a dining table in the guest room, puffing leisurely on a cigarette, when suddenly there came a knock at the door, and an unfamiliar old man entered.

With his presbyopic glasses, salt-and-pepper beard, and immaculately creased haori and hakama, he looked every bit a man from a bygone era. When the old man bowed once, he attached a business card to a letter of introduction and respectfully presented it.

The business card read “Ōtori Kizaburō.” It was the name of a famous tycoon. As he stared intently at the old man, thinking it couldn’t possibly be Ōtori himself, the old man— “I serve as the steward of the Ōtori family; my name is Ogata.” he said in a businesslike tone. The letter of introduction was handwritten by a friend in the business world and contained nothing more than a request to handle everything appropriately. The old man rambled on at length, but it was all merely a preamble; in the end, it turned out he had come because there was a matter he wished to entrust regarding the Golden Mask case.

When he heard "Golden Mask," Akechi Kogorō's face—which had been looking somewhat troubled—suddenly tensed.

“Please tell me in detail,” Akechi said. “First of all—why have you come to me instead of the police? Is there some particular reason for this?” “That is precisely the case,” the old man replied. “The truth is, for the Ōtori family, a most disgraceful incident has occurred—one so delicate that I find myself at a complete loss for words.” The old man settled into a seat across the desk, facing Akechi. This looked promising, he thought—but no sooner had the notion formed than a bizarre doubt welled up within him. Danger! This story about being the Ōtori family’s steward was an outright lie—could this old man himself be Golden Mask’s accomplice? The thief had left a note in the motorboat days earlier: “Next time, it’s your turn.” Akechi knew himself to be an immense hindrance to the criminal operation. Forging a letter of introduction would be child’s play. Was this a scheme to lure him out—not to cause harm, perhaps, but to strip away his freedom to interfere? One couldn’t dismiss the possibility.

Realizing this, Akechi suddenly grabbed a pencil and began writing some simple characters in large, clear strokes across the stationery on the table—large enough for the old man to read plainly. While writing, he stared fixedly at the old man's expression with piercing eyes. The characters he had written were the name of a certain person—a name so extraordinary that had you readers been present, you would have let out a cry of astonishment at its sheer unexpectedness and absurdity.

Then, whose name had he written? As the story progresses, this will soon become clear; but this fact corroborated the astonishing truth that Akechi had already discerned at that time who Golden Mask truly was. The old man clearly saw Akechi’s scribble. If he were indeed one of the gang, he could not possibly have kept his composure upon seeing those characters. However, not only did he remain unfazed upon reading it, but his expression even seemed to reproach Akechi for idly scribbling in such a carefree manner.

“Now then, please go ahead and tell me everything.” “I already have complete trust in you.” When Akechi urged him, the old man finally proceeded to the main points of his story; however, as transcribing his manner of speaking verbatim would prove somewhat tedious, we would record only the gist here.

Mr. Ōtori Kizaburō had two daughters in addition to his son. The elder sister, Miss Fumiko, was twenty-two years old this year—a woman of no small talent who had graduated from a girls’ school in Japan and even spent about two years studying in Europe under her diplomat uncle’s supervision. With such credentials added to her peerless beauty, she was hailed as what one might call the “flower of high society.” Yet this very Miss Fumiko had, to borrow the steward’s words, begun conduct of an utterly unspeakable nature.

The incident began one night about a week ago when Miss Fumiko—who always obtained her mother’s permission and stated her destination before going out—suddenly vanished at dusk and did not return until past midnight. Moreover, when she returned without meeting anyone and slipped into her bedroom, her manner seemed far from ordinary. Naturally, her mother tried to inquire about it indirectly the next day, but Miss Fumiko could give no clear response. As these incidents continued occurring nightly, they finally reached her father’s ears; though he questioned her vehemently—stopping just short of reprimanding her—Miss Fumiko stubbornly refused to confess. As a last resort, Old Man Ogata, the steward, was ordered to tail her.

On the first night, Miss Fumiko’s movements proved utterly erratic—leaping out of an automobile one moment, winding through labyrinthine backstreets the next, then boarding another vehicle from some improbable location—until he ultimately lost sight of her midway. But the following night (that is, last night), his resolve to succeed paid off, and he managed to tail her all the way to the end. The place they ultimately arrived at was an old Western-style mansion standing in complete isolation on the desolate outskirts of Togano Field in the suburbs—a location and structure that exuded an ominous air. As they observed the automobile, Ōtori Fumiko alighted, and then another figure nimbly leaped down after her, swiftly vanishing into the mansion. In the faint glare of the headlights’ reflection, there could be no mistake about what was fleetingly glimpsed: a golden face, golden garments—none other than the rumored Golden Mask.

The building had every window tightly sealed, not a sliver of light escaping nor any crevice to peer through; utterly terrified by the fleeting glimpse of the monstrous figure, the old man fled home and frantically reported what had transpired.

Good heavens, what a disgrace! To think that the daughter of the Ōtori family would conspire with the fiendish thief Golden Mask—no matter how bewitched she might be! But if that had been the extent of it, matters might have been manageable; far worse was yet to come. One day, when Mr. Ōtori entered the storehouse on business, he noticed that the box containing the family heirloom—*The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu Picture Scroll*, which had unquestionably been there until a few days earlier—was missing. Moreover, someone had seen Fumiko entering the storehouse just two or three days prior—she had no business being there. They conducted various inquiries, but there were no other suspicious individuals. The opponent was Golden Mask, who appeared to harbor an abnormal obsession with artworks. There was no other conclusion but to think he had incited Fumiko to steal it.

Thus, for Mr. Ōtori, even if it was for the sake of Golden Mask’s arrest, he could not bear to have his beloved daughter’s reputation tarnished. However, it was a problem that couldn’t be left unattended. After agonizing over it, they finally reached a decision—on the advice of a regular visitor—to seek out the renowned amateur detective Akechi Kogorō and secretly borrow his wisdom.

The Phantom Thief Appears “And does the young lady say nothing no matter how much you question her?” “That is correct.” “Normally she is such a gentle person, but this time—I cannot fathom what has come over her—she’s become stubborn beyond reason, as if she were an entirely different person. The master is utterly at a loss.”

“It’s love. The power of love,” he declared. “I understand perfectly. Even just learning of that thief’s recent movements proves immensely valuable to me. But eliminating Golden Mask alone while keeping the young lady’s name unmentioned and retrieving those picture scrolls—that’s quite a formidable task.” He paused, then resolved: “Nevertheless, I’ll take it on. I’ll find a way.” Old Man Ogata’s tense shoulders relaxed visibly at this reassuring response. “I was deeply concerned,” the steward admitted, “but having secured your gracious consent, my master will surely rejoice. This lifts a great weight from—” He stiffened suddenly. “Ah! Now I recall—when arriving earlier, an unknown gentleman at the entrance entreated me to deliver this letter to you. It had quite slipped my mind until this moment.”

The old man took out a small sealed letter from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Hmm, that’s strange,” he said. “They certainly knew you’d be coming to see me.” “Indeed,” replied the old man, looking perplexed. “When that fellow saw me, he suddenly said, ‘You’re headed to Mr. Akechi’s place, aren’t you?’ Then he shoved this letter into my hands without so much as a ‘by your leave’.”

“What kind of man was he?”

“Well… he was about thirty-five or thirty-six years old—dressed like some company man in Western clothes.” “Hmph,” Akechi grunted dismissively. “I don’t recognize him either.” He paused before adding thoughtfully: “Most peculiar.” With brisk resolve he concluded: “Well then—let’s see what this letter says.”

Akechi cut open the seal and spread out the stationery inside. There, albeit brief, was written the following terrifying message. Mr. Akechi You are absolutely forbidden to meddle in the matter of Miss Ōtori. No—this extends beyond Miss Ōtori’s case. Withdraw completely from all affairs concerning the so-called Golden Mask. It is I who command this. Refuse, and death follows. I take no pleasure in needlessly ending lives. But know this: my mercy makes exceptions depending on circumstances.

From your so-called Golden Mask Ah, what swiftness! What brazen audacity! The thief had ironically entrusted this letter to the very client who brought him the Miss Ōtori case. Old Man Ogata stood as both the case’s petitioner and the bearer of a letter demanding its refusal. “What do you think?” “Mr. Ogata.” “This is the true nature of Golden Mask—a monster of this caliber.”

The old man had no way to respond. Overwhelmed with astonishment, he could only let out a low groan. "But you mustn't think I'm frightened by this threatening letter." "Detectives grow quite accustomed to seeing such scraps of paper." "It's nothing." "But given how things stand, your life..." The old man stammered out his words. "Hah... No, there's no need for that concern." "Ah, please wait a moment." "I have something to show you."

No sooner had he said this than Akechi opened the door and went out into the hallway.

He did not return for some time, having gone who knows where. The old man tried not to look, yet his eyes kept drifting to the threatening letter on the desk. The more he reread it, the more an eerie sensation seemed to seep from between the lines. Even for someone his age, in such circumstances, he couldn't help growing somewhat hypersensitive. The proof lay in how he didn't even miss hearing the faint *clatter* from the adjacent bedroom—conjuring cowardly delusions, like those of women and children, that Golden Mask might be lurking just beyond the single door panel.

No, this wasn't a delusion. The thief must have been somewhere like the bustling entrance. How could anyone assert he wasn't lurking in the very room of the famous detective hunting him? Now that he thought of it, there was somehow a sense of someone's presence in the bedroom. It was true. That guy was right there. No sooner had this thought come than he was suddenly overcome with a desire to flee.

Naturally, Old Man Ogata's eyes were fixed on the door separating the bedroom, but when he suddenly noticed, that very door was creaking open inch by inch. His delusion materialized exactly as imagined. Despite being an old man, he barely managed to stifle the scream rising to his lips. The door opened relentlessly, inch by inexorable inch. Through the widening gap came a blinding golden light. Ah—it was him! Golden Mask! He'd been hiding there all along.

Before the eyes of the old man—who had instinctively begun to rise from his chair to flee toward the hallway—the door burst open, revealing the monster’s full form. A golden mask with crescent-moon-shaped lips grinned horribly. A loose golden mantle enveloped its body. The old man’s lower back muscles went numb; he could no longer even walk. “Heh heh heh…”

Golden Mask's mouth—split all the way to his ears—laughed eerily. "Heh heh heh... What do you think, Mr. Ogata?" "What I wanted to show you is this."

“Eh? What did you say?” The old man still couldn’t grasp what was happening. “Oh! I’m sorry to have startled you.” “It’s me.” “It’s me.” When the mask came off—what was this?—it wasn’t the fiend at all, but Akechi Kogorō’s face grinning back.

“In other words, I wanted to show you that I too have made preparations to this extent.” “When dealing with a monster, we too must resort to bold stratagems.” “I believe the day will undoubtedly come when I myself must make use of this Golden Mask of mine.” Hearing Akechi’s explanation, Old Man Ogata could not help but feel a different kind of astonishment.

Now, when this strange rehearsal had concluded, Akechi promptly prepared to go out and headed to the Ōtori residence in Kōjimachi with the old steward.

The Enchantment of Love

Changing the subject—what had been happening at the Ōtori residence while Old Man Ogata was away? Mr. Ōtori—having confirmed Fumiko’s whereabouts through Old Man Ogata’s surveillance and discovered her lover to be none other than Golden Mask—had both sought assistance from Akechi Kogorō and confined Fumiko in an innermost Western-style room to prevent further transgressions. In one of two adjoining Western-style rooms where a temporary bed stood prepared—with nursemaid Otoyo keeping watch inside and student lodger Aoyama stationed outside in hallway—the door remained locked externally; even washroom visits required knocking from within for Aoyama’s intervention—such were Marquis Washio’s stringent security measures.

The entrance and exit were that single door alone. There were several windows, but all were fitted with anti-burglary iron bars, making it absolutely impossible to either sneak in from outside or escape from within. Her father, Mr. Ōtori, would occasionally come around to check on her and attempt to sway his daughter’s feelings by trying threats, coaxing, and lectures; yet such was the terrifying power of love that the young lady had become obstinate as though she were a different person altogether and offered no response.

“Young Mistress, I feel as though I must be trapped in some dreadful nightmare to see such sorrow.” “I have no memory of raising such an audacious Young Mistress as this.” “...Young Mistress... Lady Fumiko.” “After all I’ve told you, can’t you hear a single word?”

The one doing the pleading was the nursemaid Otoyo, who had been assigned the sad duty of guard.

Fumiko sat deeply sunk into the large sofa, staring fixedly into space without moving, sulkily remaining silent. Her painted-like long eyebrows, double eyelids with lengthy lashes, upturned cute nose, full cheeks, and lips resembling camellia petals—her face was terrifyingly pale, and because she pressed her head fiercely against the chair’s back, her lush bobbed hair was cruelly tangled. “Young Mistress, you have been bewitched by a demon.” “You’ve taken leave of your senses.” “Please, truly pull yourself together.” “Goodness, how can such a thing be allowed?”

Otoyo, in her old-fashioned way, droned on with her tedious opinions. "Nursemaid, that's enough already. Please just leave me alone. Someone like you could never understand my feelings." Finally, Fumiko declared in a cold voice, as if scolding. "Goodness... So you're still saying you can't break free from that terrifying man?" Otoyo, startled, her eyes widening, pressed in on the young lady.

“You… Then do you even know how magnificent that man is?” Miss Fumiko calmly uttered words that would shock Otoyo. Sure enough, the nursemaid’s tears streamed down. “Oh! What on earth are you saying? Well, well… How could you… This nursemaid had not the slightest idea until today that the Young Mistress was involved with such a depraved individual!”

The loyal Otoyo, in a state of utter despair, pleaded tearfully.

“Hohohohoho, Nursemaid, it’s because you don’t know that person.” Miss Fumiko proceeded to say something even more terrifying. “No matter how stubborn you are, once you learn what sort of person he is, you’ll surely be astonished and end up praising me.” “Even though stealing is utterly wrong, he is by no means an ordinary thief or anything like that.” “A hero… Yes, a hero!” “A magnificent giant that every woman in the world so admires!”

As she gazed at Miss Fumiko’s entranced, dreamlike expression, Otoyo broke into even more violent sobs. “Goodness, whether such a thing could happen or not... This is sheer madness.” “You have gone mad.” “Oh yes, indeed you have!” “You just keep on thinking about that terrifying fiend as much as you like.” “In return, until you change your mind, I won’t take a single step out of this room.”

“Hohohohoho, you’re starting to say the same things as Father now.” Unexpectedly, Miss Fumiko remained unfazed. “But that won’t do. No matter how tightly you lock up or guard this place, those things mean nothing to him. Just watch. He’ll surely come for me soon.” “What did you say?” Otoyo shrieked shrilly. “That creature—that golden specter—is coming here to take you away? Are you truly sane enough to say such things? That door remains locked! And Mr. Aoyama—the judo second-dan expert—stands guard in the hallway!”

“Oh, by all means, keep it as secure as possible. The more difficult it is, the more his splendid skills will stand out, after all. You called him a golden monster, didn’t you? Well, he might be a phantom. A superhuman is always mistaken for either a god or a phantom, you see. But what a splendid phantom he is. Golden Mask! Just hearing his name makes my heart race with excitement!”

Ah! What was this?!

Had the Ōtori family’s only daughter, Miss Fumiko, finally lost her mind? Even were it not her nursemaid Otoyo, who could think this the act of someone sane?

“I’ve gotten thirsty. Nursemaid, make some tea and bring it here.” After a while, Miss Fumiko made a carefree request, utterly oblivious to others’ feelings. “And then you’re trying to drive me out, aren’t you? No, no! I won’t take a single step out of this room. If it’s tea you want, I’ll call a maid and have her bring it.” The nursemaid was no fool. When she pressed the pillar’s call bell, soon footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a maid’s voice came from outside the door.

“Two teas,” she said. “You must be thirsty too.” “Oh, well, I’ll join you then!”

Otoyo relayed to the maid outside the door in a half-resigned tone, exactly as Miss Fumiko had instructed. After a short while, the door was opened with the student lodger Aoyama’s key, and the maid placed the tea tray on the table before leaving. Needless to say, the door was locked again. “Nursemaid, it’s dark in here.” Miss Fumiko signaled to Otoyo with her eyes. In truth, the evening darkness had deepened, and night had crept into the room unnoticed.

“Oh dear, I was being careless.” “Pray excuse me.” Otoyo stood up, went over to one wall, and pressed the switch. The room was suddenly illuminated. But in that instant, as Otoyo faced the wall, Miss Fumiko did something strange.

She took out a small paper package from her pocket, opened it, poured the white powder inside into one of the teacups, and briskly stirred it with a spoon. Otoyo didn’t notice it in the slightest. By the time she returned to her chair, the young lady had already brought the teacup to her lips. “Here, you have some too.” After all, she was the young lady I had raised since childhood. Even amid such bickering, the oblivious Otoyo—moved by what she took as her young mistress’s concern for her nursemaid—teared up and obediently took the teacup laced with white powder. Her throat parched in truth, she drained it completely.

Then, for about thirty minutes more, the nursemaid’s arguments were repeated, but this time Miss Fumiko listened quietly without protest. And, seizing the moment when the nursemaid’s chatter briefly faltered,

“I’ve gotten sleepy,” Miss Fumiko declared. “Oh my, hasn’t the sun just set?” “And we haven’t served your dinner yet either.” Otoyo’s tearful face softened into a faint smile that seemed to murmur, “How utterly guileless.”

“But I’ve gotten so tired, and being confined like this leaves me no choice but to go to bed.” “My stomach isn’t the least bit hungry either.”

Miss Fumiko said coquettishly and briskly entered the bedroom. (For thoroughness, let it be noted: This bedroom had no door connecting to the hallway, and to reach outside, one still had to use the sole exit through the living room.) With a click, the dim bedside lamp was turned on. As she did so, Miss Fumiko quickly changed into a single underrobe, placed a black lace nightcap over her bobbed hair, and slipped into bed.

Otoyo was taken aback by this innocent gesture and found herself smiling fondly at it instead. With no other choice, she sat back down in her original chair and dutifully kept watch.

However，within ten or twenty minutes of that，something strange began to occur． That loyal，stubborn nursemaid Otoyo had，for some reason，irresponsibly begun nodding off in starts．

Ah，it became clear! It became clear! What Miss Fumiko had put into the tea earlier was undoubtedly a sleeping drug．If that weren't the case，a nursemaid of unparalleled loyalty would never do something like doze off．

Even so, why on earth had Miss Fumiko done such a ridiculous thing? Even if she managed to put only Otoyo in the room to sleep, the door was locked, and out in the hallway stood Aoyama—proud of his judo skills—keeping watch. But that wasn't all. For Miss Fumiko to escape this room, she would have to pass through numerous rooms and corridors before reaching either the main entrance or the back entrance. Strict checkpoints existed everywhere. Even with one nursemaid asleep, it remained perfectly clear this would serve no purpose.

But, dear readers, you must not let your guard down just because of that. For Miss Fumiko had the dreadful Golden Mask as her protector—a monster like a magician. There was no telling what he might devise. Through some mysterious trick, what appeared utterly impossible might yet be accomplished. If that were not the case, there would be no reason for Miss Fumiko to believe so completely that he would come to rescue her.

Demonic Sorcery About half an hour later, Aoyama, the student lodger who had been diligently keeping watch in the outer corridor, noticed that the door was being knocked on from inside. Thinking nursemaid Otoyo was calling him, he approached the door and asked what was wrong. Then Miss Fumiko's voice came unexpectedly from within. “Are you Aoyama? Hurry and open this door.” “It’s terrible!” “The nursemaid... The nursemaid...”

The panicked tone of her voice could only mean something terrible had happened. Startled and with no time to think, Aoyama hurriedly turned the key and attempted to open the door. But strangely, it seemed someone inside was holding onto the knob, and just as the door finally opened an inch or two, it slammed shut with a bang. At the same moment, Aoyama turned deathly pale and, awkwardly steadying himself, began slowly backing away.

He had seen something terrible. Through the inch-or-two-wide gap of the barely opened door, a glittering golden object peeked in. The one holding the knob from inside was none other than the fiendish thief Golden Mask—to everyone’s utter astonishment, he had somehow slipped in unnoticed. However, true to having been entrusted as a guard, the stubbornly obstinate Aoyama, though deathly pale and gritting his teeth, did not abandon his post and flee. “Who’s there?!” “Who’s there?!”

From about six feet away, he glared at the door, clenching his fists with the intention of using his signature pressure point strike if needed, and shouted with all his might. But the monster remained dreadfully silent. Miss Fumiko undoubtedly intended to welcome the thief and escape with him, but there should have been another person in the room—Otoyo, the watcher. The fact that Otoyo was not making a sound was strange. Could it be that she had already met some terrible fate at the hands of the monster? At this thought, even the stalwart Aoyama found himself ill at ease.

Gradually, the door began to creak open. Through the narrow gap, what glittered like long golden threads was indeed Golden Mask’s costume. As the gap gradually widened, the golden threads swiftly thickened, forming a solid golden pillar. What was visible in the upper portion was likely the renowned Golden Mask. Narrow eyes and the ends of those crescent-moon-shaped, eerie lips were twisted into a chilling smile. Aoyama, suddenly wanting to flee, barely restrained himself,

“Damn you!”

While shouting this, he recklessly charged toward the monster. But Golden Mask was not one to be startled by such a greenhorn’s assault. He remained silent and slowly extended the pistol’s muzzle through the gap in the door. “Ah!” Aoyama flinched. Seizing that moment, the monster flung the door wide open, leaped violently into the hallway, slipped past Aoyama with lightning-like speed, and dashed toward the entrance.

“Someone, come quick! Thief! Thief!” “Thief! Thief!” Aoyama shouted in a voice that echoed through the entire house as he chased after the monster. From every room, Ōtori Kizaburō and the student lodgers came pouring out in a clamor, but upon seeing the golden monster—a pistol in one hand, running as if flying—they all cowered in fear. Not a single soul blocked his path, and the thief vanished beyond the gate as if passing through an uninhabited realm. Unyielding Aoyama nevertheless chased after the thief alone, dashing out from the entrance, but before he could reach the gate, the sudden roar of an engine echoed—the thief had prepared a getaway car.

By the time Aoyama called for the driver and requested a car to pursue the thief, the monster's automobile had already sped far into the distance. Golden Mask failed to achieve his objective of kidnapping Fumiko and escaped alone. Fumiko was safe. However, Mr. Ōtori, her father, putting aside chasing the thief, had to first confirm his beloved daughter's safety.

He hurriedly rushed to the room from which the thief had fled. However, when he went to check, what was this? The crucial watcher, the nursemaid Otoyo, was leaning back in her chair, nodding off as if without a care in the world. “Hey, Nursemaid! Nursemaid!” “What’s the matter with you?”

When Mr. Ōtori shook her awake, Otoyo finally opened her eyes and began glancing around frantically. “Where’s Fumiko? Is Fumiko all right?” “Huh? The Young Mistress?” The nursemaid answered in a sleepy voice. “If it’s the Young Mistress you’re asking about, she’s resting in the next room. Look, please see for yourself. She’s sleeping soundly like that.”

When he looked where Otoyo was pointing, there in the bed beyond the open door was Fumiko’s sleeping figure. Ah, so Fumiko was unharmed after all—Mr. Ōtori sighed in relief.

“Oh dear! Was I dozing off?” Otoyo finally seemed to notice this and said in an erratic tone. “That’s right. “It’s not like you to do such a thing. “You had no idea that **the** Golden Mask thief had sneaked into this room, did you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” “That monster was in this room…?” “Is that truly the case?” The nursemaid found it hard to believe. Indeed, even if it weren’t Nursemaid Otoyo, who could believe this mystery? All windows were latched from within, with sturdy iron bars fixed outside them. Upon inspection, none showed any abnormality. Moreover, the sole entrance door had been locked with Aoyama standing guard. He hadn’t been drugged like Otoyo. How could that monstrosity have infiltrated such an airtight chamber? One could only imagine it materializing like a demon from folklore. What eerie sorcery was this?

As Mr. Ōtori and Otoyo stood frozen with looks of utter bewilderment, Old Man Ogata—having just returned home at that precise moment—came rushing in breathlessly. “Ah, I arrived a step too late. “Fortunately, I secured Professor Akechi’s gracious consent and entreated him to accompany us, but we missed the mark by mere moments. “This is truly most regrettable. “However, it appears the Young Mistress remains unharmed.”

“Ah, Fumiko must have been quite tired—she’s sleeping soundly like that.” Thereupon, Old Man Ogata ushered Akechi, who had been waiting in the corridor, into the room and introduced him to his master, Mr. Ōtori. After the greetings were concluded, Mr. Ōtori recounted the night’s events in some detail for Akechi. Around that time, Aoyama, the student lodger, also returned having abandoned his pursuit of the thief, so Akechi questioned him on a few unclear points and then, with a meaningful smile, said:

“So Golden Mask imitated the young lady’s voice and made you open this door—is that correct?” “Well, I can’t think of any other explanation.” Aoyama answered. “For someone of Golden Mask’s stature...” Akechi began in an ironic tone. “Would he really perform such an absurd act?” “To reveal himself in a form instantly recognizable to you before achieving his objective—only to suddenly flee—doesn’t that strike you as peculiar?” “Is he truly such a fool as to painstakingly infiltrate this room merely to escape?”

“However, if you think that’s strange—there’s something even stranger. How did Golden Mask manage to sneak into this room with no entrance at all?” Mr. Ōtori spoke as if trying to read the famous detective’s expression. “I have only one interpretation. That is to say, I believe the thief never once sneaked into this room.” Akechi came out with something truly bizarre. “How could someone who never sneaked in have escaped?”

The honest Aoyama asked in surprise what was already obvious. “Those who didn’t sneak in can’t escape,” Akechi Kogorō answered enigmatically. “By the way—at that time, was there no one else in the room apart from the young lady?” “The woman called Otoyo here was acting as lookout,” Mr. Ōtori replied.

“And she didn’t see anything?” “The problem is—carelessly enough—she dozed off and claims to know nothing at all.” “What? She dozed off…” When Akechi shouted, the group instinctively looked toward Miss Fumiko’s adjacent room. They worried whether his voice had woken her.

“It’s strange for someone elderly to doze off when night has barely fallen, don’t you think? Ah, there’s a teacup here. Ms. Otoyo, did you drink this too?” When the nursemaid replied that she had, Akechi took the teacup, peered inside briefly, then slammed it down onto the table with a violent clatter. The group gasped again in unison and glanced toward the adjacent room. Between his earlier exclamation and this current action, Akechi appeared to be deliberately creating loud disturbances.

“Was even the Young Mistress made to drink a sleeping drug? Despite us watching all this time, hasn’t she made a single movement?”

When he heard that, Mr. Ōtori jolted and stared at Akechi’s face. For the terrifying thought that Fumiko might have been killed had suddenly flashed through his mind. "If my deduction is not mistaken, all the mysteries are hidden within that bed." No sooner had Akechi spoken than he strode briskly into the young lady’s bedroom, paying no heed to the others’ astonishment. Circling around to the far side of the bed, he rudely peered down at Miss Fumiko’s sleeping face.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Splendid, splendid! We’ve been thoroughly fooled by the Young Mistress. The thief never once infiltrated or escaped.” Had Akechi lost his mind? Not only had he entered a young woman’s bedroom, but there he was guffawing at her bedside! Moreover, what he was saying made no sense whatsoever. “Has something happened to Fumiko?”

Mr. Ōtori turned pale with worry and entered the bedroom. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong.” “Look, see here.” “This is it.” No sooner had he spoken than Akechi abruptly pulled Miss Fumiko’s head out from under the sheets. “Ah, what are you doing?” At the very moment when Mr. Ōtori shouted in surprise, Miss Fumiko’s head thudded down beneath the bed.

“Gah!”

A scream. Realizing something extraordinary had occurred, the group rushed into the bedroom one after another. Aoyama picked up Miss Fumiko’s head.

“It’s nothin’. Just this thing here.” What he held was not the gory human head people had imagined, but merely a dummy of Miss Fumiko’s head—a soft pillow rolled up and crowned with a deep black nightcap. It had lain facedown under the dim bedroom lamp until now, so nobody had noticed it was fake.

When they checked for the torso, there lay a rolled-up futon under the blanket. "So, Fumiko was that…" Mr. Ōtori stood agape, his mouth frozen open in utter disbelief.

“That’s right. The one who escaped from here was not the real Golden Mask, but Miss Fumiko in a bold disguise, borrowing the thief’s mask and costume.” Akechi explained with a grin. “Of course, this wasn’t the Young Mistress’s own scheme. All of this is Golden Mask’s plot from the shadows. He must have given her the golden costume, soft hat, anesthetic, and pistol beforehand, devising this runaway plan. Ms. Otoyo dozed off because the sleeping drug took effect. The Young Mistress used that chance to prepare this fake head on the bed, put on the golden outfit, donned the mask and hat, took the pistol, and knocked on the door. The voice Mr. Aoyama heard then was unmistakably hers.”

Ah, what a magnificent trick it was. The fiendish thief Golden Mask’s knack for catching people off guard was, in every way, exactly his style.

The group stood frozen in silence for a moment. "Though she's my own child, I never imagined her capable of such folly." Mr. Ōtori finally spoke, his voice heavy with dismay. "Fumiko has been bewitched by demons." "But however far she falls, she remains my only daughter." "I could never face my late wife if I let this stand." "However shameful it seems, I must track down my daughter and bring her back." "Mr. Akechi, I can only entrust this to your capable hands."

“Understood.” “Even without your request，Golden Mask is my sworn enemy.” “I will surely retrieve your daughter and present her to you.” “No—it’s not merely about retrieving your daughter.” “And capturing Golden Mask himself isn’t something I expect to take much longer.” Akechi’s constant smile momentarily faded，and a strange light burned in his eyes． It vividly conveyed his deep-seated vendetta and unyielding fighting spirit against his archenemy Golden Mask．

The Golden Tryst

Late that night, in the basement of the infamous haunted house in Toyamagahara, an utterly bizarre golden tryst took place. Though called a basement, there was a comfortably furnished room more splendidly decorated than any nobleman’s parlor. Peach-colored wallpaper; crimson drapes; a carpet as soft as young grass; sofa cushions that deeply enveloped the body; dreamlike oil paintings decorating every wall; an alluring fragrant scent; numerous soul-melting drinks.

The decaying, nearly abandoned aboveground building was nothing more than a blindfold upon this world, concealing the subterranean paradise beneath. On a single sofa sat a man and woman in love, pressed closely together. The man was the notorious fiend wrapped in a golden mask and mantle. The woman—having returned the escape outfit to her companion—now wore a gaudily patterned Japanese kimono: Ōtori Fumiko. Ōtori Fumiko leaned her beautiful face against the fiendish thief's shoulder, ecstatically intoxicated by their bizarre love. Golden Mask wrapped his right arm around Fumiko's back and embraced her powerfully.

They did not exchange a single word. There was no need for words. In love, words are a hindrance. They were simply determined not to break this sweet silence—even their breaths restrained and quiet, without moving a muscle—intoxicated by the faint sensations of each other’s bodies perceptible through their kimonos. They had not the slightest fear of their pursuers. Although Old Man Ogata had located the haunted house aboveground, who could have imagined that beneath this abandoned shell lay such a lovers’ paradise? In fact, that very night, the Ōtori family had searched the haunted house aboveground; but failing to notice the secret entrance to the underground, they believed the thief had abandoned this hideout and relocated elsewhere, withdrawing in vain. Over five hours had since passed without incident. It was now 1 AM.

Ah, what a grotesque pairing this was.

The strange bond between a beautiful girl raised in seclusion and a demon-like phantom thief. A golden romance most dreadful under heaven. “Oh!” Fumiko murmured faintly and stared at Golden Mask’s expressionless face. She had sensed his bizarre movements. Golden Mask curved his crescent-moon lips, gazed up at the ceiling, and listened intently. A noise came. It resembled the sound of someone moving stealthily about. His sharp ears had detected it first.

Even through the concrete ceiling, the surrounding silence was so profound that not a single sound went unnoticed. There was definitely someone walking. In the pitch-dark room above their heads, something walked about like a specter. Fumiko realized it too. She was frightened and clung to the man's golden mantle. Golden Mask quietly released her hands and stood up smoothly.

He left Fumiko on the chair, exited the room, ascended the dark staircase without a sound, and emerged into the upper corridor through a secret passage.

The moon hung over the earth. The light crept in through the window, casting a faint pallor over each room.

Golden Mask muffled his footsteps and stopped before the door of what appeared to be the room. He gripped the doorknob and paused. Click, click, click... The footsteps of someone still prowling about—undoubtedly from this very room. The sigh of a predator poised for battle.

The door swung open. Golden Mask stepped one foot over the threshold, then swept his narrow-eyed gaze across the entire room. Moonlight flooded through the glass window into the room like a torrent. Bathed in that pale moonlight, the figure that stood blocking the corner… even the formidable fiend Golden Mask was startled and froze in place. There shouldn’t have been such a large mirror in this room. Nevertheless, Golden Mask's own reflection was there.

No, no—it wasn’t a shadow. Another Golden Mask had abruptly materialized in the room alongside the moonlight. Ah, what a beautifully grotesque spectacle this was. In perfectly identical disguises, the two Golden Masks stood facing each other—neither yielding an inch—shoulders squared, fists clenched, glaring fiercely. Two crescent-shaped mouths smirking ironically, two eerie expressionless golden faces—they glittered brilliantly in the moonlight. The reader has already surmised. The other Golden Mask standing there was none other than our amateur detective Akechi Kogorō in disguise.

Even after drinking each other’s blood and devouring each other’s flesh, their hatred would remain unsated—archenemy and archenemy, giant of justice and fiend of evil—had now unexpectedly come face-to-face in this beautiful moonlit room. Neither made a move nor uttered a word. Through the mask’s eyeholes—thinner than thread—flame-like gazes clashed in midair. If one drew a pistol, the other would instantly respond by gripping their own. Muzzle to muzzle, they faced each other, aimed squarely at each other's chests.

One step, two steps—without hesitation, they closed in. The left hands of both giants flashed like lightning in perfect unison, and two silver masses scattered at their feet. The pistols had been knocked away from their right hands. It was a fifty-fifty contest. The two who had lost their weapons collided body against body in the next instant. Golden garments swirling, amidst which the crescent-shaped mouths continued to laugh coldly. Under the ghostly pale moonlight, golden figures tumbled in fierce combat. A clashing rainbow. A golden battle.…………

Fumiko in the basement trembled in fear at the unnatural noises overhead, lying prostrate on the sofa. The sounds of grappling and tussling, the noise of tumbling masses of flesh, beast-like groans—she could even sense the fiery breaths of the combatants. The life-and-death struggle had continued for nearly five minutes when the noises abruptly ceased. A deathlike silence.

After a while, near where Fumiko lay prostrate, there was a faint stirring of something moving. Startled, she raised her face—ah, what a relief. There stood her beloved Golden Mask! Her lover had returned safely. And she believed it.

Golden Mask wordlessly took Fumiko’s hand, led her out of the room, and then ascended the dark staircase to the ground floor. Fumiko did not know what that meant. She could only follow along in a daze, yielding entirely to her lover’s will.

Golden Illusion Golden Mask wordlessly pulled Miss Fumiko's hand with inexplicable urgency, leading her up the stairs to ground level, rushed through the corridor, and exited through the main gate. Beside the gate waited an automobile with extinguished headlights. "I wonder when he prepared this car." Before she could voice her doubt, Golden Mask's powerful arm shoved Miss Fumiko into the vehicle. After whispering something to the driver, he leaped in to sit beside the young lady.

The headlights flared. The branches of a dead tree in the far distance of the wide field faintly emerged from the darkness. At the same moment, the automobile lurched forward like an arrow over the bumpy road. Ah, I’m saved. I’m all right now. “I was so scared.” Miss Fumiko said coquettishly and leaned against Golden Mask’s knee as the car swayed, but as soon as she did so, she sat up abruptly, looking startled.

“Ah!” A terrified voice slipped out unbidden. Strangely, her lover’s touch felt entirely different. Lovers know not only each other’s faces and voices but every subtle nook and cranny of their entire bodies—so why did her lover’s body feel entirely different, as though it belonged to someone else? “Wh-what... Who on earth are you? Who are you?” She shrank back into the corner of the cushion as far as she could, her face deathly pale, and stared at Golden Mask as she asked in a high-pitched, trembling voice.

The golden man remained ominously silent. The mask’s chillingly expressionless eyes—thinner than thread—remained fixed on Miss Fumiko’s face. The crescent-shaped mouth was grinning slyly. “Hurry, hurry and show your face. ...Put my mind at ease. ...I’m scared!”

Because Miss Fumiko kept screaming, Golden Mask finally opened his mouth. “Do you want to see my face so badly?”

No, no. That was absolutely not his voice. “Eeek…” A scream of terror. The young lady kept her face hidden in her sleeve, like a mouse before a cat, now unable to even move. “There’s no need to be afraid. “I am your ally. “I have rescued you from the terrible demon’s hands.” The man removed the golden mask while speaking in a calm voice. What appeared from beneath was the cheerful smile of the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō.

The Moonlit Strange Phenomenon

Then, what became of the phantom thief Golden Mask? It was clear he had been defeated in his battle with Akechi. But surely Akechi couldn’t have killed the thief. Had he been confined somewhere? Even if they had confined him, would it really be safe to abandon that and leave the eerie house? In the meantime, given that it was that monster, there was no way he wouldn’t attempt to escape. But that wasn’t all—there was something even more concerning. Who was Golden Mask’s true identity in the first place? Since Akechi had won, he must have known that. That was what one wanted to hear as soon as possible. It is only natural that you, dear readers, are growing impatient.

However, much to our regret, although Akechi had indeed prevailed in his battle against the thief, at the crucial moment he ultimately let the monster slip away. The thief had escaped without giving them any opportunity to ascertain his true identity. Then why didn't they give chase? One might naturally retort: shouldn't pursuing the thief come first, with rescuing Miss Fumiko being secondary?

However, even that was impossible. The thief had not merely fled; he had vanished like smoke. If he had vanished indoors, there must have been a hidden door somewhere—someone of Akechi’s caliber would surely have discovered it—but the thief’s disappearance occurred not inside a room, but on flat ground devoid of trees, illuminated by moonlight as bright as day. He sank into the ground like a demon from a fairy tale.

As you, dear readers, are already aware, up to the point where the two Golden Masks collided body against body. Then came five minutes of beast-like combat that chilled the blood. Their physical strength proved nearly equal. Though Akechi possessed second-degree judo mastery, his opponent demonstrated expertise in an unfamiliar variant of the martial art. Their raw power matched perfectly. "That’s an oddly idiosyncratic judo style. "But damn—this bastard’s freakishly strong!" Locked in their brutal clinch, these thoughts raced through Akechi’s mind.

However, when good and evil clash, villains inevitably harbor weaknesses. Even with marginally superior strength, victory remains unattainable. In Golden Mask's case, while Akechi cared nothing if his own mask were removed, the thief faced utter ruin should his true face be exposed to the enemy. Naturally, he couldn't unleash his full capabilities. Akechi understood this perfectly, focusing exclusively on his opponent's mask during their grapple. A single finger catching its edge would guarantee triumph. He fixated on tearing it away to lay bare the face beneath.

The thief was barely able to defend against Akechi’s swift fingertips flying toward the mask.

In time, even the greatest master would develop an unexpected opening in their defenses. A large opening appeared. The agile Akechi would never let such an opening slip. With a "Yah!" shout, he executed a magnificent lunging hip throw. With a terrible BANG, the phantom thief's massive frame slammed against the floorboards. But the enemy was no ordinary foe—the moment he was thrown down, his long body rolled like a wheel, spinning round and round, causing the next pinning attempt to strike empty air. Because this move was executed with extreme swiftness, Akechi—who had lunged forward somewhat impatiently—pitched face-first onto the floorboards from his excessive momentum.

As they both startledly regained their footing, they stood glaring at each other once more across six feet of space. This time it was the thief who seized the offensive. He spread his arms wide as if to pounce. Akechi braced himself and waited. Neither showed an opening. For one frozen moment hung the eerie calm before a storm. Neither made so much as a move. Only their synchronized breathing broke the silence. Then came the impossible reversal. Just as all expected him to lunge, the phantom thief instead began retreating backward—then in a flash caught his foot on the window frame. With gathered momentum, he vaulted outside in one fluid bound.

Faced with this unforeseen reversal, even the formidable Akechi found his tightly wound vigor momentarily sapped, his initial pursuit delayed by the slightest margin. Moreover, what made it all the more mysterious was that when he regained his composure and rushed to the window, not only in the garden but even across the wide open field beyond the low hedge—devoid of any obstacles—there was not a single human figure to be seen as far as the eye could reach. Thinking he might have hidden in the building’s shadow, he climbed over the window and circled around to look—but a human figure was nowhere to be found, nor could any hiding spots be detected.

Though it was night, moonlight poured down like midday. No matter how hidden a corner, no matter how distant, there should have been no way to overlook a single person. He checked the hedge too. Apart from that hedge, there were no trees worthy of the name within an area of one chō in all directions. For someone to cross that vast field in an instant and disappear into the darkness beyond—that was beyond human capability. Had the monster Golden Mask demonstrated his true powers as a sorcerer, broken through the ground, and vanished into his hellish abode?

Akechi couldn't help but feel an indescribable unease at his enemy's extraordinary feat. Given that he was such a sorcerer, might he not have already managed to steal away Miss Fumiko from the basement during this time? And could it be that the two of them had vanished into hell, hand in hand? The dreamlike pale moonlight suddenly conjured an utterly bizarre illusion. Unable to bear his anxiety any longer, he abandoned the search for the thief and hurried down to the basement. (The entrance to which the phantom thief himself had shown him.) But even such a monster apparently lacked the magical power to take Miss Fumiko away, for she was still there, safe and sound.

If he could just retrieve the young lady, half of Akechi’s objective would be achieved. Rather than greedily chasing two hares, it would be wiser to first take Miss Fumiko back to the Ōtori household. There was no way Miss Fumiko didn’t know her lover’s true identity. This beautiful young lady was none other than the sole witness in all of Japan who had conversed with the thief and seen his true face. Now that he had retrieved Miss Fumiko, wasn’t it practically equivalent to having captured the thief? Thus, taking advantage of his opponent’s unawareness, Akechi’s Golden Mask—disguised as the phantom thief—led Miss Fumiko into the automobile. The Golden Mask’s disguise had clearly served its purpose in this instance.

“Moroccan barbarians”

The story returned once again to the interior of the automobile. Even after seeing Akechi's unmasked face, Fumiko could not discern who he was. This was her first time meeting Akechi. "You likely don't know me," he said. "But please don't be alarmed." "I'm Akechi, come to retrieve you at your father's request." Fumiko knew the name Akechi Kogorō. Her lover Golden Mask—even that omnipotent titan—had repeatedly warned her it belonged to a fearsome enemy.

When she realized this, the terror of the two mysterious Golden Masks faded, but in its place now came—if this man caught her, it was all over—such realistic despair washed over her. The confinement would likely become ten times stricter. She might never see the person she loved again. That too was heartbreaking. But when she thought about it, there was something even more terrifying. "What has become of him? Could he have been killed...?"

Fumiko timidly inquired from behind her sleeve. "Do you mean that person—Golden Mask?" "I am not a murderer." "He’s alive and well." "By now he should be back home sleeping soundly, I assure you."

“Then, that person...” “Yes, he managed to escape.” “……But I am by no means discouraged.” “If I were to ask you, I believe you would kindly tell me everything—who that person is and where they live.” Akechi smiled cheerfully and matter-of-factly laid out the truth.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” Miss Fumiko stiffened and exclaimed.

“No, it doesn’t have to be now.” “Once you return home and give it proper thought, you will surely feel compelled to confess.” “The time will come when you realize that abandoning your love for society’s sake is the right thing.”

Akechi spoke in a gentle tone, as if coaxing a willful child, then fell silent. Fumiko grew increasingly anxious. Akechi became terrifying. She felt an indescribable pressure from this man's unshakable self-assurance. Could I end up betraying him? When everyone demands "Confess! Confess!", will I have the courage to keep my lips sealed? This time it wouldn't stop with Father and household staff. Eventually I'd be summoned before police and courts to face interrogation by terrifying people.

The wretched vision of herself—bound to a pillar by grim-faced detectives, subjected to relentless tickling under her arms—floated before her eyes like a phantom. Ah, it's hopeless. I'm destined to confess. What should I do? What should I do? If it means imprisoning my lover—if it means eternal separation from him—then perhaps... Yes. Perhaps... At that precise moment, wholly indifferent to Fumiko's anguished turmoil, Akechi—as if struck by sudden inspiration—posed an utterly preposterous question.

“Do you speak French?” The way he asked—like a gentleman at a tea party casually posing a question after exhausting other topics—drew Fumiko in so naturally that she carelessly answered "Yes, a little," only to suddenly realize something and become so startled she nearly jumped out of her seat. My goodness, what a frightening man he was. He acts completely unaware, but in reality, might he not know everything there is to know?

"It's no use." The moment she thought this, everything before her eyes went completely dark. "Might as well... Yes, might as well..." She resolved, then reconsidered, over and over and over again. And then, finally...

“Mr. Akechi, please stop the car. “Please let me escape. “If you don’t…” No sooner had Fumiko’s trembling voice cried out than the pistol’s muzzle—where had she been keeping it?—emerged from her sleeve. “Oh my, what a strange toy you’ve got there.” Even after seeing that, Akechi remained unperturbed and smiled cheerfully.

“Are you going to shoot me? Ha ha ha ha! Do you really think you can shoot me? Can you kill someone? Go ahead. Try it.”

Fumiko placed her finger on the trigger, but overwhelmed by his utterly unperturbed attitude, she found herself completely unable to pull it. It appeared that human mental strength had the power to conquer even a mindless weapon.

Ah, it's no use. I just can't do it. Even if I could kill Akechi with this pistol, being a woman, could I truly manage to escape? Right before my eyes was the driver. Even if the driver let me pass, there were townspeople. There was a police box. There was absolutely no chance of escape. The only remaining method was one that wouldn't harm anyone and would save my lover. It was the valiant method women from ancient times had always chosen in such situations. Fumiko too finally solidified that resolve.

Akechi saw Fumiko’s complexion suddenly turn pale. He saw an unusual gleam come into her eyes. He saw a violent spasm occur in her tightly pursed lips. He saw the pistol's muzzle gradually shift direction and move toward her chest.

“Ah, no! Stop that!” Even Akechi, who hadn’t flinched at the muzzle pointed at himself, turned pale at this. Shouting something incomprehensible, he lunged at Fumiko’s pistol.

But Fumiko nimbly dodged and, with a terrifying glare fixed on Akechi,

“Mr. Akechi, please give my father a message.” “Please tell him to forgive my countless unfilial sins.” “And tell him…‘Fumiko took her own life to save the Golden Mask demon she loved.’” Ah, what a thing this was. This beautiful young lady, in order to save the Golden Mask demon whom all of Japan feared, would not even consider her own father’s anguish. Where in that phantom thief could such terrifying magical power lie hidden? Even the renowned detective was utterly overwhelmed. Neither wisdom nor physical strength could overturn this fragile girl’s resolve—were he to try seizing the pistol, in that very instant she would surely pull the trigger. In this situation, half-hearted attempts to stop her would only hasten Miss Fumiko’s death.

In this world, there are matters beyond the reach of human power. Even Akechi, faced with this terrifying resolve, found himself utterly helpless, unable to lift a hand or move a foot.

But just at that critical moment, something beyond human power appeared. An utterly unexpected helping hand appeared.

A miracle! Something nearly impossible occurred. What entity extended a helping hand, and from where? From the driver’s seat of the automobile, mere three feet away, the right arm of the driver—who had been facing forward until now—shot out with a swift motion and instantly snatched away Fumiko’s pistol. Fumiko, who had been solely focused on Akechi, was caught off guard and ended up readily surrendering her weapon to the enemy.

But was he truly Fumiko’s enemy? No, no—he was absolutely not her enemy. To their utter astonishment, the driver was not an enemy at all—in fact, he was her very ally, her lover: Golden Mask himself. Until now, he had hidden the back of his head by pulling up his overcoat collar to cover his hunting cap completely, so no one had noticed anything amiss—but when he swiftly turned around, that face was unmistakably Golden Mask: a glittering golden Noh mask with its signature crescent-shaped lips smirking.

A miracle. When had he driven out the real driver and gotten into this automobile? No matter how one considered it, it was an impossible feat. To exit through that room’s window and reach the spot where this automobile had been parked, one would absolutely have to pass through the visible garden. Akechi had been keeping watch there. There was no one in the garden.

Even Akechi Kogorō found himself completely taken aback by this utterly unexpected turn. But astonishing as it was, this was no time to dwell on such matters. The pressing issue was how to escape this dangerous predicament. For Golden Mask had taken the pistol seized from Fumiko and now aimed it squarely at Akechi, poised to fire at any moment. The positions of attacker and defender reversed in an instant. Akechi, who had been pressing the offensive, now found himself under assault.

“Drive the car,” Golden Mask commanded in his fiendish, muffled voice that seemed to ooze through the metallic mask. “Now. If you refuse, I’ll put a bullet through your skull.” Akechi’s molars ground together as fury surged through him - fury at his own catastrophic oversight. Why hadn’t he scrutinized the driver’s face when entering the vehicle? This wasn’t merely an error; it was a professional disgrace that would haunt the great detective’s reputation indefinitely. “Still resisting?” The gilded monster’s taunt hung in the stagnant air. The automobile sat motionless like a steel coffin, its idling engine thrumming ominously. Beyond the windshield stretched a labyrinth of abandoned factories - skeletal structures with broken windows gaping like empty eye sockets. Every shadow seemed tailored for ambush, every alleyway a potential execution ground.

However, when told "Won't you drive?" out of sheer pride, he couldn't bring himself to say "Yes" and drive the car. As Akechi, he could not endure such an insult.

His mind whirled like a windmill as he desperately sought an immediate solution, five then ten seconds slipping away. Then finally came a BANG—a violent shockwave through the air that seemed to twist the automobile out of shape. The monster, having exhausted his patience, finally loosed the first shot. A scream of indescribable terror burst simultaneously from Akechi and Fumiko's lips. Yet fortune smiled—the bullet veered off course, merely reducing the rear window to glittering shards.

When he looked, the monster was poised to fire the second shot, not a hair’s breadth of opening in his stance. Damn!

Akechi finally gave up. He had no choice but to preserve his life for now and plan his next move. Unfortunately, he nimbly twisted his body and leaped out of the car. “Farewell!” With a hateful parting remark, the automobile suddenly sped off. Simultaneously came yet another eerie shock. The enemy, in a cowardly manner, fired the second shot from within the moving vehicle.

“Whoa, that was close! Close one!” Akechi shouted cheerfully while bounding off like a rabbit in the opposite direction. The bullet sewed through the golden garment and narrowly grazed his flank.

After watching until the red tail light vanished beneath the trees, Akechi once more muttered an incomprehensible soliloquy. "That bastard must consider us Japanese no better than those Moroccan savages." This marked the second time he had uttered such cryptic words. Once he had asked Fumiko, "Can you speak French?" Once it was this current mention of "Moroccan savages." Though no connection to the criminal case could yet be discerned, these words undoubtedly pertained to Golden Mask's true identity. This incident—destined to prove significant later—is something I earnestly entreat you, dear readers, to commit firmly to memory.

The fact that the bandit’s gunshot was not merely a threat but an actual attempt to kill him left Akechi Kogorō utterly astonished. He felt profoundly surprised.

Without stopping his fleeing steps, he turned back toward the mysterious house. For he felt there was still some unfinished business there.

He strolled aimlessly along the outside of the moonlit hedge, frantically trying to discover something. He frantically tried to solve the miracle of the thief vanishing like smoke in the middle of the garden and that strange mystery of how the thief had somehow ended up in Akechi's driver's seat. A shallow ditch ran along the hedge. He walked along the outside of that ditch, muttering something under his breath. When he suddenly strained his ears, a strange groan came from somewhere. It was indeed the voice of a human in agony. He looked around, but there was not a single human figure to be seen anywhere; only the groan could be heard right by his ear. Yet again there was the eerie mystery of the pouring moonlight.

“Who’s there? Where are you?!”

When he shouted and looked around, even his own voice seemed to echo in the moonlight and drift ethereally into the sky, vanishing without a trace. “Ugh…” But the groan grew louder, as if responding. It was a voice welling up from the ground. He involuntarily looked down at his feet. The dried-up ditch continued like a belt. The moonlight had crept even into that ditch, creating beautiful streaks. Ah, there it was. In the ditch about two ken ahead, the squirming thing was indeed a human. At last, what he had been searching for was found.

When he rushed over and pulled him up to look, sure enough, it was the driver of the automobile he had hired. After untying the ropes binding his limbs and removing the gag, the mud-covered man finally spoke.

“Is that you, sir?” “What a dreadful ordeal I’ve been through!” “That gold-glittering monster that jumped down from the roof—just who in the world is it?” Akechi had not informed the driver about Golden Mask or his own disguise as Golden Mask. He had bundled the mask and costume into a furoshiki wrap before going to the mysterious house where he changed. Now, having left those garments in the automobile he had just used, he had returned to his original appearance in a business suit.

“What? From the roof? You’re saying that guy jumped down from the roof?” Akechi, startled by the driver’s bizarre words, asked him to repeat. “Yes, from the roof! He was just like a golden bird. It was so strange I thought I might be dreaming, and while I was rubbing my eyes, that guy leapt over the hedge and came flying at me like a bullet. I didn’t have a chance to do anything. And he was terrifyingly strong. Before I knew it, I was already tightly bound. Then he stuffed a gag in my mouth, carried me all the way here where you couldn’t see the car anymore, and just dumped me into this ditch!”

However, Akechi wasn't even halfway listening to the driver's explanation. He suddenly leaped over the hedge and rushed to the outside of the room where he had grappled with Golden Mask earlier. When he looked, he saw that the room was a single-story structure, and the roof eaves were not particularly high. "Sir! Sir! Where's that bastard from?" "Where did he take my car?!" The driver came chasing after Akechi, breathless. "Do you think someone could grab this window frame, push up with their hips, and climb onto that roof?" "Do you think such a feat is humanly possible?"

Because Akechi had asked such an outrageous question, the driver was startled and blinked his eyes rapidly. “There’s no way I could do that. “No, no one could possibly do that. “But he’s the exception. “After all, he’s the one who climbed the industrial tower at the exposition. “Even a master ladder climber couldn’t match him, you know.”

Akechi continued talking as if he had lost his mind. “Ah, what a fool I was.” “Not to have noticed the roof.” “To think I was only searching the garden and didn’t even look up.” “You see—he pretended to leap into the garden, grabbed the window frame, used the momentum from one swing, and climbed up to the roof eaves with his toes.” “And while I was searching the garden, he flattened himself against the slope of the roof and hid there.”

“And then he anticipated your move and jumped down to the front side, right?” “But what exactly is that guy?” “Do you know, sir?” “My goodness, haven’t you realized yet? “There’s no golden monster out there.” “That’s him.” “That’s Golden Mask.”

“What? Golden Mask?!”

The driver, so astonished, gaped vacantly like an idiot with his mouth hanging open and couldn’t utter another word.

Expert Marksman

The next day, an automobile was abandoned on the main thoroughfare of Hibiya Park. By the license plate number, it was discovered that this was the car Akechi had hired the previous night. That was all.

Neither Golden Mask nor Miss Fumiko could be found—no matter how much time passed, there was not even a trace of where they might have hidden themselves.

Simultaneously, from that day onward, the thieves’ persistent persecution of Akechi Kogorō began. They were plotting to eliminate this sole obstacle by every means possible. The enemies never showed themselves. However, it could only be concluded that they were lying in wait everywhere Akechi went.

At one point, the horse of a cart suddenly went wild and tried to trample Akechi, who happened to be passing by, under its hooves.

At one point, iron materials came falling down onto Akechi’s head from the scaffolding of a building under construction. When he cautiously refrained from going out, the thieves’ reach extended even into the interior of the Kaika Apartments. One day, when the coffee he had ordered from the cafeteria to his room tasted strange, he took just one sip and, upon examining it, discovered that poison had been mixed in. The boy who brought the coffee was a man he had never seen before. Moreover, it was discovered that the man was not an apartment employee but had infiltrated by dressing as a boy just for that day.

Since then, plainclothes detectives had infiltrated the apartment building and heightened security, so such incidents never occurred again. However, if someone peeked out through the window facing the street at night, eerie figures could often be seen loitering in front of the building. The thief was clearly trying to kill Akechi. First eliminating this nuisance, he would then leisurely proceed with his next crime.

Akechi Kogorō, of all people, was strangely extremely timid in the face of this persecution. Not only did he hardly ever go out, but he locked his room’s door from the inside and never showed himself even in the apartment hallway except for three meals a day. His meticulous attention extended even to the mail. For reply envelopes and stamps, he used a sponge for all of them, never once licking them with his mouth. He had all packages opened by the bellboy, confirmed there were no dangerous devices, and received them.

Shut away in his room, he was engrossed in reading day and night. Since his room was on the second floor of the apartment building facing the main street, at night, through the tightly closed glass window and yellow blinds he had carefully secured, the shadow of him reading could be seen from the street below.

Because the desk was placed by the window, his shadow was cast in the same shape on the same window every night. The occasional turning of his swivel chair or slumping of his posture became clear shadow plays that could be vividly observed. His nightly reading was as regular as clockwork, strictly confined between eight and ten o'clock. When ten o'clock struck, he would turn off the light and retire to his bedroom. The thief was helpless. It had become absolutely impossible for them to infiltrate the apartment from their side. Yet waiting indefinitely for Akechi to go out was no solution. The shadow that appeared in the window every night—there was nothing they could do about it. At the entrance, besides the guards, even plainclothes detectives had recently been stationed. Moreover, the front faced a main thoroughfare with streetcars. There was absolutely no chance for them to climb up to the second-floor window unnoticed. Even if they managed to climb up, this was Akechi—ever vigilant. He must have prepared considerable defensive measures anyway. It might very well be that even that conspicuously displayed window shadow was a terrifying trap designed to lure the thief.

But Golden Mask was not one to stand idly by and retreat. The more thorough the famous detective’s preparations became, the more emboldened he grew, devising one attack method after another. And finally, that extraordinary incident came to pass. It was the night exactly one week after the thief’s persecution had begun. At five minutes before ten o'clock—the critical moment when Akechi Kogorō would always retire from his window-side reading to his bedroom—the thief's final desperate attack came from an utterly unexpected direction, one even the renowned detective could never have anticipated. Moreover, it succeeded perfectly.

At five minutes before ten o'clock, a commonplace-model taxi came speeding along the tram-lined main thoroughfare in front of the Kaika Apartments from the direction of Suidobashi at the maximum speed allowed by regulations. At a glance, there was nothing unusual about it. However, the white numbers on the tail number plate were smeared with mud, rendering about half of them completely invisible; yet the traffic policeman at the go-stop failed to notice that this was mud deliberately daubed to conceal the number and nonchalantly allowed it to pass.

Externally, there was nothing unusual about it, but had someone peered into the passenger compartment of the box-like vehicle, they would have been unable to suppress a startled cry at the extraordinary sight. In accordance with regulations, the small electric light in the vehicle was on, and the blinds on the windows had not been lowered, leaving the passenger compartment visible; however, in their place, three or four large cloth-wrapped bundles—like those used for moving—had been crammed in, hiding the passenger’s figure almost completely from view.

No—it wasn’t just that he couldn’t be seen. The passenger had crouched behind the cloth-wrapped bundles, shouldering a rifle with his finger on the trigger, its muzzle positioned at the corner of the open window as he prepared to fire at any moment. This wasn’t some African big game hunt—what could they possibly be shooting at from inside an automobile on Tokyo’s central streetcar thoroughfare, even with sparse pedestrian traffic? No, there was something far more alarming. What glinted between the bundles was unmistakably a golden mask. Ah—this grotesque passenger could be none other than the fiendish thief Golden Mask.

The car maintained full speed as it approached the Kaika Apartments. The shooter aboard the vehicle swiftly took aim. Where the muzzle pointed was... Ah... toward Akechi Kogorō's second-floor apartment room. There lay the black shadow of the renowned detective projected in that window. Between his recent routines and his disheveled hair coupled with his overall appearance, there could be no case of mistaken identity. In an instant, a gunshot reverberated through the night air. Yet no one paid it any mind. After all, nobody would expect someone to start shooting birds in such a place. People simply assumed an automobile tire had burst and let the matter pass.

However, the people in the neighboring rooms of the apartment were startled. This was because the windowpane of Akechi’s room had shattered with a terrible noise. The bullet struck true. Akechi’s shadow on the blinds swayed unsteadily, then suddenly collapsed onto the desk. Got him! It worked. Now, escape! Escape at full speed. And then, the car increased its speed even more and turned into the next desolate side street.

What an excellent marksman he was. From a vehicle speeding at twenty miles per hour, he struck the target with a single shot. He struck down the figure in the window.

The shadow on the blinds remained collapsed on the desk, showing part of his back without even a twitch. Was our Akechi Kogorō injured? No, no—if he had merely been wounded, he would have cried out for help. He should have been thrashing about in agony. Seeing that the shadow did not move at all and no voice was heard—perhaps—ah, perhaps—he had already breathed his last?

Missing Corpse Incident

The following day, the society pages of major metropolitan newspapers carried a passionately written article like the one below.

Breaking: Golden Mask’s Sinister Scheme! Finally Attacks Mr. Akechi Kogorō!

Gunfire at Apartment Window... Has the Famous Detective Perished? Last night around ten o'clock, Mr. Akechi Kogorō—a private detective reading in his study at the Kaika Apartments—was shot through the windowpane from outside by an unknown assailant and appears to have perished. According to reports, Mr. Akechi had been collaborating with the Metropolitan Police Department in his dedicated efforts to apprehend the fiendish thief Golden Mask, and due to this involvement, he had incurred the thief’s enmity—even receiving terrifying threatening letters. However, as the thief’s invisible attacks had recently intensified, Mr. Akechi had become so cautious that he confined himself to a single room in his apartment, rarely venturing out. Considering all these circumstances, last night’s gunshot was undoubtedly the work of Golden Mask or his associates. Mrs. A, the wife of company employee Mr. O residing in the neighboring apartment room, was startled by the sound of shattering glass. When she looked out her window and saw that Mr. Akechi’s room was in an unusual state, she knocked on his door but received no response. When they called the apartment caretaker and inquired, he stated that Mr. Akechi should indeed be in his room. Growing suspicious, they obtained a master key and opened the door, only to discover Mr. Akechi lying face down on the desk by the window, stained with blood.

Bizarre! Bizarre!

A Bizarre Case Straight Out of a Detective Novel The Famous Detective’s Missing Corpse Both Mrs. A and the caretaker were utterly shocked by what they saw and immediately dashed into the hallway to call for help; however, as none of the second-floor residents had yet returned home, the two were forced to rush down the stairs to the office downstairs to report the emergency. Mr. Akechi’s corpse had been left in the open room for a mere two or three minutes—yet in that brief span, an astonishing incident occurred. When the apartment clerk rushed to check, Mr. Akechi’s corpse had vanished without a trace. They thoroughly searched not only the two rooms rented by Mr. Akechi but every corner of the apartment—from hallways to staircases—yet found no sign of him. Upon receiving the emergency report, the Metropolitan Police Department’s H Investigation Division Chief and Inspector Namikaze were dispatched to investigate. However, aside from traces of a bullet having shattered the windowpane and pierced through the blinds along with bloodstains on the desk, they discovered no clues whatsoever and withdrew empty-handed after failing to locate even the bullet itself. Given that no bullet remained in the room, investigators had no choice but to conclude it had lodged itself within Mr. Akechi’s body. Consequently, since someone so gravely injured could not possibly have left under their own power, it was surmised that members of the criminal gang had likely secretly carried away Mr. Akechi’s corpse—presuming he had already perished. Yet why the criminal needed to steal the victim’s corpse remains entirely unclear.

The Smoke-Spewing Automobile

A Passerby’s Bizarre Testimony

Although the front of the Kaika Apartments was on a tram line, it was an extremely desolate spot facing a river on one side—yet around ten o'clock in the evening, there should still have been a considerable number of pedestrians. The question of how the criminal managed to elude the notice of pedestrians and perpetrate this heinous act had become a major mystery. According to the testimony of D, a carpenter residing at ○○ S-chō in the same ward who happened to be walking past the apartment at the time, there were indeed scattered pedestrians on foot at that very moment, and neither streetcars nor automobiles were visible—yet from the direction of Suidobashi, what appeared to be a round taxi came speeding over and swiftly turned into the alley beyond the apartment. Just as the automobile reached the front of the apartment, there was suddenly a terrible noise—as if a tire had blown out—and white smoke burst out from the car’s window. If we are to believe this testimony, it follows that the truly bizarre hypothetical theory—that the culprit fired at the apartment window from a speeding automobile—would hold water.

……………………………

In addition to the main text above, the article included testimonies from the company employee’s wife who discovered Akechi’s corpse and a few others, the victim’s biographical profile, and even accounts of his achievements as an amateur detective. The famous detective Akechi Kogorō had been killed. Moreover, his corpse had been stolen by members of Golden Mask’s gang. Public opinion was bound to boil over. To the terror of the new era that was Golden Mask, add the loss of the generation’s beloved detective Akechi. Could there ever be another incident so sensational?

Had the amateur detective truly perished? Could it be that he remained critically injured, confined in the thieves' den, suffering torments worse than death? And could it be that the thieves, holding this famous detective hostage, were now preparing their next attack? Wherever one turned, it was abuzz with that rumor. Some claimed Akechi had already perished, while others insisted he was still alive, and debates flourished here and there. Among them, there were even those who began making bets on this outcome.

Grand Soirée

For about a week after that, despite the Metropolitan Police Department’s frantic investigation, the incident of Akechi Kogorō’s missing corpse showed no progress whatsoever. Not only Akechi’s whereabouts but even Golden Mask’s location—they could not grasp so much as a single strand of a clue. Inspector Namikaze, head of the investigation division, having lost his closest friend since the *Spider-Man* case—who had also been his sole confidant and the civilian mastermind—felt profound disappointment, and toward Golden Mask, the perpetrator, he felt a fury that surpassed professional duty.

For that very reason, they had exerted every effort in the search for Akechi’s whereabouts but, unluckily, still could not discover even a single clue.

Today as well, he mustered his flagging spirits and went to work early. And as he settled into his seat, lost in thought about the day’s investigative strategy, a messenger from the Criminal Affairs Division Chief arrived. “Oh, Chief, you’re ridiculously early today.”

While puzzled, he went to check the room and found the Criminal Affairs Division Chief acting strangely. Somehow, he seemed extremely agitated. "You, read this." The moment he saw Namikaze’s face, without any preamble, the Chief produced what appeared to be a letter. When he received it and looked, on the official hōsho scroll paper, written in meticulous calligraphy, were bizarre phrases as shown on the left.

On the night of the 15th, at the grand soirée welcoming representatives of your nation's industrialists to be held at Your Excellency's residence, I shall most certainly attend as an uninvited guest. I bear no ulterior motives—this is solely to pay my respects to the distinguished representatives of your nation's industrialists and to carry out my professional duties herein. I hereby present this letter in advance to obtain Your Excellency's consent. Golden Mask

Golden Mask His Excellency Count Rougel, Ambassador of F "Golden Mask! Damn it, he finally showed himself!"

Inspector Namikaze involuntarily turned bright red and shouted.

“Late last night, an urgent messenger came from the F Embassy.” “As the Superintendent was unavailable, I met with them in his stead.” “It was the secretary and interpreter.” “With the industrialists’ representatives’ schedule being fixed, we cannot postpone the soirée.” “Even if we were to postpone it, since the thief wouldn’t withdraw regardless, we resolved to hold the soirée as planned.” “Accordingly, they formally requested assistance from the Metropolitan Police Department to prepare for any contingencies.” The Criminal Affairs Division Chief continued his explanation in a thoroughly dispassionate, bureaucratic tone.

“As you know, the F Ambassador’s residence is located within the embassy grounds, which complicates matters.” “Golden Mask targeted a truly problematic location.” “However, we could not leave this grave incident unattended. After coordinating with the Foreign Ministry, arrangements were made for approximately twenty plainclothes officers from the Metropolitan Police Department to infiltrate the ambassador’s residence inconspicuously that night and establish thorough security measures.” “Therefore, given our existing relationship, I would like to entrust you with commanding that detective squad, though it may be burdensome.” “If there’s even a single blunder, it could escalate into a major international incident. Therefore, I must ask you to proceed with utmost caution, ensuring no oversights whatsoever.”

At first glance, it might seem absurd that a single letter from a thief could make institutions like the embassy, Metropolitan Police Department, and even the Foreign Ministry erupt in commotion—yet so deeply had Golden Mask’s uncanny shadow permeated people’s hearts. Especially since Count Rougel, the F Ambassador in question—as the reader knows—had personally witnessed Golden Mask’s demonic power at Marquis Washio’s estate in Nikko, it was only natural he viewed this lone threatening missive with such grave seriousness.

“If that guy says he’ll come, he’ll definitely come.” Inspector Namikaze had come to believe this completely through his many past experiences. “So we’ll finally be meeting that scoundrel again after all this time.” “This time I won’t let him escape.” “Either I collar him, or I resign.” He declared with a grave expression of resolve. Five days remained until the fateful fifteenth. During that interval, Inspector Namikaze strained every ounce of his wisdom to complete security preparations without a single oversight. Naturally, he made frequent visits to the ambassador’s residence, met with the ambassador himself, and thoroughly investigated the building’s structure.

Scouring the department, a squad of twenty excellent detectives was organized. They were to disguise themselves as lower-level embassy clerks, or as clerks and servants of the ambassador’s residence, and station themselves inside and outside the grand soirée venue to keep watch.

On the 14th, it was decided that the Superintendent-General of Police—having returned from his trip—would attend the grand soirée as one of the invited guests while discreetly overseeing his subordinates' operations.

For Golden Mask, a mere thief, this must be said to be an honor far beyond his station.

Now, at last, the day arrived.

In the vicinity of the F Embassy in Y District of Kōjimachi Ward, over a dozen uniformed police officers had already been stationed by afternoon. The delegation of F industrialists were extremely important guests for this country, so even without the Golden Mask factor, this level of security was only natural. As the appointed hour drew near, automobiles began streaming into the embassy grounds one after another, and the sound of shoes ascending the stone steps of the main entrance grew more frequent.

Atop those stone steps, Inspector Namikaze—disguised as a reception staff member in a tailcoat—stood resolutely alongside two plainclothes subordinates. The ambassador’s two secretaries (one being a Japanese secretary who also served as interpreter) stood shoulder to shoulder with Inspector Namikaze and carried out the verification of the guests’ identities.

The guests were predominantly F nationals, followed by Japanese nationals, with people from various other foreign countries also mixed in. The sight of them—many accompanied by their wives—entering while whispering in their respective languages was akin to a human exhibition of ethnicities on display. Since they were all well-known figures, most could be recognized at a glance, but there were some guests whom even the secretaries and Inspector Namikaze did not recognize. For such individuals, they would politely request to see their invitation and ask their name; if they were Japanese, Inspector Namikaze and his two subordinates would subject them to piercing, suspicious glares from three sides—such was their watertight vigilance.

Since the exact number of invited guests had been confirmed, once the last guest arrived, they promptly shut the main entrance's large doors, with several plainclothes detectives maintaining surveillance both inside and outside. At the back entrance as well, detectives were posted, and even on the emergency staircase installed outside the building, two detectives were stationed. In other words, it had become utterly impossible for anyone—not even a single cat—to exit or enter the building without being spotted by the detectives.

Thus, among the several dozen guests confined within the ambassador’s residence in this manner, there was not a single person who warranted suspicion of being Golden Mask in disguise. The number of invitations and guests matched exactly. Moreover, the guests were all acquainted with one another, and even observing how they formed groups in various parts of the grand hall and engaged in friendly conversation, it was unthinkable that a thief completely unfamiliar to anyone could be mixed among them.

The extravagant dinner party in the grand dining hall ended around eight o'clock in the evening.

And at last, the bizarre seven-room masquerade ball that Count Rougel had ingeniously designed was about to commence; however, before proceeding, we must relate a particular fact that had drawn Inspector Namikaze's notice during the dinner. As Inspector Namikaze was disguised as a reception attendant, he could freely access the dining area; yet shortly after the meal commenced, while standing concealed behind a massive vase in the corner of the hall and meticulously scrutinizing each guest during their repast, he abruptly became aware of something peculiar.

What caught his attention was that there existed another person besides himself who was similarly scrutinizing the diners at the table. At the table, Japanese waiters in splendid uniforms stood attending with proper decorum, yet among them was a single individual who rudely kept staring at the guests' faces as they ate. Moreover, this was no absentminded survey of the room, but rather a persistent, meaningful observation of specific individuals conducted through narrowed eyes with an air of purpose.

The specific person in question was first and foremost Count Rougel, who was acting as host. The waiter stole furtive glances at the Count; in his eyes lurked something akin to hostility. The second target was the Superintendent-General of Police. The waiter stared so intently that even the Superintendent-General noticed, glancing back at him two or three times. Yet each time, the waiter abruptly averted his gaze elsewhere, feigning innocence. The people whom the waiter observed were not limited to those around the dining table. His gaze would leave the meal service and frequently linger on a third figure standing in the corner of the room. This third figure was none other than Inspector Namikaze himself, concealed behind a vase.

Not only was the waiter’s behavior suspicious, but his appearance was also extremely unusual. He appeared to be about thirty-five or thirty-six years old, yet despite being a waiter, he sported an impressive mustache and wore pretentious rimless glasses. Inspector Namikaze had thoroughly investigated the waiters’ backgrounds in advance and confirmed there was nothing particularly suspicious about them, so he certainly didn’t think this mustached waiter could be Golden Mask in disguise—yet even so, the man somehow left him uneasy.

He was continuously paying attention to the waiter’s behavior. The waiter as well appeared to be perpetually conscious of the Inspector’s presence in the back of his mind. However, with nothing particularly noteworthy occurring, the dinner soon concluded without incident.

And then, the bizarre masquerade ball began. “The Masque of the Red Death” That Count Rougel, the French Ambassador, was a man of rich cultural sensibilities could be sufficiently inferred from his constant visits since assuming office—to ancient temples and shrines, museums of course, even private residences—to appreciate antiquities, leaving him scarcely a day to spare; yet the Count’s tastes were by no means confined to ancient artworks. He was an amateur historian and at once an amateur literary scholar.

Naturally, his every action was accompanied by a wit and emotional depth that ordinary diplomats could scarcely conceive. At receptions and similar occasions, novel ideas that often made guests exclaim “Ah!” were devised. Fortunately, the F Embassy’s official residence—a luxurious mansion transferred from a certain wealthy individual—was sufficiently spacious for large gatherings, making it perfectly suited for the Count’s extraordinary tastes to be displayed.

Now, the Count’s scheme for this evening happened to be of a particularly gloomy nature. He had deliberately avoided using the grand hall, assigning seven rooms adorned with bizarre decorations as the dance floor. These chambers—originally constructed according to the previous owner’s eccentric tastes—featured an extremely irregular layout designed so only one room could be seen at any time. At intervals of five or six *ken*, sharp turns forced guests to confront entirely new decorative schemes so startling they stole one’s breath.

In each of these rooms, Gothic-style windows were set into the center of the walls facing the corridor, with sheer colored silk curtains stretched taut across every pane. Even in the interior furnishings, bizarre ingenuity had been devised. One room had its chairs, tables, walls, and floor all covered in blue cloth, and accordingly, the window curtains were of an eye-catching blue hue. The next room, since its decorations were purple, had sheer silk curtains on the windows that were also purple. In the same manner, the third was green, the fourth orange, the fifth white, and the sixth violet. And the seventh room—here alone, instead of cheap colored fabric—was covered from ceiling to walls with black velvet tapestries that formed heavy folds cascading down onto a carpet of the same black velvet. A room enveloped in deep, deep darkness—it was a chamber of the darkest night. Moreover, this room's bizarre feature was that unlike others where black curtains should have covered the windows according to precedent, here alone a sheer silk of drippingly vivid crimson—utterly discordant with the room's color scheme—had been stretched taut.

In every room, there were no electric lights—nor indeed any lamps or candlesticks—to be found. Instead, beyond the windows draped with each chamber’s signature sheer silk, tripods bearing bowls of crimson flame had been installed in the corridor. Through the multicolored silks, these old-fashioned fires cast glittering light across every room. Count Rougel’s gloomy yet poetic design may have seemed utterly simplistic when described in writing, but in reality created an indescribably opulent, phantasmagoric spectacle. Particularly in the pitch-black room at the western end, the lamplight filtering through crimson silk and falling upon the dark tapestry gave a chillingly eerie sensation. The faces of those who entered there took on an eerie, otherworldly hue, so much so that among the guests, scarcely anyone was bold enough to set foot in that room.

In this room, against the western wall, stood a giant ebony clock. The pendulum swung left and right, marking a dull, heavy, monotonous rhythm. When the long hand completed its full rotation to strike the hour, a clear, high-pitched, yet profoundly musical resonance would emanate from its brass chambers. The sound possessed such an uncanny tone and commanding timbre that musicians stationed in the corridor corner would pause their performance every hour—even mid-phrase—compelled against their will to heed its call. Consequently, waltzing couples too found themselves forced to halt mid-step and listen. The merry dance would abruptly descend into eerie disarray, and while the clock tolled, even the most jovial revelers grew pale-faced, their hearts unsettled by some phantom vision.

“How aptly conceived.” “Count.” “Isn’t this Edgar Allan Poe’s *The Masque of the Red Death*?” Mr. B, First Secretary of the British Embassy, whispered fawningly to the Count in fluent French. “Ah! You recognized it?” The Count replied with a self-satisfied smile. “I remain an eternal devotee of Poe.” “Though perhaps this concept proved somewhat too gloomy?”

It was indeed gloomy. However, they were dozens of dancers under the influence of alcohol. Moreover, for people accustomed to lavish banquets in their daily lives, this idea struck them as extremely clever. The men were certainly not of an age to fear such decorations, and the women too, though somewhat unnerved, found themselves dancing from room to room out of sheer novelty.

Now, regarding the costumes of the dancers who were wildly dancing through the seven rooms—though the author previously referred to this as a masquerade ball, it might actually be more appropriate to call it a costume ball. The women were simply wearing beautiful evening gowns with black blindfolds provided by the Count, while half of the men had come concealing eccentric disguises of their own devising beneath their coats. There were multicolored clown costumes and medieval knight attire; some wore Japanese straw rain hats while others were dressed as Indian holy men—all manner of bizarre disguises mingled among the properly tailcoated guests.

Even the businessmen representatives who loved clowning came in their own devised disguises, but among them was one like Mr. L, clad in a full suit of Japanese armor, which as the most novel costume of the night, received praise from the entire gathering. “What’s this ‘Masque of the Red Death’ story about? Would someone please tell me?” The flippant daughter of the American military attaché suddenly posed a question worthy of her nation’s literature during a lull in the dancing.

However, fortunately, the young lady was exceedingly beautiful, so the young men gladly answered her question.

“A terrible epidemic broke out where red blisters appeared all over the body, blood spurted from them, turning the whole body crimson, and victims died in the blink of an eye.” One of them began.

“A duke avoided that disease by shutting himself away in a vast monastery along with his retainers.” “And night and day, they indulged in feasting and dancing, pushing revelry to its limits.”

Another one added to that and said. “One evening, the duke hosted a masquerade ball just like tonight’s.” “The seven rooms of the monastery were decorated exactly like the rooms we are in now.” “There, the people continued dancing in a frenzy.” “However, when the large clock in that black room struck twelve, as if signaling, a person dressed as ‘the Red Death’ suddenly appeared among the dancers.” “The people made way in fear.” “The costumed figure passed through them all, staggering unsteadily through the seven rooms until he reached the pitch-dark chamber at the western end, where he bled profusely from his entire body and met his end.” “When they rushed over and tried to remove the accursed mask, they found nothing inside—it was completely empty.” “In other words, it meant that *the Red Death* itself had somehow infiltrated the monastery.” “And then, the people in the monastery were instantly infected by the disease, blood gushing from their bodies, writhing in their death throes as they perished—and so it goes.”

The third person concluded the story. "You mustn't tell such stories."

Count Rougel overheard this and attempted to cut short the eerie story, but it was already too late.

Before they knew it, the women who had gathered there turned pale upon hearing this story. “Oh, how creepy!” “Count, you really do play such terrible pranks.” A woman shuddered and murmured, and it became a strange echo that passed from ear to ear. Even the men abruptly felt a chill in their very beings. After that, there were several more dances, but no one was in the mood. The sound of the large clock in the inner room was all that could be heard.

No one entered the black room. For night had deepened, and through that blood-hued gauze, the crimson light streaming in had grown increasingly eerie and vivid. The dancing crowd kept their distance from it as much as possible and, to forget their terror, danced madly like lunatics. Exactly as those in the monastery from the story had done. Even as they whirled in frenzy, the women found themselves haunted by visions—grotesque figures emerging unsteadily from shadowed corners where lamplight flickered in blue or purple rooms, their faces ravaged by hideous sores from which thick rivulets of blood oozed.

And finally, midnight came. When the twelve strokes of the great clock resounded from the deserted velvet room, the people, as was customary, stood frozen in terror. The musicians suddenly stopped playing. The roaring uproar from just a moment before fell deathly silent. The people exchanged pale glances and remained silent. Amidst this, only the sound of the great clock reverberated in a shrill tone, like a scream heard from the afterlife.

The twelve strokes felt as though they took an entire year. But at last, the long, long tolling of the bell came to an end. And scarcely had those delicate reverberations swept through room after room like a gust of wind when—in that very instant—a light, half-stifled laugh, as though chasing the fading toll of the time bell, echoed forth with sinister clarity. The people broke out in goosebumps and turned in unison toward that direction. And yet, they discovered that a bizarrely costumed figure—whose presence no one had noticed until then—was mingling among their midst. Instantly, whispers about this new intruder spread like the wind.

“Oh, how gorgeous! Who on earth is that?” The cheerful American young lady whispered to her clown-dressed dance partner. “Aren’t you aware of that?”

The partner was startled and whispered back. “Well, I don’t know.” The young lady answered innocently.

“That… that is the famous Golden Mask, you know.”

The clown-dressed gentleman declared these terrifying words in a lifeless, strangely emotionless tone.

The Golden Death

What had occurred in a strange tale from a century ago was now being recreated there, precisely as it had occurred. The people were overcome by an indescribably strange feeling, as though watching a double-exposed film. In Poe’s terrifying tale, as soon as the twelve strokes of the ebony grand clock finished ringing, a costumed figure whom no one recognized appeared. Wasn’t this exactly the same as that? The only difference was that the costumed figure who had appeared was not the “Red Death,” but a far more immediate terror—the “Golden Mask.”

“What dreadful taste! Who on earth could have appeared in that abominable costume?” “Well, until just now there shouldn’t have been a single person wearing such golden attire.”

People frowned and whispered to each other in hushed tones. The matter of the terrifying threatening letter from the notorious Golden Mask had not been disclosed to anyone outside Count Rougel’s inner circle and the Metropolitan Police Department, so no one suspected that this might indeed be the real phantom thief now causing an uproar in society. They all believed it was simply one of the guests in an ill-intentioned costume. Though they believed this, upon seeing that golden Noh mask-like face—so chillingly expressionless—the women need not be mentioned; comically enough, even the men in imposing armor began paling and inching backward step by step.

“Masque d’or!” “Masque d’or!” Eerie whispers spread like ripples among the dancers.

The figure of Golden Mask walked from room to room, staggering unsteadily through the widely opened path created by the crowd’s retreat—exactly as the “Red Death’s mask” had done in the tale. As he passed through room after room, the dazzling golden mantle enveloping his entire body appeared to shine beautifully—now blue, now purple, now orange—glittering like flames of each respective color. At that moment, Inspector Namikaze, who had been standing in the corridor where the musicians were stationed, suddenly noticed the commotion within the room.

He heard wave-like whispers of "Golden Mask, Golden Mask." Startled, by the time he rushed into the blue room, the monster was already walking about two rooms ahead.

“Did you see Golden Mask? Where did that guy go?” When Inspector Namikaze hurriedly questioned the crowd, someone answered while laughing raucously. “Golden Mask? What a ridiculous farce someone’s thought up. Where’d he go? Where’s he going? He went into that black room at the far end. Like the Red Death’s mask did, you know. Ahahaha…” That Japanese man seemed terribly drunk.

The inspector suddenly started running in that direction. His chest felt ready to burst from emotions caught between joy and dread. That the long-awaited Golden Mask was walking a mere few meters ahead seemed too fortunate to believe. Of course, there was no escape route anywhere. The building was surrounded by detectives. Could it be that he had shown himself there with utter recklessness? When he came to the next room, he discovered that he wasn’t the only one chasing the monster. Leading the charge was their host, Count Rougel. As he was not in disguise, the two tails of his tailcoat fluttered like black flags as he ran.

Slightly behind, another man was running. The man’s bizarre disguise made it impossible to discern who he was. Even whether he was Japanese was unclear. He wore a form-fitting black shirt that clung to his body’s contours, a black loincloth, black gloves, and black socks; on his head was a black cloth with both ends standing stiffly upright like two long horns, and his face was, of course, covered with a mask. In other words, it was the costume of a devil as seen in Western plays.

Count Rougel, the Western devil, and Inspector Namikaze—disguised as a receptionist—ran in echelon formation toward the inner black velvet room. As he ran, Inspector Namikaze took out the whistle he had prepared and blew it piercingly as a signal to his detective subordinates. “What is the matter? What has happened to you all?” From the crowd of dancers, voices of bewilderment welled up. They suspected that all three of these men might have lost their minds. So bizarre and comical did the actions of the Count and his group appear.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please be cautious.”

Count Rougel called out to the crowd while running.

“That golden figure is the real Golden Mask. I had received a warning letter stating that he would infiltrate this gathering tonight.” At that shout, the commotion in each room fell completely silent. An eerie silence so profound that even the sound of breathing could be heard filled the seven rooms. Every single person knew full well what a terrifying fiend Golden Mask was. “Ah, dangerous! The Count is chasing that fiend like Prince Prospero pursued the Red Death’s mask, but did not the Prince lose his life before the ebony clock precisely for giving chase?”

The people could not help but shudder as they witnessed events unfolding exactly like Poe’s uncanny tale, down to the last detail. Meanwhile, the monster Golden Mask finally set foot into the black velvet room. Through crimson sheer silk, the corridor’s flames dyed his golden garment in the color of flaring blood. He made the blood-red hue radiate across his entire face, twisted those crescent-shaped lips of his, and laughed a chilling laugh.

The three pursuers hesitated at the entrance to the ominous dark and bloodied room, halting despite themselves. “Hee hee hee hee...” From within came that eerie half-suppressed laughter again, resounding as if rising from hell’s depths. Among the three hesitant men, Ambassador Rougel proved the bravest. Leaving the other two at the threshold, he alone leaped into the demon’s chamber. The instant he plunged inside—Bang!—a gunshot echoed, followed by a bestial groan and the heavy thud of a collapsing body.

Which one had fired? Which one had fallen? This was no time for even a moment’s hesitation. Inspector Namikaze and the Western devil-disguised figure leaped into the room almost simultaneously and grabbed the pistol-wielding hand of the Count, who was poised to fire a second shot. “You mustn’t! He’s a crucial suspect! You mustn’t kill him!” The inspector shouted in Japanese that the other party couldn’t understand, like a madman. If they let this monster die now, they would never learn whether his close friend Akechi was alive or dead, nor would they discover Miss Ōtori’s whereabouts.

The monster lay wounded and collapsed on the black velvet floor like a single golden beast. The bullet seemed to have pierced his chest, as thin streams of blood trickled from both the golden mantle’s breast and the crescent-shaped golden lips. It was a fatal wound. However, he had not yet completely died. “The mask! Take off the mask!”

Count Rougel shouted. The inspector bent over the monster and grasped its expressionless golden mask. Upon touching it, he involuntarily shuddered at what lay beneath. Ah, what on earth had been concealed under this mask? Now at last would it be revealed. Society, the victims, even the Metropolitan Police—how desperately they must have awaited this very moment. At this thought, Inspector Namikaze's fingers trembled. Overcome by elation, he felt a sudden impulse to burst into tears.

Arsène Lupin

But finally, the Golden Mask was removed. The face that appeared from beneath was—utterly unexpected—Count Rougel’s attendant, the embassy’s Japanese secretary, Urabe Shichirō. Before the grand ball began, that meek interpreter who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Inspector Namikaze managing guest reception—that this man could be the monster—left the inspector utterly dumbfounded. For a while, he could only shift his gaze between the Count’s face and that of the Western devil in disbelief.

At that moment, a group of detectives who had heard the prior whistle came crowding noisily into the black room. Among them was visible the face of the Superintendent. The people appeared not a little flustered by this unexpected culprit.

The inspector, encouraged by the Superintendent’s arrival, regained his composure. “Golden Mask. F Country Embassy interpreter. The criminal had been hiding under extraterritorial rights. It’s no wonder we couldn’t figure it out. Ah, now it all makes sense. The theft from Marquis Washio also makes sense if it’s this guy’s doing. At that time, this guy entered the museum as Count Rougel’s attendant.” The inspector quickly put his mind to work. Then, becoming somewhat pompous,

“All of you, take this criminal to the hospital immediately,” he ordered. “Then call the investigation division and inform them Golden Mask has been captured.” But the detectives hesitated. Inspector Namikaze jolted and scanned the room. An eerie laughter began echoing from somewhere. The dying Golden Mask lay grimacing in agony—there was no way it was coming from him. Then who on earth was laughing at such a critical moment?

Even as he looked around, each and every face wore an exaggeratedly solemn expression. Not a trace of laughter could be found. But there was only one person whose expression remained unreadable. That was the man disguised as the aforementioned Western devil. His face was hidden behind the mask, making it impossible to tell whether he was laughing or crying. The Superintendent, the Inspector, the detectives, and even the Count all involuntarily stared at the Western devil. Ah, it was this man after all. That stifled laughter was escaping from the mouth of this jet-black devil.

“What’s wrong with you? What’s so funny?” Inspector Namikaze asked irritably. “No, if you’ll excuse me. It’s just that your absurd little charade was too comical for words.”

The devil was clearly Japanese. “A farce, you say? What are you talking about? Do you think this is some kind of farce?...Who...who are you? Remove your mask.” “Arsène Lupin is not such a man.”

The devil paid no heed to the inspector’s words, suddenly uttered something strange, and pointed at the fallen criminal. “Arsène Lupin? What about him?” The inspector suspected this man was insane—deluded into believing himself to be the famous French gentleman thief. “The thief known as Golden Mask is Lupin. It can only be Lupin.” The inspector dismissed the madman’s wild ravings. Instead, he turned to his subordinates and,

“Remove this guy’s mask.”

he ordered.

The detectives ran up to the Western devil and, without giving him a chance to speak, tore off his mask.

Under the mask, rimless glasses shone. A thick mustache covered the area under the nose. “Ah! You bastard—aren’t you the waiter from here?”

Inspector Namikaze exclaimed in surprise.

This was undoubtedly that mysterious waiter who, during dinner, had been peering meaningfully at the Count, the Superintendent, and Inspector Namikaze himself. “Outrageous! Why were you mingling among the guests? And what’s the meaning of this disguise?” Even as he was being shouted at, the mysterious waiter maintained a calm expression and, as if completely disregarding the Inspector, briskly stepped forward before the Superintendent. “Your Excellency, Superintendent, might I be permitted to ask this mortally wounded man a few questions?”

He began spouting even more lunatic nonsense.

The Superintendent was taken aback, but he added even more dignity to his stern face and solemnly retorted. "I may permit it, but your name?" "And for what possible reason are you making such an impertinent request?"

The waiter disguised as a devil, undeterred by the Superintendent’s authority, drew so close their faces nearly touched,

“Your Excellency, it’s me. Surely you haven’t forgotten me?” he uttered something utterly unexpected. The Superintendent, noticing this voice differed completely from moments before, suddenly recalled a certain person. It was impossible. Had he not been killed? But... but... this voice, and this face. The Superintendent stared at him intently, half in disbelief. Then, strangely enough, from beneath the vulgar waiter’s face, there gradually emerged the features of an acquaintance.

“Oh, it’s you!”

The Superintendent let out a groan and involuntarily stepped back a step. The waiter grinned, removed his glasses, and peeled off his mustache. And what appeared from beneath was none other than the face of our amateur detective, Akechi Kogorō. When they saw this, an eerie stir arose among the assembly. Given the time and place, for the famous detective they thought dead to appear here—the group could only let out a collective “Ah!” and stare at his face.

Soon, having regained his composure, Inspector Namikaze was the first to question Akechi.

“Akechi-kun, let’s skip the pleasantries—we’ll hear about your resurrection later. What exactly did you mean by that bizarre statement earlier?” “Golden Mask is Arsène Lupin.” “It may sound preposterous.” “I remained doubtful myself for quite some time.” “But two days ago, I finally confirmed it wasn’t a delusion.” “Lupin is here in Tokyo at this very moment.” Even Akechi appeared unusually agitated. “Then who lies here before us?”

“He’s a glaring fake.” “This is merely Lupin’s standard theatrical ploy.”

Ah, this astonishing fact! There is no one who does not know the name of Arsène Lupin—the gentleman thief of France, the great phantom thief of the age. That Arsène Lupin, the great phantom thief king, has appeared in Tokyo, Japan. Has Akechi gone mad? Was this some sort of hallucination in broad daylight? It was a fact so extraordinary as to be nearly unbelievable.

“Akechi-kun, this is no time for jokes.” The Superintendent said with an ironic smile. “Ah, Your Excellency does not believe me. “That’s only natural. “However, crime knows no borders. “It’s unthinkable that Arsène Lupin, a world-renowned art collector, wouldn’t covet Japanese antiquities. “How can we claim that Lupin wouldn’t come to our country to admire its artifacts with the same ease as a famous American movie star coming to meet Japanese girls?”

As Akechi’s impassioned rant continued, the Superintendent listened with a wry smile, but finally could endure it no longer and shouted.

“I am not here to listen to arguments. I want evidence. I want to see irrefutable evidence.” “I am not one to bring up such matters without evidence. For example, if the man lying here could answer my questions. That alone should be sufficient to satisfy Your Excellency.” “Very well. Go ahead and question this man.”

At last came the Superintendent’s permission. Urabe was already in death’s final agonies. There was no time for delay. Akechi Kogorō crouched over the dying man and began questioning him in a forceful voice, focusing all his mental energy through both eyes as though administering hypnosis.

“Hey, you, pull yourself together. “Can you hear my voice?”

The gravely wounded man fixed his glassy eyes on Akechi’s face.

“You can hear me, can’t you?” “Now, you will answer the questions I ask.” “This is an extremely critical matter.” “Just two or three words—I beg you, answer me.” “Hurry… Hurry… Kill me…” Urabe, unable to endure the agony, moved blood-frothed lips.

“Alright, alright. I’ll end your suffering right away.” “In return, you’ll answer me. Understood?” “You’re Golden Mask’s subordinate.” “His accomplice.” “You’re dying—no lies now.” “Un.” “So you’re his subordinate.” “Un.”

“And now, this is the most crucial point. I need you to say it yourself. What is Golden Mask’s true identity? That person isn’t Japanese, is he?” “Un.” “Name? Say that name. Now, hurry!” “Lupin… A… Ar… Se… nu… Lupin…”

As he listened to the interrogation, even the Superintendent could no longer avoid believing this dream-like truth. He, together with Inspector Namikaze, leaned over the dying man and strained their ears so as not to miss a single word of his deathbed confession. Akechi continued his suffocating line of questioning.

“So where is Arsène Lupin?” “You know where he is.” “Un.”

“You know it, don’t you?” “Now, just one word—say it.” “Where is that guy right now?” The gravely wounded man’s tongue had stiffened. He tried to say something, but his voice wouldn’t come out. Ah! After all the trouble I went through to get this far, couldn’t I hear the most crucial part? “Mr. Urabe, I’m begging you. One more word. Just one word.” “Now, speak!”

Akechi, overcome with excitement, involuntarily shook the gravely wounded man. That act brutally roused the dying man, who had been slipping into sleep.

“Where is Lupin?” “K… K… K… K…”

“What did you say? More clearly! More clearly!” “K… K… K…” But the dying man kept repeating the same broken words.

“Here? You mean he’s here?” “Yes… yes…” “He’s in this room? Show me where—point! If you can’t point, tell me with your eyes!”

Urabe mustered his last remaining strength and moved his right finger. Then he pointed to one side of the room. His nearly white eyes remained fixed in that same direction.

Ah! What was this? It was being said that Arsène Lupin, that gentleman thief of global renown, was here—in Tokyo, within this ambassador’s residence, inside this black velvet room.

Everyone held their breath. Unbeknownst to all, the crowd of dancers that had rushed to the room’s entrance, the team of detectives, the Superintendent, Mr. Namikaze, and Akechi Kogorō all held their breath. Holding their breath, they looked where the dying man had pointed. They looked at the spot where his eyes were fixed. And there, at the place Urabe had indicated, French Ambassador Count Rougel stood motionless.

Lupin vs. Akechi Kogorō

Countless eyes focused on the solitary figure of French Ambassador Count Rougel—standing defiantly before a massive ebony clock, clad in tailcoat—that blocked their path. A silence like death itself; an interminable motionless standoff where no one dared twitch.

“Wahahaha… This won’t do. “This has gotten dreadfully gloomy!” “……Now, everyone, please continue dancing.” “Count as well—please go over there.” “We will handle the aftermath smoothly.”

The Police Commissioner said in Japanese while gesturing with his hands.

“Your Excellency!” Akechi’s face turned livid as he glared at the Commissioner.

“Can’t you believe this clear fact?” “Ahahaha…” The Police Commissioner roared with laughter as if clutching his stomach. “Now, now—that simply won’t do. “No matter how much they’re the words of a famous detective, I can’t accept this one.” “For someone of your standing as an Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to commit theft—s-such a preposterous notion, hahaha…”

“This man is the witness.” Akechi pointed at Secretary Urabe, who had already stopped breathing.

“A witness? Preposterous. This guy holds a grudge against the Count for shooting him. You can’t trust the ravings of a delirious man in his death throes—he’s lost his mind! There’s no need to deliberate—whether to believe a mere secretary or an Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary trusted by the President of F Country.” “Then examine this. I would not rashly speak of such grave matters without evidence.”

As he spoke, Akechi carefully took out a single Western-style envelope from the breast pocket of his black wool shirt and showed it to the Superintendent. The Superintendent was irritated by Akechi’s single-mindedness. He may have trusted the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary over a mere secretary, but at the same time, he trusted the skills of the famous detective Akechi Kogorō even more than the Ambassador. In fact, deep in his heart, he harbored a profound suspicion that Count Rougel might indeed be Arsène Lupin, just as he had vehemently argued. But to stir up trouble there would have been far too great a problem. Not only that, but even had they wished to act, the Police Commissioner’s authority held no power over a nation’s Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary.

There, he nonchalantly smoothed over the situation and roared with laughter as if it were nothing, intending to hastily consult with the respective government authorities. That the single-minded Akechi had failed to grasp his unspoken maneuvering was a source of deep frustration to him.

But there was no helping it now. Akechi took out a piece of evidence. That was typical of him. There was no significant evidence he wouldn’t have obtained.

“Stay your hand.” The Police Commissioner, true to form, did not fail to take appropriate action.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please withdraw for a while. Only Inspector Namikaze will remain; the rest of you detectives must step outside. And close that door.” Akechi noticed this too and interpreted the Superintendent’s words for the foreign dignitaries. When those peering through the entrance had left and the door shut, the Superintendent positioned himself before it, casting sidelong glances at Count Rougel as he spoke to Akechi.

“It appears to be a letter. Where did it come from?” “It’s from Paris.” “Hmph. From whom in Paris?” “You may already be aware, but it is from Monsieur Hébert, former Deputy Chief of the Paris Police.”

“Hébert?”

“Yes.” “He is a man well-known as the brave police officer who confronted Lupin single-handedly in two of Lupin’s most serious criminal cases—the Rudolf Skerzbach Conspiracy and the Cosmo Mornington Inheritance Case.” “He was a man who worked as the right-hand man to then Police Commissioner Mr. Demarion.”

“I see. And?” “He’s now retired and living in the suburbs of Paris, but when I visited there a few years back, I called on him and spent an entire day talking.” “He claimed he was utterly sick of police work, but the moment Lupin came up in conversation, veins would bulge on his forehead as he declared furiously that he’d never forget that bastard until his dying breath.” “After all, he was a man who’d been driven ragged and mocked under Lupin disguised as the Deputy Chief of Police.”

“So, what did Monsieur Hébert have to say?” “I commissioned an investigation into Count Rougel’s identity via telegram.” “The Count was a man once declared dead in the Battle of Champagne.” “And it was after the Great War that he emerged prominently in Parisian political circles.” “Herein lies a terrifying suspicion.” “Whether Count Rougel before the Great War and Count Rougel after are entirely the same individual.” “If by chance they were different persons, I had him probe whether it might be Arsène Lupin.” “Upon hearing Lupin’s name, Monsieur Hébert launched an investigation with extraordinary fervor.” “He tracked down wartime comrades, located the Count’s childhood companions, gathered photographs, and scoured every angle—revealing a catastrophic oversight by the President and his fellow veterans.” “It was confirmed that Count Rougel had truly perished in battle at Champagne.” “Yet this matter is of utmost gravity.” “We cannot recklessly adopt counsel from a lone retired officer.” “Should it emerge that a thief received a presidential missive and attended His Majesty the Emperor of Japan as a national envoy, it would not only convulse Parisian politics but spark a dire international crisis.” “To demand extradition based solely on one telegram would be reckless.” “Thus it was arranged to secretly dispatch Monsieur Hébert—Lupin’s foremost authority—to Japan for firsthand verification of Count Rougel’s identity before taking measured action.” “Monsieur Hébert set off from his homeland concurrent with writing this letter.” “His arrival is anticipated within days.”

Neither the Police Commissioner nor Inspector Namikaze knew what to say. Golden Mask was not merely an unprecedented phantom thief. He was the West’s most infamous impostor. “Would it be permissible for me to withdraw over there?” Having lost patience, Count Rougel asked in his native language while looking between the three faces.

“Excuse me.” “Count.” “You may have already surmised as much, but we are police officers.” “Though the murdered man may have been a notorious thief, regardless, a murder has occurred here.” “We must also investigate the victim’s identity.” “Furthermore, though it may be an inconvenience, there are a few questions we must ask Your Excellency as well.” “We must kindly ask Your Excellency to remain in this room for a short while longer.” Akechi respectfully replied in French.

“What did this man say about me earlier when he pointed at me?”

When it became clear that Akechi could speak a foreign language, the ambassador inquired in a composed tone. Faced with this question, Akechi momentarily showed a look of confusion but spoke out resolutely. “Your Excellency, I stated that you are the infamous gentleman thief Arsène Lupin.” Upon hearing this, the Count showed no sign of surprise and fixedly gazed at Akechi’s face. Akechi, while forcing a desperate smile, was staring at the ambassador.

A few seconds of eerie silence passed. “Hah... So you’re saying that I—Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary Count Rougel—am Lupin? And do you actually believe that?”

Count Rougel wore an inscrutable, faint smile. "If I were to say that I do believe it, what would Your Excellency think?"

Akechi mustered his desperate resolve and said. “If all the facts indicate as much, then even if it were Your Excellency, I would have no choice but to harbor suspicions.” “All the facts? Let’s hear it then.” The ambassador continued to maintain his non-confrontational attitude. “The Golden Mask rarely speaks. When unavoidable, he utters only the simplest phrases, but they are pronounced with a very ambiguous, un-Japanese accent. This tells us that Golden Mask is a foreigner. The strange golden mask was also devised to conceal the instantly recognizable features of a foreigner.”

“And?” “The Golden Mask exclusively targets antique artworks of the kind that exist only in Japan—but ordinary thieves lack the means to handle such renowned pieces.” “Only someone like Lupin who maintains a private museum could manage such an undertaking.” “And?”

“Why did Miss Ōtori Fumiko fall in love with the terrifying Golden Mask?” “Because he is Arsène Lupin.” “If that noble young lady were to fall for a thief, there’s only one man in all the world it could be—Lupin.” “Lupin possesses a dreadful magic that draws any woman to him.”

“If Lupin were to hear that, he would no doubt be honored.” “However, it has nothing to do with me.”

“The Buddha statue of the Washio Marquis family had been replaced with a counterfeit.” “On the back of that counterfeit statue, the symbol A·L had been inscribed.” “There are no Japanese personal names that begin with the letter L.” “If not Arsène Lupin, then who could it be?” “Not only do the initials match, but there’s likely no thief outside of Lupin who leaves his own name tag at crime scenes.” “There is a precedent of him replacing treasures in European museums with counterfeits and invariably leaving his signature in inconspicuous places on those counterfeits.”

“…………” “And regarding foreigners who visited Marquis Washio’s residence around the time of the theft, Your Excellency, there was no one but you.” “I had already begun to suspect back then that Golden Mask was Arsène Lupin—and that Lupin was none other than Ambassador Rougel.” “Ha ha ha… How amusing.” “So you claim that I—the world’s so-called ‘gentleman thief’—am Arsène Lupin?” “Where’s your evidence?” “Proof that isn’t mere fantasy?” “Urabe’s testimony.”

“This guy’s insane.”

“Hébert’s investigation.” “What? Hébert?” The Count, for the first time at this moment, slightly changed his complexion. “You remember, don’t you? He is Lupin’s archenemy—the former deputy chief Hébert. As a result of his investigation into Count Rougel’s identity, everything became clear. The President sent that Hébert to Japan to have Your Excellency arrested. Your Excellency has already lost the trust of the French government.”

Count Rougel had finally been driven into a corner. He had nothing to retort. Yet he showed not the slightest panic. For he had faced such predicaments a thousand times before. Far from panicking, he instead erupted in booming laughter.

“Ahahaha… Well done, Japan’s great detective Akechi Kogorō.” “No, truly impressive! Arsène Lupin will remember this for life.”

“So, you’ve confessed, then.”

The giant and the phantom now stood on equal footing.

Body Dissolution Trick Leaving behind the Police Commissioner and Inspector Namikaze—who stood dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the language—the French gentleman thief and the Japanese renowned detective continued their bizarre conversation. Though these two titans harbored an enduring enmity between them, they shared a thread of mutual understanding; on the surface, they conversed as amiably as reunited old acquaintances. “It seems I had underestimated the Japanese too much,” “I was certain it was you reflected in that apartment window,” “And I believed you dead.” “If only you were eliminated, today’s affair would never have occurred.”

The Count lit a cigarette and, while letting purple smoke drift, seemingly unaware of his own peril, said nonchalantly: “To be praised for that makes me blush.” “That was an old trick used by Sherlock Holmes.” “A wax figure.” “Since realizing it was a wax figure would do no good, I hid the corpse immediately after being shot.” “Even so, your marksmanship awed me.” “You’d shot clean through the dummy’s heart.” “The thought that I might have been killed sends shivers down my spine.”

Akechi, still clad in his bizarre Western demon costume, continued speaking cheerfully as he paced right and left before Lupin, the Count Rougel.

“But Lupin, there’s something I can laugh at you about. Even the great Lupin has grown a bit senile, I’d say. That’s because you’ve resorted to murder. It might have been your subordinate’s own decision to kill Marquis Washio’s chambermaid. But you shot me. Fortunately, that ended in failure, but there’s no way you can escape responsibility for Urabe’s murder. You’ve shed blood.” “Urabe is Japanese,” Lupin declared haughtily. “I once shot three Moroccans dead all at once.”

“Damn you!” Akechi became enraged. “Do even you harbor the racial prejudices of white men? To tell the truth, I hadn’t considered you an ordinary criminal. Japan too has had noble thieves since ancient times. I had been according you some measure of respect as such a noble thief. But as of this very moment, I revoke it. All that remains is contempt for you as a thief deserving scorn.”

“Hmph. Whether you scorn me or respect me, I couldn’t care less.”

“Ah… So Arsène Lupin was a man like you after all.” “I cannot help but be disappointed.” “First of all, why did you make Urabe dress up as the Golden Mask?” “Didn’t you intend to make everyone believe this was that phantom thief and have him shot dead in one go?” “Yet you miscalculated—failed to kill him instantly—and ended up exposing your own identity through such a blunder because of your dying subordinate.” “Lupin’s really gone senile after all, huh?”

“Hmph… Whether I’ve gone senile or not—it’s still a bit early to decide that, don’t you think?”

Lupin exhaled smoke rings and sneered defiantly. "What do you mean?" "The meaning is... this! Hands up!" Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted from Lupin's mouth.

He stood blocking the front of the ebony grandfather clock, aimed the muzzle of his pistol at Akechi and the three others, and took a guarded stance.

Even Akechi was briefly stunned by his opponent’s abrupt shift in demeanor and stood frozen. Even had the Police Commissioner and Inspector Namikaze been carrying concealed weapons, they would have had no chance to draw them; avoiding the pistol’s muzzle, they could only timidly back away step by step. “Try to move a muscle.” “I’ll shoot you without mercy!” “Hahaha… So you still think Lupin’s gone senile?” “I don’t plan to be fool enough to let Japanese police capture me!”

But even the fiendish thief had no eyes in the back. Even if he had been able to look behind him, he wouldn't have noticed what was inside the clock.

No sooner had the lid of the ebony grandfather clock opened soundlessly than a figure leaped out from within. And no sooner had he leaped out than he suddenly grabbed the hand holding Lupin’s pistol. “Hahaha… So you think I’m such a fool as to get caught by French police officers?”

The man shouted rapidly in French.

Lupin had recognized that voice. Startled, he turned around to find the stern face of a fellow countryman there. “Ah, you! Hébert!” “That’s right.” “I am Deputy Chief Hébert, who was once your subordinate.” “Surely you haven’t forgotten me.” “I remembered you just as well.” “Mr. Akechi, this man is undoubtedly Lupin!” “Ah, so you came on the same ship as that letter…” “That’s correct.” “Immediately after landing, I came straight here.” “I was fortunate to arrive just in time for the soirée.”

“Hébert, do you have the authority to arrest an Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary?” Lupin scolded the former subordinate.

“It is by direct command of His Excellency the President.” “I have also brought a prosecutor’s warrant.” “Stay quiet!”

Lupin was disarmed. In contrast, Inspector Namikaze took out his pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the fiendish thief. Even the master thief had now exhausted all his schemes; his advance and retreat were both blocked there. He was beset by enemies on both front and rear, each one a warrior of unmatched prowess. Even setting aside the Police Commissioner, Akechi, Inspector Namikaze, and now Hébert were all peerless experts in apprehension. How could there be any opening to escape? No—even were he to flee, there was but one entrance. Beyond that door lay an elite force of Metropolitan Police detectives lying in ambush. No matter how sorcerer-like a thief he might be, there remained not the slightest means to break this iron encirclement. Ah—had the fate of Arsène Lupin, that scourge of nations, reached its end here? Was he to become a captive in this Far Eastern land of alien customs?

“Hey now, you’ve all gotten awfully gloomy, haven’t you?” “What’s so sad?” “Are you pitying my end?” “Hahaha… I’d appreciate it if you’d spare me your needless worrying.” “I don’t recall ever agreeing to be arrested, you know.”

Ah, what audacity! Even at this final critical moment, Lupin did not falter. He was laughing with his mouth wide open. He was a monster. A monster of unfathomable depths. “I’m not asking for your consent.” “We have indeed captured Lupin.” “Unless there’s an act of God, Lupin’s fate is sealed!”

Hébert said with a touch of emotion.

“Unless there’s an act of God? Hmph. Then what would you do if that act of God were to occur?” “Oh? Are you saying *you* can cause such an act of God?” “I do say.” “What? What are you saying?” “With my power, I’ll cause an act of God and show you!”

Lupin sneered with an air of confidence.

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

The detectives outside the door began to grow suspicious as the people inside showed no sign of emerging. When they pressed their ears against the door, the faint voices that had been audible until moments before abruptly ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Something was wrong.

“Inspector Namikaze.” “Inspector Namikaze!”

“Your Excellency, the Commissioner!”

They called out while knocking on the door. But there was no response at all. “This is weird. Let’s open it and check.” When someone said this, the group agreed, so one nearby quietly opened the door and peered inside through the gap.

“Huh?! This is strange. There’s no one here!”

“No one’s here?” “Not even a single one?” “Not even a stray cat!” Thereupon, they noisily entered the room, tore down the black velvet drapes and carpets, and pounded every inch of walls and floorboards in their search—yet found no trace of secret passages or hidden doors. The grand ebony clock contained no concealed mechanisms. The glass windows facing the corridor remained firmly shut, with one detective having stood guard outside until mere moments before. The Police Commissioner, Inspector Namikaze, Akechi Kogorō, Count Rougel, and Secretary Urabe’s corpse—five figures known to these very detectives—had evaporated like smoke within this sealed chamber devoid of any hidden exits. They had dissolved into nothingness.

The detectives stood frozen like foxes tricked by magic or men trapped in a dream, restlessly exchanging glances while rooted to the spot. How could they possibly report something as preposterous as the Police Commissioner having melted away? Yet in truth, it wasn't only the Commissioner—five grown men had dissolved without leaving a trace. Could Lupin's bold declaration—"I'll unleash an act of God through my own power"—have referred to this uncanny human dissolution technique? Yet even with Lupin's genius, dissolving living humans remained impossible. What then had become of those five men?

Open Sesame

The story returned once more to the confrontation between Lupin and Hébert inside the room.

Even the formidable thief now found himself in a desperate predicament. His pistol had been taken by Monsieur Hébert, and confronted by the enemy’s weapon pointed at him, he could no longer move a muscle. Now that no act of God could possibly occur, Lupin’s arrest was certain. Monsieur Hébert, his sworn enemy, sneered with grim satisfaction.

“How about it, Arsène Lupin? Just savor this moment—it’s like a decade of pent-up frustration is finally draining away all at once. Poor thing. Will even the world-renowned great thief meet such an ignominious end here in this remote corner of the Far East? Heh heh heh... I’m feeling this peculiar mix of joy and sorrow.” Monsieur Hébert hurled in rough French. “Hey, Hébert. You seem to have forgotten the promise I made earlier.”

Arsène Lupin, the phantom thief, stood in this desperate predicament without faltering in the slightest. Maintaining an uncanny smile at the corner of his mouth, he spoke with lively ease. "Promise? Hmm, what promise did I make?"

“Ha ha… Playing dumb won’t work. “You’ve been terribly worried about that all along, haven’t you?” “See? I made a promise that I’d never be arrested by you.” “Oh, that little ditty of yours about never being caught? “Nah, I’m not worried in the least.” “Even if you claim you won’t be arrested, haven’t we practically got you captured already?” “You’ve had your pistol taken away.” “We have three pistols on our side.” “And outside the door, Japanese police officers are swarming like a mountain.” “No matter if it’s Lupin’s promise, I won’t trust this one.” “Not even God could escape this heavy encirclement.”

Monsieur Hébert vehemently declared. Though he spoke boldly, deep down he was secretly terrified. He knew Lupin all too well. “Ha ha ha… Monsieur Hébert, it seems you’re starting to feel a bit scared. What’s impossible for God might just be possible for this Lupin, you know. You said something earlier, didn’t you? Ah yes—you declared that unless an act of God occurred, I couldn’t escape. However, do you think this Lupin lacks the power to cause such an act of God?”

As he spoke, Lupin grew increasingly animated. In contrast, Monsieur Hébert appeared to be gradually paling.

“Nonsense!” “I declare!” “Arsène Lupin has been definitely arrested!” “However, I’m leaving this room right now.” Lupin declared haughtily. “Hahaha… Try leaving if you dare!” “Outside that door lies a mountain of officers!” Hébert’s face turned pale and contorted as he shouted. “A mountain of officers? “Such things mean nothing to me.” “‘Open Sesame!’ With this spell, I once made the iron doors of the great prison open.” “In Lupin’s dictionary, the word ‘impossible’ does not exist!”

As he spoke, the audacious thief, as though wholly ignoring the pistol muzzles simultaneously thrust toward him by Inspector Namikaze, Akechi Kogorō, and Monsieur Hébert, calmly walked toward the door.

“Hébert, it’s the chief’s order. Open the door.” “Open the door.”

Lupin, showing the semblance of Chief Inspector Renormal from bygone days, solemnly commanded. “Ha ha ha… Enough of this ridiculous charade.” “If you open that door, you’ll only hasten your own destruction.” “You’ll only bring disgrace upon Count Rougel.” “Outside aren’t just police officers—evening party guests are swarming all over the place.” “Or else, if you’re so eager to open it, go ahead and do it yourself!” “Very well, then I shall open it myself.” “No objections, I presume?”

No sooner had Lupin reached the door than he turned the handle in one swift motion and flung it open.

“Ah, no!”

By the time Akechi sensed an uncanny dread and cried out, it was already too late. The nimble thief had darted from the chamber and shut the door from without.

But there should have been over a dozen detectives gathered there. Did they think he could escape? Not a chance. “Hey, everyone—capture Count Rougel!” “Don’t let the Ambassador escape!” Inspector Namikaze shouted in a voice that seemed to tear apart. “Wahaha… Hey now, Monsieur Hébert! Akechi-kun! Where on earth have all your Japanese police officers vanished?” “Seems there’s not a soul here!” “Not one evening guest has graced us either.” “Ha ha… Well then—you’ll just have to endure that little room awhile longer!”

The click-clack sound of a key turning in the lock from outside the door. “Damn it, shoot! Don’t hesitate—open fire!” Monsieur Hébert shouted in French that was beyond Akechi’s comprehension. At the same moment he shouted, his pistol emitted smoke. Next came Inspector Namikaze, Akechi, and three pistols firing in rapid succession. Two, three, four—holes rapidly opened in the door’s panel one after another.

But the enemy showed no sign of falling.

Monsieur Hébert and Inspector Namikaze suddenly charged toward the door. Without a spare key, they had no choice but to break down the door and pursue the thief.

What happened to Lupin? He sustained no injuries and was running down the long hallway, leaving the wild pistol fire behind. The situation was utterly inexplicable.

An extraordinary bizarre incident occurred. Not a single soul was visible ahead of Lupin. The detective corps and evening party crowd that had been densely gathered outside the door—when in the world had they vanished, and where to?

No, no—there was no way they could have vanished. Readers will recall from the previous chapter how the detectives, weary from waiting, had opened that very room’s door from the outside. When they entered to investigate, they found—to their utter bewilderment—not a soul present. Count Rougel, the Police Commissioner, Akechi, Inspector Namikaze—even the corpse of the counterfeit Golden Mask—had all dissolved away as though melted into nothingness, leaving neither shadow nor form. Thus did those within the room vanish completely in one fell swoop.

However, this time, when Lupin opened the door from inside, every last one of the people outside had vanished without a trace, as though evaporated into thin air. What on earth had happened here?

Surely even Lupin was no magician. Surely it couldn’t be that everyone was collectively dreaming. Was the author writing some preposterous nonsense here? No, no—it was absolutely not so. Both were true. The fact that when the detectives searched the room, there was no trace of anyone there, and the fact that when Lupin fled outside, not a single soul was present—both were undeniable truths. So was there a time difference between those two events? Absolutely not—on the contrary, the detectives had stormed in minutes before Lupin attempted to escape.

It was an impossibility. Theoretically and practically, it was an entirely impossible matter. But the author did not write lies either. There was no way you, dear readers, had misread it. There lay the astonishing trick of the phantom thief Arsène Lupin. There had been an earth-shattering deception—one only Lupin could conceive, beyond the reach of any other.

Be that as it may, Lupin dashed down the deserted corridor and rushed into the room at the end, where within that pitch-dark room, five shadowy figures were waiting for him. All five were dressed in tailcoats; three were foreigners, two were Japanese. They were likely Lupin’s subordinates. They, now six in total with Lupin joining them, opened the glass window in complete silence and stepped out onto the emergency ladder’s landing. And then, one by one, they descended the iron ladder without making a sound.

As previously noted, two detectives were stationed on guard beneath the emergency ladder. At that time too, they were still faithfully fulfilling their duty.

“Who’s there?!”

Seeing the six figures who had descended the ladder, one of the detectives shouted. At the same moment, a sudden beam of light pierced their eyes. Now, one detective lit his flashlight and directed it at the group. “Shh! “Keep silent, I beg you.” “We’re not suspicious characters.” Lupin’s Japanese subordinate said in a low voice.

“Who are you?” “Kindly state your name.”

The detectives, showing respect for their opponents’ tailcoats, altered their choice of words. “This is His Excellency the Ambassador.” “A critical matter has arisen, so His Excellency must take leave of the soirée.” “Your Excellency, I humbly beg your pardon, but would you kindly permit these men to see your face?”

Needless to say, the detectives’ flashlight swept over their faces. There in the center stood none other than Count Rougel, the Ambassador himself. Even junior detectives could not possibly fail to recognize the master of the embassy. He was a famous figure familiar from the newspapers. Who could have imagined this man to be the Golden Mask? Let alone that he was the world-renowned thief Arsène Lupin! “We deeply apologize for the inconvenience,” “We are Metropolitan Police officers dispatched to apprehend Golden Mask.” “We did not realize we were addressing Your Excellency—please forgive our impertinence.” “You may proceed.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve had quite the task.” “That must have been trying work.” Having said this, the group proceeded toward the cars clustered inside the gate. Seeing this, the two automobiles turned on their headlights and made ready to depart. They swiftly vanished into the vehicles. Soon after, engine roars reverberated across the midnight compound. Headlight beams slid along the ground. Like some eerie wind, the two cars drew away from the embassy.

Earth-shattering

Returning to our story, the team of Metropolitan Police detectives were running about in confusion like foxes bewitched before the great ebony clock in the black velvet room.

The team of Metropolitan Police detectives—their leader the Police Commissioner; Count Rougel; Akechi Kogorō; and Inspector Namikaze having vanished like smoke—were thrown into a futile uproar, overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling as if caught in a nightmare at this bizarre occurrence.

Then, suddenly, from somewhere far away came the sound of a pistol being fired repeatedly. Next came shouting voices and something violently battering against a door.

Upon hearing this, the over a dozen detectives all stopped pacing about and fell utterly silent.

"That was gunfire just now." "Where could it be?"

But given that the building was twisted like a labyrinth, they couldn’t immediately determine its location.

“Listen. “That sound of something hitting—it’s definitely coming from above the ceiling.” “It’s the second floor, I’d say.” Now that they mentioned it, the second floor did seem likely. Though the opulent building’s thick floors allowed only faint echoes to penetrate, the direction was unmistakably above the ceiling. “Let’s go take a look.” When one man took the lead and broke into a run, the rest clattered after him in a disorderly pack. Passing through room after Five-Colored Room and ascending the grand staircase, just as expected, the noises grew louder.

At the end of the long corridor, a door came into view.

It seemed that someone inside was banging against the door. One part of the door panel was already starting to splinter with a creaking sound.

“Who are you? Who’s there?” One of them shouted a challenge.

“We’re from the Metropolitan Police Department. Ah, it’s you. Where on earth had you been? Did you capture Count Rougel?”

The voice of Inspector Namikaze could be heard. Strange, strange—the inspector had certainly not left the black room downstairs. How on earth had he gone up to the second floor? Though still dumbfounded, the detectives assisted in breaking down the door. As a quick-witted individual removed the latch, the door opened without resistance.

“Huh?! This is weird. Are we on the first floor or the second floor? We definitely climbed the stairs just now, but…” Someone let out a shrill cry. That wasn’t entirely impossible. The inside of the opened door was a black velvet room. The great ebony clock was also operating in the same manner. The fake Golden Mask’s corpse was also lying there. It was not just Inspector Namikaze. The Police Commissioner was there as well. Akechi Kogorō was also there. And Count Rougel was nowhere to be seen; in his place stood a foreign stranger with a frightening expression.

What was this madness?

It was a dream. If not a dream, then they had gone mad.

They turned pale and could only exchange glances. “Hey! What are you all standing around for? Where did the Ambassador escape to? Even though I was shouting that much, why didn’t you catch him?”

Inspector Namikaze flew into a rage and shouted again.

But the detectives only grew more bewildered. They couldn’t grasp at all why they had to capture Count Rougel. They could only suspect that some unknown sorcery had driven even Inspector Namikaze himself out of his mind. “Even if you ordered us to capture him, we were stationed outside the door of the lower room,” “We didn’t know anything about the second floor.” “But why should we capture the Ambassador?”

A detective answered discontentedly.

“Wh-what on earth are you saying?” “The second floor?!” “Are you saying this here is the second floor?” This time, it was the inspector who was shocked. “Yes.” “We certainly came up the grand staircase.” “But this is strange… The room looks exactly the same as before…”

The detectives, with strange expressions on their faces, explained what had happened. "That's impossible! You've all lost your minds," he shouted. "Then let's go check that lower room!" But Inspector Namikaze would not accept it.

“Wait,” Akechi interjected, his gaze fixed on the blood-colored silk curtain over the corridor-facing window. “This might mean we’ve fallen victim to something utterly outrageous.”

“What did you say?”

“Look.” “The light beyond that silk curtain seems somehow off.” “Could it be…”

Akechi strode briskly over and suddenly tore the thin silk curtain. Then, what do we have here? Outside the window, the corridor that had been there moments ago had vanished, replaced by a dingy plaster wall that now sealed it shut. What they had thought was the corridor’s light turned out to be a small bare bulb attached to the window frame.

The Police Commissioner, the Inspector, Monsieur Hébert, and the detectives all cried "Ah!" and stood frozen in place. Akechi Kogorō began pacing restlessly around the room for reasons unknown to them all before halting before the great clock. There he stooped slightly and stared fixedly at the floor.

“Ah! This is it.” “The switch is here.”

When they looked at the spot he pointed to, on the jet-black carpet, a small protrusion was visible. "A switch?" The Police Commissioner and Inspector Namikaze asked back in unison. "It's a truly astonishing mechanical device." "To have completed such intricate work in just three months without anyone noticing—truly, no one but Lupin could have pulled off such a feat." "He is a monster who effortlessly brings his earth-shattering schemes to fruition." "A mechanical device?" The Police Commissioner and the others still could not grasp the meaning of Akechi's words.

“Didn’t that fiend Lupin just boast about unleashing a cataclysmic event? And in fact, a cataclysmic event did occur. That fiend used the cataclysmic event he himself had triggered as cover and easily slipped through the police encirclement. Look. This small white button. With a single press of this, that fiend’s so-called cataclysmic event is triggered. It was precisely because of this that he could remain calm and keep laughing even at the final critical moment.”

“So you’re saying we’re actually on the second floor now?” The Police Commissioner, having vaguely grasped the situation, blinked his large eyes and asked.

“Yes. If we press this button, we should be able to remain right here and return to the original floor below.”

As he spoke, Akechi resolutely pressed the button on the floor. Then, something uncanny began to happen. The people felt their bodies go numb and experienced a slight dizziness. But what had caused this remained utterly unclear to them for some time.

The room did not shake in the slightest. The ceiling, walls, and floor remained completely motionless. However, within that stillness, the people sensed a kind of indescribable "movement." “Look.” “We are now descending very quietly.”

When they looked where Akechi Kogorō was pointing, everyone stood aghast with eyes wide. The gap in the door they had just broken through was rising upward at an imperceptible speed like clock hands, creaking as it ascended. The room's four walls were entirely draped in black velvet except for the window and door sections. Through the rectangular gap where the door had been, the door itself climbed higher until it vanished from sight. After its disappearance, a dim plaster wall stretched briefly before another door came into view below. The massive elevator had completed its descent from the second floor to the first.

“What an astonishing idea, isn’t it? This very room had been transformed into a sort of elevator mechanism. Just moments ago, Lupin was standing in front of that large clock. There was a reason for that. Not only did he need to press the button, but he also had to divert our eyes away from the door and keep them fixed on the large clock. As a result, since we were standing with our backs to the door, we didn’t notice the room’s ascent at all. This is because apart from the door, there was nothing else moving in the entire room. Even if there was movement, it was extremely slight—and since we never imagined that the entire room would ascend like this, we unfortunately fell right into the enemy’s trap.”

As he spoke, the gigantic elevator finished descending completely, and the room's floor and the hallway floor outside the door became perfectly level. Since the door had been left wide open earlier, the masquerade ball guests who still remained nearby were dumbfounded by the bizarre transformation inside the room, huddled together, and stared fixedly in their direction.

“But that’s strange.” “The room we investigated earlier was exactly identical to this one.” “The red window, the black drapes, the large ebony clock—they’re all exactly the same.” One of the detectives muttered in bewilderment.

“That’s it. That is the ingenious trap of this elaborate mechanism. There was another room exactly like this one prepared beneath our feet. In other words, they had connected two elevator cars and prepared two rooms with completely identical decorations.”

Akechi explained. Without even needing to investigate, the ball guests had witnessed this double-layered room and were all talking about it. Ah, what an elaborate mechanical contraption it was! A trick unprecedented in criminal history— No, there was one sole precedent. That grand mechanism had been devised by Fantôma—the infamous French master thief who, alongside Lupin’s senior counterpart Jigoma, was celebrated across the world. In one particular room, a man had been murdered. He lay lifeless in a vast pool of blood that spread like a pond. The moment his discoverer left to alert others, the victim’s corpse vanished in that fleeting instant. Nor was it only the body. Even that immense pool of blood disappeared without a trace. This macabre incident had confounded the Paris Police Headquarters of that era—yet it too had been orchestrated through an elevator mechanism within a double-layered room. Such was Fantôma’s diabolical invention—a marvel that defied all earthly logic.

The meticulous Lupin had undoubtedly studied this predecessor’s invention in his daily routine. Upon being appointed Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary and entering the official residence, he had immediately implemented that design—constructing this gigantic mechanical contraption and preparing an escape route for emergencies without fail. “A trick only Lupin could devise—so daringly ingenious,” Monsieur Hébert remarked in an almost admiring tone. “He’s precisely the sort to entertain outlandish fantasies—like attaching a hydrogen balloon to an elevator shaft to smash through rooftops during escapes. My old colleague Inspector Ganimard suffered dearly from these very methods during the Gerbois affair.”

It was soon discovered that Lupin, along with five subordinates, had boldly made their escape down the emergency staircase as Count Rougel. Inspector Namikaze rebuked the two detectives guarding the emergency staircase with a terrifying demeanor, but no matter how much he raged, it was all for naught.

The whereabouts of Arsène Lupin and his five subordinates had become impossible to trace.

The F国 Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary’s Whereabouts Unknown!

Ah, what an utterly absurd incident! The authorities classified this major incident as top secret and even suppressed newspaper articles, so the ambassador’s disappearance was never officially announced. However, strange rumors crept furtively from shadow to shadow and quickly spread throughout the entire capital.

“That Golden Mask thief was actually Count Rougel, the F国 ambassador, in disguise, they say.” “And what’s more, that ambassador was also a fake—they say Count Rougel was actually Arsène Lupin.” “Isn’t it absurd?” “Lupin impersonated F国’s representative and even presented credentials, I tell ya.” “I’ve never heard such a ridiculous story before or since, I tell ya.”

Everywhere one turned, there were strange and bizarre rumors whispered in hushed voices.

The Metropolitan Police Department immediately investigated all construction companies in the city and apprehended those who had undertaken the work on the large elevator. It was discovered that twenty-eight technicians and craftsmen—comprising one electrician, three electrical workers, one construction supervisor, twenty carpenters and masons, and three interior decorators—had received exorbitant gratuities in addition to their wages to keep the secret of this massive construction project.

The Atelier Enigma

For the next half month or so, the whereabouts of Lupin and his gang remained completely unknown. Consequently, the whereabouts of Miss Ōtori Fumiko, who had run away from home out of admiration for the master thief, remained shrouded in mystery.

Moreover, ironically, a strange game had become popular among the children throughout Tokyo. “Wanna play Golden Mask?” The children, saying such things, began playing Golden Mask instead of swordplay games. Before anyone knew it, papier-mâché Golden Masks began to hang in toy storefronts. The children would buy them one by one, each donning the guise of the phantom thief Golden Mask to play a game akin to tag.

The streets were filled with tiny Golden Masks. Wherever one went, there were eerie golden masks. This strange trend filled the citizens with an indescribable unease. In the twilight streets, encounters with child-sized Golden Masks often occurred, causing people to gasp in shock. An unfathomable fear spread, its tail ever lengthening.

Some people spread rumors that Golden Mask had been sitting all alone on the last late-night streetcar devoid of passengers. Strangely enough, they added the embellishment that apart from Golden Mask, there were no passengers aboard—of course, nor was there a driver or conductor.

Some claimed that in deserted towns, a golden monster had followed them from behind without making a sound, trotting along briskly, while others spread rumors that a golden face had been peering from the windows of empty rooms in Marunouchi's grand office buildings. People vaguely knew that Golden Mask was the foreign thief Arsène Lupin. But even if it was Lupin, they couldn't afford to let their guard down. In this country, he did not fear shedding blood. He killed without a second thought.

Lupin’s personality had completely changed. A tamed beast had tasted blood. People came to perceive Lupin, the gentleman thief, as something suddenly and inexplicably terrifying. The impression of that Golden Mask—with its crescent-moon-shaped lips streaming thread-like blood—had rendered Lupin profoundly eerie.

And before long, just as people had feared, a terrible incident occurred that served to prove Lupin’s personality had completely transformed.

That night, at the residence in Kōjimachi Ward’s M District belonging to Mr. Kawamura Unzan, his only daughter Ms. Kinue kept a lonely vigil over her father’s absence alongside several servants. Mr. Kawamura Unzan was a well-known honorary professor at Tokyo Art School and the grand old man of Japan’s sculpture world. His wife had passed away several years prior, and as for family, there was only his daughter leading a lonely life.

Mr. Kawamura Unzan had traveled to the Kansai region on business about two days prior and was scheduled to return home the following day.

Exactly that night, something strange occurred.

“Kinue, during my absence, you must sleep in my bed as usual.” Before his departure, Mr. Kawamura Unzan had repeatedly left these instructions. He had built a Western-style atelier next to the Japanese-style main house, with his bedroom located within it. However, since the spacious atelier—separated from the bedroom by only a single door—contained many Buddhist statues painstakingly carved with devotion, it had become customary for him to have his daughter sleep in this Western building’s bed during his absences to stand guard.

“In this atelier lies something more precious than my life. I cannot trust the servants. By all means, I must have you stand guard.” Mr. Kawamura Unzan always spoke in that manner.

“Is that precious thing the Buddhist statues you carved, Father?” When the young lady asked, “That may be so, but there exists something far more irreplaceable than life itself.” “Even were I to tell you, you would not comprehend.” “Regardless—be they guests or servants—you must never permit anyone to enter the atelier during my absence.” “Should a thief dare infiltrate by night, you must ring the bell at your pillow without fail, summon the servants, and drive them out.”

Mr. Kawamura Unzan gave repeated warnings.

"My, how suspicious Father is!" Though Ms. Kinue did not voice it aloud, she found her own father's excessive wariness almost vexing in her heart—yet she could not disobey his instructions. Each time Mr. Kawamura Unzan traveled, she endured her loneliness and slept in the bed of the Western-style building that resembled a solitary cottage, far removed from the servants.

That night, for some reason, Ms. Kinue found herself strangely unable to sleep. Father will return tomorrow. Then I won’t have to sleep in this desolate bed anymore. The moment this thought crossed her mind, the dawn seemed agonizingly distant. Everything lay as silent as the ocean depths—unnervingly still. They all slept like corpses. When she realized she might be the sole waking soul in the vast world, a chill crawled up her spine. "What time is it?"

She turned over and looked at the bedside clock to find that it was already past one.

*Huh? What’s that? There shouldn’t have been a letter left in a place like this.* Ms. Kinue, feeling suspicious, looked in front of the clock. For there lay a sealed letter, still unopened.

While lying down, she reached out her hand, picked it up and looked—the front of the envelope bore only the words “Young Mistress.” She turned it over to look, but there was no sender’s name.

“Who could have left something like this here?” She casually cut open the seal and read the letter inside. “From the moment you see this letter, no matter what happens, you must absolutely not make a sound. You must not move. If you disobey this command, you will lose your life.”

The letter contained such strange words. Ms. Kinue, upon reading it, felt as though her heart had stopped dead; she threw the letter to the floor and found herself unable to move. Even if she tried to scream, her throat closed up, and no sound came out.

For about ten minutes, she remained rigid like a living doll, but as she calmed slightly, she steeled herself and began to quietly reach out for the bedside call bell—when the velvet curtain hanging in the corner of the room began to billow ominously, as though issuing a warning.

“Ah, that’s it. After all, someone is hiding there.” The moment this thought struck her, Ms. Kinue found herself paralyzed by terror—her outstretched hand frozen mid-reach, her voice silenced, her eyes riveted to the curtain as if physically nailed in place and unable to look away. The curtain continued billowing as its seam began parting, inch by excruciating inch. As one minute passed, then two, a glinting object emerged from the narrow gap—gradually, inexorably transforming from a golden thread into a golden rod, until at last it expanded into a single uncanny golden human face.

Golden Mask! Ms. Kinue had heard rumors through newspapers and people's talk about the terrifying Golden Mask. That this Golden Mask would attempt to sneak into her bedroom in the vast Western-style mansion where she lay completely alone. It was so unbelievable she could barely grasp it. Could this be a nightmare? She prayed to wake quickly if it were one—but this was absolutely, absolutely not a dream. The Golden Mask stared her way with eerie, expressionless eyes like threads. The crescent-shaped mouth she'd heard about in rumors stretched tautly sideways, and she feared bright red blood might soon come dripping from its corners.

Far from pressing the call button, she was in a mindless frenzy—pulled the blanket over her head, clenched her chattering teeth tightly, and streamed with greasy sweat. It was almost strange she hadn’t fainted.

After a while, an unusual noise began to arise from within the atelier on the other side of the single door. Probably several villains had sneaked in and were trying to steal something away. It was a commotion of clattering and banging, as if someone were packing for a move. “Ah, I see. Since Golden Mask has that strange obsession with artworks, that noise must surely be him trying to steal the Buddhist statues Father carved.”

Ms. Kinue, in the midst of fear that bordered on madness, was faintly thinking such things.

In the sweat-dampened darkness beneath the blanket, a long, long time passed. Night dawned, day ended, night dawned again and day ended—to Ms. Kinue, even several days would have felt shorter than this interminable stretch of time. In reality, probably about three hours had passed. When she suddenly listened carefully, she realized the noisy sounds from the adjacent room had ceased unnoticed, and from the unfathomable silence emerged an almost unbelievable, clear rooster’s crow.

When she opened her eyes inside the blanket, through its coarse mesh, she could sense the faint whitish light of early morning. Ah, at last, dawn had come. It was safe now. The thieves must have already left somewhere. Even then, after much hesitation, Ms. Kinue extended her right hand from under the blanket toward the call bell, inch by inch, at a speed where it was unclear whether she was moving at all. Even with the blanket over her, the spot where it was located remained accessible.

Before long, her fingertips touched the cold button, so she pressed it with all her strength and kept her finger there without moving, remaining perfectly still.

Though she couldn’t hear it, the call bell in the main house’s kitchen must have been ringing ceaselessly, signaling the emergency. Ah, I’m saved. Someone—a maid or the old man—is sure to come rushing here soon.

The moment she thought this, Ms. Kinue felt as though she had been revived. She pulled her face out from the blanket and found the strength to survey her surroundings.

The faint light of dawn crept through the shuttered blinds and mingled with the glow of the electric light. Everything appeared as if viewed through a veil of mist. When she first looked toward the door connecting to the atelier, it remained firmly closed as though nothing had occurred. While half-convinced it might have been a dream, she gradually shifted her gaze—only for an unearthly scream, like something rising from hell's depths, to echo through the room when her eyes fell upon that velvet curtain.

Oh, what a thing this was. That guy was staring fixedly this way through the same curtain gap with his glinting face—unfazed by the morning light—as if monitoring Ms. Kinue’s every move. The Golden Mask, his eerie face twisted into an uncanny grin, seemed to inch ever closer toward the bed. Wasn’t that fiend not content with merely stealing Buddhist statues—did he harbor even more terrifying desires?

Ms. Kinue let out a bloodcurdling scream as if she were being strangled, pulled the blanket over herself, curled up, and trembled violently. Wasn't that monster about to come crashing down over the blanket at any moment—oh, at any moment? The thought alone made her feel no longer alive. From above the blanket, she felt she could even hear the breathing sounds of the Golden Mask as he brought his head close. Her heart was about to burst.

Just as expected, a giant-like palm firmly grabbed her shoulder—blanket and all. An indescribable, terrifying scream—something like *“Guh!”*—burst forth from Kinue’s mouth once more.

The gunshot in the atelier.

“Hey, Kinue! What’s wrong? Get a hold of yourself!” While the thief shook her shoulder, he said in a deep voice. No—it wasn’t a thief. That was a familiar voice. Without even needing to think *how strange*, Ms. Kinue, overcome with joy, flung off the blanket and clung to the person—to her father Unzan’s body.

The old artist had returned by night train and had just arrived at his residence. Peering softly over her father’s broad shoulder at the curtain… There it was—the golden monster, its narrow eyes fixed intently on them. “Father! That!” “That!” Terrified out of her wits, she clung to her father’s body and—while indicating it with her eyes—whispered faintly.

Being told this, even Mr. Unzan couldn’t help but startle as he turned toward it. He instinctively braced himself and glared at the monster. But what audacity! The Golden Mask continued to stare fixedly this way, as insensate as a doll, with that crescent-shaped mouth twisted into an uncanny smile.

“Ha ha ha…” Suddenly, an absurd roar of laughter erupted from the old artist’s mouth. “Ha ha ha… What are you so afraid of, Kinue? Look—there’s no one here. See? It’s just the golden mask and cloak hanging on the curtain.” Mr. Unzan pulled aside the curtain and exposed the monster’s true form. What was this? Had Ms. Kinue, terrified since last night by a mere mask and cloak, fallen perfectly into the thief’s trap?

Mr. Unzan ordered the manservant who had just entered there to remove the golden mask and cloak and had them taken to the main house.

“There now, it’s all right. There’s no one left here anymore.” “You must have been terribly frightened.” “But what an outrageous prank someone’s pulled.” “This Golden Mask business—what a vile trend.” “No, Father, it wasn’t a prank.” “It was a real thief!” “Please inspect the atelier at once.” “He must have stolen something!” Ms. Kinue—now that the Golden Mask had disappeared—finally regained her composure and recounted every detail of what had transpired the previous night.

“There was this clattering and clattering—a loud noise that went on for a long time.” “He must have taken all sorts of things.” Upon hearing this, Mr. Unzan’s complexion changed; he rushed to the door, opened it, and peered inside the atelier. Kinue also got out of bed and timidly peered into the room from behind her father. “Oh, what’s going on?”

An involuntary cry of surprise escaped. Strange, strange—the atelier’s interior showed no difference from when last seen before bedtime. The tables, chairs, and rows of Buddha statues—not one item had budged even a hair’s breadth from its position. Nothing whatsoever was missing. The small objects atop the table remained exactly as they were. The linoleum floor, cleaned just yesterday, stayed immaculate as if freshly polished, without a single expected muddy footprint to be found. They checked the garden-facing window yet found no traces. The window remained latched from within, and the garden outside lay parched, rendering any footprint identification impossible.

“You didn’t have a nightmare, did you?” Mr. Unzan turned back to the young lady with an abnormally pale face. “It’s strange.” “No, it was absolutely not a dream.” “There was definitely a terrible noise that kept going on.” “But if nothing was stolen, then it’s fortunate.” “I can’t make heads or tails of it—it’s like I’ve been completely hoodwinked.” “Nothing was stolen. “But…” “Oh, what’s wrong?” “Father, your face is deathly pale!” “Father, did you realize something?”

It was only natural that the young lady asked in surprise. The old artist turned pale instead when he realized nothing had been stolen. Terrifyingly wide-open eyes, quivering lips—Kinue had never seen her father wear such a dreadful expression before. “Kinue, you poor child.” “Perhaps something terrible—something you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest dreams—might happen.”

The old sculptor said in a hollow voice, as if possessed by something.

“Father, I’m scared. Please don’t say such things!” Kinue took her father’s limp hand and shook it coaxingly. His hand was as cold as a corpse’s. “Kinue, could you go to the main house for a while? Leave me alone for a little while.” Mr. Unzan uttered something strange in a feeble voice. “Oh, why is that?” Ms. Kinue looked up in alarm at her father’s pallid face.

“You’ll understand soon. “It’s nothing.” “There’s nothing to worry about.” “Please go over there and stay until I ring the call bell.” “I have some thinking to do.” Father’s voice had an eerie tone, as if echoing from a cave.

“Are you truly all right? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” “Now, hurry up and go on over there.”

Though Ms. Kinue felt a lingering reluctance，she did not defy her father’s words and left the scene.

When she came to the main house and was telling the maids in the tearoom about the terrifying incident from the previous night, suddenly a strange bang echoed from the direction of the atelier. Ms. Kinue and the maids gasped and fell silent, exchanging glances. “Could that be the sound of a gunshot?” “Yes, that seems to be coming from the atelier.” It was the morning after last night. Moreover, her father’s strange behavior earlier. The moment she thought, “What if…”, she couldn’t remain still. Kinue rushed to the atelier with the maids, her heart racing.

“Oh, Father!”

Sure enough, there lay Father Unzan, collapsed and bleeding. Beside the corpse lay a pistol. The bullet had penetrated deep into the brain from the right temple, and yarn-like blood was oozing thickly across the floor. Ms. Kinue clung to the corpse of her father, her only remaining family, and buried her face in his chest. From her pressed lips, mournful sobs began to escape, gradually growing more intense until they swelled into a wretched, inconsolable wail.

Secret Chamber

On the same morning, a few hours after Mr. Kawamura Unzan’s unnatural death, personnel from the Prosecutor’s Office, the Metropolitan Police Department, local police authorities, and others at the scene had completed their initial investigation and were discussing the mysterious case. Among them were Inspector Namikaze—in charge of the Golden Mask case—and the amateur detective Akechi Kogorō, who had been specially summoned. It was a case as bewildering as being tricked by a fox—utterly inscrutable. Everything remained a complete mystery.

Was the Golden Mask that frightened Ms. Kinue the previous night truly the real Golden Mask—that is, Arsène Lupin? Or had it been nothing more than a scarecrow rigged up with a gilded mask and overcoat from the very beginning? Who was it that sneaked into the atelier? And for what purpose had they sneaked in in the first place? Nothing was stolen. The room was not disturbed in the slightest. Then, what on earth made such a noise like that of moving furniture?

Why had Mr. Unzan sent his daughter away and ended up alone? Was his unnatural death a suicide or a murder? If it was murder, where did the criminal enter from and where did they escape to?

There was not a single hair-thin clue to be found. Various theories were proposed among those present. There were those who claimed that the entire incident must undoubtedly be another of Arsène Lupin’s outlandish schemes, as was his wont. This was the view that it might be the prelude to a major crime, and that the thief’s true objective lay in an entirely different direction.

"No, this is likely because Ms. Kinue was conflating reality with a nightmare, so Mr. Unzan probably committed suicide for some unknown reason," some suggested. There were also those who argued it was merely a coincidence that both events occurred simultaneously. Akechi Kogorō had been silently listening to these speculative theories from the beginning, but when the conversation lapsed, he suddenly uttered something peculiar, as if talking to himself. "Miss, could your father speak French?"

Ms. Kinue, who had been huddled in the corner, looked up in surprise. "No, Father couldn't speak any foreign languages at all." "And you?" "Are you referring to French?" "Yes."

“No, I don’t know it at all.” “Is there anyone among the servants who can?” “There isn’t a single person among the servants with that kind of education.” Ms. Kinue, unable to comprehend the meaning of Akechi’s question, answered with a puzzled look. It wasn’t just Ms. Kinue who couldn’t grasp the meaning.

“Akechi, does French have some connection to this case?”

Inspector Namikaze could no longer bear it and asked.

“Yeah, there seems to be a connection.” “Look at this.” Akechi unfolded the crumpled scrap of paper he had been clutching in his right hand and showed it to everyone. Sure enough, characters resembling French spelling were arranged in three lines. But unfortunately, aside from Akechi, there was no one present who could properly read French. Separate from the French text, numbers resembling those on the left and peculiar symbols were written in one corner of the paper fragment. This portion could be read by anyone. Yet its meaning remained entirely incomprehensible.

“Earlier, I found this crumpled up and thrown away in the corner of the room. If none of the family members here can speak French, and if this room was cleaned yesterday, then we can conclude that this scrap of paper was dropped by whoever broke in last night.” Akechi explained. He was as quick as ever. “So what’s written in that French?”

The inspector asked. The prosecutor, the preliminary judge, and the rest were all ears to this strange exchange. “I can’t make heads or tails of it. It’s either the ramblings of a madman or something as nonsensical as a fortune slip’s message—written in a completely incoherent manner. I can’t make sense of these numbers and swirls in this corner either. The fact that I don’t understand it only makes me more interested. I think it might be some sort of cipher.” “If that was indeed dropped by the thief and truly is cipher text, it would be an invaluable lead…”

“No, it’s definitely a cipher.” “I’m almost certain.” “Now it’s just a matter of testing it.”

Akechi spoke with his characteristic abrupt leaps in logic. "Test it? What do you mean by testing?" "What exactly are you testing?"

Inspector Namikaze retorted with a perplexed look. “The meaning of these numbers and swirls.” Everyone, taken aback by Akechi’s sudden conclusion, stared blankly. “My reasoning is as follows.” There, Akechi began his explanation. “First, we must consider what these two seemingly inexplicable facts signify: the fact that Mr. Kawamura Unzan’s complexion changed when he learned nothing had been stolen from this room, and then he ordered his daughter to leave.” “The fact that none of the items in the room were stolen must have been worse for Mr. Kawamura than if they had been stolen.” Mr. Kawamura shuddered when he realized that the thief’s target was not the ordinary items displayed in this atelier but something else entirely. “And there is no other possible interpretation than to conclude that he sent his daughter away to confirm whether that other thing was safe.”

The people, having listened to Akechi’s explanation up to this point, began to feel as though they somehow grasped the truth. "If none of the items in the atelier were missing, we can only imagine that what made Mr. Kawamura so worried—enough to change his complexion—was hidden in an utterly secret place where no one would notice. The fact that Mr. Kawamura set up a bedroom adjacent to this atelier, installed an electric bell there, and always had his daughter rest there when traveling—this must have been because there was an exceptionally important item in the atelier. He must have been terrified of others discovering it. As I consider this, my theory about there being a secret hiding place somewhere in the atelier grows increasingly plausible."

Mr. Kawamura did not even open it for his daughter. It was a secret worth risking his life for. In fact—after making his daughter leave and altering the hiding place—when he learned that what he had risked his life to protect had been stolen—Mr. Kawamura took his own life out of despair. “Clearly—it’s suicide. If this were murder—what lunatic reason would make a criminal leave their weapon at the scene? No—that’s not all. I found this pistol case in Mr. Kawamura’s travel bag. This pistol fits perfectly inside.”

By the way, what on earth could it mean that Mr. Kawamura carried a pistol even during his travels? Doesn’t this tell us that he was constantly tormented by some kind of anxiety? Did he have a formidable enemy he needed to guard against? Or was he prepared to commit suicide at any time? Whichever the case, it is certain that he harbored a secret worth risking his life for. If we let our imagination run wild, Lupin’s Golden Mask detected Mr. Kawamura’s great secret and stole it away. “Mr. Kawamura, driven to the depths of despair, ultimately took his own life—that’s the sequence of events.” “The fact that the thief was Lupin can be inferred from the French on this scrap of paper and the Golden Mask’s disguise used to intimidate the young lady.”

Mr. Kawamura was one of Japan’s foremost sculptors. “The item that he risked his life to protect must have been something Lupin, the art-obsessed thief, couldn’t help but covet.”

The scenario Akechi had constructed was entirely a product of imagination. However, even as a flight of fancy, it was a logically coherent and utterly plausible scenario. At the very least, it could not be denied that this scenario was several levels superior to the various imaginative theories proposed by those present.

“Now, all I have left is to test it.” “All we need to do is verify my hypothesis through practical testing.”

It was here that the numbers and swirls on this paper fragment took on meaning. "This assumes that the thief detected Mr. Kawamura’s secret and jotted down the key to its hiding place as a reminder." "And now we’ll test whether this assumption holds true."

Even as he spoke of testing his hypothesis, Akechi already appeared to possess an unshakable conviction.

“I’ve meticulously examined every part of this room for some time now.” “I confirmed that the only elements matching the cipher numbers were these decorative beads carved around the mantelpiece.” “For a fireplace installed in an atelier, that ornamentation is unreasonably elaborate.” “That incongruity first drew my attention.” “There are sixteen carved beads in total.” “Now, the cipher contains four numbers—six, two, eleven, and three—all below sixteen.” “Could these numbers indicate the positional order of the beads on the mantelpiece?”

“Well, it may not necessarily be the case.” “The swirls are the tricky part.” “The swirl between six and two is a right-handed spiral, and the one between eleven and three is a left-handed spiral.” “Could this perhaps be suggesting that those beads should be turned to the right and then to the left?”

“Could this mean turning the sixth bead to the right and the eleventh bead to the left?” But then, which way should two and three go? Ah! That’s it. This might not indicate the bead order but rather the number of turns. The sixth bead—two turns to the right; the eleventh bead—three turns to the left. Yes, that must be it.” Akechi continued speaking as he developed his masterful reasoning. “Exactly! Two turns right for the sixth bead and three left for the eleventh—what an ingenious mechanism.”

With the scrap of paper in one hand, Akechi briskly approached the mantelpiece and began by firmly turning the sixth bead-shaped carving from the right. It turned and turned. His imagination had hit the mark. Next, no sooner had he vigorously turned the eleventh bead three times to the left than there was a strange *clank*, and suddenly, the wooden panel beside the fireplace swung open soundlessly like temple doors, revealing a gaping black hole.

When they saw this, the group of people sprang to their feet and noisily crowded around the secret chamber.

Inside was a small, square room measuring about three tsubo (approximately 10 square meters).

“Just as I thought. There’s nothing here—it’s empty.”

Inspector Namikaze muttered. Akechi’s deductions continued to hit the mark one after another. The items in the secret chamber had likely been stolen by Lupin and his gang. Akechi thrust his head into the darkroom and examined it for a while, then soon picked up something small with his fingertips.

“No, it’s not empty. This was lying here.”

When he placed it on his palm and showed it to them, they saw a flat, glittering, elongated oval less than five bu in length. It was not metal. It was not cloth. It was not paper. It was an unknown substance. But does such a thing hold any meaning? Akechi went to the bright area near the window and meticulously examined the object by holding it up to the light. Then, as if noticing something, he stiffened with astonishment and muttered with an uncharacteristically solemn expression quite unlike his usual self.

“Is this real?” “I can’t believe it.” “But… Ah, this is terrifying.” His demeanor appeared so aberrant that Inspector Namikaze involuntarily drew near and could not help but address him. “Akechi-kun, what’s the matter?” “Have you discovered something?”

“Yes, I’ve just thought of something terrifying. “This is an extremely terrifying matter.” Akechi, who was normally unshaken by anything, was trembling. This was no ordinary matter.

“What on earth is that small thing?” “Did you figure something out?”

“Hmm, I think I’ve figured it out.” “Ah… Miss, where is the telephone room?”

Akechi turned back to the young lady standing there and said hurriedly.

Buddha’s sanctuary After Akechi hurriedly inquired about the telephone room’s location and rushed off under the young lady’s guidance, the group stood dumbfounded by the amateur detective’s bizarre behavior, merely exchanging glances—when suddenly, the young lady returned and, “He’s making a long-distance call. It may take some time, but he asks that you please wait patiently.” She reported. Akechi had requested an urgent connection and remained in the telephone room until the other party answered, standing there impatiently. What grave incident could have so agitated a man like Akechi?

Akechi returned from the telephone room after more than thirty minutes had passed. The people could not simply wait idly; they repeatedly questioned the young lady and the servants and continued their search of the room.

“Everyone, it was indeed as I suspected. This is truly a terrifying crime.”

Akechi, who had returned, stood rigidly at the entrance and shouted. He was even paler than when he had left the telephone room. “What’s wrong? What on earth have you discovered?”

Inspector Namikaze was the first to ask.

Akechi asked the young lady and servants who were present there to leave the atelier for a while, confirmed that their figures were no longer visible, and finally answered.

“I’ve discovered what was stolen.” “Everyone, you mustn’t be alarmed.” “Lupin stole a national treasure from this atelier.” “And this was no ordinary national treasure.” “It’s the supreme national treasure—one so renowned even elementary schoolchildren would recognize it.”

“What did you say?! What are you saying? There’s no way a national treasure would be kept in some private individual’s atelier!”

Inspector Namikaze uttered a voice of astonishment.

All the people present shared Inspector Namikaze’s feelings. The notion that a national treasure had been enshrined in Kawamura Unzan’s atelier was too far-fetched, too absurd a delusion. Had this amateur detective gone mad? “It was there,” Akechi shouted angrily. “In fact, I’ve just called the Hōryū-ji Temple office in Nara and confirmed it.”

“Wh-what did you say?” “Hōryū-ji Temple?” “Then, the national treasure you’re referring to is…” Prosecutor E asked back in shock.

Akechi, for some reason, looked around and answered in a whisper.

“It’s the Tamamushi Shrine enshrined in the Kondō Hall.” Ah! What madness was this? Had Akechi gone mad? The group stared at the amateur detective in stunned silence, utterly speechless. “You can’t be serious. “If true, this would be an unprecedented calamity… Yet how could Hōryū-ji Temple have remained unaware until now that such a national treasure was missing?” “It’s hardly some trinket—this makes no sense whatsoever.”

Prosecutor E said incredulously. “However, there’s nothing unusual about the Kondō at Hōryū-ji Temple. The Tamamushi Shrine remains properly enshrined there.” “Hmm… Then you’re saying—”

“Exactly. It’s a fake. For several months, a skillfully crafted counterfeit Tamamushi Shrine had been enshrined at Hōryū-ji Temple.” “A fake? Creating such a forgery of ancient art is impossible. It’s unbelievable.” Prosecutor E and all present could not readily accept this preposterous report.

“The administrator at Hōryū-ji Temple’s office said the same thing.” “That it’s a fake? Such an absurd notion is impossible!” “He told me to ‘quit with the foolish pranks,’ you see.” “He thought I was making mischief over the telephone.”

“Exactly. And how did you confirm it was a forgery?” “I asked the administrator to inspect the shrine’s base. Because I suspected Lupin’s signature—that trademark vanity of his—might be there.”

“So, was that signature there?” “After a while, the administrator returned to the phone, but his voice had completely changed.” “He was trembling so violently I could barely understand what he was saying.” “‘A·L’ was there.” “Moreover, it had been meticulously engraved in Japanese with ‘On behalf of Kawamura Unzan, A·L.’”

It was an unbelievable, bizarre incident. However, there was no way the administrator of Hōryū-ji Temple would lie. If such a signature existed on the base of the shrine, there could be no further room for doubt. The foremost national treasure of Japan had been stolen away by a detestable foreign phantom thief.

“In other words, this is what it comes down to.” Akechi explained. “Precisely because Mr. Kawamura Unzan was a genius sculptor, he had an obsessive passion for art.” “Given his excessive love for art, it’s only natural that he would desire to possess such works.” “However, in Mr. Unzan’s case, unfortunately, it was the greatest of national treasures—one that could not be owned through monetary means.”

“An ordinary thief wouldn’t do something as foolish as stealing national treasures. Even if they stole it, they couldn’t show it off to others, sell it off, or do anything with it at all.” “However, Mr. Unzan’s case was different. He wanted to caress this antique art object as his own possession, just as one would love a lover. He didn’t need to show it to others. Nor did he intend to convert it into money. He likely just wanted to enshrine it in a secret chamber—to admire it morning and night, caress it, and immerse himself in a secret joy unknown to anyone else.” “Isn’t it evident from how Mr. Unzan had his daughter rest in the atelier whenever he traveled, subtly making her keep watch, that he was hiding something more precious than life itself in that secret chamber?”

“I see. So Lupin somehow discovered that and took advantage of the master’s absence to break in and steal it.” “And regarding the counterfeit at Hōryū-ji Temple, he had engraved his signature there in advance according to his usual habit, I take it.”

Prosecutor E concurred.

“Exactly. No doubt that bastard had sniffed out Mr. Unzan’s secret long before. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had time to put his signature on the counterfeit at distant Hōryū-ji Temple.” “So, that would mean the creator of the counterfeit was none other than Mr. Unzan himself, correct?”

“Exactly.” “To create that exquisite work of art, he must have worked diligently in this secret chamber for several months—perhaps even years.” “It is a misdeed only a genius artist like Mr. Unzan could have conceived.” “But swapping the fake with the genuine article must have been tremendously difficult.” “How could he have pulled off such sleight of hand under surveillance?” “Grand criminals perform seemingly impossible feats with effortless ease.” “They are illusionists of a sort.” “Now, magic tricks always prove disappointingly simple once their secrets are exposed—and this case is no exception.” “I had heard the national treasure was occasionally removed for restoration.” “Suspecting a connection, I telephoned to inquire—and sure enough, they confirmed it had undergone repairs about four months prior.” “That was the key to the trick.” “Given his professional position, Mr. Kawamura likely knew the schedule in advance—prepared everything meticulously—and executed the substitution with consummate ease.” “As you’re aware, he possessed wealth sufficient to silence dozens of witnesses.”

What an audacious crime this was! He, as the doyen praised throughout the Japanese art world, would misuse his position and skill to claim the nation’s greatest treasure for himself—what an abomination! But he, already aware that his crime had been exposed, had committed suicide. There was no one left to blame. In contrast, the phantom thief Lupin was alive. Alive, he was somewhere in the shadows, sneering at the police’s disarray. Lupin—who had skillfully exploited the old artist’s wicked heart and effortlessly claimed the national treasure as his own—was a villain who deserved nothing but hatred.

"But even so, how did you deduce that? You discovered that the item hidden in the secret chamber was the Tamamushi Shrine. To me, that seems even more mysterious than the thief's trick." Inspector Namikaze suddenly noticed this point and inquired with a strange expression. "Well, it was nothing really." Akechi explained casually. "This scrap of paper holds the key. Above the symbol for opening the secret chamber, there were about three lines written in French. Look, here it is."

He spread out the paper scrap on the table. “When translated, it would look like this: ‘Tonight, transport that Buddha’s sanctuary. Proceed by the predetermined method. Deliver the sanctuary to the white giant as per usual.’ Buddha’s sanctuary refers to a temple, but ordering someone to transport a temple is utterly strange. There’s no way someone could transport something as large as a temple. At first, I thought it was some kind of coded language. However, just now on the floor of the secret chamber, I found something like a strange fragment of lacquer. At first glance, it wasn’t ordinary lacquer. Even an amateur could tell it was extremely old. At that moment, I suddenly realized.”

The master of the atelier was a veteran authority in the art world. An object that this person had gone to such lengths to conceal—an item so significant that upon learning it had been stolen, he felt compelled to take his own life—Buddha’s sanctuary, ancient lacquer… Given Lupin’s mania for collecting antiquities, the only thing that came to mind was the Tamamushi Shrine. When considering what the megalomaniacal Lupin would target—a portable Buddha’s sanctuary—there was nothing else one could think of besides that national treasure. “So, at any rate, I made a phone call and checked it—that’s how it came about.”

“Ah, so that’s how it was.” Inspector Namikaze marveled at Akechi’s sharp imagination. “And what on earth does that latter part of the message—‘deliver it to the White Giant’—mean? If we can figure that out, naturally we’ll learn both the location of the national treasure and the thief’s hideout.” “Unfortunately, I still don’t know that either. The White Giant—meaning a large man with pale skin—but perhaps it’s a nickname for one of Lupin’s gang members, I think.”

Akechi muttered with a perplexed expression.

White Giant

The national treasure Tamamushi Shrine had been stolen. Moreover, the thief was none other than the Golden Mask Lupin. This nightmare-like incident spread across all of Japan in an instant. The authorities had taken every measure to keep the matter strictly confidential, but newspaper reporters—through their sharp sixth sense—had already discerned the details of the incident and meticulously reported on this monumental event without touching upon the matter of "Count Rougel being Lupin."

In America, they might have called for a lynching. Even the gentle Japanese people themselves became enraged and demanded, “Capture Lupin!” Cries of “Return the national treasure!” surged up nationwide. The target of their attacks was the Metropolitan Police Headquarters.

“What happened to Inspector Namikaze?”

“What is Akechi Kogorō doing?” Voices of criticism seemed to materialize from thin air. The police mobilized their full force to deploy a dragnet for Lupin’s arrest—a web so tight not even an ant could slip through. Wanted posters of Count Rougel reached nearly every police station nationwide, not just in Tokyo itself. Stations, docks, customs offices, hotels, inns—every conceivable location underwent rigorous inspection, with stakeouts established at each. Yet after five days, Lupin, the Tamamushi Shrine, his lover Ōtori Fumiko, and several henchmen had all disappeared like morning mist.

What the Japanese people didn’t realize was that their adversary was a foreigner with distinctive eye and hair color. Even if he tried to blend in, where could he possibly hide?

Strange. Even if he were the sorcerer Golden Mask, now that his true identity had been exposed, he was on the run with all of Japan as his enemy. The eyes of surveillance teemed in every town and village. Amidst this, how could he—traveling alone or accompanied by a woman—carry such an enormous load that would never fit into an ordinary automobile? (Even if divided into two parts, the Tamamushi Shrine would still require the volume of two extremely large trunks.) Moreover, his stolen goods were not limited to that) Just where and how was he hiding himself? It was truly a mystery beyond mysteries.

Akechi Kogorō was shut in his study at Kaika Apartments again today, lost in thought over that mysterious scrap of paper. He was being toyed with by his arch-nemesis Lupin, bombarded with criticism from society, and tormented by an indescribable frustration.

*White Giant, White Giant, White Giant*

He had spent four full days trying to unravel this incomprehensible, enigmatic phrase, yet still he could find no glimmer of a solution. For him, encountering such a difficult problem was a first in his life.

In front of him, lost in thought, the desk phone rang shrilly. _Ugh, it’s definitely Inspector Namikaze again._ _How annoying._

Inspector Namikaze would call two or even three times a day, coming to borrow Akechi’s elusive insights.

Reluctantly picking up the receiver, he found it was indeed the inspector. But the inspector’s voice was somehow different from usual.

“Ah, Mr. Akechi—good news! Please prepare to go out immediately. The mysterious White Giant we’ve been talking about has been found.” “Huh? The White Giant?” Akechi was taken aback by the abruptness of the story and asked in return. “You see, it’s that text from the cipher fragment we’ve been talking about. The White Giant—that’s what it refers to. That fellow’s finally been found.” “Please explain in more detail. I’m not entirely sure, but...” Akechi felt something was off about how Inspector Namikaze seemed to be interpreting “White Giant” literally.

“A subordinate detective just called.” “The empty house in Toyamagahara—you haven’t forgotten about it, have you?” “That’s the eerie house where you dueled Golden Mask.” “Just to be safe, I had a detective stake out near that house—and now that detective just called.” “The detective says that about thirty minutes ago, he saw a Westerner come out of that vacant house.” “Of course, he thought it was suspicious and followed him, and the Westerner took a car to Ginza and has just entered Café Dick.” “The detective says there’s a lookout posted out front, so come right away.” “Could you go directly from there?”

“Hmm, I can go, but how exactly is that the White Giant?” “He’s completely white from head to toe.” “A white soft hat, a white face, white clothes, a white walking stick, white gloves, and white shoes, you see.” “I was startled when I heard that.” “This guy is none other than the White Giant in question—they say he’s extremely tall and ridiculously fat.” “Alright, let’s go check.” “Café Dick, right?”

And the call ended. Akechi dashed into his bedroom and emerged about five minutes later disguised as a chauffeur. His outfit consisted of a black serge summer suit faded to reddish-brown, a dirty hunting cap, large dust-proof goggles, and red leather knee-high boots. Then he called a car, but instead of riding in the passenger seat, he sat down next to the actual driver.

Ten minutes later, the car came to a stop about ten buildings away from Café Dick. When he looked, there was a middle-aged man—wearing black sunglasses and a fake mustache, dressed in an old-fashioned alpaca suit, and carrying a black briefcase and a satin umbrella—pacing back and forth in front of the café like an insurance salesman or a bill collector.

Akechi got out of the car, approached the old man, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Inspector Namikaze, what a clumsy disguise.” The man in the alpaca suit turned around in surprise, but Akechi’s disguise was so masterfully done that he couldn’t be recognized for some time. “Ah, Mr. Akechi? Quiet, quiet! The white fellow’s about to come out now.”

Inspector Namikaze signaled with his eyes toward the café entrance about five or six ken ahead. Under the eaves on the opposite side of the entrance, a man in Japanese clothing—looking like a shop clerk—was pacing back and forth. He was undoubtedly one of Inspector Namikaze’s detectives.

Before long, the White Giant in question appeared outside the café. He was utterly white. From head to toe, he was pure white, as if coated in white powder. If one were to remove his clothes, even his skin might be pure white like an albino's. At least his face was a white so pale it would be rare even among Caucasians. His physique was truly worthy of the name "giant," being of magnificent proportions. He stood over six feet tall and was corpulent like a sumo wrestler.

He exited the café, did not hail a car, and sauntered off toward Ginza Street. A bizarre and inexplicable tailing procession commenced. At the head was the white-powdered monstrously obese man; then, about fifteen or sixteen ken behind, the suspicious old man in an alpaca suit and black sunglasses; followed by the driver in red boots; and bringing up the rear, a detective dressed like a former soldier turned shop clerk.

“If that guy really is the White Giant from the cipher, then as long as we keep tailing him patiently and track down his house, we’ll naturally uncover where Lupin’s stolen goods are hidden.” “No—we could even trace Lupin himself through this.” “If we carelessly lose sight of him now, we’ll be done for!”

Inspector Namikaze whispered in a low voice. "Hmm, that may be so, but he's unnervingly white." "I can't help feeling he's a bit too white." For some reason, Akechi seemed disinclined. "Too white?" "That's precisely why he's suspicious." "There may be some hidden meaning in that pure white attire that we don't understand." Whispering in hushed tones, the bizarre tailing procession continued onward without a clear destination.

Three Trunks

The White Giant swung his white walking stick back and forth as he crossed Ginza’s tram tracks and entered the large department store there.

“This is strange. Do you think he realized we’re tailing him? Nonchalantly entering a department store like this...” “Even if he’s noticed, we can’t stop following him. We must pursue tenaciously to uncover his hideout.”

Inspector Namikaze was unusually enthusiastic. Akechi, with a thoroughly weary demeanor, seemed on the verge of muttering, “Well, well…”

The giant ascended to the rooftop garden via the elevator. The tailers also huddled in a corner of the same elevator and did not take their eyes off their quarry.

On the rooftop garden, a vast crowd was looking up at the sky, waiting for something. “Ah, he came to see the airplane.” “That guy might be a Frenchman, huh?” Akechi noticed and whispered. That day was the very day that French aviator Monsieur Chapelin’s circumnavigation aircraft was scheduled to arrive over Tokyo’s skies. The radio was reporting the position of Chapelin’s aircraft as it drew closer through the skies over Tōkaidō with each passing moment. The citizens of Tokyo were in a state of excitement, welcoming this unprecedented feat. Every building with a roof had crowds of people packed densely upon it.

“The French are a fearsome nation.” “A nation that has given birth to Chapelin and given birth to Lupin.”

Akechi, in his driver’s disguise, muttered admiringly. Yet even he had never dreamed that such a mysterious bond could exist between this circumnavigation aircraft and the Golden Mask’s criminal case. Before long, cheers erupting from the rooftop announced the aerial hero’s arrival. A cloudless blue sky stretched endlessly; far to the west, three black kites materialized with leisurely grace. Two were guide planes from a certain newspaper company. The aircraft swelled rapidly before their eyes, looming over the upturned crowd below. The propeller roared and fluttered thunderously. A heart-pounding chorus of “Banzai!” erupted.

“Hey, look! That guy’s started doing something weird.”

Inspector Namikaze jabbed Akechi's arm. For this loyal police officer, the White Giant on the ground held greater importance than any aerial hero.

When they looked, the White Giant was doing something utterly bizarre. He went out to the edge of the rooftop and, producing bright red small flags from somewhere, began waving them vigorously in both hands as if signaling with flags. At first glance, his behavior appeared to be making welcoming gestures toward the airplane that had just passed directly over the department store, but in reality, that was not necessarily the case. His eyes were not looking at the sky; they were fixed on one of the nearby towering buildings—specifically on certain individuals within the rooftop crowd.

“You, that guy is signaling someone on the roof of the building across the way.” “Now he’s really acting suspicious.” Inspector Namikaze’s eyes gleamed with renewed vigilance. “Hmph, what a peculiar thing to do.” Akechi remained as cold as ever.

As the plane's silhouette vanished into the distant sky and the rooftop cheers subsided, the crowd exchanged excited words as they made their way downstairs. The White Giant too began walking, blending into the human current.

The elevator stopped on the first floor, and the disgorged tailing party of four proceeded toward the department store exit with the Giant leading the way. “Hey, you! What’s wrong?” “If you keep dawdling like this, we’ll lose him!” Inspector Namikaze grew irritated and pulled Akechi. But Akechi remained standing in front of the tourist bureau branch office inside the store, making no move to leave.

A beautiful poster hung on the wall there. It was a Japan tour guide for foreigners. In the scene was Mount Fuji. There was the torii gate of Itsukushima Shrine. There was a dancing figure of a furisode-clad maiden. There was the Great Buddha of Kamakura.

“Hey, Akechi-kun! Get a hold of yourself!” “What are you staring at so blankly?” Then Akechi finally turned back to face the inspector and abruptly posed an odd question. “Do you know how many Great Buddha statues like this exist in Japan?”

“How should I know that? Enough with the posters already; let’s tail him. We’ve come this far in pursuit—if we lose him now, wouldn’t it be impossible to recover?”

Inspector Namikaze bristled with irritation. “I’m feeling rather unwell.” Akechi pressed a hand to his forehead and feigned a pained grimace. “You two handle the tailing. I’m heading home now.” “This is troublesome.” “Why say such a thing now?” “Are you truly ill?”

“Yeah, it’s true.” “I can’t walk at all.” “I’ll leave the rest to you.” “I’ll take a car home.” While they were talking, the White Giant walked steadily onward, putting considerable distance between them. They could no longer afford to dawdle any further. “Well then, I’ll call you with the results.” “Take good care of things.” Inspector Namikaze resignedly chased after the giant man together with the detective.

After seeing off the inspector, Akechi approached the travel guide clerk inside the railing and began busily asking questions. Seeing this demeanor, he showed not the slightest sign of illness. The whole arrangement felt decidedly odd.

Be that as it may, Inspector Namikaze and his men persisted with dogged determination, trudging after the giant. The Westerner, true to form, didn’t even take a car and continued walking tirelessly wherever he went.

When they turned the corner at Owari-chō and he continued walking briskly—making them think he must have some destination in mind—he nonchalantly entered Hibiya Park. And though his purpose remained unclear, he began circling around flower beds and athletic fields. It was impossible to tell whether he was taking a stroll or had noticed he was being tailed and was toying with them. But the pursuers paid no heed to such things and remained utterly relentless.

After being dragged around for a full hour, they finally left Hibiya Park behind. Thinking that this time it must lead to the hideout, they followed with determination—only for the giant man to disappear into the Imperial Hotel in front of the park. So he was a hotel guest after all? Yet it seemed unlikely the hotel served as a hiding place for stolen goods. “Excuse me, could you tell me—is that Westerner who just entered here a hotel guest?” Inspector Namikaze grabbed the entrance bellboy and questioned him.

“Yes, he is.”

The middle-aged bellboy made a strange face and stared intently at the inspector. It was no wonder—no matter how one looked at him, his attire couldn’t be seen as anything more than that of a bill collector. Inspector Namikaze also noticed this, “I am from the Metropolitan Police Department. Kindly arrange for me to speak with the manager.”

and took out a business card from his pocket. There was not a single Tokyo citizen who did not know the name of Demon Inspector Namikaze. The bellboy, upon seeing the business card, suddenly became polite and promptly guided them to the manager’s office. Upon inquiring, they learned that the giant man had only checked in that morning and was a complete stranger, but there was nothing particularly unusual about him. They also learned his name. The nationality was French, just as Akechi had imagined. When they asked whether he had any large luggage, sure enough, they were told he had brought three large trunks into his room.

“That’s it—those trunks are the key.” When Inspector Namikaze imagined the trunks containing the national treasure Tamamushi Shrine, his heart raced with excitement. “I have some questions to ask. Would you kindly show me to that guest’s room?” “And while we’re at it, I’d appreciate if you could arrange for an interpreter.”

When the inspector made his request, the manager readily agreed and led the way down the long hallway. When they arrived at the room, they found the door locked. Knocking produced no response, so they summoned a bellboy. “The guest?” “He has just departed, sir.” “He has departed? That’s impossible! Didn’t he just arrive this morning?”

The manager looked at the bellboy’s face in surprise. “But he has departed, sir. Just moments ago. When he returned from outside, he called me and said he would be departing now, then left empty-handed just as he was.” So had he managed to escape during the brief moment when Inspector Namikaze and his men were in the manager’s office?

“Empty-handed? Without even calling a car? Then what about the luggage? There should’ve been several large trunks.”

“He left them in the room.” “Ah yes—he did leave a message.” “He said someone called Mr. Namikaze would be coming soon, and we should hand the luggage over to him.” “Wh-wh-what?!”

Inspector Namikaze was taken aback and inadvertently let out a sound. “A Mr. Namikaze, you say?” The manager pressed impatiently.

“He stated that it was someone from the Metropolitan Police Department.”

“This is rather strange. Regardless, how about we check those trunks?” The manager gazed at Inspector Namikaze’s face. “Let’s take a look. Please open this here.” Inspector Namikaze now understood why Akechi had suddenly taken ill. What a quick-witted man he was. He had clearly foreseen that things would come to this. Akechi always gets taken in by this trick. The door was opened with the bellboy’s master key. Upon entering the room, they found three large trunks lined up right by the entrance, as if demanding to be seen. Even the keyholes had keys properly inserted into them.

“Open them.” Under the inspector’s orders, the detectives and the bellboy opened the lids of the trunks one after another. “Damn you! You’ve fooled us again!”

Inspector Namikaze shouted in crude language. Inside the trunk was a Kewpie doll as large as an infant, its hands spread wide and eyes crossed inward, sneering mockingly at them. All three trunks held identical dolls. Not a single other item lay within. This could only be interpreted as a farce deliberately staged to ridicule the police. The white-powdered monstrosity of a giant, those dubious flag signals from the rooftop garden, their wild chase through Hibiya Park—and now these trunks containing not national treasures but cursed Kewpie dolls. Realizing he'd been duped by such an obvious trap, Inspector Namikaze stamped his feet furiously against the floorboards, though the action brought no relief to his humiliation.

After withdrawing from Sugosugo Hotel, returning to the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, leaving when his shift ended, going home, and until he went to bed—Inspector Namikaze barely spoke a word. Since becoming a police officer, he had never felt this depressed before.

The Giant in the Dark

The next day, upon arriving at the office, Inspector Namikaze promptly called Akechi. He intended to voice his grievance from yesterday. However, the reply was that Akechi had not returned since last night. From then until evening, he tried calling five or six times, but there was never any answer.

In the midst of indescribable impatience, another day passed, and on the evening of the following day, Akechi’s whereabouts were finally discovered. Moreover, this time, he was the one who placed a long-distance call to the Metropolitan Police Department. The call had come from O Town in Kanagawa Prefecture, just beyond Yokohama. “You’re terrible! Using a feigned illness to run away! Since then, I’ve been through hell.” “So that’s how it was after all. That guy’s a fake, huh? I had a hunch somehow. I wasn’t enthusiastic from the start. But since you were so serious, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Even I didn’t have any particular certainty, you know.”

Akechi’s voice said apologetically. “Well, never mind that. But why are you in O Town of all places? Of course, it’s about that case, right?”

“Yeah, good news here.” “This time I’m the one calling you – no fake like two days back.” “I’ve pinned down the real White Giant.” “Pulled an all-nighter for it.” “But finally got solid proof!”

“Is that White Giant in O Town?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Please come at once. I’ll go wait at the station around the time you arrive. You should still come in disguise.”

He couldn’t simply ignore this good news. Inspector Namikaze promptly disguised himself as a laborer in a happi coat and hurried to O Town.

When they arrived at the station, the familiar driver-attired Akechi was waiting. “I couldn’t get the details over the phone—what kind of creature is this White Giant? What sort of house is it hiding in? And are the stolen goods still there?” Inspector Namikaze started firing questions as soon as he saw Akechi’s face.

“Yes—the stolen goods, of course, and likely Lupin and Miss Ōtori Fumiko are all lurking in the same hideout.” “Huh? Even Lupin? That’s a major breakthrough! I didn’t think they’d be found this quickly. So what kind of house are they in? How on earth did you manage to track that down?” “Well, come along with me. You’ll fully understand soon enough.”

Akechi did not say much but urged the inspector on and took the lead ahead.

After exiting the narrow town, the path became a gently sloping hill with mixed thickets growing densely on both sides of the narrow road. The day completely darkened as stars began to shine beautifully in the sky. Beyond lay a dark forest where not a single light was visible.

Could there really be any houses on such a lonely hill? Though he suspected that if there were any houses, the lights should be visible, Inspector Namikaze—who had complete faith in Akechi—trudged onward through the darkness without uttering a single complaint.

But even as they walked on and on, the darkness only grew thicker, and there was no sign at all of any houses. He was growing a bit uneasy.

“Hey, Akechi, just how much further are we going? There shouldn’t be any towns or villages in this direction—where exactly does this White Giant live?” “We’re already looking at it. It’s just too dark to see.”

Akechi said something strange. “Huh? You say we’re looking at it? So it’s around here?”

“Yeah, we’re getting closer to it step by step.” “Just a bit more now.” It was an eerily unsettling exchange. Before long, the road passed through the mixed grove and opened up to a clearing at the hill’s summit. Yet the darkness remained unrelenting. Not a single house could be seen. “I still don’t understand,” “Where exactly is it?” “I can’t see anything at all.” The inspector cautiously lowered his voice as he pressed again.

“You can’t see it?” “How could you not see it?” “Look, isn’t it standing right in front of you?”

Upon hearing this, the inspector recoiled in shock and took a step back.

“Wh-where? Where?” “Where? Where?” “Look—hold it up to the starlight and see.” “There’s an unimaginably huge giant standing right before you, isn’t there?”

Upon being told this, he nimbly looked up, and there, indeed, indeed, against a beautiful starry sky, a hill-like giant loomed over their heads.

“Were you talking about this Buddha?” Inspector Namikaze asked in surprise.

In the center of the hill stood O Town’s famous local landmark—a concrete Buddha statue renowned for being larger than the Great Buddha of Nara. He knew this statue well even without being told by Akechi. The glass window of the urna “This is absurd—are you saying this Buddha statue is Lupin’s accomplice?”

The inspector thought it was a joke. The Great Buddha and Lupin. What an absurd combination!

“That’s right.” Akechi answered with utmost seriousness. “This is Lupin’s so-called White Giant. Look—isn’t this exactly the White Giant?” Indeed—now that it was pointed out—this was unmistakably the White Giant. “Ah, you’re a terrifying man... So this Great Buddha is…”

The inspector lowered his voice and stared at Akechi’s black shadow. “Yeah，this is the ‘Hollow Needle’.” “You’ve heard of it，haven’t you?” “That he had made an ingenious hideout within the strange rock called ‘Hollow Needle’ back in his home country.”

Akechi explained.

“Hollow Needle!” “The famous hollow rock of Étretat, right? What they called Lupin’s museum.” “Exactly—the Hollow Needle!... The White Giant… One a hollow giant rock, the other a hollow concrete Buddha. Witness this bizarre correspondence.” What an astonishing conception!

“This Great Buddha, towering into the sky and visible for miles around, is that fiend’s safest hideout—a museum of unparalleled wonder in this world.” Akechi kept speaking in hushed tones as he walked through the dense jungle before the Great Buddha. Peering upward through the trees, the giant in darkness spread across the starless sky like some nightmare vision, standing silent as a vengeful spirit. The night-shrouded Buddha’s dreadful aura. “But how could you—”

Inspector Namikaze seemed unable to easily believe such an utterly bizarre fact. “There have been rumors for quite some time now that Golden Mask has been appearing in this grove.” “Lately, throughout the Kanto region, tales of the Golden Mask have been cropping up everywhere.” Children were running around wearing toy Golden Masks. No one had paid particular attention to the eerie tales about this hill. “But I didn’t let that eerie tale slip by unnoticed.” “The reason was that I knew this hill had a towering concrete Buddha statue.” I couldn’t help but tremble at my own bizarre idea. But Lupin was the world’s greatest magician. The harder it was to believe that idea, the more it actually touched upon the truth.

There, I wandered through the grove on this hill for nearly a full day and night. And finally, I caught his trail.

“Did you see Lupin?” Inspector Namikaze asked with his heart pounding. “It wasn’t Lupin. But I clearly saw a man who appeared to be Lupin’s subordinate enter. All the thieves are disguised as the Golden Mask. I saw that golden figure enter the hollow at the base of the large ginkgo tree over there. The thieves only needed to dig a tunnel about eighteen meters from there to reach directly beneath the Great Buddha. Then, above it, an empty concrete warehouse was waiting, as if to say, ‘Voilà! Use me as you please.’”

Ah, what a simple yet bizarrely inventive idea this was! Everyone knew that the concrete Great Buddha's interior was hollow. Yet using it as both a top-secret warehouse and residence was likely an innovation first conceived by this French thief. The concrete Buddha in O Town had been chosen not merely for its proximity to Tokyo, but because—unlike the Great Buddha of Kamakura and others that had opened their interiors as places of worship—it proved undeniably ideal as a hideout.

“I was terrified by Lupin’s extraordinary ingenuity. When I thought he might have stolen goods museums not just in Japan’s Great Buddha but all over the world, I couldn’t help but shudder. For instance—the hollows of colossal statues like Burma’s Great Nirvana Statue or New York Bay’s Statue of Liberty—wouldn’t they make perfect storehouses for a global-scale thief like Lupin?”

“I can’t believe it. It’s like a fairy tale,” muttered the astonished inspector in utter disbelief. “Great criminals always carry out fairy tales,” Akechi replied. “Of course I don’t think something like the Statue of Liberty has become Lupin’s warehouse, but his magic is so bizarrely ingenious that it makes one momentarily consider such things.” “So where exactly is this hollow of the ginkgo tree?” Inspector Namikaze asked skeptically.

The inspector asked half-believing and half-doubting.

“Look, that’s it—that big black shape like a giant monk in the forest over there is the ginkgo tree.”

On this hill, the next most enormous thing after the Great Buddha was that ancient ginkgo tree. The two of them towered against the pearlescent starry sky like parent and child giants.

“I thought, you see, that you wouldn’t believe it easily.” “Rather than capturing the thief, I first needed to make you believe in the secret of the Great Buddha.” “I thought there was no other way but to show you the actual thing.” “There… Here it is.” “Look here.” “That large ginkgo tree’s base.” In the starlight that seemed to pour down, the shadow of the old tree—the large hollow that had opened at its base—appeared to rise up like a specter. It was the entrance to the Great Buddha’s interior.

“Now, hide in this thicket and keep watch on that hollow.” The two of them squatted there and stared at the shadowed ancient tree.

They had steeled themselves for what would likely be a long wait, but as if by prior arrangement, no sooner had they squatted down than they already saw something squirming in the hollow of the ginkgo tree. “Huh, something’s wrong.” Akechi felt a sense of caution for no particular reason.

What crawled out from the hollow was indeed the Golden Mask. And there was more than one. One after another, monsters in identical attire came billowing forth from the hollow as if they were emissaries from the netherworld.

One, two, three, four. The sight of four identical Golden Masks crawling out from the hollow of the great ginkgo tree in the night was so terrifyingly like a fairy tale that even someone other than Inspector Namikaze would have thought it impossible. Under the starlight, four golden mantles glistened eerily. From beneath their matching soft hats, four expressionless golden faces appeared dimly visible—their crescent-shaped lips split to their ears in what seemed like soundless laughter. Even the renowned detective and demon inspector could not help but shudder.

As they watched, the four monsters approached soundlessly, maintaining their silence. Why? Was it mere coincidence that their path would pass by the thicket where Akechi and the others were hiding? Even so, didn’t they seem to be approaching as if they had seen through the fact that the two were there?

Akechi felt an inexplicable unease and involuntarily tried to stand up. And then, at that very moment, something terrifying happened. The monsters that had been plodding along suddenly broke into a sprint like arrows. And in the blink of an eye, they leaped forward and surrounded Akechi and Inspector Namikaze. Four white glowing objects peeked out swiftly from the seams of their respective golden mantles. Pistols. “Hahaha… You’ve finally fallen into the trap, Akechi Kogorō.”

One Golden Mask said in a low voice. He was a Japanese subordinate of Lupin. “Who’s with you? Probably Inspector Namikaze, I think. Ah, just as I thought! This is quite the catch!” The crescent-shaped lips spoke gleefully. From the three remaining golden faces came low, gurgling sounds of delight. “Akechi, you look surprised we came to greet you so soon. Even the great detective’s gotten a bit rusty, eh? Did you think we lacked a watchtower? Surely you didn’t miss the thick glass plate embedded in the Great Buddha’s forehead as his sacred curl? We hollowed out behind that glass to make an observation window. We’ve been watching you prowl around here since yesterday.”

The Golden Mask resentfully revealed the secret. Akechi didn't utter a word. He had completely failed to notice that the white curl on the Great Buddha's forehead had been converted into an observation window. If they had been surveilling from that elevated position, even at night, discerning the faint movements of Akechi's group under starlight wouldn't have been impossible. The opponents numbered four; their side consisted of two unarmed men. They stood utterly cornered.

Akechi brought his mouth close to Inspector Namikaze’s ear and hurriedly whispered something. And then he turned to face the thieves,

“We have no weapons. There’s no need for commotion. What do you intend to do with us?” he called out. “We’d like you to be our guests at the hideout for a while. Your aimless wandering has become something of an inconvenience, you know.” The thief replied calmly.

“Then kindly show us the way. Let me see your hideout—we would also like to meet Lupin.”

Akechi said nonchalantly and started walking. The four thieves, seemingly taken aback but still keeping their pistols at the ready, followed behind. After taking two or three steps, Akechi’s body spun around like a top and lunged at the thief who had been at the front—there was no time to react. In the blink of an eye, one pistol transferred into Akechi's hand. “Now then, which will be faster—your bullets,” “or my pistol taking down this man.”

Akechi’s left hand was twisting one Golden Mask’s arm—the man who had his pistol taken. The remaining three froze, paralyzed by concern for their comrade’s life. A sweat-drenched stalemate stretched on, unrelenting. Akechi’s pistol pressed against one thief’s flank; three others kept theirs trained on his chest—five shadows petrified in the darkness. “Haha… No need for the fuss. Once Inspector Namikaze escapes firing range, I’ll play nice.”

Suddenly, Akechi lowered his pistol and burst out laughing. Even if he had seized a weapon, there was no way he could oppose the remaining three pistols. It was merely Akechi’s clever trick. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea—using a life-or-death staring contest to focus all the thieves’ attention on himself, then seizing that moment to let Inspector Namikaze escape. “Damn you!”

As Akechi relaxed his grip, the man whose arm had been twisted suddenly lunged forward, snatched back the pistol, and pressed the muzzle against Akechi’s back.

“I’ll handle this one.” “Hurry up and chase down that Namikaze bastard!” “If we let him get away, there’ll be hell to pay!” A rough voice shouted in French.

Needless to say, the three remaining Golden Masks flipped their golden mantles in the starlight, fired their pistols wildly, and dashed off in pursuit of the distant figure.

A huge explosion.

Inside the Great Buddha’s hollow interior, a single acetylene lamp hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the vast cavity. Steel frames crisscrossed vertically and horizontally; the concrete walls bore an ominous unevenness reminiscent of limestone caves; tea chest-like crates lay scattered about (containing Lupin’s trove of stolen goods). These elements cast grotesque shadows through the stagnant air. Upon a thick iron beam spanning the floor—the sole spot graced by an extravagantly plush feather quilt—two Golden Masks sat.

The hushed tones of their whispered conversation were in no way how men would speak. Moreover, the smaller figure’s piercingly thin voice indicated she was a woman. When it came to women in Lupin’s gang, there was none other than Miss Fumiko. And the man exchanging such intimate whispers with Miss Fumiko could be none other than Lupin. There, from the underground passage, one after another, the same four Golden Masks as before returned—having in tow Akechi Kogorō, bound hand and foot, gagged with a muzzle, and still in driver’s attire.

The four men all spoke at once, reporting the details of the matter before their leader.

Inspector Namikaze had managed to escape. However long-limbed a Westerner might be, the disadvantages proved too overwhelming. Moreover, prolonging the chase risked nearing O Town's residential area - they reluctantly had no choice but to turn back. The three pursuers still heaved labored breaths.

Even though they had gone to the trouble of capturing Akechi Kogorō, it had all been for nothing. Inspector Namikaze, who had escaped back, would undoubtedly organize a squad of officers to attack the Great Buddha and return without a moment’s delay. They had no choice but to abandon this hideout and flee. But even if they were to flee, where could such a conspicuous group of foreigners possibly go? If it had been Lupin’s usual self, he would have severely scolded his four bungling subordinates. He would have dragged his archenemy Akechi Kogorō before him and unleashed his venomous tongue. But now, even Lupin had no time for such things. It was a critical moment where every second counted; they had to treasure every second and consider their next moves.

“Have two cars prepared at the usual location. Then transport this luggage out.” Lupin stood up and barked out foreign words in rapid-fire French. At his command, two subordinates rushed into the underground passage. Their task was to retrieve the cars hidden nearby. “What should we do with that Akechi bastard?” “Tie him to those steel beams over there. I dislike seeing blood. But I can’t tolerate this yellow devil. Once you’ve moved the luggage, light the fuse on the explosives.”

Bound to the steel beams, Akechi let out a strange groan and struggled frantically, as if clinging to hope. The driver’s cap pulled low, a large handkerchief covering his nose and mouth over the muzzle gag—in the dim lantern light, his face was nearly indistinguishable, a pitiful sight. Had Lupin had even a moment’s composure to remove Akechi’s cap and take off the muzzle gag, the conclusion of this story might have been somewhat different; but preoccupied with escape, he could barely manage to consider Akechi’s disposition.

“Now then, let’s get these loads moved out!”

Lupin, along with two subordinates and even Miss Fumiko, began carrying about five loads into the cramped underground passage.

×　　　　　　× It was about twenty minutes later when Inspector Namikaze led over a dozen officers from O Police Station up the Great Buddha’s hill—just as Lupin’s gang finished loading the luggage into the cars and were about to depart. “Ah—isn’t that the sound of an engine? A car in a place like this is strange,” muttered one patrol officer who had heard noises beyond the grove.

A patrol officer heard a noise beyond the grove and muttered. “The thieves might be trying to escape.” “Go and confirm it.”

Inspector Namikaze issued the command.

No sooner had those words been spoken than everyone suddenly felt an intense shock as if the ground itself were crumbling. Simultaneously came a daylight-bright blaze that revealed even the pebbles beneath their feet, accompanied by an indescribable, terrifying roar. A collective cry of shock erupted from the crowd. None present would ever forget that brief moment of horrifying beauty. The concrete Buddha - larger even than Nara's Great Buddha - split cleanly in two, spewing fire like an erupting volcano. Its massive neck, thick as a small room, was sliced clean off and sent soaring skyward. Crimson light bathed the treetops encircling the hill as concrete debris raced down like hail from the heavens.

People involuntarily dropped flat onto their stomachs. Although they were a hundred meters away from the Great Buddha, their entire backs were struck by an unexpected shower of concrete hail. But the incident was over in an instant. When the blinding blaze vanished, darkness descended with twice the gloom. After the deafening roar that could shatter eardrums came the silence of death.

When the people regained their senses, the first thing they considered was whether the thieves had blown up their hideout and perished in the process. In any case, investigating the scene was an urgent task.

One patrol officer who had been ordered to verify the thieves' car ran off alone toward the woods beyond, while the remaining members advanced toward the base of the exploded Buddha statue under Inspector Namikaze's lead, each holding up a flashlight. As they drew closer, massive chunks of concrete lay scattered every which way, leaving no safe footing. "Hey! Look what's lyin' here!" A patrol officer waved a single boot and held it up into Inspector Namikaze's flashlight beam. It was a red leather boot of decidedly shoddy quality.

The inspector took one look at it and froze in shock. He definitely recognized it. It was unmistakably the boot worn by Akechi, disguised as a driver. It was clear that Akechi had deliberately allowed himself to be captured by the thieves to let the Inspector escape. It was easy to imagine that the thieves had transported their captive into the Buddha statue’s interior. Therefore, Akechi could not have survived the recent massive explosion—not even a single chance in ten thousand.

No, more than anything, wasn't this boot the proof? Given that the boot he had been wearing was blown off by the explosion, Akechi's body must have been reduced to dust. For Inspector Namikaze, Akechi's death was an incomparably more critical matter than Lupin's arrest. He stood rooted to the spot, trembling uncontrollably from overwhelming emotion that left him unable to utter a word.

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

Three cars were speeding like the wind along the nighttime Keihin National Highway.

The first two cars had turned off their headlights and all other lights, appearing like black demons. The last car was clearly a police vehicle. It must have been Inspector Namikaze who, upon learning of the thieves’ escape, urgently notified the police station ahead via telephone. The lead car had Lupin at the wheel, with Miss Ōtori Fumiko and one more of the thief’s subordinates riding along. All three remained dressed in their Golden Mask disguises.

The next convertible was loaded with tea chest-like luggage of stolen goods, with two subordinates riding in it. The remaining two being Japanese, they must have parted ways with their leader and gone into hiding elsewhere. Lupin's car appeared to have the greatest speed. The distance between the first and second cars was about fifty meters, while between the second car and the police car was roughly a hundred meters. “Do you have any idea where we’re headed?” Miss Fumiko placed her hand on Lupin’s shoulder in the driver’s seat and asked anxiously in fluent French.

“No plan at all.” “So we’ll run for every minute, every second we can.” “You never know what miracle might appear at the very last second.” “You mustn’t lose hope.” “Look.” “I’m full of energy, you see!” Lupin’s shout whizzed past Miss Fumiko’s earlobe like an arrow. Lupin truly brimmed with relentless energy. Fifty miles, sixty miles—his car raced at such breakneck speed that its chassis groaned under the strain and wheels seemed to skim above the ground.

Ahead, the town of Shinagawa came into view; if they could just get into central Tokyo, they might somehow manage to shake off the police car. That was their only hope. Suddenly, something like a gunshot rang out from behind. Thinking the police car had opened fire, they turned around in alarm—ah! All was lost—the second car appeared to have blown a tire and staggered drunkenly. Finally came the moment to abandon the art collection they had risked their lives to gather. No—even if he could resign himself to losing the artworks, his two trusted subordinates had finally fallen into police hands.

Ugh, don't cry, Lupin. Give up, give up! You can collect artworks as many times as you want! You can use your own skills to rescue those subordinates later! Lupin closed his eyes and abandoned the following car as he told himself this. Needless to say, the police car swiftly caught up to the damaged vehicle, recovered the stolen goods, and arrested the two Golden Masks. But while they were occupied with that task, they immediately lost sight of Lupin's car and had to abandon the pursuit. Had they known it was Lupin, they would have forsaken the second car to chase him instead, but the officers lacked the ability to distinguish the genuine Golden Mask from impostors.

Several minutes later, Lupin’s car slightly reduced its speed and was weaving through the desolate streets of Tokyo.

“Hey, you... I’ve already run out of strength.” “How long can we keep wandering like this? Once the gasoline runs out, our fate will end along with it, won’t it?” “Hey, let’s just give up already.” “Let’s take each other’s hands and go to heaven.” Miss Fumiko did not even attempt to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks and shook Lupin’s shoulder as she pleaded.

“You mustn’t. “I absolutely forbid it. “You mustn’t bite into the capsule in your mouth until I say it’s okay. “Please trust in my strength. “This little hardship is nothing. “I’ve faced this a thousand times. “And each time, I’ve pulled through with this strength.”

Lupin said something strange. What on earth did the bag in the mouth mean?

It was a thick rubber bag about the size of a bean, containing a terrifying poison that could sever a life in an instant. Both Lupin and Miss Fumiko had been holding that poison capsule in their mouths since exiting the interior of the Great Buddha. Lupin was by no means such a weak-willed man, but unable to refuse his lover’s desperate plea, he had reluctantly agreed. Miss Fumiko, a Japanese girl—how fervently she must have wished that in a moment of crisis, a single bite of this poison capsule would instantly take her life rather than be captured and suffer public disgrace.

But fate is an interesting thing. Thanks to this poison capsule they had reluctantly kept in their mouths, Lupin avoided arrest. What connection existed between Lupin’s escape and the poison capsule would soon become clear.

“Miss Fumiko, I’m now contemplating an extraordinary scheme. “Tomorrow is the eighteenth, correct? “I’ve only just recalled it now. “Do you grasp it? “Ah, merely considering it sets my heart racing. “Likely the grandest venture of my life. “I’ve uncovered an escape route! “Though perilous beyond measure, success would see us leap beyond our pursuers’ reach. “Should we fail, it shall be a lovers’ suicide with my dear Miss Fumiko. “Regardless, no alternative exists beyond this course.”

Lupin abruptly regained his vigor and turned his animated face around.

“Please believe in my power—I’ll take them down.” “I’ll definitely take them down.” “We are exactly three people.” “This is also extremely convenient.”

The three people were none other than Lupin and Fumiko, plus another subordinate Golden Mask who was also in the car.

Parachute

The following 18th was the day when French aviator Monsieur Chapelin’s circumnavigation aircraft was to depart from S Airfield in the suburbs and embark on its grand journey across the Pacific via the so-called island-hopping route.

The takeoff was scheduled for 5:00 AM; even before daybreak, S Airfield had already been filled with a crowd of spectators.

As the scheduled time approached, Director G of the Aviation Bureau and other government and private-sector officials arrived one after another. Solemn farewell speeches were exchanged; toasts to the future were made. Newspaper photographers laid out a battery of cameras. Occasionally roaring “Waa! Waa!” in excitement, the crowd surged forward in waves. The police officers’ roars resounded through the sky. Amidst the tumultuous chaos, Monsieur Chapelin and his party of three completed their final aircraft inspection and took their places aboard the aircraft. Though it was still a dim early morning, and the people—strangely robbed of their attentiveness by the swirling commotion—had not a single soul who doubted it, when one considers how Monsieur Chapelin and his party of sky warriors, casual as one might dismiss their demeanor, had stubbornly kept their flight caps on and goggles worn even while receiving farewell speeches and during toasts, it felt somehow eerie.

Particularly, the smallest aviator among the group appeared to be quite the misanthrope; he hid in the shadow of the aircraft almost from the very beginning without showing his face, rushed into the cockpit before the inspection was even completed, and never once revealed himself until departure—a truly suspicious state of affairs. But the frenzied crowd paid no attention to such things, their voices hoarse as they shouted “Banzai! Banzai!” to the roar of the spinning propeller. Before long, as the cheers grew even louder, the airplane swayed from side to side while running a short distance along the flat runway—and then, as if in a dream, it was already floating in the air. The unceasing cheers of “Banzai!”; the crowd surged forward like a tsunami with a roar, chasing after the airplane.

And then something strange happened. Monsieur Chapelin's airplane began circling low over the heads of the crowd who had been certain it was heading straight north. Was this reluctance to part ways, or had some engine trouble occurred? The crowd fell silent and looked up at the sky. The plane flew so low that people feared it might collide with taller trees, making the figure of Monsieur Chapelin in the cockpit visible as clearly as if one could reach out and touch him.

When they looked, what was this? Monsieur Chapelin’s face was glowing gold. No—it wasn’t just his face; his entire body was enveloped in a dazzling golden hue. The morning sun, having just emerged from the clouds, cast its light upon him, and the aviator’s entire body glittered brilliantly like a golden Buddha. “Golden Mask—Golden Mask!”

A strange murmur arose among the crowd, transforming in an instant into roars cursing the aerial demon. Monsieur Chapelin had, unbeknownst to all, transformed his visage into that of the dreaded Golden Mask. Circling above the crowd as though mocking them was none other than Arsène Lupin, the fiendish thief. The panicked police officers ran about aimlessly. The crowd jostled like raging tidal waves. The cries and screams of women and children erupted all around.

The timid people were thrown into confusion and fled as if the aerial fiend was about to drop a bomb.

Aboard the aircraft, the golden aviator raised one hand in farewell while shouting something. The real Monsieur Chapelin would never perform such an absurd act. A substitution of persons had occurred without anyone noticing. The pacific-crossing hero had been replaced by the fiendish thief Arsène Lupin.

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Aboard the aircraft, Lupin’s Golden Mask—having successfully disguised himself as Monsieur Chapelin—was waving his hand and shouting. “Ladies and gentlemen of Japan, I have disturbed you for so long.” “And now, farewell!” “Though that Japanese master detective Akechi Kogorō thoroughly disrupted my plans, I shattered him into smithereens at the very last moment.” “I, who detest killing, have resorted to this act—understand that it was an absolute last resort.” “Akechi’s corpse will undoubtedly be found if you search the ruins of O Town’s Great Buddha.” “And to Monsieur Chapelin and his party of three—I am deeply sorry for having caused such unexpected trouble.” “If you ladies and gentlemen search the corner of the hangar where this airplane was stored, you should be able to discover Monsieur Chapelin and the others, gagged as they are.”

“I have failed! But I haven’t a shred of regret—my revenge is complete! Now then… Gentlemen, do listen well! I’ve obtained a treasure far more precious than a thousand artworks! None other than Miss Ōtori Fumiko! I now embark on this aerial journey with my darling lover—perish together we may! Delightful… simply delightful! Farewell, gentlemen!” Lupin had delivered this grand farewell oration to the crowd below—though of course they couldn’t hear him. Even had they heard, the Japanese throng would never comprehend French. It was one of Lupin’s innocent affectations; he simply wished to leave parting words for Japan’s soil through some whimsical compulsion.

When the speech ended, he next spoke through the speaking tube to Miss Fumiko in the back seat. “Miss Fumiko. “It’s all right now. “Spit out what’s in your mouth. “I already crushed that rubber ball under my shoe. “In the sky, we don’t need that sort of thing. “If you don’t want your life, this plane will kill you anyway. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

Upon hearing this, Miss Fumiko—disguised as Aviator F—spat out the small object in her mouth as if suddenly remembering.

The airplane finished circling and, while gradually gaining altitude, began increasing its speed toward the north. Suddenly, explosive laughter erupted from the rearmost seat. The voice was so loud that even through the propeller noise, it made Lupin turn around from the front. There was his subordinate K—disguised as a mechanic—guffawing beneath his flight goggles, his mouth grotesquely visible. What on earth had happened? Had K gone mad?

Still uneasy, Lupin took the speaking tube and held it to his ear. It was a demand for an explanation. Still laughing, K took the same speaking tube and pressed it to his mouth. Then thunderous laughter suddenly resounded in Lupin’s ears. “Wahahaha… You’ve finally spat out the poison capsules, haven’t you? How long I’ve been waiting for this! Now I can finally say what I wanted to tell you. By the way, Lupin—I’ve got my pistol aimed right at your back. Do you grasp what this means?”

The subordinate's tone began changing into something terribly crude. That was not all. The French was strangely poor. A Parisian like K shouldn't have produced such a strange accent.

“You weren’t K after all.” “Who the hell are you?!” Lupin took over as the speaker. “No one special—just Akechi Kogorō, the very man you delivered that touching eulogy for.” The plane lurched sharply. The violent tilt betrayed Lupin’s shock. “You thought explosives killed me? A laughable miscalculation.” “That corpse—” “—was your own subordinate dressed in my clothes.” “In other words, Mr. K.” “A regrettable substitution.” “I never imagined you’d resort to murdering your own man.”

At that time, while the three thieves were chasing Inspector Namikaze, Akechi was left alone with the thief K. He seized that opportunity to orchestrate an astonishing scheme. Though the pistol remained in the enemy’s hand, subduing his opponent through practiced jujutsu—even unarmed in a one-on-one struggle—then stripping off the golden garments, forcing him into a driver’s uniform, gagging him, and disguising the thief as Akechi Kogorō proved no difficulty at all.

And so, Akechi himself—using the Golden Mask and golden mantle he had stolen from the thieves—disguised himself as one of Lupin’s subordinates, joined the fleeing car, and lay in wait, watching intently for any opportunity to apprehend them.

But unfortunately, both Lupin and Miss Fumiko had that poison capsule in their mouths. If anyone were to carelessly make a move, they would immediately bite through the rubber pouch and commit suicide. Regardless of Lupin, killing Miss Fumiko would be an irreparable mistake. Therefore, he thoroughly maintained his disguise as Lupin’s subordinate K, faithfully carried out the leader’s orders to subdue Monsieur Chapelin and others, and even assisted in stealing the flight suits.

Even given Akechi's skill, how could he have carried out such an extremely difficult scheme with such ease? This was because all conditions had fortuitously aligned with perfect timing. The late-night to early-morning darkness; the thieves' gang wearing golden masks that constantly hid their faces; Lupin and the others keeping their flight goggles on throughout at the airfield—all these made Akechi's unnatural facial concealment far less noticeable, among other factors.

Putting that aside, not only was Akechi—whom he believed he had killed—still alive, but he had even disguised himself as subordinate K and boarded the escape plane. Even Lupin, for all his prowess, was struck with such intense shock that he momentarily lost all capacity for thought.

The airplane swayed and tilted unsteadily like a lost bird, endlessly. So much so that Miss Fumiko involuntarily let out a scream.

However, Lupin was not one to lose his head, no matter what difficulties he encountered. He quickly regained his composure, took the speaking tube, and confessed with complete candor.

“I lost.” “Akechi Kogorō, it’s my loss.” “The world’s great thief Arsène Lupin humbly pays his respects to Japan’s great detective.” “But now—what exactly do you intend to do with me?” “I’ll have the plane land back at its original airfield.” “Then I’ll return Miss Fumiko to the Ōtori household and hand you over to Hébert.” “Ahahaha… Now, now, Akechi—save such grandstanding for dry land!” “Here, one wrong move means death for us all—we’re hundreds of meters above the clouds!” “A cheap trinket like a pistol holds no power here.” “Fire that, and the plane loses its pilot—we’ll crash in an instant.” “Hahaha… Seems I hold the advantage up here among the clouds!”

Ah, what audacity! Far from being daunted by this predicament, the fiendish thief was instead attempting a reckless counterattack. If he were to abandon his life and resort to a triple suicide, even Akechi would have no means to act. “Well then, what exactly do you intend to do with me?” “Simple, really. I’ll take you to some deserted island in the northern seas and vent my spleen.” He might be planning to abandon him on an iceberg or something. “Hahahahaha, hey, Akechi, you seem terribly troubled.” “Aren’t you going to say something?” “Is that all your wisdom amounts to?”

A period of silence continued. Akechi had secretly been preparing to take the final desperate measure. “Well then, Lupin, I’ll give up on arresting you.” “In return, you must abandon every last one of your plans.” “You cannot take even a single thing from our country.” “Huh? What did you say?” “I intend to take back Miss Fumiko—your only gain—from your devilish grasp.”

Before the words had even finished, the airplane shook violently, and a high-pitched scream fell toward the ground below. Two black masses tumbled through the vast sky and plummeted like artillery shells. Akechi Kogorō, with the resisting Miss Fumiko tucked under his arm, leapt from the airplane.

But this was by no means a suicide attempt. Both Akechi's back and Miss Fumiko's back had parachute cords securely fastened. The spread of rumors outpaced even the airplane’s speed, and the people below knew that the aircraft now flying overhead belonged to the fiendish thief Golden Mask. When two parachutes emerged from the mysterious aircraft, the commotion below grew even more intense.

On the roofs of houses, people from across the town clustered like bunches of grapes, their mouths agape as they looked up at the sky. On the white national highway, a dozen or so cars raced after the airplane. Most of them carried newspaper reporters and cameras. The sight of two parachutes floating down one after another like enormous jellyfish made for a truly magnificent spectacle. Moreover, considering those dangling beneath were none other than the great detective Akechi Kogorō—presumed dead—and Miss Ōtori Fumiko, known to all as the phantom thief Lupin's lover, one could easily imagine how feverishly the next day's newspapers buzzed with the news.

The two parachutes landed on the coast near Kisarazu. As the two were being tended by a fisherman's priest and resting at a house there, soon countless cars came rushing from Tokyo. Among them was a Metropolitan Police car, and Inspector Namikaze, accompanied by Detective Hébert, came bursting out with a grin splitting his face.

How our Akechi Kogorō was welcomed by all present like a triumphant general—this scarcely needs describing. After handing Miss Fumiko over to the Ōtori family members, he turned to Inspector Namikaze and Monsieur Hébert and said with a faintly bashful smile: “Though Lupin slipped through our fingers, every last one of his accomplices has been apprehended. We’ve recovered all the national treasures and artworks from the very first piece onward. And even Miss Fumiko here escaped Lupin’s diabolical clutches in the end. All things considered, I’d say this contest counts as my victory.” “But seeing as Lupin was fighting an unfamiliar battle on foreign soil, it would’ve been uncharitable not to allow him some handicap.”

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Lupin’s airplane remained missing for several days, but one day, a newspaper telegram reporting that a steamship navigating the Pacific had discovered Monsieur Chapelin’s airplane floating on the sea surface astonished people. Did Lupin vanish into the Pacific’s foam? No, no—this was no ordinary villain to be dealt with so easily. Just as had happened before, he might have been pretending to be dead while in reality planning some grand evil scheme in some corner of the world.