Pathway to Japanese Literature

The author—Mr. Edogawa Ranpo—states:

"I have recently sought to move beyond conventional 'petty detective stories' and advance toward 'grand detective stories' with broader stages." This work, Golden Mask, truly represents that first step. The protagonist who takes center stage in this main story is none other than our familiar amateur detective Akechi Kogorō—yet even he continues to develop gradually. In this novel, he should be capable of playing an exceptionally significant role. I believe his demonic counterpart stands as a character sufficiently astonishing to startle readers. The author himself harbors such doubts about whether he can properly manage this astonishing figure—yet precisely this uncertainty forms the reason for his heightened interest in composing this main story...

*King* Magazine, August 1930 Issue

The Golden Terror

In this world, there were extraordinary-strange events that occurred once every fifty years—or perhaps once every century—on par with natural calamities, great wars, or devastating pandemics; occurrences so preposterous they surpassed even the most horrific nightmares or the wildest fancies of novelists, suddenly materialized as if out of thin air.

It was as if human society—a single giant organism—had been stricken by some unknown, inscrutable acute disease and, for a brief moment, lost its sanity. There are times when events so bizarre, so utterly defying common sense, occur completely out of nowhere. Thus, those utterly preposterous rumors of "Golden Mask" may indeed have been another instance of that once-in-fifty-or-a-hundred-years social madness.

One spring—early March, when winter coats still clung to shoulders—rumors arose from nowhere about a mysterious figure wearing a golden mask. They spread from person to person, growing stronger with each passing day, until they swelled into such a sensation that even the society pages of every newspaper buzzed with the story.

The rumors were highly varied, akin to aimless ghost stories, yet the peculiar supernatural quality within them pricked people’s curiosity. Consequently, this specter of modernity gained tremendous popularity among Tokyo’s citizens. A young woman claimed she had seen the man before a Ginza shop window. Leaning against a brass handrail, a tall figure peered into the glass—his soft hat’s brim pulled low over his nose and overcoat collar turned up to his ears, shrouding his face in suspicious concealment. Pretending fascination with the displayed wares, the woman craned her neck and abruptly stole a glance at his visage. Through the narrow slit between hat and collar glared something blindingly radiant. Startled pale, she recoiled—yet there it was: his face, like an ancient gilded Buddha, undeniably wrought of expressionless gold.

With her heart pounding, she watched from afar as the man—like a supernatural creature whose true form had been exposed—panicked frantically and vanished into the distant darkness and crowd as though swept away by the wind. The man had been peering into the display window of a renowned antique dealer, where at its center sat an imposing Kantan-otoko Noh mask—its lips stained black in the traditional style, slightly parted, with narrow eyes glaring straight ahead. Unbelievable rumors spread about the uncanny resemblance between this eerie Noh mask and the man’s expressionless Golden Mask.

A middle-aged merchant, passing through a Tōkaidō Line railroad crossing one night, came across the gruesome corpse of a woman who had been struck by a train—but before any onlookers had gathered, while he was still alone, he reportedly spotted a strange man in Western clothes loitering near the body. That man too had pulled his soft hat low and turned up his overcoat collar to conceal his face, but under the hazy moonlight, the merchant distinctly saw that face glowing gold.

But that wasn’t all. From the expressionless Golden Mask’s mouth down to his chin trailed a single crimson trickle as his lips curled into a mocking grin at the merchant—or so they said. Moreover one midnight, an old woman glimpsed through her toilet window a golden-glittering specter slipping soundlessly past along the outer street. Unlike prior sightings where only his face shone metallic gold—this time his entire body blazed with gilded brilliance beneath what appeared to be a thin translucent garment layered over his mask.

It was an almost unbelievable bizarre incident. Perhaps it had merely been the hallucination of a senile old woman. But she insisted she had indeed seen a figure of sacred golden radiance, like Amida Buddha himself.

It would be futile to list every one of those countless other rumors. Be that as it may, for a time, this anachronistic ghost story seized every topic of conversation among Tokyo’s citizens. Though it may be called a ghost story, at least over a dozen mentally sound individuals had indeed encountered this Golden Mask figure on different days and in different places. This fairy tale possessed an undeniable tangibility.

There were those who said it might be some terrifying precursor to a natural calamity. No, there were also those who said it was no different from supernatural tales of stones raining down or a baby’s cries echoing from an ancient pond—mere silly pranks that would amount to nothing when scrutinized. However, those of timid disposition were terrified out of their wits during late-night walks; if they happened to pass a man in Western clothes who had even slightly turned up his overcoat collar, they would fear it might be “him.” The expressionless Golden Mask—with its uncanny, almost artificial-human-like dread—terrified modern people who scoffed at ghosts.

Up to this point, this monster merely appeared in various places like some ill omen, yet it did no actual harm. If one were to set aside the dread akin to a gilded Buddha, he would be indistinguishable from a papier-mâché advertising doll. Now, the police were not unaware of these rumors, but fearing that rash intervention—like mistaking a baby’s cry for an edible frog—would make them a laughingstock, they kept silent and observed the situation’s progression. However, the time soon came when it became clear that Golden Mask was no mere delinquent’s prank or such. One day not long after April began, this enigmatic phantom man suddenly appeared before the citizens of Tokyo as an audacious and reckless criminal. Moreover, in terms of the crime’s location, target object, method, escape tactics—everything—he defied expectations and performed an unimaginable feat beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Amidst such sheer audacity and abruptness, there was something eerie and inexplicable. He was not a living human being. He was accompanied by the truly grotesque impression of a heartless metal automaton.

Large Pearl ("Shima no Joō") That year, a grand exposition—the first in a decade—was held at Ueno Park from April 1st for five months. Sponsored by Tokyo Prefecture and City Government as an industrial exposition, its scale reached national proportions, necessitating an entire hall dedicated to foreign exhibits. Attractions abounded: among architectural marvels stood a 150-foot-high tower dubbed the “Industrial Tower” before Yamauchi Ryodai-ji Temple; among entertainments loomed a grand troupe blending comedy and dance with South Sea islanders (notably titling their performance *Golden Mask*—undoubtedly a promotional ploy). Chief among exhibits was a domestically cultivated pearl from Mie Prefecture’s “Pearl King,” audaciously priced at 200,000 yen. Yet that each spectacle bore peculiar ties to Golden Mask’s crimes would prove a twist of fate both uncanny and inevitable.

The domestically produced pearl in question was *Shima no Joō*—a name known to every connoisseur in the field—Japan’s foremost large pearl. Discovered in an abalone shell off the coast of Ōwazaki in Shima Province, this rare natural pearl featured a splendid eggplant shape and weighed over three hundred grains, standing as a masterpiece of its kind. Even if 200,000 yen was somewhat overpriced, the fact that a single bean-sized object carried a price equivalent to a person’s entire fortune captivated visitors from the countryside, resulting in an unceasing throng crowding before its display platform.

The pearl exhibition hall had security installations commensurate with its 200,000-yen valuation. The robust thick glass door bore a special lock whose key remained in the custody of a trusted clerk from the pearl shop stationed at the Exposition Office, while the guards themselves were not young women recruited publicly but a brawny middle-aged man employed by the pearl dealership. Furthermore, rumors circulated that they had even devised an ingenious secret mechanism to forestall potential theft—these ostentatious precautions only further inflamed the spectators’ curiosity.

Now, this incident occurred on the fifth day of the Exposition. That day, as they were scheduled to receive a visit from a noble personage, from 2:00 PM onward, they closed the entrances to all exhibition halls and expelled the general spectators for a time to the district lined with amusement booths. The building of the First Hall, where the large pearl "Shima no Joō" was exhibited—as it lay along the initial route for the noble personage’s inspection—had its spectators expelled earliest, its premises cleaned, its guards replaced, and then quietly awaited the arrival.

The interior of the hall, which had been bustling until now, lay utterly transformed—as far as the eye could see, no human figures remained save for the well-behaved guards standing like mannequins, no sounds echoed through the space hollow as a cathedral, a midnight stillness pervading the broad daylight.

On one side of the row of Large Pearl display platforms stood four guards. The middle-aged man in charge of pearl security was flanked by three young female guards—seventeen or eighteen to around twenty years old—spaced five or six ken apart on either side; beyond them lay a sharply curving pathway that obstructed visibility, making this section exclusively their assigned post.

The four guards had been friends who chatted even in the guardroom. They left the guardroom in a cluster during their shift change, but a little before that, someone had brought tea to the four of them, “You’ll be gazing upon the honorable visage of a noble personage. Have some tea and settle your nerves.”

As he said this, he distributed the teacups one by one. As the exposition had only just begun and the four inexperienced guards were facing such a situation for the first time, they found themselves feeling somewhat parched. They promptly drank down the tea. “Ugh, bitter!” The tea was so bitter that one of the girl guards involuntarily muttered. “Did I put in a bit too much?” The man, laughing, gathered the teacups and went off toward the other side.

Before long, the guards entered the hall and took up their assigned positions. At each interval between the display platforms were small chairs, and they sat on them waiting until the time of the inspection. There remained about twenty minutes until then.

“It’s so quiet… Somehow feels eerie.” A girl spoke in a voice just loud enough for the male guard before the pearl to hear. No one answered. Both the male guard and the two other girls sat with narrowed eyes, staring fixedly at one spot as though lost in thought. “Ahh… ahh… I’m getting sleepy.” No sooner had the girl who’d spoken let out a long yawn than she too narrowed her eyes and fell still. Then something unthinkable began. All four guards sat slack-jawed, drool trailing from their mouths as they dozed off. This was no light nodding-off. They folded themselves double, burying their heads between their knees, and within moments had tumbled helplessly into oblivion. The male guard even slipped from his chair, ending up crouched on the floor in an absurd posture. Yet due to their positions, none of the outer guards could see this spectacle. No one noticed. Only ten minutes remained until the noble visitor’s inspection.

At that moment, a single Western-suited man approached the cluster of dozing guards at a hurried pace—his soft cap gleaming, overcoat collar turned up, and face concealed by a large handkerchief as though he had urgent business.

Not a single guard in the outer passageways suspected this man. His demeanor was far too overwhelming and brimming with confidence for anyone to even consider suspicion. The young girls convinced themselves he was a plainclothes detective from the security detail. They straightened their sitting postures and stiffened their stances even more, as though this were the precursor to the noble personage’s inspection. When the man reached the cluster of dozing guards, he looked around at the four deeply asleep individuals and removed the handkerchief from his face with a relieved expression. What appeared from behind the handkerchief was, needless to say, a golden face so expressionless it sent shivers down one’s spine.

Golden Mask strode purposefully toward the Large Pearl’s display platform, pressed his face against the glass, and gazed intently at the dazzling “Shima no Joō.” The tip of his golden nose touched the glass, emitting a clack-clack sound. From the golden crescent-shaped mouth emanated an eerie muttering sound. The monster was now trembling with joy. The glass-cutting implements were all prepared in his pocket. What deftness—in the blink of an eye, a hole opened in the thick glass pane. From there, the monster’s hand slithered in like a serpent.

Ahh，the pride of Japanese pearls—the “Shima no Joō”—finally fell into the monster’s grasp. He grabbed the Large Pearl from its velvet pedestal.

At that instant—*jiririri*...—the shrill electric bell resounded through the building's lofty ceiling. The monster let out a furious “Agh!” and leapt up. With his leaping legs, he suddenly charged toward one of the exits. The secret anti-theft device had been this electric bell mechanism. When anything touched the velvet pedestal, it became an emergency alarm that rang out immediately.

Next came the girl guards’ screams and the sound of scrambling footsteps surging through the hall. But those present were not merely unreliable young girls. Supervisors who were former police officers and police officers dispatched for security had gathered at one of the exits, awaiting the VIP’s arrival. Those burly men clattered their swords and surged forward upon catching sight of the thief’s shadow. A bizarre game of tag began. Through the maze formed by display platforms fled the golden monster—darting this way and that—while pursuers hurried to corner him.

Having judged escape utterly impossible, the monster charged toward the pursuers' thinnest line. There, backed against a small exit, a lone policeman stood blocking the path; but seeing the thief's reckless charge, he paled instantly yet bravely spread his arms wide. Two bodies collided with violent force. But the policeman stood no chance against the metallic fiend. Within a breath, he lay thrown upon the earth.

The monster vanished outside the building. A thunderous shout erupted from the pursuers. They rushed to the exits while shouting incoherently. But the thief was already nowhere to be seen.

It was located at the back of the building, with another structure's rear towering about ten meters ahead. Though the left and right sides functioned as thoroughfares, barbed-wire-like barricades had been erected at both ends to keep spectators out. Beyond them lay the venue's main thoroughfare, where several uniformed officers stood guard that day due to VIP security measures. “Hey! Did anyone see that bastard who just scaled the barricade?” When one policeman barked out the question, patrolmen stationed along both sides of the main road snapped to attention in unison, voices overlapping as they reported no sightings of such a trespasser.

The people exchanged glances at each other and stood frozen. Even though there had been no escape route, the thief had vanished.

“Hey, what’s this building right in front of us?”

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

“This is the back entrance of the Entertainment Hall. From here onward is the entertainment area.” “Is there a performance going on?” “Yes—you can hear the festive music playing, can’t you?” “Surely he didn’t plunge into the middle of a crowd during a live performance… No matter how you look at it, he wouldn’t attempt something so reckless.” “But if he didn’t escape to the left or right roads, we’ve no choice but to conclude that fiend charged in here—no matter how reckless it seems. Unless he’s evaporated into thin air.”

“Regardless, let’s check it out.”

The group clattered their way in through the back entrance of the Entertainment Hall.

The Terrifying Comedy

Meanwhile, on the stage of the Entertainment Hall, the first act of the comedy *The Golden Mask* had just concluded. Thousands of oblivious spectators were roaring with laughter at the counterfeit Golden Mask monster performing before them.

It was an opportunistic comedy banking on the phenomenal popularity of this new-era phantom called Golden Mask. The impresario’s daring scheme had triumphed spectacularly. People flocked to the colossal billboard proclaiming “Golden Mask,” purchasing tickets for this spectacle alone. Every seat was filled beyond capacity—not an inch remained unoccupied. Yet just as the velvet curtain prepared to ascend for Act Two, these laughter-drunk spectators faced an utterly uncanny disruption. For without warning, beyond that very curtain materialized a lone policeman—and he commenced bellowing incoherently.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a culprit who has just stolen the famous large pearl from the exhibition hall behind here. There is no escape route outside—he must have slipped into this hall. Today is a day with VIP guests in attendance, and they should have arrived by now. Any mishap would spell disaster. We have thoroughly examined the stage and entrance gates, but the spectator seats are packed to capacity, leaving us no way to search them. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I have a request: please check your immediate surroundings carefully, each of you. If you notice any suspicious individuals, please inform me.”

Due to the commotion in the venue, [the announcement] could only be heard in fragments, but they grasped the general meaning. “What’s he look like?” A swaggering craftsman-type man shouted in a jeering voice that mocked actors. “You’d know him at a glance!” The policeman started to answer but hesitated momentarily. Using a term like “Golden Mask” felt improper for his official position.

However, there was no other appropriate way to refer to him. “It’s a guy wearing a golden mask. The much-rumored Golden Mask.” A roar of laughter erupted. It was because the name of the protagonist from the very comedy being performed had suddenly been mentioned. Some thought that this policeman was actually an actor in disguise, intending to scare them now only to make them laugh later.

But the policeman on stage showed no sign of revealing the ruse. With a stubbornly solemn, pale face, he kept shouting the same thing over and over.

When they saw this, the spectators could no longer laugh. The venue fell into a hushed silence. People looked around at the spectators beside them with suspicious, scrutinizing eyes. Some timidly peered under the chairs they were sitting on. However, the golden man was nowhere to be found. “What kind of fool would believe a thief would charge into a crowd? Absurd! Have you all lost your minds?” “You’d better go search outside some more!”

The spectators, indignant at having their enjoyment disrupted, began muttering complaints under their breath.

In the end, the police had no choice but to give up and withdraw. When the commotion had somewhat subsided, the delayed curtain for the second act was finally raised.

The stage depicted a nighttime park scene. The backdrop was a black curtain, with dense clusters of trees filling the entire space before it. As for illumination, there was only a single bluish night lamp. It was a scene reminiscent of a ghost story. First, several stagehands appeared and discussed the rumors about "Golden Mask" as frighteningly as possible. After they exited, what could be called the play's secondary protagonist—an exceedingly timid character—made his entrance. Just as this character was delivering a soliloquy, Golden Mask abruptly emerged from behind, parting the grove of trees. Such was the sequence of events.

At last, the monster revealed himself. Unlike the previous act, he now wore not just a mask but a bizarre golden cloak-like garment that draped loosely over his entire body. The timid character’s exaggerated reaction to this sight—a moment that should have sparked roaring laughter from the audience. Yet no one laughed. The disturbance caused by the real Golden Mask still haunted their thoughts. And this uncanny parallel between reality and performance left the spectators with an indescribably eerie sensation.

Soon, the first highlight of this act began.

The phosphorescent spotlight cast a circular glow on the monster’s face in the darkness. On the stage, only a single point—a face resembling a golden Noh mask—burned with phosphorescent light.

Then, from out of nowhere, a strange hissing sound began to reach their ears. At the same time, the mask’s black split mouth gradually changed shape until it finally formed a large crescent-moon expression of laughter. The spectators instinctively stiffened and strained to listen—only to realize this hissing noise was the monster’s laughter. Ah—what a loathsome laugh it proved to be. He laughed without cease. And when they looked closer, they saw him vomiting blood through that laughter. A single thread-like trickle of blood—so very thin—slid down his chin until finally, from its tip, heavy drops fell—*plop*, *plop*—onto the stage.

Though aware it was a comedy, the spectators were so terrified that they held their breath, fell utterly silent, and found themselves powerless to look away from the monster’s face.

Needless to say, the playwright had directly incorporated into the play the merchant’s story of encountering the monster at that railroad crossing. Furthermore, the full-body golden costume was likely inspired by the old woman’s eyewitness account. A sensitive few among the spectators were already gripped by a terrifying suspicion. Could this be mere coincidence—the fact that the real Golden Mask had fled into the "Golden Mask" play’s theater hut? Could it be that the devil’s audacious evil scheme lay concealed there?

Those people found every passing second terrifying. “At any moment… Ah, at any moment…” They were so terrified that even another spectator’s cough would cause them to jolt upright.

Suddenly, the stage lit up. A shift from ghost story to comedy. At that moment, prompted by the timid character's report, three buffoonish policemen came rushing in. The handful of spectators who had been trembling with foreboding involuntarily cried out "Ah!" at the sight, while the general crowd conversely burst into uproarious laughter. Finally—comedy. It was a feeling of finally finding relief. From opening night onward, three officers had been scripted to appear here. And everyone knew the play would descend into utter absurdity from this point onward. The audience's laughter was only natural.

One of the policemen cautiously approached the monster and shouted with as much authority as he could muster. “Hey, you! Take off that mask.” “Show your face!” Golden Mask stood motionless, as though he hadn’t heard. The golden monster, exposed under the electric lights, looked utterly ridiculous.

“Can’t you hear?” “Hey!” “Answer me!” “Show your face!”

No matter how much they shouted, he remained silent. Unable to bear it any longer, one of the policemen suddenly lunged at the monster. Deafening footsteps, the clatter of a saber. The monster slipped away nimbly. What incredible speed. He leaped far back, crouched low, and fluttered his five fingers mockingly before his nose. The three policemen simultaneously gave chase. A ferocious melee erupted. The audience burst into thunderous applause, the stands churning like a whirlpool of roaring laughter and guffaws.

At last, something terrible began. Cornered, Golden Mask flared his golden robes like flames and leapt from the stage into the audience.

“I knew it! “It’s him!” One of those sensitive spectators turned deathly pale and involuntarily muttered. But the roaring laughter from the entire audience grew even more intense. This actors’ exceptionally mischievous prank delighted them. The monster started running down the narrow path between the chairs toward the front. The policemen also jumped down from the stage and chased after him. “Catch him! “That’s the culprit! “That's the real culprit!”

The policemen’s heartrending, genuine cries. But the spectators' laughter did not cease. “Go on, go on, get him!” The bystanders, finding it amusing, shouted in shrill voices.

The people firmly believed that this strange chase would circle through the audience seats and return to the stage. But the monster kept running straight ahead.

He passed in front of the director’s box. In that box, two policemen were doubled over with laughter alongside the spectators. “You! Don’t let him get away! Hey, idiot! Imbecile! What are you gawking at?”

The pursuing policeman shouted like a lunatic while running. Yet his cries never reached the policemen in the director’s box. They remained convinced this too belonged to the play’s script. At that instant, several figures unmistakably not actors materialized onstage, crashed down into the spectator seats, and sprinted after the policemen. Among them flashed the recognizable features of that officer who had addressed the crowd beyond the curtain moments earlier.

Even the dull-witted crowd finally grasped the truth of the matter. The laughter abruptly ceased. A momentary death-like silence, followed by a surging murmur of terror. Unintelligible curses.

But by that time, the monster had long since escaped through the exit gate and was dashing straight across the open grounds of the venue. Though describing it this way may make it seem lengthy, from when the stage lit up to when the monster vanished beyond the exit gate, it was a frantic incident lasting a mere twenty or thirty seconds.

And yet, what a bizarre incident—what a daring trick this was! The one who had been performing the comedy on stage was none other than the terrifying pearl thief—the genuine Golden Mask. The policemen weren’t actors either. They were authentic officers who had pursued the criminal from the pearl exhibition hall. Midway through the play, they finally unraveled the monster’s scheme and stormed onto the stage despite the ongoing performance. This happened to align perfectly with the comedy’s script.

The overlapping of the stage and the play—what on earth had happened? The stage director, the actors, the stagehands, and the spectators alike found their thoughts hopelessly tangled, their mouths agape in astonishment at the sheer absurdity of it all.

This was something that became clear later, but to inform you readers, after the commotion had subsided, the police chief in charge summoned the show’s producer, questioned him about the identity of the actor who had played Golden Mask, and conducted a search of his residence—only to receive the astonishing answer that the actual actor had stayed confined at home all day without taking a single step outside. When they asked why he had taken the day off from the play,

“I’m terribly sorry. I was blinded by greed. He was a complete stranger who came to visit me early this morning—in exchange for promising not to go out all day today, I received fifty yen in cash upfront. I’m truly sorry.”

That was how it happened. In other words, Golden Mask had disguised himself as that actor and holed up in the entertainment hall’s dressing room at the exposition since morning. He waited for the venue to fall silent during the VIP tour, slipped out through the dressing room exit, made the four guards drink the anesthetic, and infiltrated the pearl exhibition hall. Then, with an innocent face, he returned to his original dressing room and even took on the lead role in the comedy play "Golden Mask." The golden mask provided perfect concealment. His fellow actors, due to their roles, found nothing particularly suspicious about him keeping his mask on even in the dressing room. Moreover, as the lead actor with exclusive use of a small dressing room, his disguise remained miraculously intact.

At first glance, he appeared recklessly audacious, but as befitting a master thief targeting a gem worth 200,000 yen, he had in fact devised an exceedingly meticulous plan. But even the most meticulous plans have flaws; for all his cunning, he was no god. He had never dreamed there would be an emergency electrical alarm system on the pearl's pedestal. For a thief of his caliber, how infuriating it must have been.

The Golden Gecko

The phantom thief Golden Mask, having finally escaped the entertainment hall, now had to contend with the vast crowd on the open grounds. He had no idea how much more difficult that would be. It was a truly desperate struggle. Police officers closed in from all directions while bystanders pelted stones—amidst this chaos, the golden-glittering yet pitiful figure of Golden Mask, drenched in sweat and driven by desperation, darted left and right in a life-or-death frenzy. As he fled through increasingly deserted areas, he stumbled onto the VIP procession route. A broad avenue stretched unobstructed straight to the Industrial Tower at the venue's far end. On both sides, crowds lining up to welcome the dignitaries had cleared the path as if expressly arranged to spectate Golden Mask’s escape.

When he suddenly turned around, he found himself abruptly face-to-face with the VIP procession—which had just emerged from a building—quietly advancing toward him from just eighteen meters behind.

This was a grave crisis. The astonished guards, upon hearing shouts, rushed toward the phantom thief from all directions. And just as they piled over him to pin down the thief— What was happening? They cried out and staggered back. Looking, they saw something glinting in his hand. It was the barrel of a pistol. He had kept this final weapon concealed until now. Seizing the moment as the crowd recoiled, the Golden Demon advanced two steps toward the VIP procession, pistol in hand. Had he gone mad? Had he miscalculated his escape route? Or perhaps... A roar erupted from the crowd.

But, to everyone’s astonishment, no sooner had the phantom thief assumed a rigid stance before the VIP procession than he placed his pistol-holding hand against his chest and bowed deeply with utmost reverence. It was a bow of utmost dignity and reverence. Ah, what audacity! Even as he was surrounded by pursuers, he seemed intent on offering a heartfelt apology for the impertinence of having dared to startle the VIPs that day.

When he finished bowing, he turned sharply on his heel. And then, in the opposite direction, he dashed off with gale-like speed. The crowd, captivated by the monster’s remarkable conduct, forgot to block his path and blankly gazed upon his beautiful form. As he ran, his golden garment fluttered backward while the setting sun blazed with dazzling brilliance, creating an illusion of a golden rainbow arching in the phantom’s fleeting wake. But the crowd’s enchantment lasted only a fleeting moment. When they snapped back to their senses came another fierce hail of stones. The police force’s pursuit intensified in number.

At the very end of the broad avenue, towering defiantly as if to block any retreat by the phantom thief, stood the 150-foot "Industrial Tower." Golden Mask was finally cornered there. Looking around them, from the tower's rear came a special police unit relentlessly closing in. Keeping their distance from it, the crowd formed a massive ring around them. Neither pistol firepower nor swift maneuvers could prevail against this wall of human flesh. The phantom thief, trapped with no escape route left, had barely begun edging backward into the tower's interior when—in one final gambit born of desperation—he lunged at the spiral staircase within and dashed upward. When viewed from below through the staircase's dozen twisting turns, he grew smaller and smaller as he ascended, appearing to circle endlessly around the same spot like a trapped insect.

At the top of the stairs, hundreds of feet in the air, there was a small room—open on all sides, equipped with a searchlight—resembling a fire watchtower. That was the dead end. The thief sat down on a wooden box containing the searchlight operator’s tools and let out a sigh of relief. But there was no time to rest; the pursuing police officers were already closing in at his feet. Moreover, glinting pistols were now in the hands of their suicide squad—when had they even prepared those? He ran round and round the small room. But there was no path of escape to be found anywhere. When he clung to the pillar and looked down at the ground below, an ant-like crowd had gathered around the tower, all their faces turned skyward as they shouted something in unison.

Above his head was only a steeply sloped roof, like a jester’s peaked cap. But now, in this predicament, there was no way to survive except by scaling that very roof. The vanguard of the police had already reached the top of the stairs, their heads and pistol-wielding hands appearing on the floor above. At last, it was the end.

Golden Mask finally made an astonishing decision. He intended to attempt the impossible.

He firmly grasped one edge of the roof with both hands and hauled himself backward onto the rooftop with gymnastic precision. However, this roof resembled a sheer cliff—a jester’s peaked cap shape. Not a single foothold or handhold existed anywhere across its surface, all perched at a dizzying height of 150 feet. A grueling, pitiful struggle to behold. Clinging inverted like a ground spider against the slippery roof surface, he began shifting direction with grinding slowness. Using his palms, abdomen, and toe-tips to brace against constant slippage, he inched his way forward bit by bit until finally reorienting his head toward the summit. It was a feat no acrobat had ever dared attempt. To the distant crowd below, he appeared as an eerie golden gecko.

Once he had reoriented himself, the next phase became a maddeningly slow crawl toward the summit—a laborious inchworm progression. At a pace barely distinguishable from stillness, yet he advanced with terrible inevitability. An inch, two inches, three inches—until finally a foot, two feet. Just one more breath and his hand would reach the metal pillar at the summit—ah, just one more breath. Below, though witnessing a villain’s plight, the crowd collectively held its breath, palms slick with sweat.

At that very moment, the strength in his legs gave out from oozing oily sweat. With a start—slithered—his entire body slid. A roaring scream surged up from the crowd. The body, robbed of equilibrium, slid downward without cease. Ah, I’m done for. Many in the crowd involuntarily closed their eyes; they turned their faces away.

But what inner strength! The fiend held his ground at the final inch. His entire body rippled visibly from the strain, discernible even from the ground below. After a brief respite, he resumed his agonizing crawl toward the summit.

Finally, finally, his right hand grasped the pillar at the summit. Once he secured a handhold, there was no longer any danger. Using the pillar for leverage, he thrust himself upright into the vast 150-foot sky. A gallant golden warrior of the sky. It was a peculiar state of mind. The crowd, seeing that the thief was now safe, finally heaved a collective sigh of relief.

During this feat, the police squad beneath the roof could only clamor futilely. No matter how brave they were, not a single officer dared climb this sheer roof. This surpassed human capability. That said, even attempting to threaten him with pistols proved impossible—the roof’s overhang blocked their view entirely. A proposal surfaced to build a makeshift scaffold from the summit room and arrest the thief, but there was a pistol in his pocket. Were they to erect scaffolding and poke their heads beyond the overhang, they’d immediately be met with a pistol shot from above. No craftsman alive would accept such a death-defying task.

After much debate, they ultimately descended to the ground, pointed their guns upward from there with the aim of subduing the thief through firepower. Borrowing bird guns brought out by nearby volunteers and rifles from the military police, they lined up over a dozen barrels and fired blanks repeatedly to intimidate him—but it had no effect. From the heavens, only the thief’s eerie, high-pitched laughter rained down from afar. What audacity! He was cackling in this dire predicament. It was so uncanny that one might even doubt whether this was truly a human being made of flesh and blood.

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

Amidst the commotion, the sun sank completely below the horizon. The glow of Golden Mask vanished, and the towering structure resembling a giant stood only dimly visible. The searchlight atop the tower emitted no light that night. The attendant was too frightened to attempt the climb.

At the base of the tower clustered police and youth group lanterns, their siege formation laid out for prolonged battle. Among the crowd were those who had resolved to stay all night—stocking up on provisions and settling in place. This was likely the greatest incident in police history since its founding. Given its location at Tokyo's very heart, this affair far eclipsed even the notorious Onikuma case of years past. Even profit-driven newspaper companies found themselves compelled to issue special editions over a lone thief. Thus rumors of this phantom criminal spread through all Tokyo—citizens already haunted by Golden Mask's eerie legend now shuddered under fresh terror.

An hour after nightfall, a kind of unease began to well up in people's hearts. Could the monster still be in its original spot? No more laughter could be heard. In the dark sky, it was impossible to make out a figure as small as a bean. That said, there was nowhere to escape; yet, strangely, the darkness turned people cowardly. With the enemy nowhere to be seen, they couldn't help feeling uneasy.

There, a police officer proposed a brilliant idea. Within the Exposition grounds stood another searchlight installed outside this tower. It remained operational even now, casting a white beam across the vast night sky. The proposal was to fix this searchlight upon the tower's roof and maintain its illumination on the thief's position throughout the night. Of course everyone agreed, and preparations were immediately set in motion.

Before long, an intense circular beam sharply outlined the entire tower roof against the dark sky.

The crowd strained their eyes and gazed at the pillar at the summit.

At that very moment, a thunderous cry of astonishment erupted from the crowd. At the summit of the tower, an unfathomable catastrophe had occurred—one that no one could have possibly anticipated. It was not that the thief’s figure vanished. The Golden Mask was clinging to the original rooftop. But... but... Ah! What in the world is happening? The crowd, overwhelmed by the utterly unexpected event, remained staring up at the sky, dumbfounded.

The Hanged Corpse in the Sky

The thousands of spectators surrounding the Industrial Tower could never forget, long afterward, the intensely striking and beautifully grotesque spectacle that had appeared atop the spire—like a white mirage in the searchlight’s white light at that moment. From the golden rod atop the roof, dangling down and swaying left and right like a giant clock’s pendulum, hung the Golden Mask—around the mouth of his gilded-Buddha-like mask, copious fresh blood glistened ominously.

Cornered atop the tower with no escape, the monster chose death over humiliating surrender. He, remaining in his golden mask and golden robes, hung the leather belt he wore upon the rod atop the summit and achieved a grand suicide by hanging befitting a warrior of the demon realm. He spewed blood from his face down to his chest and, overcome with agony, thrashed about like a clock’s pendulum. “He’s dead!” “He’s dead!”

From thousands in the crowd, identical words swelled into a reverberating tumult. Did they feel relief at this demon’s demise? No—no such sentiment stirred them. They were gripped instead by searing disappointment—a collective sigh mourning this gilded hero’s pitifully anticlimactic end. The police squad had scrambled up the tower at once, but being mere mortals rather than monsters, they lacked the means to scale the roof without scaffolding. Worse still, the eaves’ overhang obstructed even their view of the golden hanged corpse. Why this frantic haste? Protocol demanded they first dispatch runners to summon scaffolders before charging blindly upward.

“Someone, run to the Exposition’s construction office and tell them to bring scaffolding materials along with a workman!” When Inspector Namikoshi issued his command, a tall man in an Exposition employee’s uniform and cap abruptly emerged from a dark corner and mumbled something.

“I will go and take care of it.” Though his words were audible, there was something unnervingly inhuman about his voice. Yet at that moment, nobody paid attention to such details. “Ah, so you’ve climbed up here too. You’re the searchlight operator.” “Yes.” “Then go handle it immediately.” The searchlight operator flew down the spiral staircase. The remaining officers stood idle, fidgeting with impatience, when they suddenly noticed a single pistol gleaming beside the searchlight operator’s toolbox.

“Ah! That guy must’ve dropped his pistol here.”

A police officer picked it up and showed it to the group.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Then when he climbed up to the roof, he didn’t have a pistol with him. There was no need for us to be so jumpy after all.” Another officer muttered. “Hey, something’s wrong here!” The policeman who had been fiddling with the pistol cried out shrilly. “Listen up, everyone! This pistol that had us all terrified—it’s nothing but a toy!” Upon examining it, they found 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 laughter arose among the police officers. But that laughter, carrying an air of awkwardness, soon died away. When they thought of how dozens of police officers had been so thoroughly outwitted by this single toy pistol, their absurdity and vexation left them in no mood for laughter.

Because the workman was taking too long to arrive, another police officer ran to the office. At last, the scaffolding was completed—a full hour had passed since then.

The task of retrieving the thief’s corpse fell to Kumesan, an energetic firefighter from the local brigade renowned as a ladder-climbing expert.

True to his trade, Kumesan climbed up the steeply sloped roof without any hint of peril. The scaffold jutting out beneath the roof had two workmen poised to receive the corpse.

The crowd on the ground erupted in a thunderous cheer when the long-awaited scaffolding was finally completed and the figure of Kumesan, the local favorite, appeared within the searchlight's circular beam.

In the dark sky floated a giant white pointed hat; Kumesan, who looked like a black lizard, could be seen climbing toward the golden gecko dangling at the summit, appearing as though in a motion picture.

Kumesan finally reached the summit. Hands reached for 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 around and hurled it down from that 150-foot height toward the ground below.

The golden garment flipped glittering like a strange firework, exited the searchlight’s circular beam, and fell through the darkness like a meteor to the ground before the crowd’s eyes.

The moment it fell, with a resounding roar, police officers and the youth group’s lanterns swarmed around it. A police officer briskly approached, picked up the golden garment, and swung it around in circles. It made sense now why Kumesan had thrown it down. This Golden Mask, this golden garment—there was nothing inside. In other words, the thief had crafted a scarecrow using the mask and garment, pretended to hang himself, and escaped somewhere. Inside the mask and costume’s core, the thief’s jacket, pants, shirt, and such had been rolled up and tied together.

An eerie voice.

The thief had slickly escaped.

But from where? How? It was impossible. Around the tower stood a ring of spectators, while at the base of the staircase, a contingent of police officers kept watch. Unless one had wings, no monster—no matter how formidable—should have been able to escape this tight encirclement.

A rigorous search was conducted on suspicion that he might be hiding inside the tower, but not even a shadow could be seen in any corner.

The police officers, having exhausted all means of search, stood blankly at the base of the tower’s staircase. “Moreover, he had to escape completely naked—why? Because he’d used up all his clothes and shirts for the scarecrow’s core, you see.”

“That’s odd. With a crowd this size, even at night, there’s no way they could’ve missed a completely naked man!” “Hey, he might’ve gotten his hands on a disguise outfit!”

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 companion’s face.

“When he descended from the roof to the top room, he might indeed have been completely naked. But once he reached the top room, there would’ve been a perfectly tailored disguise outfit waiting for him there.” “Where?”

“In the searchlight operator’s toolbox.” “Wouldn’t it stand to reason they’d keep an exposition employee’s uniform in there?”

“It’s mere conjecture.” “Unless we check…”

“Check?” “Of course.” “Look—the searchlight operator’s coming this way.” “We’ll know right away if we ask him.”

“Hey you—you’re the searchlight operator here, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am.”

The uniformed man on the other side replied.

“In the toolbox in the searchlight room—wasn’t there something like a change of clothes of yours?” “Yes, it’s not mine, but another man’s uniform and cap are inside.” “And that man?” “He’s taken sick leave today.”

The situation had taken a bizarre turn.

“Then who on earth was it that went from atop the tower to summon a workman from the construction office?” “It wasn’t you，wasn’t it?”

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

Dragging the searchlight operator along, a police officer ran up to the top of the tower. 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 both the police force and the crowd, skillfully exploiting the blind spots in their vigilance. Disguising himself as none other than the searchlight operator they would least suspect, he had slipped through their tight encirclement. In Golden Mask’s dictionary, the word 'impossible' most certainly did not exist.

Immediately, the police officers and youth group rushed in all directions to comb every corner of the grounds, but it was naturally too late. There was no chance that agile monster had lingered in those perilous 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 through their fingers at the final moment. Stamping their feet in bitter frustration, they seethed with regret. They searched for anyone who might have remembered the face of the thief disguised as a searchlight operator, but the dimly lit tower room offered no clues. Upon reflection, they realized the monster had kept his cap pulled low and his head tilted suspiciously downward throughout. Worse still—not a single person had suspected him of being the thief at the time, so no one had bothered to study his features closely. All that remained in their memory was a towering man with a muffled voice—nothing more.

“No wonder something felt off,” said the patrolman who had run to summon a worker for the second time. “When I went to the construction office, they told me nobody had come to notify them yet—everyone was making strange faces.” The thief disguised as a searchlight operator had naturally not stopped by the office or anywhere else.

The next morning, all newspapers—down to the local ones across the nation—reported in detail on the unprecedented grand spectacle at the Ueno Exposition with sensational headlines. The photos were somewhat blurry, but the one of Kumesan climbing from the scaffolding up to the spire achieved what could be called a full hundred percent in newspaper impact. It set readers across the nation abuzz. However, the citizens of Tokyo could not simply read through those articles with mere interest. Golden Mask, who until now had been nothing more than a modern-day ghost story, had finally revealed himself and—of all places—performed an eerily extraordinary feat right before the massive crowd at the Exposition. Moreover, the monster who had effortlessly slipped through the encirclement of dozens of police officers was undoubtedly lurking somewhere within the city.

The fact that what lay hidden beneath the Golden Mask—the thief’s true identity—remained utterly unknown frightened people all the more. Moreover, sensitive readers found themselves utterly unable to forget a certain shudder-inducing eerie passage contained within an inspector’s statement in the newspaper articles. The passage in question was: "The thief disguised as a searchlight operator had no distinguishing features other than his height that anyone could recall, but when I heard that guy utter just a single word at the time, I felt something indescribably strange." "The words themselves were quite ambiguous, but more than that, the tone of his voice—how to put it—simply did not seem to come from a human mouth like our own." …”

What on earth could this signify? The terrifyingly expressionless Golden Mask; his audacious machine-like precision and steel-forged strength; and now this mysterious voice... There was no way a lifeless automaton could move with such freedom—and yet.

Would the monster go into hiding now that he had stolen the large pearl “Shima no Joō”? No, no—that was unthinkable. He would without a doubt reappear somewhere in that uncanny form.

When? Where? And what? It could not be definitively concluded that his objectives were always limited to treasures. What if he were to wield that superhuman, invincible strength and plot some horrific murder? The faint of heart had merely entertained the thought when they turned deathly pale, unable to help trembling at the overwhelming terror that offered no means of defense.

Princess Miko

The terror gripping Tokyo’s citizens had been both accurate and inaccurate. For the phantom thief had indeed dared to commit another horrific crime—terrifying even to hear of—within mere days. And the location? None other than the opulent villa of Marquis Washio’s family, nestled deep in the Nikko Mountains far from Tokyo—a testament to his uncanny ability to appear anywhere.

Marquis Washio was a daimyo aristocrat from a northern domain; though his main residence lay in Tokyo, the family head Masatoshi so favored his villa by Lake C in the Nikko Mountains that he dwelled there nearly year-round—even building within its grounds a small art museum to house his famed collection of antique art. Nineteen-year-old Princess Miko, the Marquis’s sole heir, possessed a gaze so dreamlike—steeped in ineffable innocence and an uncanny allure—that none who beheld her likeness in ladies’ magazines or pictorials could resist enchantment.

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

Her thoughts dwelled on Lord Senju, who was studying in a distant foreign land.

Lord Senju was the noble orphan left behind by the Marquis’s late biological sister; shortly after concluding his studies in London and returning home, he was formally slated to wed Princess Miko.

Before her eyes floated the gallant figure of Lord Senju playing cricket—a memory sent from overseas—followed by recollections of his university’s famed boat races, and then vague associations of the European continent, suffused with the fragrance of Western liquor and tobacco. Yet what weighed most heavily on her mind was today’s visit from His Excellency Count Rougel, French Ambassador—who would be making the long journey by car from Tokyo to view Father the Marquis’s collection of antique artworks. Entertaining a Western dignitary—and one holding such an important post as ambassador—was a first-time experience. I mustn’t do anything odd and be laughed at. But there was an even greater concern looming. The reason being that rumors had been circulating these past two or three days about that abominable Golden Mask lurking near the estate. No—this was far more than mere rumors. In fact, up to three villagers from nearby hamlets had even claimed to have seen that terrifyingly expressionless golden face in the forest.

Right below her eyes, outside the wall, a man in a suit was loitering. Those were the plainclothes detectives sent by the police. One, two, three—there were three guards at just the main gate alone. The back gate had the same number, and within the estate grounds—including a gentleman specifically dispatched from Tokyo’s Metropolitan Police named Inspector Namikoshi—there were nearly ten people in total. However, given that Golden Mask was such an audacious villain who had managed to escape unscathed even when surrounded by thousands of people, could defenses of this scale possibly be sufficient? Our family must not even resign ourselves to disaster. If something were to befall His Excellency Ambassador Rougel, it would become a grave issue that could implicate international relations. Though Marquis Washio had proposed postponing His Excellency’s visit out of concern for contingencies, Count Rougel—a warrior who had fought in the European War and was even once reported killed in action during the Battle of Champagne—deemed a mere “charming Japanese thief” no thing to be reckoned with, and thus did not alter today’s schedule. Thus, even this heavy security within the estate was something Father the Marquis had arranged to safeguard His Excellency’s person.

It was then that Koyuki, Princess Miko’s favorite lady’s maid, suddenly came rushing in with a deathly pale face. She was twenty years old, one year younger than the Princess. She was the daughter of a former chief retainer of the Marquis’s family, had served as the Princess’s lady’s maid since the age of seventeen, and at times shared a rapport where they spoke almost as friends. “My Lady, I... I’ve never experienced anything so chilling.” “What should I do?” “What should I do?” “Oh, Koyuki, what’s wrong?” “I went deep into the artificial hill to look for flowers to arrange in your room.”

“Yes, and then?” “I happened to look into that dimly lit forest.” “Yes.” “Then, My Lady,” Koyuki said in a trembling voice, whispering, “I saw it… that… thing…” “Golden…” The Princess shuddered and involuntarily stood up.

“Golden Mask…” “You—you truly saw it?” “Yes… From deep within the forest thicket… that… it seemed to be smiling with a crescent-shaped mouth.” “And… you reported this to Father?”

“I have reported it to My Lord and to the gentlemen from the Metropolitan Police.” “The gentlemen from the Metropolitan Police are currently inspecting behind the artificial hill.” Under terror that made their hearts go numb, the two of them locked their petrified gazes and remained frozen in silence—until at last the Princess muttered as if to herself.

"What on earth could that creature be plotting to do here?" "Is it theft? Or... could there be some even more dreadful purpose?" The pitiable Princess Miko, unaware that Golden Mask and her own fate could share any terrible connection, merely trembled with vague terror, her lips drained of color.

At that moment，the figure of Father the Marquis came into view. “Ah, Father.”

“Did Koyuki tell you?” The Marquis, taking in the situation, spoke as if to scold the talkative maid. “Father, have the police caught it?” “No, I had them search every last corner, but there’s no such thing anywhere. Koyuki was simply too frightened; she must have seen a phantom.” That said, even the Marquis could not entirely conceal a trace of unease. “By no means, My Lord! It was no phantom or anything of the sort! I am not such a coward!”

Dismissing Koyuki’s protestations, the Marquis changed the subject.

“Miko, it won’t be long before His Excellency arrives. We must make preparations to welcome His Excellency.” “But even though such a thing has managed to enter the estate itself, is it truly proper to receive His Excellency?” “It’s not that I haven’t noticed that. However, there’s nothing to be done about it now. We’ve already received word that Count Rougel has departed from the embassy—he is a man of bold character. And besides, no matter how much of a phantom thief he may be—what reason would he have to trouble His Excellency the Ambassador? A man with no stake in this—would he not?”

The Marquis spoke with deliberate force, as though reassuring himself.

Small Art Museum

About an hour later, Count Rougel—the French Ambassador—accompanied by his secretary and interpreter, pulled up a large automobile emblazoned with the embassy crest alongside the porte-cochère of Marquis Washio’s residence. There he was greeted by the Marquis, Princess Miko, Miyoshi the steward, and the entire household before being ushered safely into the Western-style grand hall. Count Rougel, having presented his credentials as the new ambassador in late February of that year, had attended a welcoming banquet hosted by both government and private sectors at the Imperial Hotel—an event Marquis Washio also attended—and today’s visit had been a long-standing engagement repeatedly postponed since that time. The Marquis and the Count were now reuniting for the first time in two months.

Count Rougel, like most foreigners visiting this country—indeed, among them, he stood out as a particularly ardent admirer of Japanese antiquities. Over these two months, during his leisure from official duties, he had toured museums, shrines, and temples in Kyoto and Nara, immersing himself in the appreciation of Oriental art to the point where time seemed insufficient; yet finding public institutions alone unsatisfactory, he resolved to seek out renowned paintings and Buddhist statues held in private collections by distinguished families. Thus, Marquis Washio’s household became the first selection in this agenda.

The art museum stood apart from the main residence—a newly constructed two-story concrete building spanning over 100 tsubo. First，Miyoshi Steward used the key he had brought to open the large entrance door; then，with Marquis Washio at the head followed by the ambassador’s party，Princess Miko，and Miyoshi Steward in that order，they proceeded into the building.

Due to its storehouse-style construction and small windows, the interior of the museum was illuminated by electric lights even in daytime. A high ceiling, chill air, the faint scent of insecticide—amidst these stood rows of grotesque Buddhist statues, sinister suits of armor that seemed poised to stir at any moment, an array of swords, and picture scrolls traversing a thousand-year dream. It was a somewhat chilly feeling.

When the Marquis took the lead and stepped into the art museum, he could not help but feel an uncanny terror. The mysterious entity that Koyuki had reportedly seen earlier and the eerie Buddha statues jutting up grotesquely throughout the hall combined to form a bizarre association that menaced him. "Could it be that the phantom thief was lying in wait for this very moment of the distinguished guest’s visit?" "The method remains unknown." "But isn’t he plotting to steal the treasures inside the museum by exploiting this distraction?"

As he thought this, the Marquis found himself growing preoccupied with every dimly lit shadow, to the point where even his responses to the Count became increasingly perfunctory.

But Count Rougel proved to be an unexpectedly superb connoisseur. He was deeply versed in the art history of both Japan and China—not only did his critiques, delivered through an interpreter, invariably strike at the essence, but what most gratified the Marquis was how before the Fujiwara-era polychrome Buddhist painting "Enmaten-zo"—a peerless treasure preserved beyond monetary value—and its contemporary gilt-lacquered wooden statue of Amida Nyorai seated in meditation, the Count lingered longest, appearing unable to conceal 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 it made one gasp when glanced upon. A life-sized gilded Buddha statue from a relatively recent era, brilliantly golden. It stood there starkly, casting an uncanny radiance under the dim electric light. From the moment Princess Miko entered the art museum, she had not taken her eyes off that gilded Buddha statue in the distant corner. A golden face... golden robes... Could that statue be alive? Such was the startling delusion that had her trembling in terror.

As she drew nearer to the Buddha statue—tall as a giant man—it seemed to her that beneath its gilded surface, secretly, ever so secretly, it was breathing. Ah! At any moment—at any moment—that gentle mouth might twist sharply into a crescent shape, spewing thread-like blood while grinning malevolently. No sooner did this thought arise than a shiver coursed through her entire body, and she felt an impulse to scream at the top of her lungs.

Though not to the extent of his daughter, even Marquis Washio was tormented by the same thoughts. He brought his face close to the gilded Buddha statue, glaring at it with a piercing, terrifying gaze, when suddenly he reached out and forcefully grabbed the statue’s arm—for he had thought that perhaps it would feel lukewarm and soft, like the arm of a living human. “Ahahaha…” Count Rougel, perceiving the Marquis’s state of mind, began to laugh. “So, the thief known as ‘Golden Mask’ still hasn’t been apprehended, I take it? “I suppose that thief must have a face like this Buddha statue. “Exactly, wouldn’t you agree, Marquis?”

At the Ambassador’s words, the Marquis, chagrined by his own overly timid act, quietly withdrew his hand.

At that very moment. A scream like tearing silk suddenly erupted from Princess Miko’s mouth. Startled, they all leapt up. The Princess’s eyes—bulging wide—remained fixed on the small window behind the gilded Buddha statue; her face turned paper-white as if she might faint at any second. When they looked toward it, a grotesque human face filled the window. The figure vanished instantly, but there was no doubt—someone had been spying on the ambassador’s group. Moreover, this bizarre person was wholly unfamiliar—neither a household servant nor any detective stationed there.

The Marquis suddenly dashed over to the small window and threw open the glass pane. A figure slipped away under the eaves—a tall form with girlishly long hair, wearing a crested black cotton kimono and black serge hakama, presenting an indescribably grotesque appearance.

“You there—wait a moment!”

When the Marquis bellowed, the man spun around sharply and, grinning mockingly, gave a polite bow. He was an eerie figure—shoulder-length hair framing a face covered in a beard like that of an Ainu chieftain. “You—who are you?” “What were you doing just now?”

Before the man could respond to the Marquis’s interrogation, it was Miyoshi Steward who suddenly spoke up from the side. “Mr. Kiba.” “If you go and do such a thing, this puts me in a difficult position.” “I cannot keep you here even one more day!” “No—My Lord, I have no excuse to offer.” “That man is actually…”

“I get it, I get it. He’s a Tenrikyo preacher from your sect, isn’t he?” When the Marquis learned the identity of the mysterious figure, he said with relief. “However, to ensure there are no such blunders again, it would be better for you to properly instruct him.”

Miyoshi Steward was a Tenrikyo fanatic, and itinerant preachers would occasionally stay at his residence within the estate gates during their sermon tours. Mr. Kiba was one such preacher; though they were strangers, he had brought a proper letter of introduction from the church, so the elderly 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, with no further incidents arising, the ambassador’s party concluded their tour of the art collection, both host and guests thoroughly satisfied.

The Phantom of the Bathhouse

Every night before entering bed, Princess Miko had a habit of cleansing her body in the bathhouse. Though her bedtime had been severely delayed by hosting the ambassador's overnight guests, the mental exhaustion from entertaining distinguished visitors coupled with the terror of the Golden Mask had left her utterly drained both physically and mentally—she couldn't bring herself to forgo bathing, needing it to calm her nerves. It was already past twelve o'clock when the Princess, assisted by her maid Koyuki, removed her kimono and settled into the marble bathtub.

The dazzling electric light reflected off the pure white marble. With stalwart Koyuki keeping watch, large towel in hand, even in the late-night bathhouse, the Princess could relax freely and savor the warm water seeping into her skin. In the transparent water, her glistening white skin appeared flattened as it floated up. The Princess, like many women of the world, was a girl captivated by her own physical beauty. The shame she felt at her skin's uncanny allure soon transformed into an unspeakable yearning for a distant beloved in faraway lands.

While immersed in her reverie, the Princess suddenly grew frightened by the midnight silence that seemed to assail her. When she turned around to speak to Koyuki, her maid’s figure had vanished without a trace. “Where did she go? She must have gone to fetch a change of nightclothes.” Even as she waited with bated breath, Koyuki did not return. When she strained her ears, within the dead silence of the night came the faintest cry of a night bird from the mountains behind—so faint it might have been imagined. Though submerged in the bath, a shiver ran through her, and her frightened eyes involuntarily fixed upon the window open to the garden. She even fancied she could hear stealthily creeping footsteps outside that frosted glass door.

Not only could she not leave the bathtub, she felt unable to move even within the water itself; pressing a hand against her heart pounding as though it might burst, she kept perfectly still—when suddenly, ah! The window's door began creeping open of its own accord, inch by inexorable inch. It was a hallucination. If not that, then she must be trapped in a nightmare. She prayed that if this were a dream, she might wake—but instead of waking, the door's gap rapidly widened, and through it rushed cold night air as the pitch-black darkness beyond peered inward with a whoosh.

The princess could not move, of course; her throat was blocked, and she lacked even the strength to make a sound. But her eyes remained fixed on the door’s widening gap as though pulled by invisible threads; they would not move. Ahh—at any moment now—any moment—from that pitch-black gap, an expressionless golden face would peer through. It was inevitable—it would peer through. As if her trembling heart had materialized into form, from there, the Golden Mask—its crescent-shaped mouth grinning—truly did emerge with a swift motion.

In that instant, half-conscious, the Princess smiled sweetly at the Golden Mask monster as though greeting a dear friend. Had extreme fear—terror so profound it stifled even tears and screams—finally driven her to laughter? The monster, as though lured by the Princess’s uncanny smile, climbed over the windowsill and strode purposefully into the bathhouse. His face was the Golden Mask; the back of his head was completely wrapped in black cloth. He wore his usual loose-fitting golden overcoat.

The Princess sensed mortal danger. “Quickly, quickly, I must escape.” In a desperate struggle to regain her fading consciousness... With great effort, she managed to climb out of the bathtub and, forgetting all maidenly modesty, staggered unsteadily toward the door in her nakedness.

But Golden Mask was swift as a swallow. Before the Princess had even halfway run, he was already blocking the door. In the monster’s right hand—hidden beneath the golden mantle—a sharp dagger glinted menacingly. The utterly bizarre standoff between the princess, naked with her modesty laid bare, and the monster gleaming gold from head to toe. Once again, the monster laughed—a grin stretching across his crescent-shaped lips. In the blink of an eye, the golden mantle fluttered up suddenly. In a single bound, he pinned down the princess’s pale flesh.

The monster took aim at the Princess’s ample bosom and raised the dagger aloft. The frail woman’s desperate resistance in her death throes. The Princess’s writhing hands struck the face of the looming monster with a metallic clang. From that impact—through some inexplicable chance—the Golden Mask clattered to the floor! The monster cried out sharply and swiftly readjusted his mask, but in that split second, the Princess had unmistakably glimpsed his true identity. “You!” The Princess’s shriek of shock and loathing.

The monster whose identity had been exposed frantically swung down the dagger. The needle-like tip pierced cleanly through the pure white skin. Spurting blood, a shriek of pain, and pale fingers clawing at the air….

At that very moment, Marquis Washio and Count Rougel, having not yet retired to bed, were engrossed in a discussion on art that had continued from dinner. The secretary and the interpreter were also present, serving as listeners.

The one who came rushing into this gathering, as if tumbling in with utter impropriety, was the maid Koyuki.

“My Lord, a terrible thing has happened! Princess... she 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. The student servants who had heard the commotion also followed after them. When they arrived at the bathhouse, they found Princess Miko half-submerged in the marble bathtub, thrown backward with her hands clawing empty air—utterly lifeless. Between her plump, high breasts and the valley of her bosom stood a magnificent dagger with a golden hilt buried straight upright. From the wound gushed a beautiful deep crimson fountain in thick pulses.

The marquis approached the bathtub still in his slippers and, cradling the princess’s corpse, “You there—call Miyoshi! Then notify Inspector Namikoshi as well!” he ordered.

The student servants ran. Before long, with Inspector Namikoshi at the lead, detectives, servants, and nearly everyone in the household gathered at the murder scene.

Upon investigation, they found the Princess’s heart had been gouged out, leaving her utterly lifeless. There was nothing more to be done. As for how the dagger had been stolen—it was the Marquis’s prized Spanish-made blade that had been kept in his study.

The thief’s point of entry and exit was not outside the bathhouse window facing the garden. Inspector Namikoshi led his subordinates around the garden and, following the tracks of a single pair of high-toothed geta, thoroughly searched from the garden’s depths to beyond the wall—but found nothing. The tracks of the high-toothed geta vanished on hard ground about nine meters from the window, making it impossible to determine which direction the thief had fled. Even Marquis Washio—his mind reeling at his only daughter’s tragic demise—had forgotten about his esteemed guest Count Rougel’s entourage, given no thought to practical arrangements, and merely clung to the beautiful princess’s corpse while weeping bitterly. But when Inspector Namikoshi and his men returned after concluding their futile search, he finally regained his composure. Resolving that in such dire circumstances he must rely on the wisdom of his seasoned steward Miyoshi, he looked for the old man among the servants—yet somehow, not even a trace of the elderly retainer could be found.

“Miyoshi—what’s happened to Miyoshi?”

In response to the Marquis’s voice, Miyoshi’s wife timidly showed her face. “Miyoshi is acting rather strangely.” “And then Mr. Kiba, who’s staying at the house…” “Both of them are lying in the same room, snoring away, and no matter how much we try to rouse them, they simply won’t wake up.” “Could someone please come and take a look…”

“Sleeping, you say? “That’s strange.” The idea of an anesthetic flashed through the Marquis’s mind. “Inspector Namikoshi, could you please take a look at this?”

When Inspector Namikoshi rushed to Miyoshi’s quarters and looked inside, there in a back room lay the elderly steward and a long-haired suspicious figure sprawled out using their arms as pillows, snoring away. No matter how much they were poked or struck, they remained lifeless as corpses. It appeared they had drunk tea before falling asleep, for a tea set lay beneath their pillows. The thief had likely sneaked into the house’s kitchen area and placed anesthetic in the tea set. But for what possible reason had he needed to drug these two?

They administered various treatments, but whether the drug had been too potent or not, both men did not awaken until daybreak.

Meanwhile, Count Rougel’s entourage—utterly unable to remain in light of this unforeseen incident—waited for dawn, left respectful condolences with Marquis Washio, then departed for Tokyo in that large emblem-adorned automobile. The A·L symbol Inspector Namikoshi hurried to grasp the motive behind this heinous act or any clue to the culprit before the court officials arrived in the morning. Now meticulously re-examining footprints, now searching the dagger for fingerprints, now apprehending Koyuki to interrogate her about the Princess’s daily life—and then rushing to Miyoshi Steward’s quarters to scour every corner of the house—he remained immersed in detective work until around eight o'clock in the morning. By the time the local police chief arrived from a distant town, he appeared to have already gathered several pieces of physical evidence. With a somewhat satisfied expression, he presented himself before the Marquis alongside the chief.

“Is Mr. Kiba—the Tenrikyo teacher staying at Steward Miyoshi’s residence—someone with whom you’re acquainted?” The inspector inquired with pointed intent. “No, I first laid eyes on him yesterday.” “Miyoshi too appears unfamiliar with the man.” “However, as he presented a reliable letter of introduction from the church, we permitted him lodging.”

“In that case, would it be permissible for us to summon that man here and question him briefly?” “Certainly. I myself had thought that man seemed rather a strange fellow.” Thereupon, the long-haired, long-bearded suspicious figure, having finally awakened from the anesthetic, was brought before this temporary court. “Where were you around midnight last night?” After inquiring into the temporary defendant’s address, full name, and other details, Inspector Namikoshi calmly launched his first salvo.

“A little before twelve, I was drinking tea with Mr. Miyoshi. After that, as you know, I know nothing. I can only wonder why the criminal needed to drug someone like me.”

“You claim you drank the tea before twelve o’clock?” “However, neither Mr. Miyoshi nor Mrs. Miyoshi can recall the exact time.” “Mr. Miyoshi states he returned to the mansion around twelve o’clock.” “In that case, we must conclude you both drank tea considerably past twelve o’clock.” “I don’t have clear memory either, but if it was indeed past twelve—what would that imply?”

“Before you fell asleep from the anesthetic you administered yourself, there was time to sneak into the bathhouse.” “That’s what it comes down to.” “In other words, are you suggesting I’m the murderer of the young lady?” “And do you have any evidence?”

Kiba stated calmly. “Hey—you still think you’re safe because we haven’t found evidence?” “That won’t do.” “First evidence: your pauwlonia-soled geta.” “In this mansion, nobody else wears pauwlonia-soled geta.” “Yet the footprints outside the bathhouse window match yours perfectly.”

The long-haired man offered no rebuttal. Not only that, but he even appeared to be greatly surprised by this undeniable evidence. “That’s not all. There’s even more conclusive evidence.” Inspector Namikoshi puffed himself up triumphantly. “Behold this! This golden toy was discovered in your luggage.” What was in Inspector Namikoshi’s hand were a golden mask and a golden mantle. It was the attire of the notorious thief Golden Mask. So, was this man the monster that had been stirring up society all along?

When Kiba saw this, his astonishment grew even deeper; however, after remaining silent and lost in thought for a while, “Ah… It can’t be helped.”

With a sigh, he abruptly leaned in close to Inspector Namikoshi’s ear and whispered something.

Inspector Namikoshi’s face flashed with astonishment.

“It’s a lie. “It’s a lie…” He groaned like a petulant child. “Inspector Namikoshi, you’ve finally interfered with my plans. If you doubt me so much, then take a look at this.” No sooner had Kiba put his hand to his head than he suddenly tore off his long hair and cast it aside, then proceeded to pluck off every last beard from his face. What appeared from beneath that was, “Ah, Akechi! I had no idea it was your disguise.”

Inspector Namikoshi’s shout.

Astonishingly, the Tenrikyo missionary they had seen was none other than the amateur detective Akechi Kogorō. The assembled company felt no small interest in this dramatic scene. There was no one who read newspapers yet remained ignorant of the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō. Even Marquis Washio proved no exception to this. Inspector Namikoshi, as if having forgotten his recent blunder, introduced this celebrated friend with some pride. "But Mr. Akechi," the local police chief remarked sarcastically, lacing his words with veiled resentment, "allowing yourself to be drugged at such a critical juncture strikes me as rather careless."

The local police chief spoke sarcastically, lacing his words with a certain resentment.

“Well, but even Sherlock Holmes would likely have made the same mistake I did. Because last night, something nearly impossible occurred. If my deductions are not mistaken, an incident has occurred that is unprecedented in all of history. I find it so terrifying to even speak of it. Of course, even I don’t yet clearly understand the full truth, but—” Akechi said something enigmatic with a genuinely terrified expression.

“In that case, you seem to know something about last night’s culprit.” The police chief, misinterpreting Akechi’s cryptic words as an attempt to cover his embarrassment, persisted in his sarcasm. “When you speak of ‘last night’s culprit,’ are you referring to the one who harmed the young lady?”

“Obviously.” The obtuse police chief, oblivious to the deeper meaning concealed within Akechi’s question, nodded. “I probably know.” “The reason I say ‘probably’… Inspector Namikoshi, what were the results of last night’s search?” “Nothing.” “If you yourself aren’t the culprit—” “That’s right.” “In that case, I can state plainly.” “This culprit is the person I have been targeting these past few days.” “Mr. Akechi, who is it?” “Won’t you tell me that man’s name?”

Finally, the Marquis grew impatient and interjected.

“No, Marquis, before that, there exists a matter nearly as grave as your daughter’s death for you.” “I wish to ascertain it at the earliest possible moment.” “That is to say… Ah, could it be that you…”

“Yes, your collected artworks are on par with national treasures.” “With this being precisely when His Excellency visited, why did such varied crimes overlap and erupt simultaneously?” “Is it not that the thief lay in wait for yesterday’s opening of the art museum’s great gate—which stands shut most days—specifically unlocked for the ambassador’s delegation?” “As proof of this, consider for instance…”

“For example?” “For example, why Mr. Miyoshi was made to drink the anesthetic. With all due respect, Mrs. Miyoshi is an elderly woman whose eyes and ears have both failed. The thief could have taken the art museum key from the hidden cupboard while Mr. Miyoshi was asleep and secretly returned it to its original place without anyone noticing. If the thief had not known about that hidden cupboard beforehand, then like yesterday, he would have had no choice but to wait for a day when the art museum was open to confirm its hiding place.”

“Mr. Akechi, please come with me.” “Let us inspect the artworks again immediately.”

When it came to antique art, Marquis Washio—who acted like a madman in his obsession—had already turned pale with worry and urged Akechi on.

Marquis Washio received the key from Miyoshi Steward and, accompanied by Akechi, Inspector Namikoshi, and the Local Police Chief, entered the art museum.

However, after making a full circuit of inspection, they found no items missing in particular. “Mr. Akechi, it seems we worried over nothing.” The Marquis let out a sigh of relief and said. “But Marquis, what about this Buddha statue?” “This is a wooden carved Amitabha Buddha statue from the Fujiwara period.” “No—the meaning of what I’m saying is…”

Akechi stared intently at the Buddha statue for a long while—but then, for some reason, he suddenly clenched his fist and struck the side of its face.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” “You fool! Have you lost your mind?”

By the time the Marquis rushed over in a rage, the Buddha statue had already slid off its pedestal and shattered into pieces on the hard concrete floor.

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

Upon closer inspection, it was unmistakably a plaster counterfeit.

Ah, what a remarkable forgery! How on earth had the thief managed to prepare such a plaster replica? The Marquis distinctly remembered that when he had shown the ambassador around yesterday, it had most certainly not been a counterfeit.

Akechi casually picked up a fragment of plaster from the base of the Buddha statue and, as he twisted it around, discovered something like the letters *A·L* scratched on its surface.

What on earth could the symbol A·L signify? Surely the creator wouldn’t sign a counterfeit made for criminal purposes. In that case… Akechi Kogorō stared fixedly in thought, as though probing the deepest recesses of his mind to unearth some secret’s interpretation—but then, having seemingly grasped something, even the great detective appeared struck by a shock and dread so profound that his very countenance altered utterly.

As for the Marquis, overwhelmed by despair, he had been staring into empty space and fallen silent, but somehow regaining his composure, he suddenly let out a hollow laugh, “No, there’s no need to worry much about the treasures. “It’s impossible to dispose of such items without anyone knowing. “Nor would buyers appear so suddenly. “There will come a time when their whereabouts are discovered. “But my daughter… she will never return…”

Having cut himself off mid-sentence, the Marquis seemed unable to contain his fury,

“Mr. Akechi, you stated earlier that you know who killed my daughter.”

It was as if conducting an interrogation.

“Yes, I am aware. It’s someone whom you know very well, Marquis.” “Who is it? What kind of bastard is he?” The Marquis, forgetting his usual composure, pressed in on the amateur detective.

“Unbelievable! Unbelievable!” “Who is he? What manner of fiend is he?” Overwhelmed by his beloved daughter’s gruesome death and the theft of treasures beyond monetary value, Marquis Washio—a daimyo aristocrat who had cast aside all decorum—snarled and lunged at Akechi Kogorō.

“There’s no need for you to hurry. He has no intention of fleeing. He knows full well that staying put is safer.”

Akechi answered with perfect composure. The Marquis and the entire group stared at Akechi with bewildered expressions. What was he talking about? The disbelief was written plain across their faces—how could a criminal who’d committed theft and even murder possibly have no intention of fleeing? Such an absurd notion was beyond comprehension.

“There’s absolutely no need for concern. “The culprit is as good as arrested.” “I promise to hand him over within five minutes.” “However, given the circumstances here, I would like to ask everyone to please withdraw to the other room.” To hand over the culprit within five minutes—what confidence! Overwhelmed by the famous detective’s confidence, the group withdrew to the main house as instructed. At that moment, both Marquis Washio and old man Miyoshi—overwhelmed by the upheaval and careless in their assumption that the theft had already concluded—neglected to secure the art museum’s doors. Eager to see the criminal apprehended as quickly as possible, they staggered back to the main house. But this failure to lock the museum would later become the cause of extraordinary complications.

The place they withdrew to was none other than the spacious parlor where Akechi Kogorō himself had just recently been interrogated under suspicion of the Princess’s murder. On a corner table lay the golden mask and golden cloak from earlier, left there in eerie stillness. No one attempted to take a seat. They simply wanted to see the culprit as quickly as possible. “Three minutes remain until your promised five are up.” Once again, the Police Chief spoke with unpleasant hostility. “Three minutes left, you say?” “That’s a bit too long.” “Three minutes? I don’t need three—no, thirty seconds will suffice.”

Akechi’s crisp retort. “You’re in no position to be joking around.”

His friend Inspector Namikoshi, growing somewhat concerned, cautioned him in a low voice. 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 who attended your daughter here?” Akechi ignored Mr. Namikoshi’s caution and addressed Marquis Washio.

“Do you have some business with Koyuki?” “I’ve already asked all I need to ask that woman, and I don’t believe there’s anything more to hear from her.”

The Marquis doubted Akechi’s capabilities. The magician-like assertion of “thirty seconds” grated on his nerves. “I made a promise to hand over the culprit. This is absolutely essential for that purpose.” “Then…” Marquis Washio reluctantly ordered the student attendant beside him to summon Koyuki. Soon entered Koyuki—the maid who had cherished Princess Miko like a friend and now wept inconsolably over her lady’s gruesome demise. Tears streaked her lovely face with an uncanny allure.

“Mr. Akechi, interrogating this maid and then searching for the culprit—thirty seconds is rather impossible, I tell you.” “Look—thirty seconds have already passed while we’ve been talking.” Given how things had unfolded, the Police Chief found himself compelled to press further.

“Has it passed?” Akechi answered calmly. “But I have indeed kept my promise.” “Well, well—this is strange. So—where’s this culprit?” “The culprit is waiting for your arrest.” “Where on earth is that man?” “A man, you say?” Akechi said with a peculiar smile. “There’s no man here. There’s only the girl named Koyuki here, trembling like a sparrow.”

“Koyuki?” “So you’re saying…”

“Yes. I’m afraid this maid is the murderer of the young lady.” At such an utterly unexpected accusation, the people felt more a sense of absurdity than anything else. A low ripple of laughter arose in the room. But amidst them, there was one person who did not laugh—none other than Koyuki. She, who had dismissed the possibility of being discovered with utter complacency, now found herself pinpointed by this famous detective. In that instant, she was so shocked she could scarcely breathe. But in the next moment, she had already steeled her resolve. She realized that against the renowned Akechi Kogorō, no explanation would prove futile. Therefore, she resolved to employ the final measure she had been instructed in by a certain individual—she was a woman capable of killing a person. When pressed, she could summon a resolve surpassing even that of men. Koyuki’s beautiful face visibly paled, her eyes blazing with terrifying resolve as they widened.

“Ah! No!”

By the time Akechi cried out in alarm at his premonition, it was already too late. Moreover, the rest of the gathering still hadn’t stopped laughing. Koyuki dashed to a corner table, snatched up a golden mask and cloak, swiftly put them on, and planted herself before the astonished crowd. The lovely maid’s form vanished as though erased—there now stood the fiendish Golden Mask, his crescent-shaped lips curled in a sly grin.

A strange illusion caused the people to hesitate for an instant. Even though they knew she was just a young girl, the golden disguise appeared somehow terribly frightening. True to his reputation, Inspector Namikoshi was the first to shake off the illusion and lunged at the golden fiend—but Koyuki, meanwhile, had already readied her escape during the others’ moment of hesitation. Like a golden swallow, she slipped beneath Inspector Namikoshi’s outstretched hands and darted through the door.

Through winding corridors, a golden streak flitted past like a flickering will-o’-the-wisp, with Inspector Namikoshi leading the Police Chief and detectives in hot pursuit. The monster that had left the main house crossed the garden like a gale and plunged into the still-open art museum. The pursuers had grown complacent, underestimating how far a mere girl could run. For her, fleeing was a life-or-death gamble. There, an unexpected opening appeared. Koyuki dashed into the art museum and slammed the heavy door shut. The lock clicked automatically. In other words, she had locked herself inside the concrete-walled museum.

“If she goes 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 back windows?”

Already moving to run in that direction, Inspector Namikoshi asked in return. “It’s secure. All the windows have iron bars installed. With a woman’s strength, she can’t break those bars.”

“Then, the key to this place—where has Mr. Miyoshi gone?” “He was loitering about the room. Someone, go fetch him at once. But really—there’s no cause for alarm. She’s already as good as caught.”

Thus, despite her final desperate efforts, Golden Mask had at last fallen into her pursuers’ grasp. Golden Mask—that is, the maid Koyuki. What was the meaning of this? Was this not an utterly unexpected, nay, an almost unbelievable truth? Could this young girl truly have performed that incredible feat at the industrial tower of the exposition? Could there not be some monstrous error lurking there? The pursuers had felt that doubt lingering in the back of their minds. No doubt you, dear readers, must have harbored the same doubt.

Armored samurai The golden sparrow, driven by extraordinary mental fortitude, had barely evaded her pursuers and dashed into the art museum—only to find herself ensnared anew. The very door she slammed shut to block their pursuit now became a trapdoor sealing her within. Outside echoed the battering of police fists against iron. Inside stretched a dim exhibition hall where eerie Buddhist statues formed a hellish panorama. Every meager window bore stern iron bars. She might as well have leapt willingly into a prison cell. Though terror and desperation twisted Koyuki’s face grotesquely beneath it, the Golden Mask retained its crescent-moon smile of frozen mirth. Clad in that rictus grin, she scurried through the museum—frantic and wretched—a mouse thrashing in a net.

The fact that there was no exit anywhere was all too clear. But she couldn’t stay still. At any moment now, old man Miyoshi would arrive; if he unlocked the door with his key, a swarm of officers would flood in, and she knew she’d be bound in an instant. Then, the prison van, the courtroom, the jail cell, the gallows. Hair-raising visions flashed through her mind one after another with terrifying speed. When she realized that running around was futile, this time, like a beast frightened by something, she hid herself behind a suit of armor adorned with cherry blossom lacing that loomed imposingly in the darkest corner of the room, held her breath and strained to listen for any sounds from outside.

Though called an armored samurai, it was no lifelike mannequin. Displayed atop the armor chest in a solidly seated posture was an empty exhibit—a hollow shell. Koyuki, the Golden Mask, leaned against the armor chest as though collapsing. The frantic heartbeat could not be calmed, no matter how she tried to still it. Her entire body shook in time with the terrible ringing in her ears, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Due to the strange silence and terrible tinnitus—had all sounds been erased?—it seemed as though the people outside had retreated far, far away; not a single sign of them could be heard. In the desolate void, only the unmanned art museum floated in eerie isolation.

At that moment, an indescribably bizarre thing occurred. Outside the frantic pounding of her own heart, she became aware of another pulsation—a different rhythm—throbbing unnervingly close. Thump-thump-thump… Her rapid heartbeat wove between slow, heavy thuds… thud… thud… emanating from somewhere. She shuddered involuntarily. When she focused her attention on it, she understood. She understood. The pulsation traveled through her fingertips. Her fingertips were touching the armored samurai’s buttocks atop the chest. Then—could blood truly flow through this armored samurai’s veins?

Inside the armor was nothing but a wooden rod erected like a tailor’s display fixture—so why was this hollow armor throbbing so? As she stared, its entire form seemed to undulate with a sluggish, writhing motion. A terror wholly distinct from that of her pursuers crawled up her spine. As far as the eye could see—a twilight realm of grotesque Buddhist statues and paintings—and in one corner of this, a worm-eaten, centuries-old suit of cherry-blossom-laced armor throbbed with a dull, rhythmic thump-thump.

Koyuki’s Golden Mask, drawn by terror, peered into the armored samurai’s face. Beneath the helmet with its flared neck guard, dark coppery cheek guards opened in a demonic snarl. In its depths, something white was dimly visible. Ah—it was indeed a human. There had truly been a human inside the armor.

“Gyah!” As she screamed, Koyuki leapt back—and at that very moment, the armor rose nimbly from its chest and spoke. “There’s no need to fear. “I’m your ally.”

It was no ghost. An ordinary person had hidden inside the armor for some purpose. Even having realized this, Koyuki remained poised to flee, unnerved by the grotesque disguise. "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 on the leader’s orders.” “What’s your purpose?” “No time for explanations. I have to save you. Saving you is still for the leader’s sake. Now—the escape route’s ready. Come here.” “Ah, I see. You’re that person’s ally, aren’t you? So if I were caught, that person’s secret would be exposed—that’s what frightens you.”

“To put it bluntly—that’s right. In other words, we’re not saving you. We’re saving our leader’s secret. But for you, at this point, does any of that really matter?”

“Where’s the escape route? Did you actually prepare it properly for me in advance?” “For you? Ha... Who’d have thought your crimes would be exposed this quickly? If that meddler Akechi hadn’t shown up, everything would’ve gone perfectly. And that nosy bastard... That’s why I decided to wipe that smug look off his face.” While rattling off these words in haste, the armored samurai tore off his helmet and armor, seized Koyuki’s hand, and sprinted toward the rear window.

Just as they reached the window, the large door behind them clanged open with a metallic roar, and the crowd of pursuers came storming noisily into the room. Yet in that abrupt darkness, they still failed to notice the two figures at the window.

“Now, here it is. “It’s not for your sake.” “I cut through these iron bars for my own escape route.” Grasping the iron bars, he gave them a single shake, and from four filed spots they popped out, leaving a large hole. When the two slipped through and emerged outside, beyond the gentle grassy slope and low hedges lay the vast expanse of Lake C. At the shore was a motorboat. It was the Marquis’s family pleasure boat. “Can you operate a motorboat?”

“Yes, I can.” “That’s fortunate. Then you’ll board that alone and escape.” “But if I come ashore anywhere, they’ll catch me immediately.” “That’s precisely why. A clever plan has been prepared for that…” When the man whispered something under his breath, Koyuki—startled—looked at the bamboo pole lying in the boat, slightly longer than a walking stick. “Oh, with this?”

“Right. To escape these pursuers, that much effort’s only natural. You’re a murderer.”

“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 moment.

“Wait, you mustn’t take that off. “Like I told you before—don’t forget how to use that thing.” The man stopped Koyuki as she tried to remove the golden mask and cloak. There had been that strange instruction too—why must she keep wearing this outfit that would make her a target for pursuers? “Alright, make sure you do it right.” “I’ve got my own work to do.” The man watched Koyuki’s motorboat begin emitting its roaring engine noise, then ran off along the shore like the wind—to who knows where.

Who was this armored samurai man? And who exactly was this person he called the leader? While these questions would gradually become clear as the story progressed, for now it sufficed to keep in mind two facts: that the man disguised as an armored samurai had remained inside the art museum since the previous night, and that he had been silently observing from a shadowed corner as Akechi Kogorō exposed both the counterfeit artifacts substituted for genuine ones and even deciphered the “A·L” symbol inscribed upon them.

Strange Breathing Apparatus

That their prey—whom they had been certain was trapped like a rat in a sack—had not only cut through the window's iron bars but now sought to escape in a motorboat readied in advance was a maneuver so daring that even the great Akechi Kogorō could never have foreseen it. As for the pursuing officers, confronted with this inexplicable marvel, they stood agape with astonishment. They clustered at the lakeshore, reduced to helplessly watching the boat shrink into the distance.

On the far, hazy opposite shore, scattered farmhouses could be seen; yet if the criminal were to land there, it would complicate matters. There was no proper road that could loop around the lakeshore to intercept.

“Are there any other motorboats besides that one?”

Akechi shouted.

“There’s one! There’s one!” “Look—it’s coming from over there!” “That’s a local fisherman’s boat!” The Marquis’s student retainer who had joined the pursuit shouted.

When they looked, by a stroke of good fortune, a small fishing boat equipped with a motor was approaching along the shore. The one operating it was a forty-year-old man who appeared to be a local fisherman, wearing a cotton-striped workman’s coat.

“Hey, lend me that boat for a moment.” “We’re chasing that motorboat!” “Official police business!”

When one detective shouted, the fisherman, startled to hear it was police business, promptly brought the boat before the group.

Those who boarded were the police chief, Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi Kogorō, two detectives, and the fisherman driver—a party of six in total.

“Even if it doesn’t look like much, this one’s got more horsepower. Overtaking that boat will be a cinch.” The fisherman began operating in a boastful manner, but by that time, a distance of about three chō had already opened between the two boats. Moreover, the lead boat had hidden behind a peninsula-like protruding landmass and temporarily vanished from sight. However, there was no fear of the criminal landing during that time. If they were to land there, a prefectural road ran right alongside it, making it the most conspicuous spot possible. For one thing, there was no chance for that. The pursuers’ boat reached a vantage point beyond the cape in the blink of an eye.

As they watched, the motorboat, having apparently changed direction behind the cape, plunged forward toward the center of the lake. The grotesque figure of Golden Mask crouching at the stern gleamed like a massive gold ingot.

An exhilarating pursuit across the lake.

The bow of the boat advanced, splitting the quiet surface cleanly in two. A spray so thick the entire boat vanished from sight. Two streaks of white spray trailing magnificent wakes. It was a life-and-death boat race. The fisherman’s boast had not been a lie. The disparity in engine power left no room for contest; the distance between the two vessels rapidly closed before their eyes. The two detectives had been specially permitted to carry pistols to prepare for Golden Mask’s ferocity. When their boat came within firing range, they raised their pistols high and threatened the fleeing craft.

“Hey! Stop the boat, or we’ll shoot you dead!” But Golden Mask on the boat remained motionless. Without so much as a glance to the side, staring fixedly ahead, he continued advancing at unrelenting full speed. No sooner had a plume of white smoke risen from the pursuers’ boat than the report of a gunshot carried across the lake surface. It was a deliberately missed warning shot that was fired.

Even so, the stubborn girl didn’t so much as glance back. She clung to the engine, so still she might as well have turned to stone. But look! The distance between the two boats closed in—twenty ken, ten ken, five ken. By the time they reached the center of the lake, the pursuers’ boat had 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. But...

“Ah! I’ve been had!” At the detective’s shrill scream, the startled group’s gazes snapped toward Golden Mask. What was this? There lay only the golden mask and cloak—an empty husk. Two planks stood upright, draped with that gilded mantle. It was Golden Mask’s signature ploy. The unmanned boat kept plowing mechanically along its set course.

Then, was there no one aboard this boat from the very beginning?

That wasn't possible. The pursuers had distinctly witnessed the golden figure moving within the boat when it left shore. Then had he plunged into mid-lake waters? That too proved unthinkable. Across this placid surface, any swimmer would've been instantly spotted. Had she somehow reached land? No opportunity for that existed.

In that case, had Koyuki transformed into a mermaid and vanished into the depths of the lake? Or had she turned into mist and evaporated high into the sky? There was no other explanation. Impossible.

“Ah! I had underestimated that girl too much. What terrifying cunning! Gentlemen, there’s no need to despair yet. Boatman—turn this boat back to that cape we passed earlier. Make haste!” Restraining the clamoring crowd, Akechi shouted.

The ownerless motorboat was tethered to the stern of the fishing vessel. Using it as a towed boat, they headed back in the direction they had come at full speed. Since no one—starting with the police chief—had any better ideas, Akechi’s proposal was adopted in silence. “Your idea wasn’t suggesting that the criminal came ashore from the shadow of that cape, was it?”

In the moving boat, Inspector Namikoshi pressed his inquiry.

“Of course, that’s impossible.” “Then?” “There remains only one method. But that’s not something a mere girl could have devised. Yet since we’ve no other way to explain this vanishing act—unnatural though it seems—we must accept they used it. ...This scheme wasn’t hers alone. The iron bars breached at the museum prove an accomplice exists. That scoundrel’s cunning let this fragile girl perform such daring theatrics.”

“An accomplice?” “Do you have any leads?” “It’s likely someone unknown to us.” “That scoundrel was hiding in the art museum’s darkness, waiting for his moment.” Indeed, the great detective’s conjecture pierced through the heavens. “But only Koyuki was confirmed aboard the motorboat.” “Then the accomplice...” “He completed his task and fled.” “Where did he go?” “That villain’s current location is what we must dread above all.”

Unfortunately, Akechi’s fears proved all too accurate. How this had come to pass would soon become clear.

Before long, the boat arrived at the shadow of the cape. Though called a shadow, from the center of the lake it was a place with an unobstructed view; from afar, it had been clear there was nothing unusual there.

“Mr. Akechi. “Your ideas truly elude the comprehension of us common folk.” “What exactly do you hope to achieve by bringing the boat all the way back here?” “Look! There’s not a single hiding place on land or water for even one person!” Though lacking any firm convictions himself, the Police Chief found himself compelled to antagonize this meddling amateur detective. Undaunted, Akechi directed the fishermen to maneuver the boat through the inlet shallows, fervently searching while pushing aside clusters of water plants.

“Ah! So you’re saying she drowned herself?” “Are you searching for that corpse?” The police chief mocked him yet again. Beyond the leaves of aquatic plants that densely covered the water’s surface lay an area where debris naturally collected—straw scraps and similar detritus floating everywhere. It was too shallow for drowning oneself, and even had a body sunk beneath these waters clouded by aquatic plants and debris, there would be no way to see through them from above.

“Alright, stop the boat. “…Does anyone have a thin piece of paper?” Akechi said something strange.

One of the detectives took out a very thin piece of tissue paper and handed it to Akechi. He tore it into narrow strips, leaned over the gunwale, and brought it close to the water’s surface. Surely he wasn’t planning to go fishing with tissue paper. “You there, what on earth is this superstitious ritual?” The situation was so utterly bizarre that even Inspector Namikoshi began to mock him. “Quiet, quiet. I’m about to show you a strange experiment.”

Akechi, with a deadpan expression, fluttered the slender strip of tissue paper toward the water’s surface. The onlookers, overwhelmed by Akechi’s outlandish gesture, fell silent and peered into the same stretch of water. “Look here. Among the water plants—do you see that slender bamboo tube poking up?” “What reaction will this show?” “If this works, it’ll be quite the diversion.” As he spoke, Akechi brought the paper strip directly above the cut end of the bamboo. Then, wonder of wonders, the paper strip began to dance with a steady rhythm, fluttering as if being blown upward from below and then drawn back down.

The bamboo stood upright in the water. Undoubtedly, some kind of gas was blowing out from beneath it. Surely it wasn't natural gas. Moreover, nothing else could match this rhythm. It was human breathing.

Even the obtuse people finally grasped the full extent of the situation. Ah, what a wretched struggle the fugitive had waged! The people shuddered, their hair standing on end, and for a time remained silent, exchanging pale-faced glances.

The Second Murder Needless to say, Koyuki’s mouth was pressed against the lower end of that jointless bamboo tube. In other words, she was clinging to a rock at the water’s bottom, concealing herself while continuing to breathe through the bamboo tube. Undoubtedly, this had been her scheme—to wait until the commotion subsided, then come ashore unnoticed and attempt escape under night’s cover. But even in spring, it was still mid-April! To think she had hidden underwater for hours—what recklessness! What desperation! Only a murderer tormented by visions of the gallows and driven half-mad could have performed such a feat.

“Alright, you stubborn wench! I’ll make you surface like this!”

The barbaric detective abruptly stretched out his hand and pressed down on the bamboo tube’s opening. He believed that by doing this, she would surface without difficulty, unable to endure the agony of being unable to breathe. But, ah, what terror must have gripped the criminal’s heart! Ten seconds, twenty seconds—even after a full minute passed, Koyuki did not surface. A horrifying struggle at the water’s bottom, her breathing completely cut off. She clung stubbornly to the bottom, not breathing like a pearl diver, driven by an unrelenting will to live.

“Got you now!” “How pitiful.”

Unable to endure the sheer misery any longer, Inspector Namikoshi shouted.

Even the barbaric detective had been wanting to let go by now. He took advantage of the Inspector’s words and freed the pitiful girl’s breathing.

But that was precisely the limit of Koyuki’s endurance at the bottom of the water. When the detective released his grip, almost simultaneously, the girl with disheveled hair surfaced from among the water plants.

The half-unconscious girl criminal was immediately hauled aboard the boat. “Ah! I can’t endure this anymore! Quickly—quickly—kill me!” Laid out on the boat’s floorboards, she thrashed her limbs and raved like one delirious, but at last, having spent her strength, she collapsed into silence. “If anything I say is incorrect, you must correct me.” “Do you understand?”

Akechi waited for the girl to regain consciousness and began a hurried interrogation aboard the boat. “You killed the young lady for Mr. Senju in England, didn’t you?” “Isn’t that right?” Koyuki feebly nodded. “In other words, before Mr. Senju went abroad, you had formed some deep connection with him while he was at the Marquis’s residence.” “That Mr. Senju will soon return to Japan and wed the young lady.” “You couldn’t endure that.” “I’m well aware that you’ve been sending letters frequently to Mr. Senju in London.” “The replies always defied your expectations.” “To put it plainly, you were cast aside by Mr. Senju.”

Koyuki once again nodded emphatically.

As previously stated, an engagement had been established between Mr. Senju and Princess Miko. “Due to your inherently fiery temperament, you finally plotted to eliminate your mistress, Miss Miko." "It wasn’t that you hated Miss Miko at all." “If you eliminated your rival, you believed Mr. Senju would return to you.” "For that plan to succeed, it was essential that your murder remain undetected." "It was an extremely difficult task." “Just at that moment, you had read a newspaper article about Golden Mask.” "So you conceived a terrifying plan." “Right? Isn’t that so?”

“And so, you obtained a wooden mask and mantle, pressed gold leaf onto them, and secretly crafted a golden costume. I’ve tracked down the very shop where you bought that gold leaf, you know. Then you impersonated Golden Mask—hiding in places like the forest—flashing glimpses of yourself to villagers. Once rumors spread that Golden Mask had appeared... The police squad was dispatched. But that fell perfectly into your hands. You’ve neatly accomplished your objective.”

Dear readers, this clarifies why Princess Miko, upon glimpsing Golden Mask’s true face the previous night, had cried out, "Ah! You—!"

“I heard the rumors, altered my appearance, and took lodging at Mr. Miyoshi’s house.” “I had thoroughly investigated everything, but between the French ambassador’s visit and that commotion with the anesthetic, I ended up making a terrible blunder.” “It wasn’t you who made me drink the anesthetic.” “Of course, you had nothing to do with replacing those Buddhist statues and paintings with counterfeits either.” “In other words, a far more significant case had suddenly come rolling in—one that dwarfs your murder.” “Well—do you find any inaccuracies in what I’ve said so far?”

Koyuki shook her head slightly.

“There, there. So I have no further questions regarding your murder charge.” “Your case is exceedingly, exceedingly simple compared to its appearance.” “But what I want to ask instead is about the other criminal you know.” “In other words, it’s the one who stole the Buddhist statues from the art museum.” “You must have seen that person.” “Right? You did see them, didn’t you?” Both Inspector Namikoshi and the police chief listened with growing astonishment to each word from Akechi Kogorō, as though magnetically drawn in. Akechi himself intended to relay the truth in this manner to those concerned.

Seeing Koyuki nod, Akechi continued speaking.

“The reason I came to harbor such suspicions is none other than your remarkably skillful escape earlier.” “Such an orderly and extraordinary feat could never have been carried out by your own planning alone.” “There must have been someone guiding you.” “Why would he go to such lengths to ensure your escape?” “There can be no other explanation.” “Because you witnessed his crimes.” “Because he feared desperately that if you stood trial, his own misdeeds would be exposed in the process.” “Correct?” “Now then, tell me plainly—who is this other culprit? How did they infiltrate the art museum? Describe exactly what you saw.”

But Koyuki remained silent. Was she gathering her thoughts? Or perhaps she lacked even the strength to speak?

Just at that moment, the boat owner—a fisherman crouching at the stern—let out a shrill cry.

“Ah! Something strange is floating this way!”

The startled group stood up and peered over the gunwale to find something resembling a paper holder floating there. As one detective reached out and picked it up, it was a man’s leather wallet, still barely wet. The group wondered how a man’s wallet—not Koyuki’s possession, and containing a considerable sum—had come to drift here, but this was no time for scrutinizing a wallet.

Akechi squatted again by Koyuki’s side and continued his crucial questioning.

“Now, Miss Koyuki—even a few broken words will do—please answer my questions.” “The reason I began questioning in such haste here on this boat—seemingly constrained as I am—is because I needed to uncover the other culprit’s identity without delay.” “Once we return ashore, there’s no telling what interference might arise.” “As for that other villain—judging by the cunning methods he used to advise you—he’s a terrifyingly sharp-witted schemer.” “Now, you—I implore you.” “To atone for your sins, speak just one word.” “With a single word from you, we could prevent a horrific crime—unprecedented in history—before it takes root!” “I beg you.” “Miss Koyuki.” “……Oh? What’s the matter?” “You must pull yourself together now!”

By the time Akechi, startled, shook Koyuki’s shoulders, she had already become a lifeless corpse—like a rubber doll devoid of any response. Her death was an all-too-suspicious sudden demise.

“What’s going on?” “I thought she’d calmed down quite a bit, but something feels off.” Inspector Namikoshi was the first to voice suspicion. The people gazed wordlessly at the pitiful girl’s corpse, gripped by an indescribable anxiety—as though something might attack them from behind.

“Ah! Blood.” “Blood is flowing.”

Someone shouted. Looking, they saw crimson liquid seeping out from Koyuki’s limp back and flowing down to the boat’s bottom. Akechi, with the help of a detective, lifted the corpse.

“Who did it?” “Who killed Koyuki?!”

Two or three people shouted simultaneously. Something nearly impossible had occurred. Koyuki had been killed. In her back—around where her heart would be—a jackknife was buried up to the hilt. From the wound, blood dripped in thick drops through her soaked kimono. When they had pulled her up from the water, of course no such knife had been stabbed into her. In the mere ten-odd minutes since she had been laid in the boat, someone—unknown, like a sorcerer—had pulled off this murder.

However, everyone aboard the boat was someone whose identity was known—four police officers, Akechi Kogorō, and the boat owner, a fisherman. Which one among them had killed Koyuki—at what moment, and for what grudge?

Even so, there was not a soul to be seen on the water outside. No matter how impossible it seemed, the culprit was undoubtedly one of the six. Then, could it be…

Gradually, gradually, a certain shocking truth began to rise in the people’s minds.

The Terrifying Water Trap

Strange, strange—aside from the police officers, Akechi Kogorō, and the fisherman who owned the boat, there was no one else aboard. The location lay in mid-lake waters far from shore. Something utterly impossible had occurred.

A vague, unthinkable notion began to well up in the stunned onlookers’ chests. If perhaps, if perhaps... They shuddered in horror at their own macabre imaginings.

And suddenly, an engine’s roar resounded across the lake surface. Simultaneously, Akechi’s shout erupted. As the people whirled around, their eyes beheld a bizarre spectacle—the motorboat that had been towing their vessel was now speeding away at a tremendous rate, putting distance between them. At the helm was the fisherman who should have been their boat’s owner—when had he moved over? “Damn it! That bastard! “That bastard killed her!”

Outwitted, Akechi Kogorō—his expression terrifyingly furious—rushed to the engine and began steering it. Once again, a pursuit unfolded across the lake. “He’s the thief’s accomplice. He was also the one who coached Koyuki. Since that alone wasn’t enough to feel secure, he obtained a fisherman’s boat, disguised himself as its owner, pretended to be an ally, and kept watch on us. And when Koyuki was discovered and began to speak—he couldn’t bear it—so he stabbed her to death.”

Akechi snarled at Inspector Namikoshi as he continued steering. “When did he manage to…” “Can’t you see that?” Akechi’s temper exploded. “The trick was in that wallet earlier. “Wasn’t it that bastard who pointed out the floating wallet? “He threw in his own, of course. “Then he kept our attention there while swiftly committing the murder.” When stated aloud, they realized everyone had indeed gathered on one side of the boat during that moment—picking up the wallet and examining its contents—leaving Koyuki unattended for a time. During those moments, stabbing her unnoticed hadn’t been entirely impossible.

Even as they shouted at each other, the boat rapidly gained speed and closed in on the thief’s motorboat.

“Don’t worry—our speed is greater. “We’ll have that thief in our grasp in the blink of an eye.”

The police chief proudly shouted something similar to what the fisherman had declared earlier. Wait—something was wrong. That opponent must have known perfectly well our pursuit boat was faster. Why would they attempt such an escape when they knew we'd overtake them right before our eyes? This was no ordinary thief prone to such miscalculations. He was dangerous—they couldn't afford carelessness. Akechi abruptly realized this.

He continued gripping the helm and glanced around the boat for no particular reason. It was because he had been struck by an indescribable unease. Then—Ah! What was happening? In the bottom of the boat, nearly two and a half inches of water had already flooded in, sloshing with an ominous sound. In their frenzy, not a single soul had 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 it and burst into commotion, groping through the water to inspect the boat’s bottom. “This is bad—" “There’s a huge hole!” “Isn’t there something to plug it with?” The detective discovered the 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 had already begun wetting the cuffs of their trousers. “Here! “Use this to plug it!” Akechi swiftly removed his haori and flung it.

The detective frantically tried to roll it up and plug the leak. But it was already too late. The water, gushing up with force equivalent to the weight of six people, could not be stopped by makeshift plugging materials. Amid the commotion, the flooding had already reached the boat’s midpoint, and the vessel was sinking moment by moment. The engine was still running, but with the vessel now weighed down, its speed was halved. The location was the very center of a lake of unknowable depth. Those who could swim and those who could not alike turned pale and let out a sudden, eerie scream.

"Damn it! That bastard's trap!" "You fool!" *You imbecile!* *Ahh—what a complete idiot I am!* Akechi grabbed his tangled mop of hair in frustration. Then came distant laughter—the thief's maniacal cackle carrying across the water. He'd lured their boat deep into the lake's heart before veering sharply eastward toward shore. Waving one arm high like a showman taking his bow，he laughed until his shoulders shook，that brassy guffaw echoing over dark waves． The fiend had rigged their vessel with flooding devices beforehand，pulling plugs during his escape like some macabre stagehand．

However, the pursuers had no time to resent the thief’s mockery. The boat had already sunk completely. The police chief with his imposing gold-braided epaulets, Inspector Namikoshi—hailed as the demon inspector—and even the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō were all reduced to such a pitiful state. 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—all they could manage to continue their pitiful gasps for air. But even that would not last long. Except for Akechi, a skilled swimmer, the others were in a pitiful state—on the verge of exhaustion and uncertain of what would become of them.

The Renowned Detective’s Stomachache

In hindsight, it was an utterly absurd spectacle. But in that moment, it was a matter of life and death. The police dignitaries, forgetting themselves, clung to the gunwale as they gazed resentfully at the distant shore and cried out plaintively in unison, "If only a rescue boat would come!"

But soon,

"Oh, a boat! It's a rescue boat!" At someone's shout, they turned to see a small boat approaching from the direction of the Marquis's residence, the roar of its engine growing louder.

As it drew closer, they realized that the boat carried the police officers they had left behind. They must have located another fishing boat, formed a second squad to pursue the phantom thief, and come to assist.

In the end, the group was rescued onto the boat without harm, having only felt a slight chill of disappointment. Koyuki’s corpse hadn’t even had time to drift away. When they looked for the thief, they saw that amid the commotion, he had already abandoned the motorboat on the eastern shore of the lake and gone ashore. Needless to say, the police squad advanced toward that location. Akechi and the five others were drenched rats, but they couldn’t afford to care about that. With no moment to catch their breath—pursuit after pursuit—they could not endure a single minute without arresting the fiendish thief, whose crimes had piled high with resentment.

In the blink of an eye, the group that had reached the shore began vying to be the first to disembark.

“Hey, there’s something written on this scrap of paper here. That bastard might’ve left it for us to read.”

Inspector Namikoshi was the first to discover it. When they looked, there was a single piece of paper inside the motorboat. 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... Akechi Kogorō—it’s you! I never had any intention to kill. First and foremost, our leader abhors the sight of blood above all else. After going to such lengths to help Koyuki escape, you should’ve realized I meant no harm. But because of your damned meddling, I was forced to take drastic measures. Withdraw at once. If you refuse, I won’t hold back anymore. Next time, you’re the target.

On it, scrawled in pencil, were written these words. The drenched group borrowed coats from those who had arrived later and changed into them. It made for a bizarre makeshift appearance—a temporary solution at best. Akechi meticulously folded the thief’s letter and slipped it into the pocket of his borrowed coat.

To one side lay mountains; to the other, a winding, narrow path overlooking the lake that snaked into the distance. Turning right would take them over the mountains for two ri—about eight kilometers—to Ashio, while turning left would lead down to Nikko through the nearby C’s inn district. There were only two choices; beyond these, no escape route existed whatsoever.

As they were puzzling over which way the thief had fled down that road, a country woman approached from the left. She was a forty-year-old woman who looked like a woodcutter’s wife. “Hey! Didn’t a man who looked like a fisherman pass through here just now? Didn’t you cross paths with him?”

When Inspector Namikoshi asked,

“He passed by,” “Bumped right into me, didn’t even say sorry—just hurried off down the path.” “Ain’t never seen that fella around these parts, I tell ya.” “That’s him. How long ago’d he pass by?” “Where’d he bump into you?”

“Right there, at that spot. “He collided with me at that mountain bend, so he ain’t gone far yet.”

“Alright, men, let’s give chase. “The road’s a straight shot.” “And ahead lies a busy town.” “He’s not getting away now!” Inspector Namikoshi, in the bizarre getup of a borrowed suit jacket and nothing but his underpants, shouted valiantly. Having worked his way up from a detective constable, he had often pursued criminals disguised as craftsmen or laborers, and he was not one to fuss over appearances in the line of duty.

Three detectives and Akechi joined the ranks of the valiant pursuers. The police chief and the remaining people were to head to C by boat ahead of time. When they rounded the mountain corner, a straight road with an unobstructed view stretched for two or three blocks. But there was no longer any sign of the thief there. As the five of them ran breathlessly forward, a snot-nosed kid was playing against the embankment. When they described the thief’s appearance and asked just to be sure, the boy answered that the man had passed through there moments earlier.

Rounding the mountain bends and running another two or three blocks—Ah! There he was. Far ahead, a man built like a fisherman was hurrying along hurriedly. From the striped pattern of his kimono to his stature and the cloth covering his cheeks—it was unmistakably the same villain as before. “If he notices us, it’ll be trouble,” “Since there are no roads branching off toward C along the way, there’s no need to rush.” “Let’s follow him while keeping out of sight.”

Inspector Namikoshi restrained the impatient detectives in a low voice. "My stomach has started to ache. "I can't walk another step. "I'm sorry, but please handle the rest."

Akechi suddenly said something strange.

“That’s a problem. Are you alright? Can you make it back to where the boat was earlier?” “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 all the way 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 definitely arrest the thief and bring you good news.”

The group continued advancing, leaving Akechi behind. To recount the details of the journey would be tedious. In the end, Inspector Namikoshi’s squad drove the thief into C’s automobile terminal. It was as good as an arrest.

The thief sat hunched over in a dim corner of the terminal, bowing his head so deeply that the tip of his nose nearly touched his knees, trying to keep his face hidden from passersby. With Inspector Namikoshi leading the way, the whole group clattered noisily into the place. As the thief, startled by the footsteps, looked up, he and Inspector Namikoshi at the front suddenly found themselves face to face at a distance of just a foot or two. “Um, may I ask ya somethin’? If I wait here, will the bus for Nikko come by?”

The man, whom they had been convinced was none other than the thief, addressed the Inspector in an utterly foolish tone. No, no— The clothing was the same, but the face was completely different. He was a genuine country bumpkin. The entire group of pursuers let out an “Ah!” and stood there, their mouths agape. But no matter how they scrutinized them, the kimono and the cloth covering his cheeks were undoubtedly the thief’s. When they inquired about it, it was nothing of the sort. After disembarking from the boat, the thief led a passing traveler into a mountain thicket, offered him a gold pocket watch he had concealed in his money belt as thanks, devised a clever pretext to exchange their entire outfits, then dashed off in the opposite direction of the traveler. That was how it had happened.

“I swear I didn’t mean no harm, so please let me off the hook! If ya want, I’ll give back this here gold watch, here ya go.” The country bumpkin, upon realizing they were police officers, turned pale and began bowing frantically. Ah! Now they understood. Akechi Kogorō had developed a stomachache to avoid witnessing this disgrace. He had vaguely understood that at the time. “You’re being underhanded. If you knew, why didn’t you tell us?”

Later, when Inspector Namikoshi grumbled about this, Akechi— “Well, it’s not like I had any real certainty.” “If it hadn’t been a counterfeit, it would have been serious.” “It’s just that I didn’t like the look of his retreating figure, that’s all.” “Besides, someone like me wouldn’t be much help in capturing him anyway.” he said with a laugh. Of course, they immediately sent telegrams to every police station in the direction the thief had fled, requesting his arrest, but no matter where they searched or how much time passed, there were no reports of his whereabouts.

The Love of Golden Mask

Thus, the great manhunt at Lake C came to an end without yielding any results. The culprit behind Princess Miko, the daughter of the Marquis, was identified. But even that culprit, Koyuki, met a tragic end because of that mysterious thief.

The tragic deaths of two beauties. The theft of ancient art objects comparable to national treasures. But neither the true identity of the monstrous Golden Mask nor even the whereabouts of his subordinates could ultimately be uncovered, despite the efforts of renowned detective Akechi Kogorō. It goes without saying that the newspapers sensationalized this prime social material with great fanfare. Therefore, not only Tokyo but all of Japan—men and women of all ages—trembled in fear at the rumors of this unprecedented fiendish thief.

Ten days passed without any new developments, but during that time, rumors bred more rumors, and terrified people frequently mistook withered pampas grass for monsters. In the dim interior of an antique shop, a single glaringly bright golden Buddha statue stood among peeling and dilapidated ones. When someone remarked that it might have been Golden Mask, the rumor spread from one person to another as though it were certain.

On another occasion, a commotion even arose at Ueno’s Imperial Museum when a cleaning woman fainted. One evening near closing time, while cleaning a display room filled with Buddhist statues, she hallucinated a life-sized gilded Buddha statue swaying unsteadily toward her. Convinced it was none other than Golden Mask, she let out a shriek and fainted on the spot. Be that as it may, it was on a certain day near the end of April that they discovered the real Golden Mask was plotting his third crime.

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 rented his quarters.

Since this marks the first time we describe the residence of our protagonist Akechi Kogorō, some explanation may be necessary; he had moved to this apartment shortly after resolving the *Spider Man* case, abandoning his uneconomical hotel residence, and for a bachelor like him, this arrangement proved both more comfortable and convenient than maintaining a household. He rented 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 as well, out of sheer boredom, he was resting his cheek on the large desk that doubled as a guest room table, puffing away at his cigarette, when suddenly a knock came at the door and an unfamiliar old man entered. With his reading glasses, salt-and-pepper beard, and impeccably pressed haori and hakama, he looked every bit a man from a bygone era.

The old man bowed courteously, then reverently presented a letter of introduction accompanied by a business card.

The business card read "Otori Kizaburo." It was the name of a famous tycoon. As he stared intently at the old man—certain this couldn’t be Mr. Otori himself—the visitor spoke: “I serve as steward of the Otori household. My name is Ogata.” He delivered this with formal precision. The letter of introduction, handwritten by a friend in the business world, simply requested his kind assistance in all matters. Though the old man had rambled at length, it proved mere preamble—he had ultimately come regarding a matter connected to the “Golden Mask” case.

At the mention of Golden Mask, Akechi’s face—which had been looking somewhat annoyed—suddenly tensed.

“Please tell me the details. First of all, why have you come to me instead of the police? Is there some special reason?” “That is precisely the matter. The truth is, a most delicate matter has arisen for the Otori household—one so deeply embarrassing that I find myself utterly at a loss for words.” The old man settled into a seat facing Akechi across the desk. This looks intriguing. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a bizarre doubt arose. Danger! This story about being the Otori steward is an outright lie—could this old man himself be Golden Mask’s accomplice? The note left in the motorboat had read: “Your turn is next.” That Akechi posed a significant obstacle to the thief went without saying. Forging a letter of introduction would be child’s play. This could very well be a scheme to lure him out and restrict his freedom to interfere.

Noticing this, Akechi abruptly grabbed a pencil and fluidly wrote some simple characters on the stationery atop the table—large enough for the old man to read clearly. As he wrote, he fixed the old man with a piercing gaze, intently scrutinizing his expression. The characters he had written formed a person's name—a name so utterly unexpected and outlandish that had readers been present, they would have let out an involuntary cry of astonishment at the sheer audacity of it belonging to such a truly extraordinary individual.

So, whose name had he written? As the story progresses, this will soon become clear; but this fact serves to corroborate the astonishing truth that Akechi had already discerned the true identity of Golden Mask at that time. The old man clearly saw Akechi's scribbling. If he were indeed part of the gang, there was no way he could have remained unfazed 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 away with such nonchalance.

“Please, go ahead and tell me.” “I have already come to trust you fully.”

When Akechi urged him, the old man finally began to address the main point, but since transcribing his manner of speech verbatim would be tedious, I decided to record only the gist of his account below.

Mr. Otori Kizaburo had two daughters in addition to his son. The eldest daughter, Fujiko, was twenty-two that year—a remarkably accomplished young lady who had graduated from a domestic girls' school and even spent two years studying in Europe under her diplomat uncle's supervision. With such unparalleled beauty combined with these credentials, she was celebrated as the undisputed belle of high society. Yet according to the steward's account, this same Fujiko had now commenced deeds so unspeakable they defied description.

The incident began one week ago tonight, when Miss Fujiko—who always obtained her mother’s permission and stated her destination before going out—suddenly disappeared at dusk and did not return until past midnight. Moreover, when she returned, she avoided meeting anyone and slipped quietly into her bedroom—a manner that was clearly far from ordinary. Naturally, her mother attempted to inquire about it indirectly the next day, but Fujiko could provide no clear response. As these incidents recurred nightly, they eventually reached her father’s ears. Unable to let it stand, he pressed her nearly to the point of reprimand—yet Fujiko obstinately refused to confess. And so, as a final measure, the steward Ogata was ordered to follow her.

On the first night, Miss Fujiko’s movements proved utterly unpredictable—leaping from automobiles one moment, winding through labyrinthine backstreets the next, then switching to different vehicles in improbable locations—until Ogata ultimately lost track of her midway. But the following night—that is, last night—his renewed determination paid off, allowing him to maintain his pursuit until the very end. The destination turned out to be an old Western-style mansion standing in desolate isolation at Togano-hara’s remote outskirts—a location and structure exuding an indefinably sinister air. As Ogata observed the automobile, Miss Fujiko alighted first, followed by another figure who nimbly dismounted and vanished into the mansion. In the faint reflection of headlights, he caught a fleeting glimpse of golden features and gilded garments—unmistakably the rumored Golden Mask.

The building had every window tightly sealed—not a sliver of light escaped, nor were there any gaps for peering inside—and the old steward, terrified out of his wits by that fleeting glimpse of the monstrous figure, fled home as if pursued and frantically reported the incident. Good heavens, what a scandal! For a daughter of the Otori family—no matter what demon possessed her—to attempt consorting with the fiend Golden Mask! But if that were all, it might have been overlooked—what proved far worse was that one day, when Mr. Otori entered the storehouse on business, he discovered the box containing the family heirloom *The Murasaki Shikibu Diary Scroll*, which had undeniably been there until days before, was now missing. Moreover, just two or three days prior, someone had witnessed Fujiko entering that storehouse without apparent purpose. Though they conducted thorough investigations, no other suspicious individuals could be found. The adversary was none other than Golden Mask, who clearly harbored an abnormal fixation on artworks. There could be no conclusion but that he had manipulated Fujiko into stealing it.

Thus, for Mr. Otori, even if it meant apprehending Golden Mask, he could not countenance his cherished daughter’s reputation being sullied. Yet this was no matter to be dismissed. After exhausting every deliberation, they resolved—guided by counsel from a household associate—to discreetly seek the wisdom of Akechi Kogorō, the celebrated amateur detective.

The Phantom Thief Appears “And despite all inquiries, does the young lady still refuse to speak?” “That is indeed so.” “Though ordinarily she comports herself with utmost gentleness, this time—I know not what has possessed her—she displays an obstinacy beyond all reason. One might think her transformed into another person entirely. The master finds himself quite at a loss.”

“It’s love.” “It’s the power of love.” “I understand perfectly.” “Even just learning about that thief’s recent movements has been extremely valuable to me.” “However, ensuring the young lady’s name remains unmentioned while dealing solely with Golden Mask and retrieving the scroll is quite a difficult task, isn’t it?” “But I’ll take the case.” “I’ll find a way to manage it.”

Upon hearing Akechi’s reassuring reply, Ogata Steward looked visibly relieved. “I was deeply concerned about how this might go, but having obtained your gracious consent, my master must be overjoyed.” “I too can breathe easy now.” “Oh! Now that I think of it—when I was coming here earlier, there was a gentleman at the entrance whom I did not recognize. He asked me to deliver this letter to you, but I quite forgot about it until now.”

The old man took out a small sealed letter from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Huh—that’s odd,” said Akechi. “They knew you’d be coming to see me?” “Precisely,” Ogata replied. “I found it most perplexing myself. When this person saw me, he declared abruptly—‘You’re headed to Mr. Akechi’s residence, aren’t you? Pardon my forwardness, but deliver this while you’re there’—and thrust the letter into my hands before I could refuse.” “What did he look like?” “Well—to describe him—a man of perhaps thirty-five or thirty-six years, dressed like a company clerk in Western attire.”

“Hmm, I have no idea either. Something’s off here. Well, let’s read it anyway.”

Akechi cut open the seal and spread out the enclosed letter. There, though brief, a terrifying message had been written. Mr. Akechi Regarding the matter of Miss Otori, your meddling is absolutely unnecessary. No, this isn’t limited to Miss Otori’s affair—I want you to withdraw entirely from what you call the Golden Mask case. I am the one commanding this. Refuse, and death awaits you. I do not take lives needlessly. But remember—my mercy makes exceptions when circumstances demand.

From your so-called Golden Mask Ah! What brazen swiftness! What shameless audacity! With cruel irony,the thief had entrusted this letter to none other than Miss Otori's own case petitioner. Ogata Steward stood simultaneously as both case client and bearer of its rejection demand. "You see?" "Mr.Ogata." "This exemplifies precisely what manner of monster we call Golden Mask."

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," Akechi said. "Detectives grow quite accustomed to seeing such scraps of paper. It's nothing to worry about." "But given these circumstances, your life..." Ogata stammered.

The old man stammered. “Ha ha… No, there’s no need for your concern.” “Ah, please wait a moment.” “I have something to show you.”

No sooner had he spoken than Akechi opened the door and vanished into the hallway. He showed no sign of returning. Even as he tried not to look, the old man's eyes kept drifting to the threatening letter on the desk. The more he reread it, the more an eerie quality seemed to seep from the very paper itself. Even for an old man, under such circumstances, he couldn't help becoming overly sensitive. The proof lay in how he didn't miss even the faint clatter from the adjacent bedroom, and how he began entertaining a cowardly delusion—like a frightened child or woman—that Golden Mask might be lurking just beyond that single door.

No, this wasn't a delusion. The thief had been right there at the bustling entrance all along. How could anyone assert Golden Mask wasn't lurking in the very room of the detective who hunted him? Come to think of it, there was definitely someone in the bedroom. That was certain. He was there. The moment this realization struck, Ogata felt an overwhelming urge to flee. Old man Ogata's eyes remained fixed on the bedroom door when he suddenly noticed it creeping open inch by inch. His delusion had taken physical form. Despite his advanced years, he barely suppressed a scream.

The door opened inch by inch, relentlessly. Then through the gap glared a golden light so intense it seemed to pierce the eyes. Ah—it was Golden Mask! That’s where he’d been hiding.

Before the eyes of the old man—who had instinctively half-risen from his chair to flee toward the corridor—the door burst open, revealing the monster’s fully exposed form. A golden mask with crescent-shaped lips laughed horribly. A loose golden mantle enveloped his body.

The old man’s hip muscles went numb, leaving him unable even to walk.

“Hee hee hee…”

The mouth of Golden Mask—split all the way to his ears—laughed with an eerie grin. “Hee hee… How about that, Mr. Ogata? What I wished to present… is this, you see.” “What? What did you say?” The old man still couldn’t grasp the situation. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry for startling you. It’s me. It’s me.” When the mask was removed, lo and behold—it wasn’t the phantom thief, but Akechi Kogorō’s face beaming with a smile. “In other words, I wanted to show you that I too have made preparations to this extent. Against a monster, we too must employ bold stratagems. I believe the day will surely come when even I must utilize this Golden Mask of my own.”

Upon hearing Akechi’s explanation, the old steward Ogata could not help but feel a different kind of astonishment.

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

The Sorcery of Love

Now, shifting our focus—what had transpired at the Ōtori residence during Ogata Steward’s absence?

Having confirmed Fujiko’s whereabouts through old man Ogata’s surveillance and realized her lover was none other than the dreaded Golden Mask, Mr. Ōtori sought Akechi Kogorō’s assistance while confining Fujiko in the innermost Western-style room to prevent any recurrence of her transgression. In one of two adjoining Western-style rooms stood a temporary bed, with Otoyo the wet nurse stationed inside and Aoyama the student guard posted in the hallway outside—the door locked from without—such were their precautions that even visiting the washroom required knocking from within for Aoyama to unlock it.

The entrance and exit was that single door alone. There were several windows, but each and every one was fitted with anti-burglar iron bars, rendering it absolutely impossible to sneak in from outside or escape from within. Mr. Ōtori would periodically inspect the room, attempting threats, coaxing pleas, and delivering moral lectures to sway his daughter’s feelings—but such was love’s fearsome power that the young lady had transformed into an obstinate stranger, offering not a single word in response.

“My Lady, to think I would live to see such sorrow… Truly, I feel as though I’m being tormented by a nightmare.” “This old nurse has no memory of raising such an audacious young lady.” “…If I may—My Lady, Miss Fujiko.” “Oh! After all I’ve told you—My Lady, Miss Fujiko—does none of it reach your ears?”

The one doing the pleading was the wet nurse Otoyo, who had been saddled with the sorrowful duty of standing guard. Fujiko sank into the large sofa, staring fixedly into space without moving a muscle, sulking in stubborn silence. Pencil-thin long eyebrows, double eyelids with lashes that cast shadows, a pert upturned nose, full cheeks, lips like camellia petals—her face was deathly pale, and because she pressed her head so fiercely against the chairback, her luxuriant bobbed hair had been cruelly disheveled.

"My Lady, you have been possessed by a demon." "You’ve lost your mind." "My Lady, please pull yourself together properly." "Oh! How can such a thing be allowed?" Otoyo persisted in voicing her opinions in her old-fashioned, tedious manner. "Nanny, that’s enough—more than enough!" "Please just leave me alone." "You couldn’t possibly understand how I feel." Finally, Fujiko snapped in a cold, reproachful voice.

“Oh! So you’re still saying you can’t bring yourself to abandon that dreadful man?” Otoyo, startled, her eyes flashing, pressed in on the young lady. “You—do you even know how magnificent he is?” Miss Fujiko calmly uttered words that would leave Otoyo utterly astonished. Sure enough, the wet nurse shed tears copiously. “Oh! What on earth are you saying? How dare you… How dare you say such things! Until this very day, I—your wet nurse—had not the slightest… not the slightest inkling that My Lady could be such a wanton creature!”

The loyal Otoyo, beside herself with grief, pleaded through tears. "Ohoho, Nanny... It's because you don't know him." Miss Fujiko uttered increasingly terrifying words. "No matter how stubborn you are, if you knew what kind of person he is, you'd surely be surprised and would undoubtedly praise 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 colossus that every woman in the world yearns for with such fervent longing!"

As she gazed upon Fujiko’s enraptured, dreamlike expression, Otoyo sobbed all the more violently. "Oh! Whether such a thing could be possible or not... It's sheer madness." "You’ve lost your mind." “Oh yes, you most certainly have!” “Then by all means, go on thinking about that dreadful fellow to your heart’s content.” “In return, until your mind changes, this old nurse won’t take a single step out of this room.”

“Ohoho, you’ve started saying the same things as Father too, haven’t you?” Surprisingly, Miss Fujiko remained unfazed. “But that’s no good. No matter how tightly you secure the locks or post guards, such things won’t be the slightest hindrance to him. Just you wait and see. He will surely come to fetch me any moment now.” “What did you say?” Otoyo let out a shrill scream. “That fiend—that golden specter—is coming here to fetch you? Are you in your right mind saying such things? That door is locked, you know. And Mr. Aoyama—that Mr. Aoyama with his second-degree judo skills—is standing guard in the hallway, you know.”

“Oh, by all means, make it as secure as possible.” “The more difficult it becomes, the more his extraordinary skills will stand out—that’s precisely why.” “You called him a golden specter, didn’t you?” “He might just be a specter.” “Superhumans are always mistaken for either gods or specters, you know.” “But what a splendid specter he is!” “Golden Mask!” “Even just hearing that name—Golden Mask!—makes my heart race.”

Ah, what madness was this?! Could it be that Miss Fujiko, the only daughter of the Otori family, had finally lost her mind? Even if one were not Otoyo the wet nurse, who could possibly think this was the act of a sane mind? “I’m thirsty. Nanny, please make some tea and bring it here.”

After a short while, Miss Fujiko made a carefree request, utterly oblivious to the mood around her. “So you’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?” “No! No! It won’t work.” “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 wet nurse was no fool either. When she pressed the pillar’s call bell, footsteps soon sounded in the hallway, and a maid’s voice came from outside the door. “Tell her to bring two cups of tea.” “You must be thirsty too.”

“Why, I’ll join you for tea, of course.” Otoyo, in a tone of half-hearted resignation, relayed Miss Fujiko’s instructions to the maid waiting outside the door.

After a short while, the door was unlocked with student Aoyama’s key, and the maid entered, placed a tray of black tea on the table, and departed. It goes without saying that the door was locked again.

“Nanny, it’s dark.” Miss Fujiko signaled to Otoyo with her eyes.

Indeed, as dusk deepened, night stealthily crept into the room.

“Oh! How careless of me.” “Do pardon me.”

Otoyo stood up and pressed the switch on one wall. The room flashed brightly. But in that split second while Otoyo faced the wall, Miss Fujiko performed an odd act. She withdrew a small paper packet from her pocket, opened it, poured its white powder into one teacup, and stirred it briskly with a spoon. Otoyo remained completely unaware of this. When she returned to her chair, the young lady had already raised the teacup to her lips.

“Here, you drink too.” After all, she was the young lady she had raised since childhood. Even amid their heated quarrel, Otoyo—unaware of everything—teared up at what she mistook for Fujiko’s lingering concern for her wet nurse. As instructed, she picked up the teacup laced with white powder and drank it all down, her throat parched in truth.

For about thirty minutes more, the wet nurse repeated her arguments, but this time Miss Fujiko listened quietly without protest. And then, seizing the moment when the wet nurse’s chatter briefly faltered,

“I’m getting sleepy.”

she said abruptly.

“Oh my, hasn’t it only just gotten dark? And we haven’t served your dinner yet.” Otoyo’s tear-streaked face managed a faint smile, as though she wanted to say, “How utterly innocent.”

“But I’m exhausted, and being confined like this leaves me no choice but to go to bed.” “And I’m not even slightly hungry.” Miss Fujiko said dismissively in a sweetly pleading tone, then briskly entered the bedroom. (For thoroughness, it should be noted that this bedroom had no door connecting to the hallway; to exit, one still needed to use the sole entrance through the living room.)

With a click, the dim bedside lamp was turned on. As she watched, Miss Fujiko swiftly changed into a single undergarment, donned a black lace nightcap over her bobbed hair, and burrowed into bed. Otoyo, taken aback by this innocent act yet finding it rather endearing, could only sit back down in her chair and faithfully resume her guard duty.

However，within ten or twenty minutes of this，something strange began to occur．That loyal，stubborn old woman Otoyo had，for some reason，irresponsibly begun to nod off repeatedly．Ah，now it was clear—now it was clear！What Miss Fujiko had put into the tea earlier was undoubtedly a sleeping drug．Otherwise，there was no reason for the wet nurse—unparalleled in her loyalty—to do something like dozing off．

Even so, why on earth would Miss Fujiko do something so utterly foolish? Even if she managed to put only Otoyo in the room to sleep, the door remained locked, and outside in the hallway, Aoyama—proud of his judo skills—stood vigilant. No, it wasn’t just that. For Miss Fujiko to escape this room, she would have had to pass through numerous rooms and corridors before reaching either the main entrance or the back door. There were strict checkpoints everywhere. Even if one wet nurse were asleep, it was utterly futile—this much was clear.

But, dear readers, you must not let your guard down simply because of that. Miss Fujiko had the terrifying Golden Mask as her formidable ally. A monster akin to a magician. There was no telling what he might devise. Through some mysterious trickery, what seemed utterly impossible might be accomplished. Were this not so, there would be no reason for Miss Fujiko to believe so utterly that he would come to rescue her thus.

Demonic Sorcery

About half an hour later, Aoyama, the student guard who had been diligently keeping watch in the outer corridor, noticed the familiar door being knocked upon from the inside with a steady *tap-tap*. He thought the wet nurse Otoyo was calling him, approached the door, and tried to ask what she wanted.

Then, unexpectedly, Miss Fujiko’s voice came from within. “Aoyama? Hurry and open this door!” “It’s an emergency!” “The wet nurse! She’s—she’s—” The panicked tone of her voice could only mean something terrible was happening. Startled and with no time to think, Aoyama hurriedly turned the key and tried to open the door. However, strangely enough, someone inside seemed to be holding the knob; the door had barely opened an inch or two when it slammed shut with a bang.

At the same moment, Aoyama turned deathly pale, awkwardly bracing himself as he began slowly backing away. He saw something monstrous. Through the narrow inch-or-two gap of the barely opened door, a glinting golden something peered in. The one holding the knob from inside was—utterly unexpected—none other than the fiendish thief Golden Mask; how on earth had he slipped in? But true to having been entrusted as a guard, the stubbornly tenacious Aoyama—though turning deathly pale and clenching his teeth—did not abandon his post and flee.

“Who’s there?!” “Who are you?!”

From about six feet away, he glared at the door—clenching his fist, ready to unleash his signature strike at a moment’s notice—and mustered every ounce of his voice to roar. But the monster remained terrifyingly silent. Miss Fujiko would naturally welcome the thief and intend to escape with him, but there ought to be another person in the room besides them—Otoyo, who was supposed to be keeping watch. It was strange that Otoyo wasn’t making a sound. Had she already suffered some horrible ordeal at the hands of the fiend? The thought left even the stalwart Aoyama feeling ill at ease.

At last, the door began to creak open. Through the narrow gap, what glittered like long golden threads was unmistakably the Golden Mask’s costume. As the gap gradually widened, the golden threads rapidly thickened into a golden pillar. In the upper portion was visible what was undoubtedly the famous Golden Mask. His narrow eyes and the ends of his crescent-moon-shaped, eerie lips were twisted into a chilling grin. Aoyama, barely restraining his sudden urge to flee,

“You bastard!” With a shout, he charged blindly toward the monster. But Golden Mask showed no alarm at this greenhorn’s assault. Without a word, he slowly extended the pistol barrel through the door’s gap.

“Ah!” Aoyama recoiled. Seizing that instant, the monster flung the door wide open and burst into the hallway with ferocious energy. With lightning-fast swiftness, he slipped past Aoyama and dashed toward the entrance.

“Someone, come quick! A thief! A thief!” “A thief! A thief!” Aoyama chased after the monster while shouting in a voice that echoed through the entire house.

From every room, Mr. Otori—the master of the house—alongside student guards and others came flooding out, but upon seeing the golden monster dashing like the wind with a pistol in hand, they all recoiled in terror. Not a single soul blocked his path. As though traversing a realm devoid of people, the thief vanished beyond the gates at last. Undaunted, 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 an automobile waiting for him.

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 abducting Fujiko and escaped with his life. Fujiko was safe. However, Mr. Otori—setting aside the pursuit of the thief—could not rest without first confirming his beloved daughter’s safety.

He hurriedly rushed to the room from which the thief had earlier fled.

However, when he went to check, what on earth had happened? The key lookout—the wet nurse Otoyo—was leaning against her chair dozing nonchalantly, her head bobbing drowsily. “Granny! Granny!” “What’s happened?”

When Mr. Otori shook her awake, Otoyo finally opened her eyes and began glancing around restlessly.

“What about Fujiko? “Is Fujiko safe?”

“Oh? My Lady, you say?” The wet nurse answered in a groggy voice. “If it’s My Lady you’re asking about, she’s resting in the next room.” “Look, see for yourself—there she is, sleeping soundly.”

When he looked where Otoyo was pointing, there in the bed beyond the wide-open door lay Fujiko, fast asleep. “Ah, so Fujiko was unharmed after all,” Mr. Otori let out a sigh of relief. “Oh my, could it be I was dozing off?” Otoyo finally seemed to notice this and exclaimed in a shrill voice.

“That’s right. It’s hardly fitting for someone like you,” Mr. Otori rebuked. “So you had no idea Golden Mask had sneaked into this room?” “What? What do you mean?” Otoyo shrilled back. “That monster was in this room? Is that truly what happened?” The wet nurse found it hard to believe—indeed, who could credit such an impossibility? Every window remained securely locked from within, protected by sturdy iron bars outside. Not one showed signs of tampering. The sole entrance door had been both locked and guarded by Aoyama himself—unlike Otoyo, he hadn’t been drugged into oblivion. How then had that fiend breached this fortress-like chamber? There was no explanation save fairy-tale demonology: as though some storybook devil had materialized from thin air. What unholy sorcery was this?

Just as Mr. Otori and Otoyo stood blankly with looks of utter bewilderment, old man Ogata—who had returned home at that very moment—came rushing in with flustered haste. “Ah, I was a step too late. Fortunately, I obtained Mr. Akechi’s gracious consent and had the honor of accompanying him here, but we missed the crucial moment by mere seconds,” he said breathlessly. “A most regrettable failure on my part. However, My Lady appears to have suffered no harm.” “Ah,” Mr. Otori replied, glancing toward the adjacent room. “Fujiko must have been utterly exhausted—see how soundly she sleeps there.”

Thereupon, Ogata Steward ushered Akechi, who had been waiting in the corridor, into the room and introduced him to his master, Mr. Otori. Once the greetings concluded, Mr. Otori recounted the night’s events in some detail for Akechi’s benefit. Around that time, Aoyama the student also returned after abandoning his pursuit of the thief, so after questioning him on two or three unclear points, Akechi spoke with a meaningful smile. “So Golden Mask imitated the young lady’s voice and made you open this door, Aoyama?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other possibility.”

Aoyama answered. "For someone of Golden Mask's stature..." Akechi began in an ironic tone.

“Would someone of Golden Mask’s caliber do something so absurd? Isn’t it strange that he’d reveal himself clearly enough for Aoyama to recognize him at a glance before accomplishing his objective, only to flee abruptly? Would he truly be such a fool as to painstakingly sneak into this room merely to escape?”

“However, if we speak of mysteries, there’s an even greater one.” “How on earth did the thief manage to sneak into this completely entrance-less room?” Mr. Otori said, as if trying to read the famous detective’s expression. “There is only one possible explanation. "That is to say, I believe the thief never once infiltrated this room." Akechi came out with a truly outlandish statement. "If he didn't infiltrate, how could he have escaped?"

The honest Aoyama, startled, asked the obvious question. “One who did not infiltrate cannot escape.” Akechi answered enigmatically. “By the way, was there no one else in the room besides the young lady at that time?” “The woman called Otoyo here was serving as the lookout.” Mr. Otori answered. “So she didn’t see anything?” “But in her carelessness, she was dozing off and says she knows nothing about it.”

“What? She was dozing off?!”

Akechi’s near-shout caused everyone to instinctively turn their gaze toward Miss Fujiko’s adjacent room. They worried whether the loud voice had woken her up. “Even though dusk has barely fallen, isn’t it strange for an elderly person to doze off? “Ah, there’s a teacup here. “Ms. Otoyo, did you drink from this too?”

When the wet nurse answered that she had drunk it, Akechi took the teacup in hand, peered inside for a moment, then set it down on the table with a loud clatter. The group, startled once more, looked toward the adjacent room.

Whether it was his earlier exclamation or his current gesture, Akechi appeared to be intentionally making a terrible commotion for some reason. "Has even the young lady been drugged?" "Yet despite our watching all this time, she hasn't moved a muscle, has she?"

Upon hearing this, Mr. Otori looked startled and stared at Akechi’s face.

For the terrifying thought had suddenly crossed his mind - what if Fujiko had been murdered?

“If my deductions are not mistaken, all the mysteries lie concealed within that bed.” No sooner had Akechi spoken than—disregarding the others’ astonishment—he strode briskly into the young lady’s bedroom, circled around to the far side of the bed, and rudely peered down at Miss Fujiko’s sleeping face.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Magnificent, magnificent! We’ve been thoroughly duped by the young lady. The thief neither infiltrated nor escaped.”

Was Akechi out of his mind? Not only had he entered the young woman’s bedroom, but now he was guffawing raucously at her bedside! Moreover, what he was saying made no sense whatsoever. “What’s wrong with Fujiko?”

Mr. Otori, pale with worry, entered the bedroom. “There’s nothing wrong with her.” “Look here.” “This is it.” No sooner had he spoken than Akechi suddenly yanked Miss Fujiko’s head out from the sheets. “Wh-What are you doing?!” At the very moment Mr. Otori shouted in surprise, Fujiko’s head tumbled down beneath the bed.

"Gah!" A scream rang out. Realizing that something utterly extraordinary had occurred, the entire group rushed into the bedroom one after another.

Aoyama picked up Miss Fujiko’s head. “It’s nothing! “It’s just this thing.” What he held in his hand was not the blood-drenched human head people had imagined, but merely a fake of Miss Fujiko’s head—a soft pillow rolled into shape, with a black nightcap pulled deep over it. Because it had been facing away under the dim electric light in the bedroom, no one had noticed it was counterfeit until now. When they checked for the torso, they found a rolled-up futon lying beneath the blanket.

“So Fujiko was that…” Mr. Otori stood dumbfounded, his mouth agape. “That’s correct. The one who escaped from here wasn’t the real Golden Mask, but Miss Fujiko herself in a daring disguise—having borrowed the thief’s mask and costume.” Akechi explained with a knowing smile.

“Of course, this wasn’t the young lady’s own idea. All of this is the scheme of Golden Mask lurking in the shadows. He must have given the young lady a golden costume, soft hat, anesthetic, and pistol in advance, devising the plan for her to run away. Ms. Otoyo dozed off because the sleeping drug took effect. The young lady used that opportunity to prepare this dummy head on the bed, put on the golden costume, donned the mask and hat, took up the pistol, and knocked on the door. The voice Mr. Aoyama heard at that time was unmistakably the young lady’s own.”

Ah, what a splendid trick it was. The fiendish thief Golden Mask’s ability to take people by surprise was precisely as such. The people stood motionless, holding their breath for a time. “Though she’s my own child, I never imagined she could be such a fool.” At length, Mr. Otori said with a look of dismay. “Fujiko has been bewitched by a demon.” “However far she may have fallen, she remains my only daughter.” “If we leave things as they are, I could never face my late wife.” “Though it may seem pitiful, I must search for my daughter’s whereabouts and bring her back.” “Mr. Akechi, there is no one but you whose strength I can entrust this to.”

“Understood,” “Even without your request, Golden Mask remains my sworn enemy.” “I will undoubtedly retrieve your daughter and return her to you.” “No—this goes beyond merely retrieving your daughter.” “I intend to apprehend Golden Mask himself before long.”

Akechi’s perpetual smile momentarily faded, and a strange light burned in the depths of his eyes. It vividly conveyed his unyielding fighting spirit born of deep-seated enmity toward his archenemy, Golden Mask.

The Golden Battle

Late that night, in the basement of that notorious mysterious mansion in Toyamagahara, an utterly bizarre golden tryst had taken place.

Though it was called a basement, this was a room more splendidly decorated and cozy than any aristocrat’s drawing-room. Peach-colored wallpaper; crimson drapes; carpets soft as young grass; plush, enveloping cushions on the chaise longue; dreamlike oil paintings adorning every wall; the intoxicating scent of perfume; an array of drinks to melt one’s soul. The decayed, nearly abandoned building above ground served merely as a blindfold for this world—a veil concealing the subterranean paradise beneath.

On one sofa sat a man and woman in love, their bodies pressed close together. The man was the notorious fiend clad in golden mask and mantle. The woman had returned the escape outfit to her companion and now wore a gaudily patterned kimono—Otori Fujiko. Fujiko leaned her beautiful face against the fiend's shoulder, intoxicated by their grotesque love with rapturous abandon. Golden Mask wrapped his right arm around Fujiko's back and embraced her tightly.

They did not exchange a single word. There was no need to speak. Words are a hindrance to love. They, resolved not to break this sweet silence, held even their breaths softly and remained motionless, intoxicated by the faint sensation of each other’s bodies felt through their kimonos.

They did not fear their pursuers in the least. Old man Ogata had tracked down the mysterious mansion above ground, but who could have imagined that beneath this nearly abandoned house lay such a lovers' paradise? In fact, that very night, the Otori family had searched the mansion above ground but failed to notice the secret underground entrance; convinced the thief had abandoned this hideout for another location, they withdrew empty-handed. More than five hours had since passed without incident. It was now one o'clock in the dead of night.

Ah, what a bizarre pairing this was. The strange fate linking a beautiful girl raised in seclusion and a demon-like phantom thief. A golden love most terrifying in all the world. “Ah!”

Fujiko let out a faint cry and stared at Golden Mask’s expressionless face. She had sensed his uncanny motion.

Golden Mask twisted his crescent-moon lips, gazed up at the ceiling, and listened intently. Something made a noise. It was like the sound of someone stealthily moving about. His sharp ears were the first to detect it. Even though separated by a concrete ceiling, because the surroundings were too quiet, not a single sound went unheard.

Undoubtedly, someone was walking. In the pitch-black room above their heads, something prowled like a spectral entity. Fujiko realized it too. She clung to the man's golden mantle in fright. Golden Mask quietly untangled her hands and rose smoothly.

He left Fujiko in the chair, exited the room, ascended the dark staircase without a sound, and emerged into the upper corridor through the secret entrance. Above ground, the moon was out. The light stole in through the windows, casting a faint pallor over each room.

Golden Mask muffled his footsteps and came to a halt before the door of what seemed to be the target room. He hesitated, his hand on the knob.

Tap, tap, tap... The footsteps of someone still prowling about—this was unquestionably the room. A bestial sigh anticipating combat. The door swung open soundlessly. Golden Mask stepped across the threshold and surveyed the entire room through his mask’s narrow eye slits. Through the glass window, moonlight cascaded into the chamber like a torrent. There in that pallid lunar glow, blocking the corner... Even the indomitable fiend Golden Mask started violently and stood paralyzed.

There was supposed to be no such large mirror in this room. And yet, Golden Mask’s own shadow was reflected there.

No, no—it was not a shadow. Another Golden Mask had suddenly materialized in the room alongside the moonlight. Ah, what a beautiful yet grotesque sight it was! Two Golden Masks, in perfectly identical disguises, neither yielding an inch, puffed out their shoulders, clenched their fists, and glared at each other. Two crescent-shaped mouths smirking mockingly, two golden faces eerily expressionless—they glinted and gleamed in the moonlight. The reader has likely already imagined this. The other Golden Mask standing there was none other than our amateur detective Akechi Kogorō in disguise.

Even after sucking blood and devouring flesh yet remaining unsated—archenemy and archenemy, the colossus of justice and the monstrosity of evil—had unexpectedly come face to face in this beautiful moonlit room, a confrontation as unanticipated as it was inevitable.

Neither moved a muscle, nor uttered a word. Through the thread-thin eye slits of their masks, flame-like gazes clashed in midair. When one drew a pistol, the other instantly responded by gripping their own. The muzzles of their pistols aimed at each other’s chests and faced off. Step by step, without hesitation, they closed in. As if synchronized, the left hands of both giants flashed like lightning—and two silver masses scattered at their feet. The pistols were knocked from each other’s right hands.

It was a deadlock. The two men, now disarmed, collided in the next instant—hulking masses of flesh crashing against flesh. Whirling golden garments; amidst them, the crescent-shaped mouths continued to laugh coldly. Under the pale moonlight, golden warriors rolled and tumbled. A clashing arc. A golden clash.— — — —. In the basement, Fujiko trembled in fear at the ominous noises overhead, lying prostrate on the chaise longue. She heard the sounds of tangled grappling, the thud of colliding bodies tumbling about, beast-like groans, and felt as if she could even sense the fiery breaths of the combatants.

The life-and-death struggle had lasted a full five minutes when, abruptly, the sounds ceased. A deathly silence.

After a while, near the prostrate Fujiko, there was a sense of something stirring. Startled, she raised her face—and ah, thank goodness. Standing there was her beloved Golden Mask! Her lover had returned safely. And she believed it. Golden Mask, without a word, took Fujiko’s hand and led her out of the room, then ascended the dark staircase back to the ground. Fujiko did not know what that meant. She merely followed along after him in a dreamlike state, yielding to her lover’s will.

Golden Illusion

Golden Mask, without a word yet oddly hurried, pulled Miss Fujiko’s hand and ascended the stairs to the ground floor, raced through the corridor, and exited through the front gate.

By the gate waited a motorcar with extinguished headlights. "When did you prepare this motorcar?" Before she could even voice her doubt, Golden Mask's powerful arm shoved Miss Fujiko into the vehicle. He whispered something to the driver, who then dove into the seat beside the young lady. The headlights blazed on. Through the darkness, dead tree branches materialized dimly across the wide field's distant edge. Simultaneously, the car shot forward like an arrow along the bumpy road. Ah—she was safe. Everything would be all right now.

“I was so scared.”

Miss Fujiko said coquettishly and leaned against Golden Mask’s knee as the motorcar swayed, but no sooner had she done so than she sat bolt upright with a start. “What?!”

A frightened voice escaped her lips unbidden. Strangely, her lover’s touch felt entirely different. Lovers are said to know not just each other’s faces and voices, but every subtle corner of their bodies—so why did her lover’s body now feel as though it belonged to a complete stranger? “Oh! Who on earth are you?” “Who are you?” She pressed herself into the corner of the seat cushion, pulled back as far as she could, and stared at Golden Mask with a deathly pale face as she asked in a high-pitched, trembling voice.

The golden man remained ominously silent. The thread-thin eyes of the chillingly expressionless mask were fixed intently on Miss Fujiko’s face. The crescent-shaped mouth grinned slyly.

“Quickly, quickly—show me your face. “…Reassure me.” “…I’m scared!”

Because Miss Fujiko continued to scream, Golden Mask finally opened his mouth. “Do you wish to see my face so desperately?”

No, no. It was definitely not his voice. “Eek…”

A scream of terror. The young lady hid her face in her sleeve and could no longer even move—like a mouse before a cat. “There is nothing for you to fear. “I am on your side. “I rescued you from the clutches of that terrible demon.”

The man spoke in a calm voice as he removed the golden mask. What appeared from beneath it was the amiable smile of the famous detective Akechi Kogorō.

The Moonlight Phantasm

Then, what became of the phantom thief Golden Mask? It was clear he had been defeated in his battle with Akechi. But surely Akechi hadn’t killed the thief. Could he be imprisoned somewhere? Even if he had imprisoned him, would it be safe to leave him like that and depart from the strange house? In the meantime, given that it was that monster they were dealing with, how could he not find a way to escape? But that wasn’t all—there was something even more troubling. What, in the first place, had been the true identity of Golden Mask? Since Akechi had won, he must have known that. I want to hear this as soon as possible. It was only natural that you, dear readers, were growing impatient.

However, to our great regret, though Akechi had indeed won his battle against the thief, at the critical moment he ultimately let the monster slip away. The thief had escaped without leaving any chance to ascertain his true identity. Then why didn't they give chase? Rescuing Miss Fujiko should have been secondary—wasn't pursuing the thief the natural first course of action? Such a retort was inevitable. Yet even that proved impossible. For the thief had not simply fled—he had vanished like smoke. Had he disappeared indoors, there would surely have been some hidden door—and one would expect a man of Akechi's caliber to find it—but he vanished not within walls, but upon flat ground devoid of trees, bathed in moonlight bright as day. He sank into the earth like a demon from a folktale.

As you, dear readers, are well aware, up to the point where the two Golden Masks had collided body against body. Then ensued a beastly, ferocious struggle that lasted roughly five minutes.

Their physical strength was nearly equal. Akechi Kogorō was a second-degree judo practitioner, but his opponent was also versed in a slightly different style of judo. Their skill levels were nearly matched. "That's an oddly distinctive style of judo. But damn, this guy's strong!" As he grappled fiercely, Akechi thought these things. But when good clashes with evil, villains inevitably harbor vulnerabilities. Even with slightly superior strength, victory could not be assured. In Golden Mask's case particularly, Akechi wouldn't care in the least if his own mask came off, whereas for the thief, having his mask removed and true face revealed to the enemy would mean utter ruin. Naturally, he couldn't fight unrestrained.

Akechi, fully aware of this, focused solely on targeting his opponent’s mask during the grapple. If even one finger caught hold of the mask, it would be over. He thought only of tearing it off and exposing his true face. The thief was barely able to block Akechi’s swift fingers from reaching his mask. No matter how skilled a master might be, an unexpected opening would eventually appear in their defenses.

A large opening glimpsed momentarily. How could the agile Akechi possibly overlook it? “Yah!” he shouted as he lunged forward, his hip throw executed to perfection.

With a thunderous crash, the phantom thief’s massive frame was slammed against the wooden floor. But the enemy was no ordinary foe; the moment he was thrown down, he rolled his long body over and over like a roller, causing his opponent’s next pinning attempt to strike empty air. Because this was so swift, Akechi—who had rushed in with a hint of impatience—overcommitted his momentum and pitched forward onto the wooden floor. As he startled and regained his footing, the thief had also regained his. At a distance of about six feet, once again they found themselves locked in a glaring standoff.

This time, the thief took the offensive. He spread both hands as if about to pounce. Akechi braced himself and waited to receive it. Neither side left a single opening. For an instant hung the eerie calm before the storm. Neither made so much as a twitch. The only sound was their intermingled breathing. Then came an extraordinary turn. Just as all expected the phantom thief to lunge, he instead began stepping backward—and in the blink of an eye, his foot caught on the window frame. With gathered momentum, he leapt out in a single bound to the outdoors.

Faced with this unforeseen reversal, even the renowned Akechi found his taut energy instantly sapped, and though only slightly, his start was delayed.

Moreover, what made it all the more mysterious was that by the time he had regained his composure and rushed to the window, not only was there no sign of anyone in the garden, but even beyond the low hedge—across the vast obstacle-free field stretching as far as the eye could see—not a single human figure could be spotted. Wondering if he had hidden behind the building, he climbed over the window and circled all around it, yet found no trace of anyone anywhere nor any conceivable hiding place. Though night had fallen, moonlight as bright as midday streamed down. No matter how thoroughly he searched every corner or peered into distant shadows—there was simply no way a single person could have escaped his notice. He examined the hedge as well. Beyond that hedge lay nothing resembling proper trees within a hundred-meter square area. To cross such an expanse and vanish into darkness beyond in mere moments—this defied all human capability.

Had the golden-masked monster unleashed a sorcerer’s true prowess, shattered through the earth itself, and vanished into the hellish abyss of his dwelling?

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 somehow stolen away Miss Fujiko from the basement during this time? And could it be that the two of them had vanished into the depths of hell, hand in hand? The dreamlike pale moonlight suddenly conjured an utterly bizarre illusion. Unable to bear his anxiety, he abandoned the search for the thief and hurried down to the basement. (The entrance had been revealed by none other than the phantom thief himself.) Yet even this formidable monster seemed to lack the sorcery required to spirit Miss Fujiko away, for she remained right there.

If he could retrieve the young lady, half of Akechi’s objective was achieved. Rather than greedily chasing two hares, it would be wiser to first take Miss Fujiko back to the Otori household.

There was no way Miss Fujiko wouldn’t know her lover’s true identity. This beautiful girl was none other than the sole witness in all of Japan who had conversed with the thief and seen his true face. Now that I’d retrieved Miss Fujiko, wasn’t it practically the same as having captured the thief? Thus, Akechi’s Golden Mask—seizing the advantage of his opponent’s unawareness—impersonated the phantom thief and escorted Miss Fujiko into the motorcar. The Golden Mask disguise had clearly proved its worth in this instance.

“Moroccan savages”

The story returned once again to the inside of the motorcar.

Even when she saw Akechi’s true face after he removed the Golden Mask, Fujiko had no idea who he was. This was her first time meeting Akechi. "You don’t know me, I suppose." "But there’s absolutely no need for you to worry." "I am Akechi—the one your father requested to retrieve you." Fujiko knew the name Akechi Kogorō. The very name her lover Golden Mask—even that omnipotent giant—had long spoken of as a fearsome enemy.

When she realized this, the terror of the two enigmatic Golden Masks vanished, but in its place now arose— The pragmatic despair of "If this man catches me, it's all over" came over her.

The confinement would likely grow ten times more stringent. She might never see her beloved again. That too was heartbreaking. But when she thought about it, there was something even more terrifying. “What has become of him? Perhaps he’s been killed…” Fujiko timidly asked from between her sleeves.

“Do you mean that person—the Golden Mask?” “I am not a murderer.” “He’s alive and well.” “By now, he must be back home, sleeping soundly.” “Then, that person…” “Yes, he managed to escape.” “……However, I am not at all disappointed.” “Because I believe that if I ask you, you will kindly tell me everything—who that person is and where he lives.” Akechi smiled nonchalantly and revealed the truth.

“I… I really wouldn't know.” “Truly—nothing at all!”

Miss Fujiko stiffened her body and exclaimed.

“No, it needn’t be now.” “Once you return home and reflect properly, you’ll inevitably wish to confess.” “The time will come when you realize abandoning your love for society’s sake is the righteous path.”

Akechi spoke in a gentle tone as if coaxing a spoiled child, then fell silent. Fujiko grew increasingly uneasy. She became afraid of Akechi. She felt an indescribable pressure from this man’s calmly composed confidence.

Could it be that I would end up betraying him? When everyone pressed me with “Confess! Confess!”, would I have the courage to keep my mouth shut to the very end? This time, it wouldn’t be just Father and the household staff. Eventually, I would be summoned by the police and courts and interrogated by terrifying people. A vision of my own wretched figure—bound to a pillar by grim-faced detectives and subjected to relentless tickling under my arms—floated before me like a phantom.

Ah, it’s no use. I’m bound to confess. What should I do? What should I do? If it means putting my lover in jail—if it means being separated from him forever—in that case— That’s it. Might as well… Just at that moment, oblivious to Fujiko’s agonizing torment, Akechi—as if struck by some thought—posed a truly absurd question.

“Do you speak French?” The question came in such a casual tone—like a gentleman at a tea party who had run out of topics and idly inquired—that Fujiko, swept up in its rhythm, absently answered “Yes, a little” before jolting upright in her seat as something suddenly dawned on her, startling her so violently she nearly leaped into the air.

Oh, what a terrifying man this was. He acted completely unaware, but could it be that he actually knew everything? It was no use. The moment she thought this, everything before her eyes went completely dark. Might as well... Yes, might as well...

She resolved time and time again, only to change her mind each time. And then, finally…

“Mr. Akechi, please stop the car.” “Please let me go.” “Otherwise…” The moment Fujiko’s trembling voice cried out, the muzzle of a pistol—where had she been hiding it?—appeared from between her sleeves. “Oh my, what a peculiar toy you’ve brought along.” Akechi remained unfazed even upon seeing this, smiling nonchalantly. “Are you going to shoot me? “Hahaha, do you think you can shoot?” “Can you kill someone?” “Go ahead, give it a try.”

Fujiko placed her finger on the trigger, but overwhelmed by her opponent's unnervingly calm demeanor, she found herself utterly unable to pull it. It seemed that human mental strength possessed the power to conquer even an inanimate murderous weapon.

Ah, it's no use. I just can't do it.

Even if I could kill Akechi with this pistol, as a woman, could I truly manage to escape? Right before my eyes was the driver. Even if the driver overlooked it, there were townspeople. There was a police box. There was absolutely no hope of escape. The sole remaining method was to save my lover without harming anyone. It was the brave method women from time immemorial had always chosen in such situations. I had finally steeled my resolve.

Akechi saw Fujiko’s complexion turn deathly pale in an instant. He saw an unusual gleam come into both her eyes. He saw a violent spasm occur in her tightly pursed lips. And he saw the pistol’s muzzle gradually shift direction and begin to aim toward her own chest.

“Ah! Don’t—” “Stop that!” Akechi, who hadn’t flinched at the muzzle pointed at himself, turned pale at this. Shouting something unintelligible, he lunged toward Fujiko’s pistol.

But Fujiko nimbly dodged his grasp and, glaring at Akechi with terrifying eyes, “Mr. Akechi, please tell my father one thing. ‘I beg forgiveness for my countless sins of unfiliality.’ And tell him… ‘Fujiko committed suicide to save the demon Golden Mask she loved.’”

Ah, what madness was this? This beautiful young lady would not even consider her own father’s grief if it meant saving the demon Golden Mask whom all of Japan feared. Where in that fiendish thief could such terrifying demonic power lie concealed? Even the great detective found himself utterly overwhelmed by this situation. Neither wisdom nor brute strength held any power to overturn this fragile girl’s resolve—attempt to seize the pistol, and she would surely pull the trigger in that very instant. In such circumstances, any half-hearted intervention would only hasten Miss Fujiko’s death.

In this world, there are things that human power can do nothing about. Even Akechi, faced with this terrifying resolve, was pitifully unable to move a hand or foot.

But just at that critical moment, something beyond human power appeared. A completely 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 car, no more than three feet away, the right arm of the driver—who had been facing forward until now—shot out and snatched away Fujiko’s pistol in an instant.

Fujiko, who had been completely focused on Akechi, was caught off guard and helplessly handed her weapon to the enemy.

But was he truly Fujiko’s enemy? No, no. He was absolutely not an enemy. Truly astonishingly, the driver was not an enemy at all—on the contrary, he was none other than her ally, indeed her very lover: Golden Mask. Until now, he had kept the back of his head concealed by pulling his cap low and turning up his coat collar, so no one had noticed anything amiss. But when he swiftly turned around, there was no mistaking that face—the glinting golden Noh mask of Golden Mask, its crescent-shaped lips curling into a sly grin.

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

Even the great Akechi had been utterly stunned by the sheer unexpectedness of it all. But shocking though this was, there was no time to dwell on it now. The pressing question was how to extricate himself from this imminent peril.

This was because Golden Mask，having taken the pistol from Fujiko，now pointed it directly at Akechi while bracing to fire at any moment. The positions of attacker and defender were reversed in an instant. Akechi，who had been on the offensive，now found himself under attack. “Start the car! Start it now! If you don’t start it，I’ll kill you!” The masked driver commanded calmly in that monster’s distinctive，muffled tone. Akechi gnashed his teeth at this unforeseen miscalculation. Why hadn’t I checked the driver’s face properly when boarding earlier? By Akechi Kogorō’s very reputation，this oversight deserved endless remorse.

“Aren’t you going to start it?”

It was Golden Mask’s pressing demand. The car stopped as if to say, “Get out now!” The area was a desolate factory district, tailor-made for the enemy.

But when told, “Not starting it?” out of sheer stubbornness, he couldn’t just reply “Yes” and start the car. As Akechi, he couldn’t endure such an insult.

Torn this way and that, his head spinning like a windmill in frantic motion as he desperately devised a last-ditch plan—five, then ten seconds passed.

And then, finally, with a bang came a violent rush of air that made one suspect the motorcar might twist out of shape. The monster, having lost all patience, finally fired the first shot. From Akechi and Fujiko’s mouths came simultaneous screams of terror—indescribable in their horror. But fortunately, the bullet missed. It had only shattered the rear glass window into fragments. When they looked, the monster was already braced to fire the second shot, leaving not even a hair’s breadth of an opening. Damn it!

Akechi finally relented. He had no choice but to save his life for now and plan a new attempt. Unfortunately, he nimbly swung his body and leaped out of the car. “So long!” With a spiteful parting remark, the car suddenly sped off. At the same time, another eerie jolt struck. The enemy, in a cowardly act, fired the second shot from within the moving vehicle. “Whoa, that was close! Close one!” Akechi barked sharply and started bounding off like a rabbit in the opposite direction.

The bullet, piercing through the golden garment, narrowly grazed past his flank. After watching until the red tail light disappeared from beneath the trees, Akechi once again muttered an incomprehensible soliloquy. “Damn fiend... treating Japanese people like those Moroccan barbarians.” This was the second time he had uttered such enigmatic words. Once, he had asked Fujiko, “Do you speak French?” The second was this “Moroccan barbarians” remark just now. He couldn’t fathom how either connected to the criminal case, but there was no doubt they pertained to Golden Mask’s true identity. An incident that will prove significant later—I ask that you commit this to memory.

The fact that the thief’s gunfire wasn’t merely intimidation but an earnest attempt to kill had startled Akechi Kogorō. He felt profoundly surprised. Without halting his retreating steps, he doubled back toward the mysterious mansion. For he sensed there remained unfinished business there.

Under the moonlight, he walked restlessly along the outer edge of the hedge, anxious to make some discovery. He was desperate to solve two miraculous mysteries—how the thief had vanished like smoke in the garden’s center, and how that same thief had somehow come to occupy the driver’s seat of Akechi’s motorcar. A shallow ditch ran alongside the hedge. He walked along the ditch’s outer rim, muttering indistinctly under his breath as he went.

When he strained his ears, a strange groan came from somewhere. It was unmistakably the sound of human anguish. Scanning the area revealed no human figures—only the groan persisted by his ear. Once more came the uncanny phenomenon of moonlight cascading down. “Who’s there? Where are you?” When he shouted and looked about, his own voice seemed to echo off the moon and vanish ethereally into the sky.

*Uu…*

But the groan grew louder, as if in response. It was a voice welling up from the ground. He inadvertently looked down at his feet. A parched ditch stretched like a ribbon. The moonlight had seeped even into that ditch, creating beautiful stripes. Ah, there he was. The squirming figure in the ditch about twelve feet ahead was indeed a human. He had finally found what he was searching for. When he rushed over and pulled him up, sure enough, it was the driver he had hired for his motorcar. After untying the ropes binding his limbs and removing the gag, the mud-covered man finally spoke.

“Is that you, sir?” “I’ve had a terrible time of it, I tell you.” “What in the world is that golden monster that jumped down from the roof?”

Akechi had not informed the driver about Golden Mask or his own plan to disguise himself as Golden Mask. He had wrapped the mask and costume in a furoshiki bundle before leaving for the mansion, changing into the disguise only after arriving there. Now that he had left those garments in the motorcar, he had returned to his original suit-clad appearance. “What? From the roof? You’re saying he jumped down from the roof?”

Akechi, startled by the driver’s bizarre words, asked him to repeat. “Yes, from the roof! He was like a golden bird.” “It was so strange I thought I might be dreaming. While I was rubbing my eyes, he vaulted over the hedge and came flying at me like a cannonball.” “I didn’t have a chance to do anything.” “And he was terrifyingly strong, I tell you.” “In the blink of an eye, I was already trussed up tight.” “Then he gagged me, hauled me all the way here where you couldn’t see the motorcar anymore, and just dumped me into this ditch like trash!”

However, Akechi had not heard even half of the driver’s explanation. He abruptly leaped over the hedge and dashed to the exterior of the room where he had earlier grappled with Golden Mask. When he looked, it was a single-story building with eaves not particularly high.

“Sir! Where’s that bastard from? Where did he take my car?”

The driver, panting breathlessly, came chasing after Akechi. “Do you think you could shinny up from this window frame to that roof?” “Do you think such a stunt is humanly possible?” Because Akechi had asked such an absurd question, the driver was startled and blinked rapidly.

“I could never do that. “No, no one could do that. But he’s an exception. He’s the one who climbed the industrial tower at the exposition. He’s the one even professional ladder-climbers couldn’t match.” Akechi kept talking like a madman. “Ah! What a fool I am! I didn’t notice the roof! How could I have only searched the garden and never looked up?! You see—he pretended to leap into the garden, grabbed the window frame, used the momentum from one swing to hoist himself onto the roof’s edge with just his toes! And while I was combing the garden, he lay flattened against the roof’s slope, hiding there!”

“So he outmaneuvered you, sir—jumped down to the front side instead? But what in blazes is he? Do you know who that is, sir?” “My dear man, haven’t you grasped it yet? There’s no other golden monster roaming about. That’s him. That’s Golden Mask.” “Golden Mask?!”

The driver, overwhelmed by shock, stood there with his mouth hanging open like a simpleton, unable to utter another word.

Expert Marksman

The next day, a motorcar was abandoned on the main driveway of Hibiya Park. By its license plate number, they determined it was the motorcar Akechi had hired the previous night.

That was all. Neither Golden Mask nor Fujiko could be found anywhere; no matter how much time passed, not a single clue emerged.

At the same time, from that day onward, the thieves' relentless persecution of Akechi began. They were plotting to eliminate this sole obstacle by devising every possible means.

The enemy never showed themselves. However, it could only be concluded that they were lying in wait wherever Akechi went.

At one point, a packhorse suddenly went wild and tried to trample Akechi under its hooves as he passed by.

At another time, iron beams came crashing down onto Akechi’s head from the scaffolding of a building under construction.

When he cautiously refrained from going out, the thief’s reach extended even into the interior of the Kaika Apartments. One day, when he had coffee delivered from the cafeteria to his room and found its taste strange, he took just a sip before testing it, only to discover that poison had been mixed in. The bellboy who had 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 wearing a bellboy uniform only for that day.

Ever since then, plainclothes detectives had entered the apartment building and heightened security, so such incidents never occurred again; however, if one peered cautiously out of a window facing the street at night, they would often spot eerie figures lurking around in front of the building. The thief was clearly trying to kill Akechi. First eliminate this meddler, then leisurely proceed with their next crime—there was no doubt this was their plan. 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 also locked his room’s door from the inside and never showed himself even in the apartment hallway except for his three meals a day.

His meticulous caution extended even to the mail. For return envelopes and stamps, he always used a sponge, never licking them with his mouth. He had all packages opened by the bellboy, confirmed there were no dangerous mechanisms, and then received them. Having shut himself 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 side, at night—through the tightly closed glass windows 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 projected onto the same window in the same shape every night. Occasionally, the way he turned his swivel chair or shifted his posture would form distinct shadow puppets that could be clearly observed in vivid detail. His nightly reading was as regular as clockwork, strictly confined to the hours 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 utterly helpless. For them, infiltrating the apartment had become utterly impossible. Yet lying in wait for Akechi to venture out would mean endless futility. Night after night, the shadow cast upon the window—there was nothing they could do about it. At the entrance, besides the guard, plainclothes detectives had recently begun staking out the premises. Moreover, the front faced a busy tram thoroughfare. There was absolutely no chance to climb up to the second-floor window undetected. Even if they were to climb up, it was Akechi they faced—Akechi, who left no openings unguarded. He must have prepared considerable defensive measures regardless. Perhaps even that ostentatious window shadow could not be called anything less than a terrifying trap designed to lure the thief.

But Golden Mask was not one to simply stand by idly 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 to ten—the precarious moment when Akechi would always retire from his window-side reading to his bedroom—the thief faction launched their final desperate assault from an unforeseen direction that even the renowned detective could never have anticipated, and it proved completely effective.

At five minutes to ten, an ordinary-looking taxi sped down the tram-lined street in front of the Kaika Apartments, coming from the direction of Suidobashi at full legal speed. At a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. The white numbers on its tail license plate were spattered with mud, rendering about half completely illegible—yet even the traffic officer directing go-stop signals failed to notice this was a deliberate act to obscure the number, casually waving the vehicle through.

Outwardly, there was nothing unusual about it, but had someone peered into the passenger compartment, they would have let out a startled cry at the extraordinary sight within. In accordance with regulations, the small electric light inside the vehicle was lit, and the blinds on the windows had not been lowered, leaving the passenger compartment visible. Yet in their place, three or four large furoshiki-wrapped bundles, like moving-day luggage, were crammed in, hiding the passenger’s figure almost entirely from view.

But it wasn’t merely that he couldn’t be seen. The passenger crouched behind the furoshiki-wrapped bundles, shouldered a rifle with his finger on the trigger, positioned the muzzle at the edge of the open window, and poised himself to fire at any moment. It wasn’t like hunting wild beasts in Africa—what on earth could they possibly be planning to shoot from inside a motorcar, right in Tokyo’s central tram-lined thoroughfare?

No, there was something even more terrifying. From between the furoshiki bundles glinted what was unmistakably a golden mask. Ah—this bizarre passenger could be none other than the fiendish thief Golden Mask.

The motorcar continued at full speed and approached the front of the Kaika Apartments. The shooter in the car took aim in an instant. The muzzle was aimed at—ah…Akechi’s room on the second floor of the apartment building. It was the black shadow of the famous detective reflected in that window. Given his recent habits—from his unkempt hair to his overall appearance—there was no chance of mistaking him for someone else. In the blink of an eye, a single gunshot shook the late-night air. But no one was startled. After all, no one would expect someone to start firing shots in such a place. They dismissed it as nothing more than a motorcar’s tire bursting and let it pass.

However, the people in the neighboring rooms of the apartment were slightly startled. This was because the window glass of Akechi’s room had shattered with a terrible noise.

The bullet struck true. No sooner had Akechi's shadow on the blinds swayed unsteadily than it suddenly collapsed onto the desk with a thud.

Got him! It worked perfectly. Time to escape. Full speed ahead! The motorcar accelerated further and veered into the next deserted alleyway.

Nevertheless, what a splendid marksman he was. From atop a motorcar racing at twenty miles per hour, he struck his target with a single shot. He struck down the shadowy figure in the window.

The shadow of the blinds remained collapsed on the desk, reflecting a portion of its back without so much as a twitch.

Had our Akechi Kogorō been wounded? No, no—had he merely been injured, he should have cried out for help. He should have thrashed about in anguish. Yet seeing how the shadow remained utterly motionless and no voice was raised—could it be, ah could it be—that he had already drawn his last breath?

The Missing Corpse Incident

The following day, a sensational article like the one below was published on the society pages of major metropolitan newspapers.

Startling: Golden Mask’s Diabolical Hand!

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 window from outside by an unknown assailant and appeared to have died. According to reports, Mr. Akechi had been collaborating with the Metropolitan Police Department in his dedicated efforts to apprehend the fiendish thief Golden Mask, which had earned him the criminal’s enmity—he had even received terrifying threatening letters. However, as the thief’s unseen attacks had recently intensified, Mr. Akechi had grown so cautious that he had secluded himself in his apartment room, rarely venturing out. Taking all these circumstances into account, last night’s shooting was undoubtedly the work of Golden Mask or one of his associates. Mrs. A, the wife of company employee Mr. O residing in the neighboring apartment, was startled by the sound of shattering glass. When she peered out her window and saw that something was amiss in Mr. Akechi’s room, she knocked on his door but received no response. When she called for the apartment custodian and inquired, she was told that Mr. Akechi should indeed be in his room. Growing suspicious, she had a spare key brought over, and upon opening the door, discovered Mr. Akechi lying face down on the desk by the window, stained with blood.

Bizarre! Bizarre! Bizarre! Bizarre! A Mystery Straight Out of a Detective Novel

The Famous Detective’s Corpse Disappears Both Mrs. A and the custodian were utterly shocked by what they saw and immediately dashed into the hallway calling for help. Unfortunately, none of the residents on the second floor had returned home yet, compelling them to rush down the stairs to the office below to report the emergency. For merely two or three minutes, Mr. Akechi’s corpse lay abandoned in the open room—yet within 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 both rooms he rented, along with every hallway, staircase, and corner of the apartment building, but found no sign of him. Upon receiving the emergency report, the Metropolitan Police Department’s H Investigation Division Chief, Section Chief Namikoshi, and others rushed to investigate—yet aside from traces of a bullet having shattered the window glass and pierced the blinds, plus bloodstains on the desk, they discovered no other clues. Failing to locate even the bullet itself, they left empty-handed. With no bullet remaining in the room, they could only conclude it must have lodged within Mr. Akechi’s body. Consequently, someone so severely injured would lack strength to leave unaided—leading investigators to surmise that Golden Mask’s gang had likely secretly removed the corpse of Mr. Akechi, presumed dead. Yet why the criminals needed to steal their victim’s corpse remained utterly unclear.

The Smoke-Belching Motorcar

A Passerby's Bizarre Testimony

Although the front of the Kaika Apartments was on a streetcar line, it was a rather desolate location facing a river on one side—yet around ten o’clock in the evening, there should still have been a fair number of passersby. The question of how the criminal managed to elude the notice of passersby and perpetrate this atrocity remained deeply puzzling. According to testimony from D, a carpenter residing at ○○ address in S Town of the same ward who happened to be walking past the apartment at the time, there had been scattered pedestrians on foot in that very moment—no streetcars or motorcars were visible—when a single one-yen taxi-like motorcar came speeding from the direction of Suidobashi and, in the blink of an eye, turned into the alley beyond the apartment building. As the motorcar approached the front of the apartment, no sooner had a terrible noise—like that of a bursting tire—sounded than white smoke was seen suddenly billowing from its window. If this testimony were to be believed, then a truly bizarre theory—that the thief had fired at the apartment window from a speeding motorcar—would be established.

……………………………

In addition to the main text above, the article had included statements from two or three people—beginning with the wife of a company employee who discovered Akechi’s corpse—along with a brief biography of the victim and accounts of his exploits as an amateur detective.

The famous detective Akechi Kogorō had been killed. Moreover, his corpse had been stolen by members of the Golden Mask faction. Public opinion was bound to erupt. In response to the terror of this new era—"Golden Mask"—came the loss of the corpse belonging to Akechi Kogorō, that legendary detective of his generation. Could there ever be another incident as sensational as this?

Had the amateur detective truly perished? Could it be that he was still alive, confined in the thieves’ den in critical condition, enduring torment worse than death? And on the thieves’ side, was it not possible that they were now preparing their next attack, using this famous detective as a hostage?

Wherever people turned, they were abuzz with that rumor. Some declared that Akechi had already perished, while others insisted he was still alive, and debates flared up everywhere. Among them, there were even those who began placing bets on the matter.

Grand Soirée

For about a week following that, despite the Metropolitan Police Department’s desperate efforts, the Akechi Kogorō corpse disappearance case showed no progress whatsoever. As for Akechi’s whereabouts—let alone Golden Mask’s location—they had not managed to grasp even a hair’s breadth of a clue.

Inspector Namikoshi, head of the investigation section, felt profound disappointment at losing this civilian brain trust—his closest friend since the Spider Man case and sole confidant—while toward Golden Mask, the perpetrator behind it all, he burned with fury exceeding professional duty. For this very reason they had strained every nerve searching for Akechi’s whereabouts—yet fate proved unkind; still no trace could be found.

Today as well, he roused his flagging spirits and arrived at the office early. And just as he had taken his seat and was deep in thought about the day’s investigative strategy, a messenger from the Criminal Affairs Division Chief arrived. “Oh, Chief, you’re awfully early today.” While wondering about this, he went to check the room and found the Criminal Affairs Division Chief appeared unusually agitated. For some reason, he seemed to be terribly agitated. “You, read this.”

The moment he laid eyes on Namikoshi, the Chief handed out a letter-like document without any preamble. Upon receiving and examining it, he found that on formal scroll paper, in meticulously brushed characters, the following strange phrases had been inscribed: "I hereby notify Your Excellency that I shall most certainly attend as an uninvited guest the grand soirée welcoming your nation's industrial representatives at your residence on the night of the fifteenth. Let it be known that I bear no ulterior motives; this attendance serves solely to pay respects to your distinguished industrial delegates while fulfilling my professional obligations. I present this missive in advance to obtain Your Excellency's gracious consent."

Golden Mask His Excellency Count Rougel, French Ambassador “Golden Mask!” “Damn it, he’s finally shown himself!”

Inspector Namikoshi involuntarily turned crimson and roared.

“Late yesterday evening, an urgent messenger arrived from the French Embassy,” “Since the Superintendent was absent, I met with them in his stead.” “It was the secretary and interpreter.” “The industrial representatives’ schedules are finalized, so we cannot postpone the soirée.” “Even were we to postpone it, the thieves would not abandon their plans—thus we resolved to hold the event as scheduled.” “Accordingly, they formally requested assistance from the Metropolitan Police Department to prepare for any contingencies.”

The Criminal Affairs Division Chief continued his explanation in an utterly dispassionate, businesslike tone.

“As you are aware, the French Ambassador’s residence lies within embassy grounds, which complicates security matters.” “Golden Mask has chosen an exceptionally problematic location.” “However, given the gravity of this incident, we could not disregard it—after coordinating with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, we arranged for approximately twenty plainclothes detectives from the Metropolitan Police Department to discreetly infiltrate the ambassador’s residence that night and maintain full vigilance.” “Therefore, considering our established working relationship, I must ask you—despite the burden—to assume command of this detective squad.” “A single misstep could trigger an international incident. You must execute this operation with utmost care, leaving no precaution overlooked.”

At first glance, it might seem absurd that a single letter from a thief could send the embassy, the Metropolitan Police Department, and even the Ministry of Foreign Affairs into such an uproar, but the eerie shadow of Golden Mask had seeped so deeply into people’s hearts. Especially Count Rougel, the French Ambassador—as the reader knows, having once witnessed Golden Mask’s terrifying power firsthand at Marquis Washio’s residence in Nikko—it was only natural that he took this single threatening letter quite seriously.

“If he says he’ll come, he’ll definitely come.” Inspector Namikoshi, drawing on his many past encounters, held absolute conviction in these words. “So after all this time, I’ll finally meet that fiend again.” “This time I won’t let him slip away.” “Either I collar him, or I resign from my post.” He pronounced this with theatrically solemn resolve.

There were five days remaining until the fateful fifteenth. During that interval, Inspector Namikoshi strained every ounce of his wisdom to complete precautionary preparations without a single oversight. Naturally, he made repeated visits to the ambassador’s residence, met with the ambassador himself, and even investigated the building’s structure. A squad of twenty elite detectives had been organized from within the department. They were each to disguise themselves as lower-ranking embassy officials or as clerks and servants of the ambassador’s residence, positioned to guard both inside and outside the grand soirée venue.

On the 14th, it was decided that the Superintendent General of the Metropolitan Police Department, having returned from his trip, would attend the grand soirée as one of the invited guests and discreetly take command of his subordinates. For Golden Mask, a mere thief, it must be said to be an honor beyond his station.

And so, the day finally arrived.

In the vicinity of the F Country Embassy in Y-chō, Kōjimachi Ward, over a dozen uniformed police officers had been deployed as early as the afternoon. The delegation of F Country’s industrial representatives were extremely distinguished guests for this nation, so even without the Golden Mask’s written warning, this level of security would have been warranted regardless.

As the appointed hour approached, motorcars streamed into the embassy grounds one after another, and the sound of footsteps ascending the stone steps of the main entrance grew more frequent.

Atop those stone steps stood Inspector Namikoshi—disguised as a receptionist in tails—resolutely stationed with two plainclothes subordinates. The ambassador’s two secretaries (one of whom was a Japanese national secretary also serving as an interpreter) stood shoulder to shoulder with Inspector Namikoshi and conducted identity checks on the guests.

The guests were predominantly F Country nationals, followed by Japanese nationals, with a mix of people from various other countries. Most were accompanied by their wives, and the sight of them entering while whispering in their respective languages created an atmosphere akin to a pageant of nations.

Since they were all well-known figures, most could be recognized at a glance, but among them were some guests whom even the secretaries and Inspector Namikoshi did not recognize. For such individuals, they would ceremoniously request their invitations and inquire after their names. If they were Japanese, Inspector Namikoshi and his two subordinates would cast sharp, suspicious glares from three directions—a vigilance so thorough not a drop could leak through.

Since the exact number of invited guests was known, as soon as the final guest arrived, they promptly closed the main entrance’s large doors, and several plainclothes detectives stood guard both inside and outside. The back entrance was similarly guarded, and even on the emergency stairs installed outside the building, two detectives were stationed. In other words, no one—not even a single cat—could enter or exit the building without being spotted by the detectives’ watchful eyes.

Thus, among the several dozen guests confined within the ambassador’s residence in this manner, there was not a single person who should have been suspected of being Golden Mask in disguise. The number of invitations and guests matched perfectly. Moreover, seeing as all the guests were acquainted with one another, forming groups here and there in the grand hall and engaging in friendly conversation, it was inconceivable that a thief completely unfamiliar to anyone could be lurking among them.

The luxurious dinner party in the grand dining hall concluded around eight o’clock in the evening.

And thus began Count Rougel’s elaborately conceived masquerade ball across seven bizarre rooms—but before proceeding, we must disclose to readers a certain fact that had drawn Inspector Namikoshi’s attention during the dinner. As Inspector Namikoshi was disguised as a receptionist, he could freely enter the dining area. Yet shortly after the meal commenced, while standing concealed behind a large vase in the corner of the hall and meticulously observing each dining guest, he abruptly noticed something strange.

What caught his attention was that there existed another individual besides himself who was similarly scrutinizing the diners at the table. There stood Japanese waiters in splendid uniforms serving with perfect decorum, yet among them was one ill-mannered fellow who kept staring brazenly at the faces of the dining guests. Moreover, this was no absentminded gazing—through narrowed eyes, he persistently observed specific individuals with an intensity that suggested deliberate purpose.

The specific person in question was first and foremost Count Rougel, who was acting as host. In the waiter's furtive, darting glances toward Count Rougel, something akin to hostility could be sensed.

The second was the Superintendent General. Because he was staring so intently, the Superintendent General eventually noticed and looked back at the suspicious waiter two or three times, but each time, the waiter would startle, avert his gaze elsewhere, and feign innocence.

The people the waiter was stealing glances at were not limited to those around the dining table. His eyes frequently shifted from the dining table to linger on a third figure standing in the corner of the room. That third person was none other than Inspector Namikoshi himself, standing behind the vase. Not only was the waiter’s behavior suspicious, but his appearance was also exceedingly peculiar. He appeared to be around thirty-five or thirty-six years old, but despite being a mere waiter, he sported a splendid mustache and wore pretentious rimless spectacles.

The inspector had thoroughly investigated the waiters’ backgrounds beforehand and confirmed that none were particularly suspicious, so he certainly didn’t think this mustached waiter could be Golden Mask in disguise. Even so, the man was a vaguely troubling presence. He was ceaselessly monitoring the waiter’s movements. Even the waiter appeared to be constantly aware of the Inspector’s presence in the corner of his mind.

But with no significant incidents to speak of, the dinner soon concluded without incident. And then, the bizarre masquerade ball began.

“The Masque of the Red Death”

That Count Rougel, the F Country Ambassador, was a man of rich cultural tastes could be sufficiently inferred from the fact that since his appointment, he had been so engrossed in appreciating antiquities—visiting ancient shrines, temples, and museums as a matter of course, even calling upon private residences—that the days seemed insufficient for his pursuits. Yet the Count’s interests were by no means confined to antique artworks alone. He was an amateur historian and at the same time an amateur literary scholar. Naturally, his every move was accompanied by a wit and humanity beyond the imagination of an ordinary diplomat. At receptions and similar occasions, ingenious ideas were often devised that made guests gasp in astonishment.

Fortunately, the F Country Ambassador’s official residence was a luxurious mansion acquired from a certain wealthy man, which was more than adequate for hosting large gatherings, making it perfectly suited for the Count to display his unconventional tastes. Now, the Count’s theme for this evening’s event was, by coincidence, of a particularly gloomy nature. Deliberately avoiding the grand hall, seven rooms adorned with bizarre decorations were designated as the ballroom. These rooms, constructed according to the previous owner’s peculiar tastes, had an extremely irregular design that prevented more than one room from being visible at a time. Every five or six ken, there was a sharp turn, and each time people rounded one, they would encounter an entirely different decoration so startling it made them gasp.

In each of these rooms, Gothic-style windows were set in the center of the walls facing the corridor, each tightly covered with translucent colored silk curtains. The furnishings within had also been devised with strange ingenuity. One room was covered entirely in blue cloth—from chairs and tables to walls and floor—and accordingly, its window curtains were a startlingly vivid blue. The next room’s decorations being purple, its translucent silk curtains too were purple. Following this pattern, the third was green, the fourth orange, the fifth white, and the sixth violet. The seventh room alone eschewed cheap dyed fabrics; from ceiling to walls it was draped in black velvet tapestries that formed heavy folds cascading onto a carpet of matching black velvet. The entire space lay enveloped in profound darkness—a room of midnight blackness. What rendered this chamber uncanny was that its window—which by convention should have borne black curtains like the rest—instead held taut a sheet of thin crimson silk so vivid it seemed to drip with color, starkly clashing with the room’s somber palette.

None of the rooms had electric lights—nor lamps nor candlesticks of any kind. Instead, in the corridor outside each window draped with thin silk, tripod-mounted braziers bearing crimson-flaming bowls had been installed. Through the multicolored silk curtains, those antique flames cast a glittering light across every chamber. Though Count Rougel’s gloomy yet poetic design may seem utterly simplistic when described in writing, in reality, it conjured an indescribably extravagant, phantasmagoric spectacle. Particularly, in the pitch-black room at the western end, the lamplight filtering through the blood-colored silk and falling onto the dark tapestry cast a chillingly eerie impression that made one’s flesh crawl. Because the faces of those who entered there took on an eerie, otherworldly hue, among the guests, there were scarcely any bold enough to venture into that room.

In this room as well, against the western wall stood an enormous ebony clock. The pendulum swung from side to side, marking time with a dull, heavy, monotonous sound. When the long hand completed its revolution to mark the hour, a bright, high-pitched chime of extraordinary musicality resounded from its brass lungs. The sound possessed such an uncanny cadence and resonant timbre that even during performances, the musicians stationed in the corridor corner would pause their playing each hour and find themselves involuntarily listening. Consequently, those waltzing had no choice but to halt their steps and heed it. The merry dance would abruptly descend into eerie disarray—for as long as the clock tolled, even the most cheerful revelers grew pallid, their minds disordered by phantom visions.

“How aptly you conceived all this.” “Count.” “Isn’t this Edgar Allan Poe’s *The Masque of laRed Death*?”

B, the First Secretary of the British Embassy, whispered obsequiously in fluent French to the Count. "Ah, you noticed?" The Count replied with a triumphant smile. "I remain an unwavering devotee of Poe." "Though perhaps this theme proved somewhat too gloomy?" Gloomy it undeniably was. Yet scores of wine-flushed dancers swirled about. Moreover, to those habituated to glittering soirées, this macabre novelty appeared exquisitely ingenious.

The men were certainly not of an age to fear such decorations, and the women, though somewhat unnerved, found themselves drawn by the novelty as they danced their way from room to room.

Now, regarding the attire of the dancers whirling through the seven rooms—though the author previously referred to this as a masquerade ball, it might indeed be more accurate to call it a costume ball. The women wore only beautiful evening gowns with black blindfolds provided by the Count, but half of the men had arrived concealing eccentric costumes of their own devising beneath their coats. There were harlequins in patchwork-dyed motley and those clad as medieval knights; some wore Japanese straw raincoats and hats, others disguised themselves as Indian holy men—all manner of bizarre costumes mingled among people properly attired in tailcoats.

Businessmen representing jester enthusiasts also arrived with their own elaborate costume ideas, but among them, one such as Mr. L—clad in a full suit of Japanese samurai armor—garnered the admiration of the entire assembly as the most novel spectacle of the evening. “What’s this ‘Masque of the Red Death’ story about? Would someone please tell me?” The frivolous daughter of the American military attaché suddenly posed a question naive about her own nation’s literature during a break in the dancing.

But fortunately, since the young lady was exceedingly beautiful, the young men gladly responded to her question. "A terrifying disease spread where red rashes broke out all over the body, spewing blood from them, turning the entire body crimson red, and causing death in the blink of an eye."

One of them began.

“A certain duke avoided that plague by secluding himself with his retainers in a vast monastery,” one began. “There they indulged day and night in endless revelry through banquets and dances,” another continued. A third added: “One evening, the duke hosted a masquerade ball just like tonight’s. The seven chambers of the monastery were decorated exactly like these rooms we stand in now. People danced there in frenzied abandon.” “But when the great clock in that black chamber struck twelve,” interjected the first speaker, “a figure costumed as the ‘Red Death’ suddenly appeared among them.” “The crowd parted in terror,” another voice took up the thread. “The specter staggered through all seven chambers until it reached the westernmost darkness. There it collapsed, blood streaming from every pore.” “When they tried to remove that accursed mask,” concluded a fourth gravely, “they found nothing beneath—only emptiness. The Red Death itself had slipped past their defenses.” “Within moments,” the chorus of voices concluded, “all in that monastery lay dead—bodies erupting crimson, limbs thrashing in final agony before stillness took them.”

The third person brought the story to its conclusion.

“You shouldn’t be telling such stories.”

Count Rougel, having overheard this, attempted to put an end to the eerie tale, but it was already too late.

Before they knew it, the women who had gathered there turned pale upon hearing this tale. “Oh, how creepy!”

“Count, you truly play such an unforgivable prank!”

A woman muttered with a shudder, and it formed a strange echo that passed from ear to ear. Even the men abruptly felt an inner chill creep through their bodies.

After that, there were several more dances, but no one was particularly inclined to enjoy them. Only the sound of the great clock in the back room clung persistently to their ears.

No one entered the black room. For the night had grown late, and through that blood-colored gauze, the streaming light's redness had become increasingly eerie and vivid. The crowd of dancers kept as far from it as possible and whirled about in a mad frenzy to forget their terror. Exactly as the people in the story's monastery had done. Even as they danced wildly, the women were suddenly haunted by visions—from dim corners of blue rooms or purple rooms where lamplight flickered, an eerie costumed figure would stagger forth, face covered in hideous sores streaming with blood.

And finally, midnight arrived.

From the deserted velvet room, when the great clock tolled twelve times, the people stood frozen in terror as was their custom. The musicians abruptly ceased playing. The deafening clamor that had filled the air mere moments before fell into deathly silence.

The people exchanged pale glances and fell silent. Amidst this, only the sound of the large clock reverberated in a shrill tone, as if echoing a scream from the netherworld.

The twelve strokes felt as though they took a year to complete. But the long, long tolling of the bell finally ended. And just as that delicate reverberation seemed to sweep through room after room like a passing wind, there came a light, half-suppressed laugh—chasing after the fading toll of the bell—that sounded unnervingly gloomy.

The people erupted in goosebumps and turned in unison toward that direction. And they discovered that a bizarrely costumed figure—whose presence not a single soul had noticed—was mingling amidst them. Whispers about this new intruder rippled through the crowd like wind through reeds. “My, how beautiful that is! Who on earth is that?”

The same cheerful American young lady from moments before whispered to her clown-dressed dance partner.

“You don’t know about that?” The other was startled and whispered back. “No, I don’t know.”

The young lady answered innocently.

“That’s… that’s… the famous Golden Mask, you know.” The clown uttered these terrifying words in a tone drained of vitality, eerily devoid of emotion. Golden Death What had occurred in that strange tale from a century ago now stood reproduced here in precisely the same form. People found themselves gripped by an indescribably peculiar sensation, as though watching a double-exposed film. In Poe’s terrifying story, an unknown costumed figure had appeared the instant the twelve tolls of the ebony clock ceased. Was this not exactly identical? The sole difference lay in this apparition being not the “Red Death,” but a terror far more tangible—the “Golden Mask.”

“Isn’t that a rather ghastly taste? Who on earth came in that dreadful costume?” “Well, up until just now, there shouldn’t have been a single person wearing such golden attire.”

People frowned and murmured among themselves in hushed tones. Because the matter of that dreadful threatening letter from Golden Mask had not been disclosed to anyone outside Count Rougel’s inner circle and the Metropolitan Police Department, no one suspected this might actually be the genuine fiend now terrorizing society. They all believed it to be an ill-intentioned costume worn by one of the guests. Even as they clung to this belief, when confronted with that golden Noh mask-like face—so expressionless it chilled their spines—not only the women but, absurdly, even the men clad in imposing suits of armor turned pale and began edging backward.

“Masque d’or!” “*Masque d’or!*”

Eerie whispers spread through the dancers like ripples. The figure of Golden Mask, staggering unsteadily just as the "mask of the Red Death" in the story had done, walked from room to room along the path that had been widely opened by the crowd's retreat. As he passed through room after room, the dazzling golden mantle enveloping his entire body appeared to shine beautifully—now glaring blue, now purple, now orange—each hue blazing like flames of their respective colors.

At that moment, Inspector Namikoshi, who had been standing in the corridor where the musicians were, suddenly noticed the commotion inside the room.

He heard rippling whispers of “Golden Mask… Golden Mask…” With a start, when he rushed into the blue room, the monster was already walking about two rooms ahead. “Did you see Golden Mask? Where did he go?”

When Inspector Namikoshi hurriedly questioned the crowd, someone answered with a guffaw. “Golden Mask, huh? What a foolish farce someone’s thought up.” “Where’d he go?” “Where would he go?” “He went into that black room at the far end.” “Just like the Red Death’s mask did... Ahahaha...” “Ahahaha...”

The Japanese man seemed to be terribly drunk.

Inspector Namikoshi abruptly started running in that direction. His chest felt ready to burst from an emotion caught between joy and dread. That the long-awaited Golden Mask was walking a mere few *ken* ahead seemed too fortunate—he could scarcely believe it. There was no escape route anywhere. The building was surrounded by detectives. Had he, with utter recklessness, shown himself into that surrounded place?

When he came to the next room, he discovered he wasn’t alone in pursuing the monster. Leading the chase was their host, Count Rougel. As he wore no costume, the twin tails of his tailcoat streamed behind him like black banners as he ran.

Slightly behind, another man was running. The man’s costume was so bizarrely outlandish that his identity remained undiscernible. Even whether he was Japanese was unclear. A black shirt that clung tightly to the lines of his body, black leggings, black gloves, black socks; on his head was a black cloth with both ends pinned up stiffly into two long horns, and, needless to say, a mask covered his face. In other words, it was the costume of a devil as seen in Western plays.

Count Rougel, the Western demon, and Inspector Namikoshi—disguised as a receptionist—ran in a V-formation toward the black velvet room at the far end. While running, Inspector Namikoshi took out his prepared whistle and blew it piercingly to signal his detectives.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with you all?”

From amidst the crowd of dancers, voices of bewilderment welled up. They suspected all three men might have lost their minds. So bizarre and comical did the count and his companions' actions appear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” “Please be alert.” Count Rougel called out to the crowd while running. “That golden figure is the real Golden Mask.” “I had received a threatening letter stating that he would infiltrate this gathering tonight.” At that shout, the commotion in every room fell completely silent. And an eerie silence so profound that even the sound of breathing could be heard occupied all seven rooms. Everyone knew full well what a terrifying fiend Golden Mask was.

“Ah! Look out!” “The Count is chasing that fiend like the duke who pursued the Red Death’s mask—but didn’t Prince Prospero lose his life before the ebony clock precisely because he gave chase?” The people could not help but shudder as they witnessed every detail progressing exactly like Poe’s eerie tale.

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 the color of surging blood. He stood there, his face aglow with that sanguine hue, twisting his crescent-moon lips into a bone-chilling laugh. The three pursuers—even they—hesitated at the entrance to this chamber of ominous darkness and blood, their feet rooted to the threshold. “Heh heh heh heh…” From within that black maw came laughter—eerie and half-stifled—rising like a miasma from hell’s deepest pit.

Count Rougel was the most courageous among the three who hesitated. He left the two at the entrance and leaped alone into the demon's chamber.

No sooner had he leaped in than—*Bang!*—a gunshot rang out, followed by a beast-like groan and the heavy *thud* of a body collapsing. Who fired? Who fell?

This was no time for even a moment’s hesitation. Inspector Namikoshi and the Western demon-costumed man rushed into the room almost simultaneously and grabbed the pistol-wielding hand of Count Rougel, who had been poised to fire a second shot. “You mustn’t! This is a crucial criminal! You can’t kill him!” Inspector Namikoshi shouted frantically in Japanese that the other couldn’t understand. If they were to kill this monster now, they would never learn whether his dear friend Akechi was alive or dead, nor would they discover Miss Otori’s whereabouts.

The monster lay wounded on the black velvet floor like a golden beast. The bullet appeared to have pierced his chest, and thread-like streams of blood trickled from both the breast of the golden mantle and the crescent-shaped golden lips. It was a fatal wound. However, he had not yet entirely breathed his last.

“The mask! The mask!” Count Rougel shouted. The inspector bent over the monster and reached for its expressionless golden mask. As he touched it, he involuntarily trembled. Ah, what in the world had been hidden beneath this mask? Now, at last, it would be revealed. How fervently society, the victims, and the Metropolitan Police Department must have longed for this very moment. At this thought, Inspector Namikoshi’s fingers shook. Overwhelmed by joy, he felt an 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 obsequious shadow, the embassy’s Japanese national secretary, Urase Shichirō. That meek interpreter who had stood shoulder to shoulder with Inspector Namikoshi at the reception desk before the grand ball began—that this man could be the monster left the inspector utterly dumbfounded. For a time, he could only stare in disbelief between the Count’s face and that of the Western demon.

At that moment, a group of detectives who had heard the earlier whistle came clamoring into the black room. Among them, the Superintendent’s face could also be seen. The people looked thoroughly flustered by the unexpected criminal. Inspector Namikoshi, encouraged by the Superintendent’s arrival, regained his composure. “Golden Mask. French Embassy interpreter-secretary. The criminal had been hiding under extraterritorial rights. It’s no wonder we couldn’t figure it out. Ah, now it all makes sense! If this bastard was behind the theft at Marquis Washio’s residence too, it all makes sense. Back then, this bastard entered the art museum as one of Count Rougel’s attendants.”

The inspector quickly put his mind to work. Then, he assumed a slightly more authoritative demeanor, “You all, have this criminal transported to the hospital immediately. And call the investigation department—inform them that Golden Mask has just been apprehended.” he ordered. But the detectives hesitated. Inspector Namikoshi also started and looked around the room. From somewhere, eerie laughter could be heard. The dying Golden Mask was grimacing in agony; there was no way he could be laughing. Who on earth would dare to laugh at such a critical moment?

Even when he looked around, everyone wore overly earnest expressions. Not even a shadow of laughter could be found. But there was only one person whose expression remained unreadable. That was the man disguised as the aforementioned Western demon. His face was hidden behind a mask, making it impossible to tell whether he was laughing or crying.

The Superintendent, the Inspector, the detectives, and even the Count all found themselves staring at the Western demon. Ah, it was this man after all. That stifled laughter was escaping from this jet-black demon’s mouth.

“Is something the matter? What’s so funny?” The inspector asked irritably. “No, excuse me. This uproarious farce was simply too amusing.” The demon was clearly Japanese.

“A farce? What are you saying? Do you think this is a farce? …Who on earth are you? Remove your mask.” “Arsène Lupin isn’t some petty crook like this man.” The demon ignored the Inspector’s words and suddenly said something strange, pointing at the fallen criminal. “Arsène Lupin? You mean… What about Lupin?” The inspector suspected that this guy, tormented by visions of the infamous French gentleman thief, might be a madman.

“The thief known as Golden Mask is Lupin.” “He must be Lupin.”

The inspector did not engage with this lunatic’s outlandish nonsense. Instead, he turned to his subordinates and, “Take off this bastard’s mask!” he ordered.

The detectives ran up to the Western demon, gave him no chance to speak, and tore off his mask.

Beneath the mask, rimless glasses glinted. A thick mustache covered his upper lip. "Ah! You're the waiter from here!"

Inspector Namikoshi exclaimed in surprise.

There was no doubt—this was that peculiar waiter who had been stealing furtive, meaningful glances at the Count, the Superintendent, and Inspector Namikoshi himself during dinner. “This is outrageous! What were you doing mingling among the guests? Explain this disguise!” Even as he was being shouted at, the mysterious waiter maintained an unflappable expression and, as if dismissing the Inspector outright, strode briskly up to the Superintendent.

“Superintendent, Your Excellency, would you permit me to ask this dying man a few questions?” He began spouting increasingly deranged statements.

The Superintendent was taken aback, but he added an extra measure of dignity to his stern countenance and solemnly countered.

"I may permit it, but what is your name? What possible reason could you have for making such an impertinent request?"

The waiter disguised as a demon, disregarding 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, hearing this voice so utterly different from before, suddenly recalled a certain person. It was impossible. Hadn’t he been killed? But—this voice... this face... The Superintendent stared fixedly at him, half in doubt. Then, strangely enough, from beneath the vulgar waiter’s face, the features of a certain acquaintance gradually began to emerge.

“Oh! You!”

The Superintendent let out a groan and involuntarily stepped back a step.

The waiter smiled amiably, 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, a strange commotion arose among the assembly. The time was utterly unexpected, the place entirely inappropriate—for the renowned detective they had believed dead to appear here. The entire assembly could only let out an "Ah!" and stare fixedly at his face.

Eventually, Inspector Namikoshi, having regained his composure, was the first to question Akechi.

“Akechi, let’s skip the pleasantries—I’ll hear all about how you came back to life later—but what in the world did you mean by that strange remark just now?” “Golden Mask is Arsène Lupin. “It may sound outlandish. “I was lost for a long time. “However, just two or three days ago, I finally confirmed that it wasn’t a mistake. “Lupin is right here in Tokyo now.” Even Akechi was visibly agitated.

“Then, who is this person lying here?” “He’s an outright impostor. Just another one of Lupin’s usual charades.”

Ah, this astonishing revelation! Who does not know the name of Arsène Lupin—the French gentleman thief, the great phantom thief of the age? The arch-thief Lupin had appeared in Tokyo, Japan. Had Akechi lost his mind? Are we in a waking dream? It was a fact too extraordinary to believe. “Akechi, this is no time for jokes!”

The Superintendent said with a sarcastic smile. “Ah, Your Excellency does not believe me.” “It’s not unreasonable.” “However, crime knows no borders.” “Arsène Lupin, the world-renowned art collector, wouldn’t fail to covet Japan’s ancient art pieces.” “With the same ease as a famous American movie star coming to meet Japanese girls, how can we say Lupin wouldn’t come to our country to admire its art treasures?”

As Akechi continued his impassioned tirade, the Superintendent listened with a wry smile but finally shouted, unable to endure it any longer. “I am not here to listen to arguments! I want proof—irrefutable evidence!”

“I am not one to make such claims without evidence. For example, if the man lying here were to answer my questions—that alone should suffice to satisfy Your Excellency.”

“Very well. Go ahead and question this man.”

Finally, the Superintendent’s permission was granted. Urase was already in the throes of death’s agony. He couldn’t afford to waste any time. Akechi leaned over the dying man and, as if administering hypnotism, focused all his mental energy through both eyes while beginning to question him in a forceful voice. “Hey! Pull yourself together!” “Can you hear me?” The gravely wounded man fixed his upturned eyes on Akechi’s face. “You can hear me.” “Now you’ll answer my questions.” “This is critically important.” “Just two or three words—answer them.”

“Kill me… Hurry… Kill me…”

Urase Shichirō, unable to endure the agony, moved his lips flecked with bloody foam. “Alright, alright. I’ll put you out of your misery right away.” “In return, you’ll answer me. Understand?” “You’re one of Golden Mask’s underlings, aren’t you?” “You’re one of them.” “You’re about to die—don’t you dare lie now.”

“Yeah.” “So you’re his subordinate?” “Yeah.”

“And now—this is the most crucial point. Speak it from your own mouth. What is Golden Mask’s true identity? He’s not Japanese, is he?” “Yeah.” “The name? Say the name. Come on—quickly!” “Lupin… A-A-Arsène… Lupin”

As he listened to the interrogation unfolding, even the Superintendent could no longer refuse to believe this dream-like truth. Together with Inspector Namikoshi, he bent over the dying man and strained their ears so as not to let slip a single word of his death-throes confession.

Akechi continued his suffocating interrogation. “So where is Arsène Lupin? You know his whereabouts, don’t you?” “Yeah.” “You do know, don’t you? Come on—just one word. Tell me now—where’s that bastard hiding?”

The gravely wounded man’s tongue had already 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—can’t I hear the most crucial part? “Mr. Urase, I’m begging you. Just one more word—one single word. Come on—say it! I beg you!”

Overcome by agitation, Akechi involuntarily shook the gravely wounded man. That action cruelly roused the dying man who had been slipping into unconsciousness.

“Where is Lupin?” “G-g-g-g—” “What did you say? More clearly, more clearly!”

“K-k-k…” But the dying man merely kept repeating the same fragmented words. “Here, isn’t it? You’re saying he’s here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah… Yeah…” “He’s in this room, isn’t he?” “Now—show me where! Point it out!” “If you can’t do that—then tell me with your eyes!”

Urase mustered his last remaining strength and moved the fingers of his right hand. And he gestured toward one part of the room. His nearly white eyes were also fixed in the same direction.

Ah! What in the world? The world-renowned gentleman thief Arsène Lupin was here—here in Tokyo, here in the embassy residence, here in this black velvet room—they were saying. Everyone held their breath. Unbeknownst to them, the crowd of dancers that had swarmed to the room's entrance, the squad of detectives, the Superintendent, Inspector Namikoshi, and Akechi Kogorō all held their breath. Holding their breath, they looked where the dying man had pointed. They stared at the spot where his eyes had frozen. And there—precisely where Urase had indicated—stood Count Rougel, the F Ambassador, motionless as stone.

Lupin vs. Akechi Kogorō

Countless eyes were focused on the lone figure of Count Rougel in his tailcoat, standing imposingly with the ebony grand clock behind him.

A silence as if all life had been extinguished; a long, interminable standoff where not a soul dared move. “Wahahaha… This won’t do. "This is getting too gloomy." “…Come now, everyone—please continue dancing.” “Count, please step over there as well. “We’ll handle the cleanup properly.” The Superintendent said in Japanese while making hand gestures.

“Your Excellency!” Akechi’s face twisted in fury as he glared at the Superintendent. “Do you not believe this irrefutable fact?” “Ahahaha…” The Superintendent laughed uproariously, as if clutching his sides. “Now, that won’t do. No matter how renowned the detective’s words may be, this I cannot accept. You—a personage who holds the station of ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary—engaging in theft? Th-that’s absurd! Hahaha…”

“This man is the witness.” Akechi pointed at Secretary Urase, who had already expired. “A witness? “Nonsense. “He bears a grudge against the Count for having shot him. “Moreover, you can’t trust what some blood-addled wretch might babble in his death throes. “Whether to believe the words of a mere secretary or the F Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary who enjoys the President’s full confidence—there’s no room for deliberation.”

“Then, look at this,” said Akechi Kogorō. “I would never rashly mention such a grave matter without evidence.” As he spoke, Akechi carefully retrieved a Western-style envelope from the breast pocket of his black woolen shirt and showed it to the Superintendent. The Superintendent found Akechi’s stubbornness exasperating. While he might have trusted the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary more than a mere secretary, he simultaneously placed greater faith in the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō’s capabilities than in the Ambassador himself. In truth, a corner of his mind harbored deep suspicion that Count Rougel might indeed be the great phantom thief Arsène Lupin, exactly as Akechi vehemently claimed. But raising the issue here would escalate matters beyond measure. Moreover, even if he wished to intervene, the Superintendent’s authority held no power over a nation’s ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary.

So, intending to casually smooth over the situation and urgently consult with each relevant authority, he put on a show of nonchalant, boisterous laughter. He found it deeply regrettable that single-minded Akechi had failed to grasp his subtle maneuvering.

But there was no helping it now. Akechi brought out some sort of evidence. Given who he was, there was no telling what crucial evidence he might have obtained.

“Hold, I pray you.” True to form, the Superintendent did not err in his timely response.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please withdraw for the time being. Inspector Namikoshi, you alone stay; the rest of you detectives, step outside for now. And please close that door.” Akechi noticed this too and interpreted the Superintendent’s words for the foreign dignitaries. As those who had been peering through the entrance departed and the door shut, the Superintendent planted himself before it like a barrier, darting meaningful glances at Count Rougel as he spoke to Akechi.

“It appears to be a letter. Where did that come from?” “From Paris.” “Hmph, from whom in Paris?” “As you may know, it comes from Monsieur Hébert, former chief of the Criminal Affairs Department at the Paris Prefecture of Police.” “Hébert?” “That’s correct. He’s renowned as the brave officer who dueled Lupin in two major cases Lupin was involved with—the Rudolf Skelbach Conspiracy and Cosmo Mornington Inheritance incidents.” “He served as right-hand man to then-Superintendent General Monsieur Demarion.”

“I see. And?” “He has now retired from his position and lives secluded in Paris’s suburbs, but when I visited Paris several years ago, I called on him and spent an entire day engrossed in conversation.” “Though he claimed utter weariness with police affairs, once our talk turned to Lupin, veins bulged upon his forehead as he vowed never to forget that villain until drawing his final breath—his demeanor grew most fearsome.” “After all, this is a man who endured relentless drudgery and mockery under Lupin’s masquerade as Criminal Affairs Department chief.”

“So, what did Monsieur Hébert have to say?” “I requested an investigation into Count Rougel’s identity via telegram. The Count was a man once reported dead in the Battle of Champagne. His rapid rise in Parisian political circles occurred entirely after the Great War. This gives rise to a grave suspicion—whether the pre-war Count Rougel and post-war Count Rougel are truly the same person. Should they prove different individuals, I inquired whether this might not be Arsène Lupin.” “Upon hearing Lupin’s name, Monsieur Hébert threw himself into the investigation with extraordinary zeal. He tracked down wartime comrades, located the Count’s childhood friends, collected photographs, and pursued every lead—ultimately uncovering a monumental error made by the President and the Count’s former comrades. It became clear that Count Rougel had indeed perished at Champagne.” “However, given the gravity of this matter, we cannot rashly act on a retired officer’s counsel. Should it emerge that we allowed a thief bearing presidential credentials to be received by His Majesty the Emperor as a national envoy, it would not only convulse Parisian politics but spark an international crisis. We cannot demand extradition based solely on a telegram.” “Thus, it was resolved to secretly dispatch Monsieur Hébert—the foremost authority on Lupin—to Japan. He would personally verify Count Rougel’s identity before taking appropriate measures. Monsieur Hébert departed France immediately after writing this letter. He should arrive within days.”

The Superintendent General and Inspector Namikoshi were at a loss for words. Golden Mask was not merely a peerless phantom thief. He was the West's answer to Ten'ichibō.

“Might I withdraw to that side?”

Having lost patience, Count Rougel glanced between the three men's faces and inquired in his native language.

“Excuse me. Count, you may have already surmised this, but we are police officers. Though the murdered man may have been a notorious thief, a murder has occurred here regardless. We must investigate the victim’s identity. Furthermore—though I apologize for the imposition—there are several questions we must ask Your Excellency the Ambassador. We must request that you remain in this room briefly.”

Akechi answered respectfully in French.

“Earlier, this man pointed at me and said something. What did he say?” 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 consternation before stating bluntly: “Your Excellency is the notorious gentleman thief Arsène Lupin,” he declared.

Upon hearing this, Count Rougel showed no sign of surprise and instead gazed fixedly at Akechi's face. Akechi wore a desperate smile as he stared back at the ambassador.

A strange silence persisted for several seconds. "Ha ha... Are you saying that I... that Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary Count Rougel... am Lupin?" "And do you actually believe that?" Count Rougel wore a faint, inscrutable smile.

“If I were to say I do believe it, what would Your Excellency deem appropriate?”

Akechi summoned his desperate resolve and declared. "If all facts indicate as much, then even Your Excellency the Ambassador cannot escape suspicion." "All facts? Then state them." The ambassador maintained his unperturbed demeanor as before.

“Golden Mask rarely speaks,” “When absolutely necessary, he speaks only the simplest words—in a highly ambiguous, distinctly un-Japanese pronunciation.” “This reveals Golden Mask is a foreigner.” “The bizarre golden mask itself was devised to conceal foreign features recognizable at a glance.” “And?” “Golden Mask exclusively targets antique artworks unique to Japan—treasures no ordinary thief could handle.” “Only someone like Lupin, owning a private museum, could manage such feats.”

“And?”

“Why did Miss Fujiko fall in love with the terrifying Golden Mask? It is because he is Arsène Lupin. If that noble young lady were to fall in love with a thief, there exists only one man in all the world it could be—Lupin. Lupin possesses a terrifying mystical power capable of enthralling any woman.” “Should Lupin hear that, he would no doubt deem it a great honor. However, this matter holds no relation whatsoever to me.”

“The Buddha statue belonging to the House of Marquis Washio had been replaced with a counterfeit. On the back of that counterfeit statue, the initials A.L. had been inscribed. There are no Japanese personal names that include the initial L. Who else could it be but Arsène Lupin? Not only do the initials match, but a thief who leaves his own calling card at crime scenes likely exists nowhere outside of Lupin. He has a precedent of replacing treasures in museums across Europe with counterfeits and leaving his signature in inconspicuous locations on those counterfeits.”

“...” “And during the time of that theft, if we speak of foreigners who visited the Marquis Washio residence, Your Excellency, there was no one other than you.” “I had already begun to dimly suspect at that time that Golden Mask was Arsène Lupin and that Lupin was none other than Ambassador Rougel.”

“Ha ha ha... How amusing,” Count Rougel laughed. “So I am the world-renowned gentleman thief Arsène Lupin? And your evidence? Where is this concrete evidence?” “Urase’s testimony,” Akechi stated. “This man is a lunatic,” the Count retorted. “Hébert’s investigation.” “What, Hébert?” For the first time, Count Rougel’s complexion changed slightly. “You recall him, do you not? Lupin’s archenemy—the former Deputy Chief Hébert. Through his investigation into your identity as Count Rougel, he uncovered everything. The President dispatched that Hébert to Japan to effect your arrest. Your Excellency has already lost the F government’s confidence.”

Count Rougel was finally driven into an inescapable predicament.

He had no words to retort. But he did not panic at all. It was because he had encountered such situations a thousand times before. Not only did he not panic, but instead burst into loud laughter.

“Ahahaha... Well done, Mr. Akechi Kogorō, Japan’s renowned detective. No—truly impressive! Arsène Lupin shall remember this for life.” “So you’ve confessed then.” The giant and the phantom now stood upon equal footing. The Human Dissolution Technique Leaving behind the Superintendent General and Inspector Namikoshi—who stood dumbstruck, unable to comprehend their words—the French gentleman thief and Japan’s celebrated detective continued their extraordinary exchange. Though these two titans harbored bottomless enmity toward one another, they shared an indefinable thread of understanding; outwardly they conversed with the easy familiarity of long-acquainted companions.

“It seems I had underestimated the Japanese too much.” “I had been certain that the figure reflected in the apartment window was you.” “And I believed that you had died.” “If only I had eliminated you, then things like today wouldn’t have happened.”

The Count lit a cigarette, letting purple smoke drift lazily, and spoke with an air of nonchalance, as though oblivious to his own peril.

“Being praised for that would make me blush,” he said. “That was an old trick Sherlock Holmes used, you know. A wax figure. Since realizing it was a wax figure would ruin everything, I hid the corpse immediately after it was shot through. Still, I must admit your marksmanship impressed me – you’d pierced right through the dummy’s heart. Just thinking what would’ve happened if it’d been me makes my blood run cold.” Still wearing his bizarre Western demon costume, Akechi kept pacing back and forth before Count Rougel’s Lupin, chatting away with a smile.

"But you know, Lupin, there's something rather amusing about you." "I must say, even the great Lupin is getting a bit senile." "The fact that you've resorted to murder." "The killing of Marquis Washio's maid might have been your subordinate's unilateral decision." "But you shot at me." "That fortunately failed, but you'll never escape responsibility for Urase's murder." "You've spilled blood now." "Urase was Japanese." Lupin declared haughtily. "I once gunned down three Moroccans in one go."

“Damn you!” Akechi seethed with fury. “You—of all people—harbor such white supremacist prejudices? “To tell the truth, I hadn’t considered you an ordinary criminal. “Japan has had its noble thieves since ancient times. “I had maintained some respect for you as one such chivalrous robber. “But as of this moment, I rescind that. “What remains is nothing but contempt for a thief worthy only of scorn.” “Hmph.” Lupin’s lips curled. “Whether you scorn or revere me—it matters not one whit.”

“Ah… So this is what Arsène Lupin amounts to—a man like you? I cannot help but be disappointed. First of all, why did you make Urase wear the Golden Mask disguise? Wasn’t your plan to make everyone believe he was that phantom thief and have him shot dead in one fell swoop? Yet you missed your mark, failed to kill him instantly, and through your mortally wounded subordinate’s actions, blundered so badly that your own identity was exposed—Lupin has truly grown senile, hasn’t he?”

“Heh heh heh… Whether I’m senile or not—deciding that’s still a bit premature, don’t you think?” Lupin blew a smoke ring and brazenly feigned nonchalance.

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is… this!” “Hands up!” Suddenly, a thunderous roar burst forth from Lupin’s mouth. He stood blocking the ebony grand clock, aimed his pistol at Akechi and the three others, and assumed a guarded stance without dropping his vigilance.

The opponent’s attitude changed so abruptly that even Akechi was momentarily stunned into immobility. Even if the Superintendent General and Inspector Namikoshi had weapons concealed on them，they had no chance to draw them; all they could do was dodge the pistol’s muzzle and falteringly back away. “Go ahead，make a move—I dare you.” “I’ll blast you without mercy!” “Hahaha… Do you still think Lupin has gone senile?” “I don’t intend to be foolish enough to get caught by Japanese police officers yet.”

But even the fiendish thief had no eyes in the back. Even if he could have looked behind him, he wouldn’t have noticed what was inside the clock.

No sooner had the lid of the ebony grand clock silently opened than a figure leaped out from within. No sooner had he leaped out than he suddenly grabbed the hand holding Lupin’s pistol. “Hahaha… Do you think I’m fool enough to get caught by French police officers?”

The man shouted in rapid-fire French.

Lupin recognized that voice. Startled, he whirled around to find the stern face of a fellow countryman there. "Ah, you fiend—Monsieur Hébert!"

“That’s right.” “Deputy Chief Hébert—once your subordinate!” “Surely you haven’t forgotten me?” “I hadn’t forgotten you either.” “Mr. Akechi! This man is none other than Lupin!”

“Ah! So you came on the same ship as that letter…”

“That’s correct. Immediately after disembarking, I came straight here. I was fortunate to arrive just in time for the masquerade ball.” “Monsieur Hébert—do you have the authority to arrest an Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary?”

Lupin scolded his former subordinate. “It’s His Excellency the President’s direct order.” “I have also brought a prosecutor’s warrant.” “Submit quietly!”

Lupin was disarmed. Conversely, Inspector Namikoshi took out the pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the notorious fiend. Even this mastermind had now exhausted every scheme, cornered with no escape. Besieged front and rear by warriors who could each take on a thousand. With the exception of the Superintendent General—whether Akechi, Inspector Namikoshi, or now even Hébert—they were all unmatched experts in criminal apprehension. How could any chance of escape remain? No—even were he to flee, there was but one entrance. Beyond that entrance door waited the Metropolitan Police Department’s elite detectives. No matter how magician-like this fiend might be, there existed absolutely no means to break through such tight encirclement. Ah—had Arsène Lupin, that scourge of nations, met his fate here? To become a captive in this Far Eastern land of alien peoples?

“Hey now, you’ve all gone awfully somber, haven’t you? What’s there to be sad about? Are you pitying my demise? Hahaha… Spare me the needless worrying. I don’t recall ever agreeing to be arrested!”

Ah, what audacity! Even at this final critical moment, Lupin showed no sign of faltering. He was laughing uproariously. He was a monster. He was a creature of unfathomable depths.

“We’re not asking for your consent.” “We have captured Lupin beyond doubt.” “Short of divine intervention itself occurring, Lupin’s fate is sealed.”

Hébert said with some emotion. “Unless a natural disaster strikes? Hmph, then what will you do if such a disaster does strike?”

“Ho! You fiend—are you claiming you can cause such a disaster?” “I do say so.” “What? What are you saying?” “I’m saying I’ll use my power to bring about a natural disaster!” Lupin sneered with apparent confidence.

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

The detectives outside the door began growing suspicious when those inside showed no sign of emerging despite the prolonged wait. Pressing their ears against the door, they found that the faint voices audible until moments earlier had abruptly ceased, leaving an uncanny stillness. Something was amiss.

“Inspector Namikoshi!” “Inspector Namikoshi!” “Superintendent General!” They called out one after another while knocking on the door. But there was no response. “This is strange. Let’s open it up.”

When someone said this, everyone agreed, so one of them nearby quietly opened the door and peered inside through the gap.

“Huh? This is strange.” “There’s no one here!” “Not here?” “Not even a single soul?”

“There’s not even a single kitten here!” Thereupon, the detectives noisily barged into the room, removed the black velvet drapes and carpets, and frantically knocked on every wall and floorboard in their search—but nowhere could they find any secret passageways. There was no secret door mechanism inside the ebony grand clock either. The glass window facing the corridor remained closed, and outside it, one of the detectives had been standing until just moments before. The Superintendent General, Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi Kogorō, Count Rougel, and the corpse of Secretary Urase—five people at least that the detectives knew of—had vanished like smoke within a sealed room devoid of any hidden doors. They had melted away completely.

The detectives, feeling as though bewitched by a fox or trapped in a dream, could do nothing but stand rigidly in place, their eyes darting about as they exchanged uneasy glances.

How could they possibly report something as absurd as the Superintendent General having melted away? But in fact, it wasn’t just the Superintendent General—all five grown men had dissolved without a trace.

Could Lupin’s bold declaration—"I’ll use my power to bring about a natural disaster!"—have referred to this bizarre human dissolution technique? That said, no matter how ingenious Lupin may be, he couldn’t possibly dissolve human beings. So what had become of the five men?

Open Sesame

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

Even the notorious thief had now reached his most desperate hour. My pistol had been confiscated by Monsieur Hébert, and now，confronted by the enemy’s leveled pistol，he found himself immobilized.

Unless some natural disaster were to occur, Lupin’s arrest was now certain. His archenemy Monsieur Hébert sneered triumphantly.

“How’s this, Arsène Lupin? Just imagine how I feel—it’s like the pent-up frustration of over a decade has drained away all at once. How pitiful—even the world-renowned master thief must meet his ignominious end in this remote corner of the Far East. Heh heh heh… I’m feeling this strange mix of joy and sorrow, I tell you.” Monsieur Hébert hurled his words in harsh French. “Hey there, Monsieur Hébert. You seem to have forgotten the promise I made earlier.”

Arsène Lupin did not yield an inch in this dire predicament. Maintaining an eerie smile at his lips, he replied with undiminished vigor. "A promise? Hmm? What exactly did I promise?" "Ha! Feigning ignorance won't work," Lupin countered. "You've been dreadfully anxious about this all along, haven't you? Behold—my promise that you'd never capture me!" "Ah, that convict's ditty of yours?" Hébert scoffed. "Not in the slightest concern. Claim what you will about avoiding capture—you're as good as caught! Your pistol's confiscated. We hold three firearms here. Beyond that door swarms a mountain of Japanese officers! However grand Lupin's promises may ring, this particular vow I shan't credit! Not even God could slip this net!"

Monsieur Hébert declared vehemently. Though he talked big, deep down he was secretly fearful. He knew Arsène Lupin all too well. “Ha ha ha… Monsieur Hébert, you seem to be getting a bit scared,” Lupin retorted. “What’s impossible for God might just be possible for this Lupin. You said something earlier—ah yes—that unless a natural disaster occurred, I couldn’t escape. But do you think this Lupin lacks the power to bring about such a cataclysm?”

As he spoke, Lupin grew increasingly cheerful.

In contrast, Monsieur Hébert appeared to be growing paler by the moment. "Nonsense! I assert—Arsène Lupin has indeed been arrested!"

"However, I am now about to leave this room."

Lupin declared haughtily. “Ha ha ha… Go ahead and try to leave if you dare,” Monsieur Hébert sneered. “Outside that door’s a mountain of police officers!”

Monsieur Hébert twisted his ashen face and bellowed.

“A mountain of police? “Such things are as nothing to me.” “Open, Sésame!” I’ve used this incantation to make the iron doors of the great prison open before. “In Lupin’s dictionary, there is no such word as ‘impossible.’” As he spoke, the audacious fiend, as though completely ignoring the pistol muzzles that Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi Kogorō, and Monsieur Hébert had simultaneously trained on him, walked calmly toward the door. “Hébert, it’s the chief’s orders. Open the door.” “Open the door.”

Lupin, evoking Chief Inspector Renormal from days past, issued a stern command. “Ha ha ha… Cut out this ridiculous act. If you open that door, you’ll only hasten your own destruction. It will only disgrace Count Rougel, the ambassador. Outside aren’t just police officers—there’s a whole swarm of party guests milling about, I tell you. Or else, if you’re so desperate to open it, go ahead and try it yourself!” “Very well, then I shall open it myself. I trust there are no objections?”

No sooner had he spoken than Lupin, who had already reached the door, turned the handle and flung it open. "Oh no!" By the time Akechi sensed something amiss and shouted, it was already too late. The swift phantom thief darted out of the room and shut the door from outside. Yet over a dozen detectives should have been gathered there. They would never let him escape even if he tried.

“Hey, everyone! Capture Count Rougel! “Don’t let the ambassador escape!” Inspector Namikoshi shouted in a voice on the verge of breaking. “Wahaha… Hey, hey, Monsieur Hébert, Akechi! Where on earth have all the Japanese police officers gone? "There doesn’t seem to be anyone here. "Not a single one of the evening party’s esteemed guests has graced us with their presence. “Ha ha… Well then, farewell! Do endure your confinement there for a while.”

Click-clack—the sound of a key being turned in the door from outside. “Damn it—the pistol! Never mind—fire!” Monsieur Hébert shouted in French unintelligible to anyone but Akechi. As he roared, his pistol belched smoke. Then came Inspector Namikoshi and Akechi—three pistols firing in rapid volleys. Two holes, three holes, four holes—in moments, perforations riddled the door’s wooden panel. Yet the enemy showed no signs of falling. Monsieur Hébert and Inspector Namikoshi suddenly hurled themselves against the door. Without a spare key, they had no recourse but to break it down and pursue the thief.

What became of Lupin? He was running down the long corridor, leaving the hail of gunfire behind, without sustaining so much as a scratch. It was truly beyond comprehension.

A great and bizarre incident occurred. Ahead of Lupin, there truly wasn’t a single soul to be seen. The detective corps and party crowd that had been densely packed outside the door—when on earth had they vanished, and where to?

No, no—there was no way they could have vanished. The reader had likely read in the previous chapter the passage where the detectives, having grown tired of waiting, tried opening the same room’s door from the outside. When the detectives entered and looked inside, to their utter astonishment, there was no one there. Count Rougel, the Superintendent General, Akechi, Inspector Namikoshi—even the fake Golden Mask’s corpse—had all vanished as though melted away, leaving neither shadow nor trace.

Meanwhile, in that very manner, the people inside the room had vanished without a trace.

However, this time, when Lupin opened the door from inside, the crowd outside had vanished completely, as though they had all evaporated. What was going on here?

Surely, even Lupin was no magician. Surely, it couldn’t be that every last one of them was sharing the same dream. Then is the author writing some outrageous nonsense? No, no—that is absolutely not the case. Both are true. That when the detectives searched the room, there was no trace of anyone inside; and that when Lupin fled outside, not a single soul remained there—both were irrefutable truths. Then, was there a discrepancy in timing between those two events? Far from it—in fact, it was several minutes before Lupin fled that the detectives had stormed in.

It was an unthinkable event. It was a matter utterly impossible both theoretically and practically. But neither was the author lying. There was absolutely no possibility that you readers had misread anything.

There lay the astonishing trick of the phantom thief Arsène Lupin. There lay a great earth-shattering deception, unique to Lupin, that none could have conceived.

Be that as it may, Lupin raced down the deserted corridor and dashed into the room at the end, where five shadowy figures awaited him within that pitch-dark room. All five were dressed in tailcoats: three were foreigners, and two were Japanese. They were likely Lupin’s subordinates.

They—now six in total with Lupin joining them—opened a glass window in utter silence and stepped out onto the emergency ladder’s landing. And then, one by one, they descended the iron ladder without making a sound.

It had already been noted that two detectives were stationed at the base of the emergency ladder. They were still faithfully fulfilling their duty at that moment. “Who’s there!”

Upon seeing six figures alight from the ladder, one of the detectives shouted. At the same moment, a blinding beam of light flashed. Then, one detective lit a flashlight and directed its beam at the group.

“Shh! Be silent. It’s nothing suspicious,” Lupin’s Japanese subordinate said in a low voice. “Who goes there? Please state your name.” The detectives, showing respect for their opponents’ tailcoats, adjusted their tone. “It is His Excellency the Ambassador. An urgent matter has arisen requiring him to leave the party. Your Excellency, if you would kindly allow these men to verify your face.” Needless to say, the detective’s flashlight beam swept over their faces. The man standing at the center was indeed Ambassador Count Rougel. Even junior detectives could not possibly fail to recognize the master of the embassy himself—a figure made familiar through newspaper photographs. Who could imagine this man was the Golden Mask? Let alone the internationally wanted thief Arsène Lupin.

“Our deepest apologies. We are members of the Metropolitan Police Department ordered here to arrest Golden Mask. We deeply apologize for stopping and questioning you without realizing it was Your Excellency the Ambassador. Please proceed.” “Ah, I see. That must have been quite an effort.” With those parting words, the group proceeded toward the automobiles clustered inside the gate. When they saw that, two automobiles turned on their headlights and prepared to depart. The people swiftly vanished into the vehicles.

Soon, the roar of engines resounded through the late-night grounds. The gliding light of headlights over the ground. The two automobiles moved away from the embassy like a sinister gust of wind.

Earth-shattering.

Returning to our story, a squad of Metropolitan Police detectives were scurrying about before the grand ebony clock in the black velvet room, their minds addled as though foxes had bewitched them. Their superiors—starting with the Police Commissioner General himself—alongside Count Rougel, Akechi Kogorō, and Inspector Namikoshi—were thrown into a futile uproar, overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling as though caught in a nightmare at this bizarre incident of vanishing like smoke.

Then, suddenly, from somewhere far away, came the sound of a pistol being fired repeatedly. Then came shouts and violent pounding against a door.

When the dozen or so detectives heard this, they all stopped pacing about and fell utterly still.

“That was a pistol shot just now.” “Where could it be?”

However, given the building’s maze-like twists and turns, they couldn’t immediately pinpoint the source.

“Listen,” one detective urged. “That banging sound is definitely coming from above the ceiling.” “It must be the second floor.” Now that they mentioned it, the noises did seem to originate from upstairs. The thick floors of this luxuriously constructed building muffled the sounds, letting only faint echoes through—but the direction was unmistakably overhead. “Let’s check it out.” When one detective broke into a run, the others clattered after him in a disorderly rush. Passing through rooms awash in five different colors and ascending the grand staircase, they found—just as expected—the noises growing louder with each step.

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

It seemed someone was pounding on the door from the inside. One section of the door panel was already beginning to splinter apart with a creaking sound. “Who’s there? Who is it? Who’s in there?”

One of them challenged in a loud voice.

“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 Namikoshi could be heard. Strange, strange—the inspector was supposed to have never left the black room downstairs. How had he managed to reach the second floor? Though dumbfounded, the detectives helped break down the door. When a quick-witted officer removed the latch, it opened without resistance. "What the... This is weird! Are we on the first floor or second? We definitely just climbed the stairs..."

Someone let out a shrill cry.

And that wasn't entirely impossible.

The opened door revealed the black velvet room. The grand ebony clock continued its identical motion. The counterfeit Golden Mask's corpse still lay sprawled. Inspector Namikoshi wasn't alone. The Commissioner General stood present. Akechi Kogorō too occupied the space. Count Rougel had vanished without trace, replaced by a grim-faced foreign stranger standing rigid in his stead.

What is the meaning of this?

It was a dream. If not that, then they must have gone mad. The entire group turned pale and could do nothing but exchange glances. “Hey! What are you all staring blankly for? Where did the ambassador escape to? I was shouting my head off! Why didn’t you catch him?”

Inspector Namikoshi flew into a rage and shouted again.

However, the detectives only grew more bewildered. Why they needed to capture Count Rougel completely baffled them. They could only wonder if even Inspector Namikoshi had lost his mind through some unknown sorcerer’s trickery. “Even if you order us to catch him,” one detective retorted resentfully, “we were guarding outside the lower room’s door. We knew nothing about the second floor. But why should we capture the ambassador?”

One detective answered with a dissatisfied look. “Wh-what on earth are you talking about?” “The second floor?” “You’re claiming this is the second floor?”

This time, it was the Inspector who was startled. “That’s correct. We indeed came up the grand staircase. But this is strange… The room looks exactly the same as before, yet…”

The detectives made strange faces and explained the circumstances. "That's impossible! You must be out of your minds!" “Then let’s go check that lower room.”

Inspector Namikoshi was not easily convinced. “Please wait. There's a chance we've been subjected to an outrageous trick.”

Akechi, staring fixedly at the blood-colored gauze curtain on the corridor-facing window, interjected. “What did you say?” “Look here… The light beyond that gauze curtain seems somehow off… Could it be…”

Akechi strode briskly over and abruptly tore off the gauze curtain. Then, look at this. Outside the window, the corridor that had been there moments ago had vanished, replaced by a grimy plaster wall blocking the way. What they had thought were corridor lights turned out to be small bare light bulbs attached to the window frames.

The Commissioner General, the Inspector, Monsieur Hébert, and the detectives all let out an "Ah!" and stood frozen in place. Akechi paced around the room in circles as if pondering something, then stopped before the grand clock and crouched slightly to peer at the floor there.

“Ah! This is it,” Akechi declared, his finger stabbing downward. “The switch is right here.”

When they looked where he pointed, there on the jet-black carpet was a small protrusion.

“What switch?”

The Commissioner General and Inspector Namikoshi asked back in unison. "It’s truly an astonishing mechanical device." "To have crafted this much without anyone noticing in just three months—truly a feat only Lupin could accomplish." "That fiend is a monster who effortlessly brings his earth-shattering delusions to life." "A mechanical device?" Starting with the Commissioner General, they still couldn’t grasp the meaning of what Akechi was saying. “Didn’t that fiend Lupin boast earlier about unleashing a cataclysm?” "And in fact, the cataclysm did occur." "That fiend used the cataclysm he himself had unleashed as cover and effortlessly slipped through the police encirclement." “Look here." "This small white button." "With just one press of this, that fiend’s so-called cataclysm will occur." "It was precisely because he had this that he could keep laughing nonchalantly even at the final critical moment."

“So you mean to say we’re actually on the second floor right now?”

The Commissioner General, who had vaguely grasped what was happening, blinked his large eyes and asked.

“That’s correct. If we press this button, we should be able to remain right here and return to the original lower floor.”

While speaking, Akechi resolutely pressed the button on the floor. Then, something bizarre began to occur. They felt their bodies go numb and experienced a slight dizziness. But for some time, they couldn't comprehend what was causing this at all. The room did not shake in the slightest. The ceiling, walls, and floor remained completely still. Yet within that stillness, they sensed an indescribable movement.

“Look here. We’re currently descending in complete silence.” When they looked where Akechi pointed, everyone stared wide-eyed in astonishment. The gap in the door they had just broken through was now creeping upward at an imperceptible speed, like clock hands moving. The room’s walls were entirely draped in black velvet except for the window and door sections. Through the rectangular opening where the door had been, the door itself continued rising until it disappeared from view.

After the door vanished, a dusky plaster wall continued for some time, but when it ended, a door once again came into view from below. The giant elevator reached from the second floor to the first floor.

“What an astonishing concept this is! This entire room itself was constructed as a type of elevator mechanism. Just moments ago, Lupin was standing right in front of that grand clock. There’s a reason for that. Not only did he need to press the button, but he also had to divert our four pairs of eyes away from the door and keep them fixed on the grand clock. As a result, because we were standing with our backs to the door, we didn’t notice the room ascending at all. Because aside from the door, there was nothing moving anywhere in the room. The shaking was extremely slight, and since we never imagined the entire room would ascend like that, unfortunately, we fell right into the enemy’s trap.”

As he spoke, the giant elevator finished descending completely, and the floor of the room aligned perfectly with the hallway floor outside the door. Since the door had been left wide open earlier, the remaining masked ball guests who were still lingering nearby were so astonished by the bizarre transformation inside the room that they huddled together and stared fixedly in this direction.

“But this is odd,” remarked the detective. “The room we checked earlier was identical to this one in every detail—the crimson window, black velvet drapes, ebony grand clock... they’re completely the same.”

One of the detectives muttered in bewilderment.

“That’s it. That is the ingenious trap of this grand mechanical contraption. There is another room exactly like this one beneath our feet. In other words, they had prepared two identically decorated rooms by connecting two elevator cars.”

Akechi explained. Without even needing to investigate, the ball guests had witnessed this double-layered room mechanism and were exclaiming about it in unison. Ah, what an elaborate mechanical contraption this was! It was a trick unprecedented in criminal history. No, there was precisely one precedent. That was the grand mechanical trick devised by Fantôma - who along with Zigomar, Lupin's predecessor among France's great thieves - had his name celebrated throughout the world. A person had been killed in one of the rooms. They had met their end in a pool of blood that flowed like a torrent. In the mere instant that the person who discovered it had left to inform others, the victim's corpse had vanished. It wasn't just the corpse. Even that torrent of blood had disappeared without a trace. This enormously bizarre incident had greatly plagued the Paris Police Headquarters at the time, but it too had ultimately been an elevator mechanism using double-layered rooms. It was the astonishing creation of the fiendish thief Fantôma - a deception so brazen the world had never seen its like.

The shrewd Lupin must have studied this master predecessor’s invention in his daily preparations. Then, having been assigned as ambassador plenipotentiary, upon entering the official residence, he immediately put that design into practice, constructed this enormous mechanical contraption, and undoubtedly prepared an escape plan for emergencies. “It’s a daringly conceived trick typical of Lupin.” Monsieur Hébert remarked in a tone of rather admiring wonder.

“That guy’s the type who harbors outlandish fantasies—like attaching a hydrogen balloon to an elevator and punching through the roof to escape. In the old Gerbois case, my colleague Inspector Ganimard fell victim to this very method.”

It was soon discovered that Lupin, along with five subordinates, had boldly made his escape down the emergency ladder disguised as Count Rougel. Inspector Namikoshi berated the two detectives guarding the emergency ladder with a terrifying demeanor, but no amount of commotion could change the fact that it was too late.

The whereabouts of the phantom thief Arsène Lupin and his five subordinates had become impossible to track.

The ambassador plenipotentiary of F国 has gone missing! Ah, what an utterly absurd turn of events! The authorities classified this grave incident as top secret and suppressed even newspaper articles, so the ambassador’s disappearance was never officially disclosed. Yet strange rumors crept from shadow to shadow, swiftly spreading throughout the entire city. "They say that Golden Mask, the phantom thief, was actually Count Rougel, the F国 ambassador, in disguise." "And what’s more, they say that ambassador was also an impostor—that Count Rougel was actually Arsène Lupin." "Isn't that absurd?" “Lupin’s been impersonating F国’s representative—even went so far as to present credentials, I tell ya.” “Never before or since have I heard such an outlandish tale!”

Everywhere you turned, there were hushed whispers of the most bizarre rumors.

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

The Atelier Mystery

For about half a month after that, the whereabouts of Lupin and his gang remained completely unknown. Consequently, the whereabouts of Miss Ōtori Fujiko, who had run away out of admiration for the phantom thief, also remained a mystery.

Moreover, ironically, a strange game became popular among children throughout Tokyo.

“Wanna play Golden Mask?” The children began playing Golden Mask instead of swordplay games. Unnoticed by anyone, papier-mâché golden masks had come to be hung in toy shop windows. The children would buy them one by one, each disguising themselves as the phantom thief Golden Mask, and play a kind of tag game. The streets were filled with little golden masks. Wherever one went, there were eerie golden masks.

This strange trend gave citizens an indescribable unease. In the twilight streets, encounters with dwarf-sized golden masks often occurred, leaving people gasping in shock. An indescribable fear spread, growing ever larger. Someone spread rumors that Golden Mask had been sitting alone inside a red streetcar late at night, devoid of any passengers. Strangely enough, the rumor gained embellishments—that apart from Golden Mask, there were neither passengers nor driver nor conductor aboard that streetcar.

Some claimed that in deserted neighborhoods, golden monsters would follow close behind with nary a footstep, while others spread rumors of golden faces peering from the windows of vacant rooms in Marunouchi’s great buildings.

People had an inkling that Golden Mask was the fiendish foreign thief Arsène Lupin. But even if it was Lupin，they couldn’t let their guard down. In this country，he did not fear shedding blood. He killed people without hesitation. Lupin’s personality had undergone a complete transformation. It was as if a tamed beast had tasted blood. People began to perceive Lupin，the gentleman thief，as something suddenly unknowable and terrifying. The impression of that Golden Mask—with thread-like blood flowing from its crescent-shaped lips—made Lupin appear profoundly eerie.

And before long, just as people had feared, a horrific incident occurred that bore witness to Lupin’s complete transformation in character.

That night, at the residence of Kawamura Unzan in M-chō, Kōjimachi Ward, his only daughter Miss Kinue kept lonely watch over the master’s absence alongside several servants. Mr. Unzan was none other than the Tokyo Art School’s honorary professor—the doyen of our nation’s sculpting world. His wife had passed away several years prior, leaving the family to consist solely of their daughter in a solitary existence. Mr. Unzan had traveled to Kansai on business two days earlier and was scheduled to return home the following day. That very night, a strange incident occurred.

“Kinue, during my absence, you must sleep in my bed as always.” Before his departure, Mr. Unzan had repeatedly given these instructions to his daughter. He had built a Western-style atelier adjacent to the Japanese-style main house, with his bedroom located within it. As both the bedroom and the vast atelier—separated by only a single door—contained numerous Buddhist statues painstakingly carved with devotion, it had become customary during his absences to have his daughter sleep in this Western building’s bed, intending for her to keep watch over them.

“In this atelier lies something far more precious than my life.” “I cannot entrust this to servants.” “You absolutely must keep watch here.” Mr. Unzan would always say such things. “Does this precious thing refer to the Buddhist statues you carved, Father?” When his daughter inquired, “Those matter too, but there are things beyond value - more than life itself.” “Even were I to tell you, you couldn’t comprehend.” “Regardless of whether they’re guests or servants, never permit anyone into the atelier while I’m away.” “Should a thief creep in at night, ring the bell by your pillow without fail. Summon the servants and have them drive out the intruder.”

Mr. Unzan repeatedly gave his warnings. "Oh, how distrustful Father was!" Miss Kinue did not voice it aloud, but in her heart—though he was her own father—she found his excessive suspicion almost unreasonable; yet she could not defy his instructions. Whenever Mr. Unzan went on a trip, she would endure her loneliness and sleep in the bed of the Western-style mansion that stood like a solitary house, far removed from the servants. That night, for some reason, Miss Kinue found herself strangely unable to sleep.

“Tomorrow, Father will return.” “Then I won’t have to sleep in this lonely bed anymore.” No sooner had this thought crossed her mind than the coming of dawn felt agonizingly distant.

The surroundings were eerily silent, like the bottom of the sea. Everyone was fast asleep as if dead. When she felt she was the only one awake in the vast world, a chill ran down her spine. "What time could it be?"

She turned over and saw that it was already past one. Oh, what was that? There shouldn't have been any letter left in a place like this. Miss Kinue, feeling suspicious, looked at the area before the clock. Because there lay an unopened letter that had been tossed there. As she lay there, she reached out and took it. On the envelope's front was written simply Miss. She turned it over and looked, but there was no sender's name.

"Who could have left something like this here?"

She casually opened the envelope and read the letter inside. “From the moment you read this letter, no matter what happens, you must not make a sound. Do not move a muscle. If you disobey this command, you will lose your life.” The letter contained such strange wording. When Miss Kinue read it, her heart seemed to stop dead; she threw the letter to the floor and found herself unable to move. Even when she tried to scream, her throat constricted and no voice emerged.

For about ten minutes, she remained as rigid as a living doll, but once her nerves had calmed slightly, she resolved to press the call bell by her pillow. As she cautiously began to reach out her hand, the velvet curtain hanging in the corner of the room began billowing ominously, as though issuing a warning. "Ah, that's it. "After all, there’s someone hiding behind there." The moment this thought struck her, Miss Kinue found her outstretched hand frozen mid-reach and her voice stolen away. Her eyes remained riveted on the curtain, utterly incapable of looking elsewhere.

As the curtain swelled ominously, its seam began to inch open bit by bit. With each passing minute of this gradual opening, a glittering object emerged from the narrow gap in the seam—first appearing like a golden thread, then thickening into a rod, until at last it expanded into an uncanny golden human face. Golden Mask!

Miss Kinue had heard through newspapers and people’s accounts of the rumors about the terrifying Golden Mask. That Golden Mask would attempt to sneak into her bedroom—she, all alone in the vast Western-style mansion— It was so unbelievable that she could scarcely comprehend it. Was this a nightmare? She prayed that if it were, she would wake soon—but this was absolutely, positively no dream. The Golden Mask stared fixedly this way with eerie, expressionless eyes as thin as threads. The crescent-shaped mouth she had heard about in rumors stretched tautly sideways, and she feared that bright red blood might begin trickling from its corners any moment now.

Far from pressing the call bell, she was in such a frenzied panic that she pulled the blanket over her head from top to bottom, clenched her chattering teeth with all her might, and streamed greasy sweat. It was almost strange that she hadn’t fainted. After a while, an unusual noise began to arise from within the atelier beyond the single door. Several villains had likely sneaked in and were trying to steal something. It was a clattering and banging commotion, as if they were packing for a move.

"Ah, I see. Since Golden Mask has an uncanny obsession with artworks, those noises must surely be them trying to steal the Buddha statue Father carved." Miss Kinue, on the verge of madness from terror, faintly thought such things. Beneath the blanket pulled over her head, in the sweat-drenched darkness, an interminable stretch of time passed. Night turned to day and day to night again—to Miss Kinue, it felt as though several days had passed in that interminably long stretch of time.

In reality, perhaps about three hours had passed. When she suddenly strained her ears, she realized the clamorous noises from the adjoining room had ceased without her noticing. From the bottomless silence emerged a nearly unbelievable sound—the bright crow of a rooster. When she opened her closed eyes beneath the blanket and looked, through the coarse mesh she could discern the faint whitish light of early dawn. Ah—at last, night had ended. She was safe now. The thieves must have long since vanished elsewhere.

Even then, after much hesitation, Miss Kinue began reaching out her right hand from beneath the blanket toward the call bell at a pace so slow it was unclear whether she was moving at all. Even with the blanket over her head, she could still reach it.

Before long, her fingertip touched the cold button. She pressed it forcefully and kept her finger there without letting go, remaining perfectly still. Though inaudible to her, the call bell in the main house's kitchen must have been ringing ceaselessly like an emergency alarm. "Ah, saved," she thought. "Any moment now—a maid, an old servant, someone will come running to help." With this thought, Miss Kinue felt as though life had returned to her body. She pulled her face out from under the blanket and mustered the energy to survey her surroundings.

The faint light of dawn slipped through the window with its blinds drawn down, mingling with the glow of the electric light. All objects appeared as if viewed through mist. First, when she looked toward the door bordering the atelier, it remained closed as though nothing had happened. While doubting whether she had merely been dreaming, she gradually shifted her gaze—but when her eyes fell upon that velvet curtain again, suddenly an indescribably terrible scream, as if rising from hell's depths, reverberated throughout the room.

Ah, this can't be! That fiend hadn’t feared the morning light in the slightest; through the same gap in the curtain, his glittering face had been fixedly glaring this way as if monitoring Miss Kinue’s every move.

Golden Mask, his uncanny face contorted in an eerie grin, appeared to gradually approach the bed. That fiend wasn’t satisfied with merely stealing the Buddha statue—could it be that he harbored an even more terrifying desire? Miss Kinue let out a blood-curdling scream as if being strangled, pulled the blanket over her head, huddled into a ball, and trembled violently. At any moment—oh, at any moment—that monster would come crashing down upon the blanket. The mere thought made her feel as though she were no longer alive.

From above the blanket, she felt she could even hear the sound of Golden Mask's breathing as he drew his head close. Her heart was about to burst. Then just as feared, a giant-like palm gripped her shoulder through the blanket.

An indescribable, horrifying scream—something like "Guh!"—burst forth from Kinue's mouth once more.

The gunshot in the atelier. "Hey, Kinue! What's wrong? Get a grip!" The thief shook her shoulder and boomed. No—not a thief—that voice was familiar. Before she could process this strangeness, Miss Kinue threw off the blanket in joyous relief and clung to the figure—her father Mr. Unzan's solid form. The elderly artist had returned via night train, newly arrived at his estate. Peering over Father's broad shoulder toward that curtain... There it remained—the golden monster glaring through narrowed eyes.

“Father, look! That!”

Terrified out of her wits, she clung to her father's body, indicated with her eyes, and whispered faintly. When he heard this and turned in that direction, even Mr. Unzan couldn't help but startle. He instinctively braced himself and fixed the monster with a glare.

But what brazenness! Golden Mask kept staring this way as unfeelingly as a doll, that eerie smile still clinging to its crescent-shaped lips. "Ha ha ha..."

Suddenly, from the elderly artist’s mouth, an absurdly booming laugh burst forth. “Ha ha ha… Kinue, what are you so afraid of? Look—there’s no one here. See? It’s just the golden mask and cloak hanging on the curtain.” Mr. Unzan pulled back the curtain and exposed the monster’s true form. What was this? Had Miss Kinue, since last night, been trembling before mere props—completely falling for the thief’s trick?

Mr. Unzan ordered the servant who had just entered to remove the golden mask and cloak and have them taken to the main house. “There now, it’s alright. They’re all gone.” “You must have been terribly frightened.” “But what outrageous trickery someone’s playing.” “That Golden Mask business—what a vile trend.”

“No, Father, it wasn’t a prank. It was a real thief! Please check the atelier quickly! Someone must have stolen something!” Miss Kinue, now that Golden Mask had disappeared, finally regained her composure and recounted every last detail of the previous night’s events.

“Father! There was this awful clattering—clattering over and over for ages!” “They must have stolen everything!” At these words, Mr. Unzan’s face went pale. He dashed to the door, threw it open, and stared into the atelier.

Kinue also got down from the bed and, from behind her father, fearfully peered into the room. "Oh, what could have happened?"

She let out an involuntary cry of surprise. Strange, strange—the interior of the atelier showed no difference from when she had seen it before going to bed last night. The table, the chairs, the rows of Buddha statues—not a single item had shifted even slightly. Needless to say, nothing was missing.

The small items on the table also remained untouched. The linoleum floor, having been cleaned yesterday, remained spotless as if wiped, with not a single trace of the muddy footprints they had expected to find.

He checked the window facing the garden but found no traces. The window remained closed from the inside, and the garden outside was dry, making it impossible to discern any footprints. “You didn’t have a dream, did you?”

Mr. Unzan turned to his daughter with an unnaturally pale face. "How strange... "No, it was absolutely not a dream. "There were certainly terrible noises that continued. "But if nothing was stolen, then that's a relief. "I can't make sense of any of it—it's like I've been bewitched by a fox." "Nothing was stolen. But—" "But..." "Oh Father, what's wrong? "Father, your face is deathly pale! "Have you realized something?" It was only natural for the young lady to ask in surprise. The old artist turned even paler upon realizing nothing had been stolen. Terrifyingly wide eyes, quivering lips—Kinue had never seen such a dreadful expression on her father's face.

“Kinue, you poor child.” “Perhaps something terrible beyond anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams might occur.” The old sculptor said in a hollow voice, as though possessed by something. “Father, I’m scared.” “Don’t say such things!”

Miss Kinue took her father’s drooping hand that hung limp and lifeless, shaking it imploringly. Father’s hand was cold as a corpse’s.

“Kinue, would you go to the main house for a while? “Would you leave me alone for a little while?” Mr. Unzan said something peculiar in a feeble voice. “Oh, why?”

Kinue was startled and looked up at her father’s pale face. “You’ll understand soon enough. It’s nothing at all. There’s no need to worry. Please go over there and stay until I ring the bell. I have some thinking to do.” Father’s voice had an eerie tone, as if echoing from a cavern. “Are you truly unwell? Are you all right?” “Yes, I’m fine. Now, go over there quickly.”

Miss Kinue felt somehow reluctant but obeyed her father’s words and left the spot. When she came to the main house and was telling the maids in the tearoom about last night’s terrifying incident, a strange bang suddenly echoed from the direction of the atelier. Kinue and the maids gasped and fell silent, exchanging glances. “Was that a gunshot?” “Yes—it seems to be coming from the atelier.” It was the morning after that dreadful night. And there had been her father’s strange behavior earlier.

The moment the thought “Oh no…” struck her, she couldn’t stay still. Kinue rushed to the atelier with the maids, their hearts pounding. “Oh, Father!” Just as feared, there lay Father Unzan collapsed and bleeding. A pistol lay next to the corpse. The bullet had plunged deep into his brain from the right temple, thread-like streams of blood oozing thickly across the floor.

Miss Kinue clung to the corpse of her father, her only remaining family, and buried her face in his chest. From her pressed lips escaped mournful sobs that gradually grew more intense, until at last they rose into an unrestrained, pitiful wail.

Locked Room.

On the same morning, a few hours after Kawamura Unzan's unnatural death, officials from the prosecutor's office, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department officers, and local jurisdictional police had concluded their preliminary investigation at the crime scene and were exchanging theories about the baffling incident. Among them stood Inspector Namikoshi—tasked with pursuing Golden Mask—alongside privately-hired detective Akechi Kogorō, specially summoned for consultation. The case proved as disorienting as being bewitched by a fox—utterly devoid of tangible leads. Every single element remained shrouded in impenetrable mystery.

Was the Golden Mask who had threatened Miss Kinue the previous night truly the real Golden Mask—that is, Arsène Lupin? Or was it merely a scarecrow rigged up from the start with a gilded mask and overcoat? Who was it that had sneaked into the atelier? Moreover, for what purpose had they sneaked in? Nothing had been stolen. The room was not disturbed in the slightest. Then, what in the world could have made such a noise like that of moving?

Why did Mr. Unzan send his daughter away and end up alone? Was his unnatural death suicide or homicide? If homicide, where did the culprit enter and escape? Everything—there wasn't even a hair-thin clue.

Various theories were proposed among the group. There were those who claimed the entire incident was undoubtedly another of Arsène Lupin's fantastically bizarre deeds. This was viewed as the prelude to some grand crime, with the thief's true objective potentially lying in an entirely different direction.

No, this was likely because Miss Kinue was confusing reality with a nightmare, so Mr. Unzan must have committed suicide for some unknown reason. There were also those who argued that they were merely coincidental events that had occurred simultaneously.

Akechi Kogorō had been silently listening to these speculative theories from the start, but when the conversation lapsed, he suddenly uttered something strange, almost like a soliloquy. "Miss, was your father proficient in French?" Miss Kinue, who had been huddled in the corner, looked up in surprise. "No, my father couldn’t speak any foreign languages at all."

“And you?”

“Do you mean French?” “Yes.”

“No, I don’t know it at all.” “Is there no one among the servants who can speak it?”

“There isn’t a single person with that kind of education.”

Kinue, unable to grasp the meaning of Akechi's question, answered with a puzzled look.

It wasn’t just Kinue who couldn’t grasp the meaning. “Akechi, does French have some connection to this case?” Inspector Namikoshi, unable to hold back any longer, asked.

“Hmm, it does seem to be related.” “Take a look at this.”

Akechi took the crumpled paper fragment he had been clutching in his right hand, smoothed it out, and showed it to everyone present. Indeed, characters that appeared to be French spellings were lined up in three rows. But unfortunately, aside from Akechi, there was no one who could fully read French.

Apart from the French phrases, in one corner of the paper fragment were written numbers and strange symbols as shown on the left. This part, at least, anyone could read. But its meaning was not understood at all. "I found this crumpled up and thrown away in the corner of this room a moment ago. If no one in this household can read French, and if this room was cleaned yesterday, then we can conclude that this scrap of paper was dropped by whoever sneaked in here last night."

Akechi explained. He was as quick as ever. “So, what’s written in that French text then?”

The inspector asked. The prosecutor, the examining magistrate, and others listened intently to this strange exchange.

“It makes absolutely no sense. It’s either the ramblings of a madman or like the cryptic verses of a fortune slip—written in such a vague and incoherent manner. I can’t make sense of these numbers and swirls in this corner either. Precisely because I don’t understand it, it interests me. I think it might be some kind of cipher.” “If that was indeed dropped by the thief and truly is ciphertext, it would be an invaluable lead, but…”

“No, it’s definitely a cipher. I’m almost certain. All that remains is to test it out.” Akechi spoke in his characteristically abrupt manner. “Test it out?” Inspector Namikoshi asked back with a puzzled look. “What exactly are you going to test?”

Mr. Namikoshi asked back with a puzzled look.

"The meaning of these numbers and swirls." Everyone present stood dumbfounded, caught off guard by Akechi's abrupt deduction. "This is my theory." Akechi began his explanation. "We must first consider what these two seemingly inexplicable facts signify - that Mr. Kawamura Unzan turned pale upon learning nothing had been stolen from this room, and that he subsequently ordered his daughter to leave." "The fact that none of the room's contents were stolen must have been far worse for Mr. Kawamura than if they had been taken." "He shuddered when realizing the thief's true target wasn't among the ordinary items displayed in this atelier, but something entirely different." "And there can be no interpretation other than that he made his daughter leave to confirm whether that other item remained undisturbed."

The listeners, having heard Akechi's explanation to this point, began to feel they dimly grasped the truth. "If none of the items in the atelier were stolen, we can only conclude that what made Mr. Kawamura change countenance so drastically was something hidden in an utterly secret place beyond anyone's notice." "The fact that Mr. Kawamura built a bedroom adjoining this atelier, installed an electric bell there, and always had his daughter stay here during his travels surely meant there was something of utmost importance in the atelier." "He must have lived in terror of others discovering it." "When I piece this together, my theory about a secret compartment somewhere in the atelier grows ever more convincing."

“Mr. Kawamura hadn’t even let his own daughter open it—a secret worth staking his life on,” Akechi continued. “In fact, after sending her away and checking the hiding place, when he discovered the item he’d risked everything to protect had been stolen, he killed himself out of despair.” “This was unmistakably suicide. Had it been murder, why would any killer whimsically leave the weapon at the scene? No—there’s more.” He produced a leather case from his pocket. “I found this pistol case in Mr. Kawamura’s travel bag. The pistol matches it perfectly.”

Now, what does it mean that Mr. Kawamura carried a pistol even during his travels? Does this not indicate that he was perpetually gripped by some form of anxiety? Whether there existed a formidable enemy he needed to ward off or he had prepared himself to commit suicide at any moment—in either case, it is certain he harbored a secret worth staking his life upon. If we allow our imaginations free rein, we might suppose that Golden Mask of Lupin had sniffed out this great secret of Mr. Kawamura’s and made off with it. Driven to utter despair, Mr. Kawamura ultimately took his own life—such would be the sequence of events. “That the thief was Lupin can be inferred from both the French text on this scrap of paper and Golden Mask’s disguise when threatening the young lady.”

Mr. Kawamura was one of Japan’s foremost sculptors. “The item that he had cherished at the risk of his life was likely something that Lupin—the obsessive art collector—could not help but covet.”

The scenario Akechi had constructed was entirely a product of fantasy. However, though called a fantasy, it was a logically coherent and utterly plausible scenario. At the very least, it could not be denied that his scenario was several degrees superior to the various conjectures proposed by the group.

“So now all that remains is to test it out.” “We need only test whether my hypothesis holds true through practical application.” “Therefore, these numbers and swirls on the scrap of paper become meaningful.” “This assumes the thief detected Mr. Kawamura’s secret and wrote down the key to its hiding place as a reminder.” “And we shall test whether this assumption proves correct.”

Though he spoke of testing his hypothesis, Akechi already appeared to possess an unshakable conviction. “For some time now, I have meticulously studied every part of this room.” “And I confirmed that the only things matching the cipher’s numbers were the decorative balls carved around that fireplace’s mantelpiece.” “For a fireplace installed in an atelier, that decoration is inappropriately splendid.” “That was the first thing that caught my attention.”

“There are sixteen carved balls in total.” “Now,the numbers in this cipher—six,twoeleven,and three—are all sixteen or below.” “Could these numbers indicate respective positions amongthe mantelpiece’s carved balls?” “No—that might not necessarily bethe case.” “Theswirls complicate matters.” “Theright-handed swirl between sixand two,andtheleft-handed onebetweenelevenandthree...” “Thislikely suggests turningthoseballsrightandleftrespectively.”

“Doesn’t this mean we should turn the sixth ball to the right and the eleventh ball to the left?” Then came the question—which direction should numbers two and three indicate? Ah, of course. This might not be showing the balls’ order, but rather recording how many times to rotate them. The sixth one: two turns right; the eleventh one: three turns left. “Yes—that must be it.”

While explaining, Akechi proceeded with his brilliant deduction.

Indeed, indeed. Rotating the sixth ball twice to the right and the eleventh three times to the left—what a clever idea.

With the scrap of paper in one hand, Akechi briskly approached the fireplace and, starting from the right, firmly twisted the sixth carved ball-shaped ornament. It turned and turned. His hypothesis had hit the mark. Next, no sooner had he twisted the eleventh ball three times to the left than a strange clank sounded, and suddenly the wooden panel beside the fireplace swung open soundlessly like temple doors, revealing a gaping black hole. When they saw that, the entire group jumped to their feet and noisily crowded around the secret room.

Inside was a small square room measuring about three tsubo (approximately ten square meters). “I knew it. There’s nothing. It’s empty.” Inspector Namikoshi murmured.

Inspector Namikoshi murmured.

Akechi’s deductions continued to hit the mark one after another. The items in the secret room had likely been stolen by Lupin's gang.

Akechi thrust his head into the dark compartment and examined it for some time, but eventually picked up something small with his fingertips.

“No, it’s not empty. Something like this was lying here.” When they saw him place it on his palm and hold it out, it appeared as a flat, glittering elongated oval barely two inches long. It wasn’t metal. It wasn’t cloth. Nor was it paper. A mysterious substance defying identification. But could such a thing really mean anything?

Akechi went to the bright area by the window and, holding it up to the light, was meticulously examining it when—struck by some realization—he muttered with an uncharacteristically solemn expression. “Could it really be...?” “I can’t believe it." _But... Ah, how terrifying this is._

Because Akechi’s demeanor appeared so unusual, Inspector Namikoshi found himself involuntarily stepping closer to him, unable to refrain from speaking out. “Hey, Akechi, what’s wrong? Have you figured something out?” “Hmm… I’ve just thought of something terrifying. It’s an extremely terrifying matter.”

Akechi, who was usually unshaken by anything, was trembling. This was no ordinary matter.

“What on earth is that small thing?” “Have you figured something out?”

“Hmm… I think I’ve figured it out.” “…Ah! Miss! Where is the telephone room?”

Akechi turned around to the young lady standing there and said urgently. Buddha’s sanctuary After Akechi hastily inquired about the telephone room’s location and hurried off guided by the young lady, the people were left dumbfounded by the amateur detective’s bizarre behavior, merely exchanging glances—when the young lady returned and... “He’s making a long-distance call. It’s taking some time, but he asks that you please wait,” she said.

she reported. Akechi had requested an urgent call connection and remained rooted in the telephone room until the other party answered, standing there with visible impatience. What momentous event could have stirred even a man of Akechi's composure to such agitation? Akechi returned from the telephone room after more than thirty minutes had passed. Unable to remain idle, the people occupied themselves by repeatedly questioning the young lady and servants while continuing their examination of the room.

“Everyone, it was indeed as I thought. It’s truly a terrifying crime.”

Akechi, who had returned, planted himself in the entrance and shouted. He was even paler now than when he had left the telephone room. “What’s wrong? What on earth did you discover?”

Inspector Namikoshi was the first to ask. Akechi requested that the young lady and servants present leave the atelier temporarily and, after confirming they were out of sight, finally answered. "I've identified what was stolen. Everyone, remain calm. Lupin has stolen a national treasure from this atelier. And not just any national treasure—the national treasure of national treasures, a relic so renowned even schoolchildren know of 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 Namikoshi let out a dumbfounded voice. All those present shared Inspector Namikoshi's sentiment. The notion that a national treasure had been enshrined in Kawamura Unzan's atelier—wasn't this too preposterous, too ludicrous a delusion? Had this amateur detective taken leave of his senses?

“It was there!” Akechi shouted irritably. “I’ve just confirmed it by calling Hōryū-ji Temple’s office in Nara!” “Wh-what did you say?” “Hōryū-ji Temple?” “Then that national treasure you mentioned…” Prosecutor E asked again in shocked disbelief.

For some reason, Akechi looked around and answered in a whisper. “It’s the Tamamushi Shrine enshrined in the Kondō.” Good heavens—what madness was this? Had Akechi lost his mind?

The entire group stared at the amateur detective in shock, appearing at a complete loss for words. “You’re not joking, are you? If this is true, it’s an extremely grave incident... But even so, how could Hōryū-ji Temple have failed to notice until now that such a precious national treasure was missing? Given it’s not exactly small, this whole situation feels rather odd.” Prosecutor E said in a disbelieving manner. “However, in the Kondō at Hōryū-ji Temple, there are no particular abnormalities. The Tamamushi Shrine is right there.”

“Ah, so you…” “Exactly. "It’s a counterfeit. For several months, a skillfully crafted fake Tamamushi Shrine had been enshrined at Hōryū-ji Temple.” “A counterfeit? It’s impossible to fabricate such ancient artwork... This strains credulity.”

The prosecutor and everyone present found it difficult to believe this outlandish report.

“The manager of Hōryū-ji Temple’s office said the same thing: ‘A counterfeit? Such nonsense couldn’t possibly be true! Stop this foolish prank at once!’ He thought I was making a prank call.”

"I see." "And how did you confirm it was counterfeit?"

“I asked the manager to check the bottom of the shrine,” Akechi explained. “I suspected Lupin might have left one of his characteristic vanity signatures there.” “And was it there?” Prosecutor E pressed. “When the manager returned to the phone moments later, his voice sounded completely different,” Akechi continued. “He was trembling so violently I could barely understand him. He reported finding ‘A.L.’ engraved there. Not just that—it had been meticulously carved in Japanese: ‘On behalf of Mr. Kawamura Unzan—A.L.’”

It was an unbelievably bizarre incident. However, there was no conceivable way the manager of Hōryū-ji Temple would lie. If such a signature existed at the bottom of the shrine, there could no longer be any room for doubt. Japan’s foremost national treasure had been stolen away by a hateful foreign phantom thief.

“In other words, this is how it comes to be,” Akechi explained. “Mr. Kawamura Unzan was a genius sculptor, and precisely because of that, he possessed a fanatical obsession with art. When one loves something so deeply that they desire to possess it, it’s only natural. However, in Mr. Kawamura Unzan’s case, unfortunately, it was the greatest of national treasures—one that could not be acquired through monetary means.” Ordinary thieves wouldn’t commit such a foolish act as stealing a national treasure. “Even if they were to steal it, they couldn’t show it off to others, sell it off, or do anything with it at all, you see.”

"However, Mr. Kawamura Unzan's case was different. He wanted to caress this antique artwork as his own possession, much like one would cherish a lover. He had no need to show it to others. Nor did he intend to convert it into money. He simply wished to enshrine it in a secret room - admiring it morning and night, caressing it, basking in a secret joy unknown to anyone else. That Mr. Unzan had concealed something more precious than life itself in this secret chamber becomes evident from how he made his daughter stay in the atelier during his travels, discreetly keeping watch each time, does it not?"

“I see. So Lupin somehow discovered that and took advantage of the master’s absence to commit the theft—that’s the sequence of events, correct?” “And regarding the counterfeit at Hōryū-ji Temple, he had carved his signature in advance according to his usual practice, I take it.”

Prosecutor E nodded in agreement. "That’s correct. That scoundrel must have uncovered Mr. Kawamura Unzan’s secret long ago. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had time to leave his signature on the counterfeit at distant Hōryū-ji Temple." "So the counterfeit’s creator would naturally be Mr. Unzan himself?" "Precisely. To craft such an exquisite work of art, he must have toiled away in this secret room for months—perhaps years. This is precisely the sort of scheme only a genius artist like Mr. Unzan could devise."

“But replacing the counterfeit with the genuine article must have been extremely difficult.” “How was he able to pull off such a trick while under surveillance by guards?” “Great criminals effortlessly accomplish things that seem impossible at first glance.” “They are a kind of conjurer.” “By the way, when you expose the secret behind a magic trick, it turns out to be quite underwhelming—and this case is no exception.” “I had heard that the national treasure was occasionally taken outside for repairs.” “So, suspecting that might be the case, I called to inquire about it, and sure enough, they said that about four months ago, it had indeed been taken out for repairs once.” “That is the secret of the trick.” “Mr. Kawamura, due to his profession, must have known about that timing in advance, prepared all the arrangements, and effortlessly carried out the substitution.” “As you know, he was a wealthy man who wouldn’t lack the funds to silence ten or twenty people.”

Ah, what an outrageous crime! To think that he, hailed as a venerable elder of Japan's art world, would abuse his position and skill to embezzle the nation's supreme treasure! But he, already aware his crime had been exposed, had taken his own life. They tried to assign blame, yet found no one left to accuse. In stark contrast, the phantom thief Arsène Lupin still lived. He still lived, sneering at the police's disarray from some shadowed corner. The true fiend deserving boundless hatred was none other than Lupin himself - he who had deftly exploited an old artist's wicked desires and effortlessly claimed the national treasure as his own.

“But even so, how did you deduce that? You knew the item hidden in the secret room was the Tamamushi Shrine. To me, that seems more mystifying than the thief’s trick itself.” Inspector Namikoshi suddenly noticed this point and inquired with a perplexed expression. “Oh, that’s nothing.”

Akechi explained nonchalantly. “This scrap of paper holds the key. There are about three lines of French text written above the symbol that opens the secret room. Look, this is it.” He spread out the paper fragment on the table. “When translated, it reads: ‘Transport Buddha’s sanctuary tonight. Execute the method as previously arranged. Deliver the sanctuary to the white giant as per usual.’ Now, ‘Buddha’s sanctuary’ refers to a temple—but ordering someone to transport an entire temple seems absurd. You can’t move something that massive.” “I initially thought it was coded language. But then I found this strange lacquer fragment on the secret room’s floor. At first glance, it wasn’t ordinary lacquer. Even an amateur could tell it was ancient. That’s when I realized.”

The master of the atelier was an old authority in the art world. The item he had gone to such lengths to conceal—something so crucial that learning of its theft drove him to suicide—when considered alongside "Buddha’s sanctuary," ancient lacquer, and Lupin’s mania for hoarding antiquities, could only point to one conclusion: the Tamamushi Shrine. When considering what the megalomaniac Lupin would target—a portable Buddha’s sanctuary—there was nothing else that came to mind besides that national treasure. "So, in any case, I made a call to confirm it—and that’s how it went."

“Ah, so that was the reason.” Inspector Namikoshi admired Akechi’s sharp imagination. “And what on earth does that latter part about delivering it to the White Giant mean? If we can figure that out, naturally both the location of the national treasure and the thieves’ hideout will become clear.” “Unfortunately, that is something I still do not understand. White Giant—meaning a large man with pale skin—but I wonder if it might be a nickname for one of Lupin’s gang members.”

Akechi muttered with a perplexed expression.

White Giant

The national treasure Tamamushi Shrine was stolen. Moreover, the thief was none other than the Golden Mask—Arsène Lupin.

This nightmarish incident spread throughout Japan in an instant. The authorities had taken every measure to keep the matter strictly confidential, but newspaper reporters—through their sharp intuition—swiftly discerned the details and meticulously reported this major scandal while carefully avoiding any mention of "Count Rougel being Lupin." Had this occurred in America, there might have been calls for lynching. Even the mild-mannered Japanese people finally erupted in fury: "Capture Lupin!" Cries of "Recover our national treasure!" surged across the nation. The target of public outrage became the Metropolitan Police Department.

“What happened to Inspector Namikoshi?” “What is Akechi Kogorō doing?” Voices of criticism could be heard arising from nowhere in particular.

With all police forces mobilized, a net to arrest Lupin was deployed without even a gap for an ant to crawl through. Not to mention within Tokyo, Count Rougel’s description had been distributed to nearly every police station across the country. Train stations, docks, customs offices, hotels, inns—every place that seemed relevant was thoroughly investigated and placed under surveillance. And after five days, there remained no trace of Lupin, the Tamamushi Shrine, his lover Ōtori Fujiko, or any of his several subordinates.

To the Japanese, it was unfathomable—their adversary was a foreigner with altered eye and hair color. Where in the world could such a figure possibly blend in? It was baffling. Even if he was the sorcerer-like Golden Mask, now that his true identity stood exposed, he had become a fugitive with the entire nation as his enemy. Surveillance networks blanketed every town and village. Yet here he was—possibly alone or with a woman in tow—hauling a cargo too bulky for any ordinary vehicle. (Even divided into two parts, the Tamamushi Shrine would require two massive trunks.) And that wasn’t even his only loot! Where—and how—could he possibly be concealing himself? It defied all logic—a mystery surpassing mystery itself.

Akechi Kogorō once again shut himself away in his study at the Kaika Apartments, lost in thought as he faced that mysterious scrap of paper. Harassed by his formidable foe Lupin and further bombarded with public censure, he was tormented by an indescribable restlessness.

"White Giant... White Giant... White Giant..."

He spent four full days trying to unravel this incomprehensible riddle of words, yet still found no glimmer of hope. For him, this marked the first time in his life he had encountered such an intractable problem. Before him, lost in thought, the desk phone rang piercingly.

Ah—it’s Inspector Namikoshi again. What a nuisance.

Inspector Namikoshi would call two or even three times a day, coming to borrow wisdom that Akechi could no longer produce. Reluctantly picking up the receiver, he found it was indeed that man. However, the Inspector’s voice sounded different from usual somehow. “Ah, Mr. Akechi! Good news.” “Please get ready to go out immediately.” “That mysterious White Giant has been found!” “Huh? The White Giant?” Akechi was so taken aback by the abruptness of the story that he asked in return. “Look—it’s the phrase from that ciphertext scrap.” “The White Giant fellow.” “That guy’s finally been found!”

“Please give me more details. I’m not quite following, but...”

The fact that Inspector Namikoshi seemed to be interpreting "White Giant" literally felt somehow off to him. “One of my detectives just called. "The vacant house in Toyama Plain—you couldn’t have forgotten it, could you? "The eerie house where you dueled Golden Mask. "As a precaution, I had stationed one detective near that house, and now that detective has called me. "The detective reported that about thirty minutes ago, he saw a Westerner emerge from that vacant house. "Naturally finding this suspicious, he tailed the man, who then took a car to Ginza and has now entered Café Dick. "He says there’s a lookout posted out front, so come immediately. "Could you also head there directly from your side?”

“Hmm, I can go, but why is that the White Giant?” “He’s apparently pure white from head to toe. A white soft hat, a white face, white clothes, a white cane, white gloves, and white shoes. I was startled when I heard that. This fellow is none other than the White Giant in question—they say he’s extremely tall and ridiculously fat.” “Alright, I’ll go check it out. Café Dick, right?”

And the call ended.

Akechi rushed into his bedroom and emerged within five minutes disguised as a chauffeur. His outfit comprised a black serge summer suit faded to reddish-brown, a soiled flat cap, large dust goggles, and red leather boots. He summoned a car, bypassed the passenger seat, and settled beside the actual driver.

Ten minutes later, the car stopped about ten houses away from Café Dick. There stood a middle-aged man—wearing black sunglasses and a fake mustache, clad in an old-fashioned alpaca suit, clutching a black briefcase and satin umbrella—loitering before the café like an insurance salesman or debt collector. Akechi stepped out of the car, approached the old man, and tapped his shoulder. “Inspector Namikoshi, what a crude disguise.” The alpaca-suited man whirled around in surprise, but Akechi’s transformation proved so consummate that even this seasoned detective failed to recognize him momentarily.

“Ah, Mr. Akechi? Quiet, quiet! The white guy’s about to come out now.”

Inspector Namikoshi signaled with his eyes toward the café entrance five or six ken ahead. Under the eaves on the opposite side of the entrance, a kimono-clad man who appeared to be a shop clerk was loitering. He was undoubtedly one of Inspector Namikoshi’s detectives.

Before long, the much-discussed White Giant showed himself outside the café. He was indeed white. From head to toe, he was pure white, as if plastered with white powder. If his clothes were removed, even his skin might be pure white like an albino’s. At least his face was of a whiteness rare even among white people.

His physique was truly colossal, living up to the name of a giant. He stood over six feet tall and was as fat as a sumo wrestler. He exited the café and, without hailing a car, strolled off toward Ginza Street.

A bizarre and inexplicable tailing procession began. Leading the procession was a ghostly white, powdered giant of a man, followed at an interval of about thirty meters by a suspicious old man in an alpaca suit and black sunglasses, a driver in red boots, and finally a detective dressed like a former soldier turned shop clerk. “If that guy really is the White Giant from the cipher,” whispered Inspector Namikoshi, “then as long as we patiently continue tailing him and track down his house, we’ll naturally uncover where Lupin’s stolen goods are hidden. No—we could even trace Lupin’s very whereabouts itself. If we carelessly lose sight of him now, it’ll be disastrous.”

Inspector Namikoshi whispered in a low voice. “Well, that’s true… but he’s unnervingly white. Somehow, I feel like he’s a bit too white.” For some reason, Akechi didn’t seem keen.

“Too white?” “That’s precisely why it’s suspicious.” “There may be some meaning hidden in that snow-white getup that we can’t fathom.”

While murmuring in hushed tones, the strange tailing procession continued onward without a clear destination.

Three Trunks The White Giant, swinging his white cane back and forth, crossed Ginza’s tram tracks and entered the large department store there. “This is odd. Do you think he’s realized we’re tailing him?” “For him to stroll into a department store so casually…” “Even if he’s noticed, we can’t abandon the pursuit.” “We must follow relentlessly—to the very ends of the earth if need be—and uncover his hideout.”

Inspector Namikoshi was unusually zealous.

Akechi, on the other hand, stood with an utterly weary demeanor that seemed on the verge of muttering "Oh my..." The White Giant rode the elevator up to the rooftop garden. The pursuers too shrank into a corner of that same elevator, never once taking their eyes off their quarry. On the rooftop garden, an immense crowd gazed skyward, waiting for something.

“Ah, that fellow came to see the airplane.” “He might be French.” Akechi whispered in realization.

That day was the very day when French aviator Monsieur Chapelin’s around-the-world aircraft was scheduled to arrive in the skies over Tokyo. The radio was reporting the position of Chapelin’s aircraft as it drew closer through the skies over Tokaido with each passing moment. The citizens of Tokyo were in a fervor, welcoming this unprecedented feat. Every roof of every building was packed with clusters of people.

“The French are a terrifying nation, aren’t they? They gave birth to Chapelin and gave birth to Lupin.” Akechi, in his driver’s disguise, muttered in admiration. But even he, for all his brilliance, had no inkling—not even in his wildest dreams—that such a strange connection existed between this around-the-world aircraft and the Golden Mask’s criminal case.

Before long, erupting cheers from the rooftop announced the arrival of the hero of the skies. A cloudless blue sky—in the far west, three planes leisurely came into view. Two were guide planes from such-and-such newspaper company. The aircraft rapidly grew larger in size and loomed over the heads of the upturned crowd. The roaring din of propellers. Heart-pounding cries of “Banzai!” “Hey! Look—that guy’s started doing something strange.”

Inspector Namikoshi poked Akechi’s arm. For this loyal police officer, the White Giant on the ground was more important than the hero of the skies. When they looked, the White Giant was doing something utterly bizarre. He went out to the edge of the roof and—having produced them from who knows where—held bright red small flags in both hands, waving them vigorously as if giving a flag signal. His manner appeared to be signaling a welcome to the airplane just as it was passing directly over the department store, but in reality, that wasn’t necessarily the case. His eyes were not looking at the sky; they were directed at one of the nearby towering buildings. They were directed at some people among the crowd on that rooftop.

“Look, he’s signaling someone on the roof of the building across the way.” “This is getting more and more suspicious.” Inspector Namikoshi’s eyes gleamed with heightened vigilance. “Hmph, he’s up to some strange antics.” Akechi remained as coldly indifferent as ever.

As the aircraft's silhouette vanished into the distant sky and the rooftop cheers subsided, the crowd exchanged excited words and began leaving for the lower floors. The White Giant too started walking, merging into the human tide.

The elevator stopped on the first floor, and the four members of the tailing party—disgorged from it—proceeded toward the department store’s exit with the White Giant at their head.

“Hey, you! What’s wrong? If you keep dawdling around, we’ll lose him!” Inspector Namikoshi irritably pulled Akechi. But Akechi remained standing in front of the tourist bureau office inside the store, making no move to leave.

On that wall hung a beautiful poster. It was a Japan tour guide aimed at foreigners. In the picture, there was Mount Fuji. There was the torii gate of Itsukushima Shrine. There was a furisode-clad maiden mid-dance. There was the Great Buddha of Kamakura.

“Hey, Akechi! Get a grip! What are you spacing out for?”

Then, Akechi finally turned back to the inspector and suddenly said something strange. “Do you know how many Great Buddhas there are in Japan?” “How the hell should I know? Come on, leave the posters for later! The tailing! We’ve tracked him this far—if we lose him now, there’s no recovering from that!” Inspector Namikoshi fumed.

“Somehow I don’t feel well.” Akechi pressed a hand to his forehead and furrowed his brows in a show of discomfort. “You two handle the tailing, please. I’m heading back now.” “This is such a problem! If you go and say something like that… Are you really feeling unwell?” “Mmm, it’s true. I can’t walk at all. I’ll leave the rest to you. I’ll take a car back.” While they were talking, the White Giant kept striding steadily onward and had gotten quite far away.

They couldn’t afford to dawdle any longer.

“Well then, I’ll phone you with the results. Take good care of it.”

Inspector Namikoshi gave up and, together with the detective, set off in pursuit of the giant man. After seeing off Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi Kogorō approached the travel guide clerk behind the counter and began busily asking questions. To observe him was to see no trace of illness whatsoever. The whole situation felt decidedly odd. Putting that aside, Inspector Namikoshi and his men persisted with tenacious determination, trudging along after the giant. True to form, the Westerner eschewed vehicles entirely, relying on his sturdy legs to walk endlessly onward.

After turning at Owari-chō and walking briskly along—just as they thought he must have some destination in mind—he casually entered Hibiya Park. And then, for reasons none could discern, he began circling around flower beds and athletic fields. It remained ambiguous whether he was merely strolling or had noticed the tail and was toying with them. But the pursuers disregarded such nuances; their persistence remained unrelenting.

After being dragged around for a full hour, they finally extricated themselves from Hibiya Park. Thinking this time they might have reached the hideout, they followed with renewed vigor—only for the giant man to disappear into the Imperial Hotel facing the park. Could he actually be a hotel guest? Yet it seemed improbable they would use such a public place to stash stolen goods. “Excuse me—is that Westerner who just entered here a registered guest?” Inspector Namikoshi detained the bellboy at the entrance and began his interrogation.

“Yes, he is.”

The middle-aged bellboy made a strange face and stared intently at the inspector. No wonder—his outfit couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything more than that of a bill collector.

Inspector Namikoshi also noticed this, “I’m with the Metropolitan Police Department. Please connect me to the manager for a moment.” he took out a business card from his pocket.

There was not a single citizen of Tokyo who did not know the name of Inspector Namikoshi the Demon. When the bellboy saw the business card, he suddenly became polite and promptly guided them to the manager’s office. Upon inquiring, they learned that the giant man had just checked in that morning and was a complete stranger with nothing particularly unusual about him. They also learned his name. The nationality was French, as Akechi had imagined. When they asked whether he might have any large luggage, the answer came that sure enough, he had brought three large trunks into his room. Got him. Those trunks were suspicious. When he thought that the trunks’ contents might be the national treasure Tamamushi Shrine, Inspector Namikoshi’s chest throbbed with excitement.

“There are a few things I’d like to ask. Could you kindly show me to that guest’s room?” “And while we’re at it, I’d like an interpreter arranged as well.” When Inspector Namikoshi made his request, the manager readily agreed and led the way down the long corridor. Upon reaching the room and finding its door locked—knocking yielded no answer—they summoned a room boy. “The guest, sir?” “He has just departed.” “Departed? That’s impossible!” “He only arrived this morning!”

The manager, startled, looked at the bellboy’s face. “But he has departed.” “Just moments ago.” “When he returned from outside, he called me, said he was departing now, and then left empty-handed just like that.”

While Inspector Namikoshi and his men were in the manager’s office, had they managed to slip away during that brief window of time? “Empty-handed?” “Without even calling a car?” “Then what about the luggage?” “There should have been several large trunks—” “He left them in his room, sir. “Ah! Come to think of it, he did leave a message. “Yes—he said someone named Mr. Namikoshi would be arriving soon and instructed us to hand over the luggage to him.”

“Wh-wh-what did you say?”

Inspector Namikoshi, taken aback, inadvertently let out a sound.

“What sort of person is this Mr. Namikoshi?” The manager pressed impatiently. “He said it was someone from the Metropolitan Police Department.” “This is most peculiar. “Regardless, why don’t you examine those trunks?” The manager studied the inspector’s face. “Let’s see. “Open this, please.”

Inspector Namikoshi now understood the reason for Akechi’s sudden illness. What an astute man! He had clearly foreseen that things would come to this. Akechi was always outsmarted by this trick. The door was opened with the bellboy’s passkey. Upon entering the room, they found three large trunks lined up right by the entrance, as if demanding to be seen. Meticulously, keys had been properly inserted into each keyhole.

“Open them.” Under the inspector’s orders, the detectives and the bellboy opened the trunk lids one after another. “Damn it! They’ve made a fool of me again!”

Inspector Namikoshi shouted in rough language. Inside the trunks were Kewpie dolls as large as babies, arms spread wide, both eyeballs pulled toward the center, laughing mockingly at those who beheld them. All three trunks contained the same dolls. And there wasn’t a single other item inside. It could only be considered a farce deliberately orchestrated to mock the police. A giant man who looked like a white-powdered monster, those suspicious flag signals from the rooftop garden, the footrace through Hibiya Park—and now, instead of national treasures inside the trunks—damn it all—these Kewpie dolls! The moment he realized he’d fallen for such an obvious trap, Inspector Namikoshi stomped the ground in frustration—but even that wasn’t enough to vent his rage.

Dejectedly withdrawing from the hotel, returning to the Metropolitan Police Department, then leaving work when the time came, going home, and until he went to bed—the inspector did not utter a single word. Since being appointed as a police officer, he had never felt such profound melancholy before.

The Giant in the Darkness

The next day, upon arriving at the office, Inspector Namikoshi promptly called Akechi. He intended to voice his grievance from the previous day. However, the reply was that Akechi had not returned home since the previous night. From then until evening, he tried calling five or six times, but he was never home.

Amidst an indescribable restlessness, another day passed, and on the evening of the following day, they finally discovered Akechi’s whereabouts. Moreover, this time, it was he who had made 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 fake illness to run away. After that, I went through absolute hell.” “I knew it! He’s a fake, then. I had a sort of premonition. I wasn’t enthusiastic from the start. But since you were so dead serious, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Even I didn’t have any particular certainty.”

Akechi’s voice said sympathetically. “Well, never mind that. But why on earth are you in O Town? Of course, it’s about that case, right?” “Yeah, good news. This time it’s me who’s calling you, but it’s not an imposter like the one from the day before yesterday. I’ve tracked down the genuine White Giant. I ended up pulling an all-nighter for that. But I’ve finally obtained conclusive proof.” “Is that White Giant in O Town?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Come here at once. I’ll go to the station and wait there around the time you arrive. You should come in disguise after all.”

Hearing this good news, he couldn’t simply abandon it. The inspector promptly disguised himself as a laborer in a happi coat and hurried to O Town.

When he arrived at the station, Akechi in his driver disguise was waiting. “Though I couldn’t get the full details over the phone—what exactly is this White Giant? What kind of house is it hiding in? And are the stolen goods still there?”

When Inspector Namikoshi saw Akechi’s face, he hurriedly began questioning him. “Yes—the stolen goods go without saying—but Lupin and Ms. Fujiko are likely holed up in that same hideout too.”

“What? Lupin too? That’s a huge success! I never imagined they’d be found this quickly. So what kind of house are they hiding in? And how did you manage to uncover that?” “Just follow me. You’ll understand everything soon enough.”

Akechi did not say much; urging the inspector on, he took the lead.

Exiting the narrow town, the road became a gentle slope, with thickets of mixed trees growing densely on both sides of the narrow path. The sun had completely set, and stars began to shine beautifully in the sky. Beyond that lay a forest of darkness where not a single light was visible.

*Could there really be any houses on such a lonely hill?* While harboring doubts that any inhabited dwelling would show lights, Inspector Namikoshi—placing absolute trust in Akechi—continued plodding through the darkness without uttering a single complaint.

But no matter how far they walked, the darkness only grew thicker, and not a single house was anywhere to be seen. He began to feel uneasy.

“Hey, Akechi, just how far are we going? There should be no towns or villages in this direction—so where exactly is that giant living?” “We’re already looking right at it. It’s just too dark to tell.”

Akechi said something strange. “Huh? ‘We’re looking at it’?” “So it’s around here?”

“Yeah, we’re getting closer to it step by step.” “Just a bit more.” It was somehow an eerie tale.

Eventually, the road passed through the grove and abruptly opened up into a wide clearing at the hill's summit. But the darkness had not lessened in the slightest. No houses were visible either. “I just can’t figure it out.” “Where on earth is it?” “But I can’t see a thing.” The inspector cautiously lowered his voice and asked again. “Can’t see it?” “How could you not see it?” “Look, isn’t it standing right before your eyes?”

Hearing this, the inspector gasped and took a step backward. “Wh-where? Where?”

“Look—see it against the starlight. Isn’t there a colossal giant standing right before you?” When told this, he quickly looked up—and there, unmistakably, against a backdrop of glittering stars—loomed a hill-like giant over them both. “You were talking about this Great Buddha?”

Inspector Namikoshi asked in surprise.

At the center of the hill was enshrined O-town’s famous concrete Great Buddha, renowned for being larger than the Great Buddha of Nara. He knew this well enough even without Akechi telling him. The glass window of the urna. “That’s strange—are you claiming this Great Buddha is Lupin’s accomplice?” The inspector thought it was a joke. The Great Buddha and Lupin. What an outlandish combination!

“That’s right.” Akechi answered with utmost seriousness. “This is Lupin’s so-called White Giant. Look—isn’t it exactly the White Giant?”

Indeed, indeed—now that you mention it, it was undoubtedly the White Giant. “Ah, you are a terrifying man. So this Great Buddha…” The inspector lowered his voice and stared at Akechi’s dark silhouette. “Yeah, this is the ‘Hollow Needle’. You must have heard of it—how he built an elaborate hideout inside that strange rock formation called the ‘Hollow Needle’ back in his home country.”

Akechi explained. “The Hollow Needle! It’s the famous hollowed-out rock of Étretat—the one they called Lupin’s museum.” “Exactly! The Hollow Needle!... The White Giant... On one side stands a hollowed-out giant rock; on the other, a hollow concrete Buddha—behold this bizarre correspondence!” What an astonishing notion! “This Great Buddha—towering into the sky and visible for leagues around—is that fiend’s safest hideout. A museum so strange it defies belief!”

Akechi continued speaking in hushed tones as he walked through the dense thicket before the Great Buddha. Peering upward through gaps in the trees, the giant in the darkness filled the entire sky like a nightmare, standing silent as some monstrous apparition. The sheer dread of the Great Buddha at night. "But how did you..." Inspector Namikoshi appeared unable to readily accept such a bizarre fact.

“For quite some time now, there have been rumors of Golden Mask appearing in this grove.” “Lately, throughout the entire Kanto region, tales of Golden Mask have been lurking everywhere.” “Children are running about wearing toy Golden Masks.” “No one paid particular heed to the rumors about this hill.” “But I didn’t let those tales slip by unnoticed.” “Because I knew this hill was crowned by a towering concrete Great Buddha.” I myself trembled at the sheer audacity of this bizarre conception. But Lupin is the world’s greatest magician. The harder such notions are to believe, the closer they come to touching truth itself. There I wandered through this hill’s grove for nearly a full day and night. “And finally, I seized the bastard’s tail.”

“Did you see Lupin?” Inspector Namikoshi asked, his heart pounding. “It wasn’t Lupin.” “But I clearly saw a man who appeared to be Lupin’s subordinate enter.” “All of the gang members are disguised as Golden Masks.” “I saw that gilded fellow entering the hollow at the base of the large ginkgo tree over there.” “The thieves only had to dig a tunnel about eighteen meters long from there to directly beneath the Great Buddha.” “Then, right above it, there was a hollow concrete warehouse waiting, practically saying, ‘Go ahead and use me.’”

Ah, what a simple yet utterly outlandish idea this was! Everyone knows that the interior of the concrete Great Buddha is hollow. However, using it as both a top-secret warehouse and a dwelling was likely first conceived by this French thief. The concrete Buddha in O-town was chosen not only because of its proximity to Tokyo but also because—unlike structures like the Kamakura Daibutsu that had their interiors opened for worship—it was unquestionably most suitable as a hideout.

“I was terrified by Lupin’s extraordinary ingenuity. When I considered that he might possess not just this Japanese Great Buddha but stolen art museums across the globe, I couldn’t help shuddering. Take for instance—the famous Great Nirvana Statue of Burma or New York Bay’s Statue of Liberty. How perfectly suited wouldn’t the hollows of such colossal statues be as storehouses for an international thief like Lupin?”

“I can’t believe it.” “It’s just like a fairy tale.”

The astonished inspector muttered in utter disbelief.

“Great criminals always carry out fairy tales, you know. I don’t for a moment believe something like the Statue of Liberty has become Lupin’s warehouse, but his magic is so utterly bizarre that it makes you consider such possibilities for an instant.” “So where exactly is this hollow of the ginkgo tree you mentioned?”

The inspector asked skeptically. "Look, that's it—the black, ogre-like shape in the forest over there is that ginkgo tree."

On this hill, the next most gigantic thing following the Great Buddha was that ancient ginkgo tree. The two of them stood towering against the pearlescent starry sky like parent and child giants. "I thought you wouldn’t readily believe me." “Rather than capturing the thieves, I first needed to make you believe this Great Buddha’s secret.” “I concluded there was no way but to show you directly.” “...Right here.” “Look here.” “At the base of that large ginkgo tree.”

In the starlight that poured down like rain, the shadow of the ancient tree—the gaping hollow at its roots—loomed like a vengeful spirit. This was the entrance to the Great Buddha's inner sanctum. "Quick—hide in this thicket and keep watch on that hollow," Akechi instructed. The two men crouched low, their eyes fixed on the ancient tree shrouded in darkness.

They had resigned themselves to waiting for some time, but as if by prior arrangement, no sooner had they crouched down than they saw something writhing in the hollow of the ginkgo tree. "Hm, something's off."

For some reason, Akechi felt a sense of caution. What crawled out from the hollow was, indeed, Golden Mask. And there was more than one. One after another, monsters in identical costumes gushed forth as if they were envoys from the netherworld, billowing out endlessly.

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 terrifying that even someone other than Inspector Namikoshi would think it nothing but a dreadful fairy tale. Under the starlight, four golden mantles glittered ominously. From beneath matching soft caps, four expressionless golden faces appeared dimly visible; their crescent-shaped lips stretched to their ears in what seemed like a soundless laugh—even the renowned detective and demon inspector couldn’t help but shudder.

As they watched, the four monsters approached soundlessly without uttering a word. Why was this? Was it mere coincidence that their path would pass by the thicket where Akechi and his companion were hiding? Yet they seemed to advance as if seeing straight through their concealment. Akechi felt an inexplicable unease and instinctively tried to rise. At that very instant, something dreadful occurred. The creatures who had been shuffling forward sluggishly suddenly sprang into motion like loosed arrows. In less than a breath, they leapt and encircled Akechi and Inspector Namikoshi. Four pale glimmers briefly appeared from within the folds of their golden mantles. Pistols.

“Hahaha… You’ve finally fallen into the trap, Akechi Kogorō.”

One Golden Mask said in a low voice. They were Lupin’s Japanese subordinates. “Who’s your companion?” “I think it’s probably Inspector Namikoshi, though.” “Ah! Just as I thought!” “This is an unbelievable catch!” The crescent-shaped lips spoke with a gleeful expression. From the remaining three golden faces leaked low, chuckling sounds of delight. “Mr. Akechi, you seem surprised that we’ve come to greet you so promptly.” “Even the great detective’s gotten a bit flustered, eh?” “Did you think we lacked a surveillance post?” “Surely you didn’t overlook the thick glass panel set into the Great Buddha’s forehead—the white curl?” “We hollowed out behind that glass and made it into a lookout window.” “We’ve been watching you prowling around here since yesterday.”

Golden Mask spitefully revealed the secret.

Akechi said nothing. He had unwittingly failed to notice that the white curl of the Great Buddha had been turned into a lookout window. If they had been peering from that high vantage point, then even at night, it wouldn’t have been impossible for them to discern the squirming shadows of Akechi and his companions under the starlight. The opponents were four; on their side were two people without any weapons. They were in dire straits. Akechi brought his mouth close to Inspector Namikoshi’s ear and hastily whispered something. Then, turning to face the thieves,

“We have no weapons. There’s no need to make a fuss. 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 freedom of movement has become something of an inconvenience.” The thieves replied calmly. “Then show us the way. I’d like to see your hideout. We’ve been wanting to meet Lupin ourselves.” Akechi stated matter-of-factly and began walking. The four thieves followed in apparent surprise, though they kept their pistols trained on him.

After taking two or three steps, Akechi's body spun around like a top and lunged at the hands of the thief at the very front—there was no time to react. In the blink of an eye, a pistol moved into Akechi's hand. “Now—which will be faster? Your bullets, or my pistol taking down this man?”

Akechi's left hand was wrenching one of the Golden Masks' arms. The man whose pistol had been taken. The remaining three, concerned for their comrade’s life, stood frozen.

A tense standoff continued, sweat beading through their locked gazes. Akechi's pistol pressed against one thief's flank while three thieves' pistols remained fixed on Akechi's chest, poised to exploit any opening—in the darkness, five shadows petrified like stone. "Hah... No need for gratitude, no need at all. It's settled now. Once Inspector Namikoshi escapes beyond effective range, I'll comply quietly."

Suddenly, Akechi lowered the pistol and burst into laughter. Even if he had seized a weapon, there was no way he could oppose the remaining three pistols. It was nothing more than Akechi’s clever trick—a spur-of-the-moment idea born from that desperate staring contest to focus all the thieves’ attention on himself, creating an opening for Inspector Namikoshi to escape. “You bastard!”

Since Akechi had relaxed his strength, the man whose arm had been twisted until now suddenly lunged, snatched back the pistol, and pressed the muzzle against Akechi’s back. “I’ll handle this one! Hurry up and go after that bastard Namikoshi! Don’t let him escape—there’s no recovering from it!” A rough voice barked in French. Needless to say, the three remaining Golden Masks flipped their golden cloaks in the starlight and dashed off in pursuit of the distant figure, firing their pistols wildly as they ran.

A huge explosion. Inside the Great Buddha’s hollow body, a single acetylene lamp hung from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the vast cavernous space. Iron beams crisscrossed vertically and horizontally; the concrete interior surfaces showed an eerie unevenness like those of a limestone cave; luggage resembling tea chests lay scattered about (containing Lupin’s various stolen goods). They cast strange shadows in the stagnant air. On a thick iron beam lying across the floor—the sole extravagant touch—they had spread a luxurious feather quilt where two Golden Masks sat.

The hushed tones of their whispered conversation were in no way how men would speak among themselves. Moreover, the fact that the smaller figure’s voice was clear and high-pitched indicated she was female. When it came to women in Lupin’s gang, there was no one but Miss Fujiko. And the man exchanging such intimate whispers with Miss Fujiko could be none other than Lupin.

At that moment, from the underground passage, the four Golden Masks from earlier returned one after another, accompanied by Akechi Kogorō—bound hand and foot, gagged with a muzzle, and still in his driver’s attire.

The four men reported every detail of the incident to their leader in unison. Inspector Namikoshi had managed to escape. Even for long-legged Westerners, there seemed far too many handicaps. Moreover, prolonging the chase would risk approaching O Town's residential area, leaving them no choice but reluctantly turn back. The three pursuers still gasped hoarsely for breath. Their hard-won capture of Akechi Kogorō proved utterly meaningless. Having escaped, Inspector Namikoshi would certainly mobilize a police squad to storm the Great Buddha and return without delay. They now had no option but to abandon this hideout. Yet even if they fled—where could such a conspicuous band of foreigners possibly retreat?

Had it been Lupin’s usual self, he would have lambasted the four subordinates who had blundered. He would have dragged his archenemy Akechi Kogorō before him and hurled his signature venomous words. But even Lupin, for all his usual composure, was in no position for that now. It was a critical moment where every second counted; they had to treasure every moment and plan their next moves. “Prepare two cars at the usual place. Then get this luggage moved out.”

Lupin stood up and barked a rapid stream of foreign words. At his command, two subordinates rushed into the underground passage—they were retrieving cars hidden nearby. “What should we do with that Akechi bastard?” “Tie him to those iron beams over there and leave him,” Lupin ordered. “I don’t like bloodshed. But I can’t stomach this yellow devil lingering around. Once you’ve moved the luggage out, light the explosives’ fuse.” Bound to the iron beams, Akechi emitted a strange guttural noise and writhed with desperate futility.

The driver’s cap pulled down 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 figure. Had Lupin had even a moment’s composure to remove Akechi’s cap and muzzle gag, the story’s ending might have turned out quite differently—but preoccupied with their escape, he could barely spare a thought for dealing with Akechi.

“Now then, start transporting the luggage!” Lupin, two subordinates, and even Miss Fujiko pitched in and began transporting about five pieces of luggage through the cramped underground passage.

×　　　　　　×

Inspector Namikoshi arrived at the hill of the Great Buddha with over a dozen officers from O Police Station about twenty minutes later—just as Lupin’s gang had finished loading the luggage into the cars and were about to depart.

“Ah! That’s the sound of an engine. It’s strange to have a car in a place like this, isn’t it?”

A policeman heard a noise from beyond the woods and muttered. “The thieves might be trying to escape.”

“You there, go and verify it.”

Inspector Namikoshi issued the command.

And before those words had even finished, everyone suddenly felt a violent shock as if the earth itself were crumbling. Simultaneously, blinding flames as bright as daylight illuminated even the pebbles on the ground, accompanied by an indescribably terrifying roar. A collective “Ah!” rose up. The people could not forget that momentary spectacle—terrifying yet beautiful—for a long time. The concrete Buddha—larger even than the Great Buddha of Nara—split cleanly in two and spewed fire like a volcano. The head of the Great Buddha—as large as a small tatami room—was severed clean off and soared high into the sky. The treetops encircling the hill glowed crimson as fragments of concrete rained down from above like hail.

People instinctively dropped to the ground. Though they were a whole block away from the Great Buddha, their entire backs were pelted by an unexpected hail.

But the incident was over in an instant. As the blinding flames vanished, darkness descended with twice the intensity. After the deafening roar of the explosion, a deathly silence returned.

When the people regained their senses, the first thing they thought was that the thieves had blown up their hideout and perished in the explosion. In any case, it was imperative to investigate the scene immediately. The one policeman who had been ordered to verify the thieves' car beforehand ran off alone into the woods beyond, while the rest of the group, led by Inspector Namikoshi, each holding up a flashlight, proceeded toward the base of the exploded concrete Buddha.

As they drew closer, large chunks of concrete lay scattered haphazardly across the ground, leaving no safe footing.

“Oh, look what’s lying here!” A policeman waved a single boot and held it up in the beam of Inspector Namikoshi’s flashlight—a red leather boot of middling quality. The inspector froze mid-step at the sight. He knew this boot. Without question, it belonged to Akechi, who had disguised himself as a driver.

It was clear that Akechi had deliberately allowed himself to be captured by the thieves to let Inspector Namikoshi escape. It was easy to imagine that the thieves had transported their captive into the hollow interior of the Great Buddha. If that were the case, then Akechi could not have survived that massive explosion—not even one chance in ten thousand. No—this boot alone was proof enough! Since the boot he had been wearing was blown away by the blast, Akechi’s body had likely been reduced to dust.

For Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi’s death was an incomparably more critical issue than apprehending Lupin. He stood rooted there indefinitely, trembling uncontrollably from an indescribable surge of emotion, utterly unable to speak.

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

Three cars raced like the wind along the Keihin Highway through the night. The first two cars had extinguished their headlights and all other lamps, appearing like black fiends. The last car was clearly a police automobile. Inspector Namikoshi, having learned of the thieves’ escape, must have urgently notified the police station ahead via telephone. The lead car had Lupin gripping the steering wheel, with Miss Otori Fujiko and one more subordinate of the thieves riding along. All three remained in their Golden Mask disguises.

The next open car was loaded to the brim with loot in tea chest-like luggage, and two subordinates were riding in it. The remaining two were Japanese, so they must have parted ways with the leader and hidden themselves in a different direction. In terms of speed, Lupin’s car appeared to be the most superior. The first car and the second car were separated by about half a block, while the second car and the police automobile were roughly a full block apart. “Do you have any idea where we’re headed?” Fujiko placed her hand on Lupin’s shoulder in the driver’s seat and asked uneasily in fluent French.

“There’s no destination in mind. “That’s why we’ll run for every minute—every second—we can keep fleeing. “There’s no telling what miracle might arise even in the final second. “Don’t lose heart. “Look at me. “I’m bursting with energy!” Lupin’s roar grazed Miss Fujiko’s earlobe like an arrow and shot past her. Lupin truly was brimming with vigor. Fifty miles, sixty miles—his car hurtled at such speed that its frame warped, its wheels lifting off the ground.

Already, the town of Shinagawa could be seen ahead; once they entered Tokyo proper, they should somehow be able to lose the police cars. That was their only hope. Suddenly, a gunshot-like sound came from behind. Thinking the police car had started firing, he turned around in alarm—Ah! All was lost—the second car seemed to have blown a tire and was swaying like a drunkard. Finally came the moment to abandon the artworks he had risked his life to collect. 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 just use your skills to rescue those subordinate bastards later, can’t you?” Lupin closed his eyes and abandoned the following car while lecturing himself inwardly. Naturally, 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, they promptly lost sight of Lupin's car and had to abandon its pursuit. Had they known it was Lupin, they would have abandoned the second car and pursued him, but the police officers lacked the ability to discern the true identity of Golden Mask.

Several minutes later, Lupin’s car slightly reduced its speed and was weaving through the deserted streets of Tokyo. “Hey... you... I’ve run out of strength.” “Even if we keep wandering like this endlessly, once the gasoline runs out, won’t our fate end along with it?” “Let’s just give up already.” “Let’s take each other’s hands and go to heaven together.”

Miss Fujiko did not even attempt to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks as she shook Lupin’s shoulder and pleaded fervently.

“No good! “Absolutely not! Don’t you dare bite the bag in your mouth until I say so! Have faith in my power. This little predicament is nothing! I’ve faced this a thousand times before. And each time, I’ve broken through with this very strength!” Lupin said something peculiar. What could he possibly mean by “the bag in the mouth”?

It was a thick rubber bag the size of a bean, containing a terrifying poison that could end a life in an instant. Both Lupin and Miss Fujiko had kept that poison sac in their mouths since exiting the interior of the Great Buddha. Lupin was by no means a cowardly man, but finding it impossible to refuse his beloved’s plea, he had ended up agreeing.

One can only wonder how desperately Miss Fujiko had wished that, rather than be captured and suffer the shame of exposure, she could lose her life on the spot with a single bite of this poison sac in an emergency.

But fate is a curious thing. Thanks to this poison sac they had reluctantly placed in their mouths, Lupin managed to evade arrest. What connection existed between Lupin's escape and these oral poison sacs would soon become clear. "Miss Fujiko, I'm now contemplating something extraordinary. Tomorrow is the eighteenth, isn't it? I've only just remembered this now. Do you understand? Ah, merely thinking about it sets my heart racing. This will likely be the grandest adventure of my life. I've discovered our means of escape! Though perilous in the extreme, success would see us leap beyond our pursuers' reach in a single bound. Should we fail, it'll be a lovers' suicide with my dear Miss Fujiko. Regardless, beyond this course lies absolutely no alternative."

Lupin suddenly regained vigor and turned his animated face around. “Believe in my power. I’ll crush them. “I’ll crush them without fail. “There are exactly three of us. “This makes everything perfectly convenient.” The three consisted of Lupin and Fujiko along with another subordinate Golden Mask riding in the car.

Parachute

The following 18th was the day when French aviator Monsieur Chapelin’s world-circling aircraft was scheduled to depart from suburban S Airfield and embark on its grand trans-Pacific journey via what was called an island-hopping route.

The scheduled takeoff was at 5:00 a.m., and even before daybreak, S Airfield was packed with a crowd of well-wishers.

As the scheduled time approached, Director G of the Aviation Bureau and other dignitaries from both government and private sectors arrived one after another. Solemn farewell speeches were exchanged; toasts to the future were made. Newspaper photographers deployed their battery of cameras. The crowd would occasionally roar with cheers and surge forward in a crush. The police officers’ angry shouts resounded through the sky. Amidst the tumultuous uproar, Monsieur Chapelin’s party of three finished their final aircraft inspection and took their places aboard the aircraft. It was still a dimly lit early morning, and due to the swirling commotion, the people—strangely robbed of their attentiveness—suspected nothing. Yet when one considered it, there was something undeniably peculiar about how Monsieur Chapelin and his party had stubbornly kept their flight caps and goggles on even while receiving farewell speeches and during toasts, though one might dismiss it as the nonchalance of sky warriors.

Particularly, the smallest aviator among the party—appearing to be quite the misanthrope—remained hidden in the shadow of the aircraft from nearly the very beginning without showing his face, leaped into the cockpit before the inspection was completed, and did not once reveal himself until departure, which made for an altogether suspicious situation. However, the frenzied crowd paid no heed to such things and, with hoarse voices, were shouting *“Banzai! Banzai!”* to the roar of the spinning propellers.

Before long, as the cheers of the crowd swelled to a crescendo, the airplane swayed gently from side to side while rolling 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,"* and the crowd surged forward like a tsunami with a collective roar as they chased after the airplane.

And then, something strange occurred. Over the heads of the crowd—who had been convinced the plane was heading straight north—Monsieur Chapelin’s aircraft began circling low, as if taunting their assumptions. Was this a final farewell gesture, they wondered, or had some mechanical failure struck? The crowd fell silent, their eyes turned upward to the sky.

The plane was flying so low that people feared it might collide with the taller trees, making the figure of Monsieur Chapelin in the cockpit visible as if one could reach out and take hold of him.

At that moment—what on earth was happening? Monsieur Chapelin’s face was shining golden. No, it wasn’t just his face—his entire body was enveloped in a dazzling golden sheen. Just then, the morning sun broke free from the clouds, and in its light, the aviator’s entire body glittered like a golden Buddha. “Golden Mask—... Golden Mask!” A strange murmur arose among the crowd, and in the blink of an eye, it transformed into angry shouts cursing the demon in the sky. Monsieur Chapelin had transformed into the terrifying Golden Mask before anyone knew it. The one circling above the crowd as if mocking them was none other than the fiendish thief Arsène Lupin.

The panicked police officers ran around aimlessly. The crowd surged and jostled like a raging tidal wave. The wailing and shrieking of women and children erupted everywhere. The timid people fled in panic as if the sky bandit were about to drop bombs at any moment.

On the aircraft, the golden aviator was shouting something while raising one hand in farewell. The real Monsieur Chapelin would never do such an absurd thing. Before anyone knew it, a substitution had been carried out. The hero who was to cross the Pacific had been swapped with the fiendish thief Arsène Lupin.

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

On the aircraft, Lupin’s Golden Mask—who had successfully disguised himself as Monsieur Chapelin—was shouting while waving his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Japan, I have inconvenienced you for quite some time. “Now then, farewell. “Though Japan’s famous detective Akechi Kogorō thoroughly disrupted my plans, at the final critical moment I smashed that fellow to smithereens. “Consider that when even I—who abhor bloodshed—resort to such measures, it must be a matter of utmost necessity. “You will undoubtedly find Mr. Akechi’s corpse if you search the ruins of O Town’s Great Buddha. “Moreover, I must express profound regret for the undue trouble caused to Mr. Chapelin’s party of three. “Should you gentlemen inspect the corner of the hangar where this aircraft was stored, you will discover Mr. Chapelin and his companions gagged.”

“I have failed. But I don’t regret it in the slightest. I’ve had my revenge. And now… gentlemen, do lend me your ears. You see, I’ve obtained a treasure far more precious than a thousand artworks. None other than Miss Otori Fujiko. I now embark on this skyward journey with my lovely lover, ready to perish together if death comes! What delight, what delight!… Well then, gentlemen—farewell.”

Lupin delivered a grand farewell oration to the crowd below. Of course, there was no way they could hear him. Even had they heard him, there was no reason for the Japanese crowd to understand French. This was Lupin’s guileless quirk. For some inexplicable reason, he had simply wished to leave parting words upon the soil of Japan.

When the speech ended, he next addressed Miss Fujiko in the back seat through the speaking tube. “Miss Fujiko. “It’s safe now. “Go ahead and spit out what’s in your mouth. “I crushed that rubber capsule under my shoe long ago. “We’ve no need for such things in the sky. “If you care nothing for your life, this airplane will kill you for us.” “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Miss Fujiko, disguised as aviator F, spat out the small object from her mouth as though suddenly remembering.

The airplane finished its turn and was gradually gaining altitude while increasing speed as it headed north.

Suddenly, an explosion of laughter erupted from the rearmost seat. The voice was so shrill that even as the propeller's roar drowned it out, Lupin turned around. There was subordinate K—disguised as an engineer—his mouth the only feature visible beneath the aviator goggles, bellowing with laughter.

What on earth had happened? Had that fool K gone mad? Still uneasy, Lupin grabbed the speaking tube and held it to his ear—a silent demand for explanation. K kept laughing as he lifted his own tube to his mouth. Suddenly, thunderous laughter exploded in Lupin’s ears. “BWAHAHA! You’ve finally spat out those poisoned rubber bags! How long I’ve waited for this moment! Now I can say what needs saying. By the way, Lupin—I’ve got a pistol trained on your back from here. Do grasp the implications, hmm?”

The subordinate's tone had turned shockingly crude. But that wasn't all. The French was remarkably poor. There was no way K—a Parisian—would have such a strange accent. "You bastard... You weren't K after all?" "Who the hell are you?"

Lupin switched roles and became the sender.

“It’s none other than Akechi Kogorō—the very man you just delivered a eulogy for.” The airplane lurched sharply. One could well understand how shocked Lupin was. “You intended to kill me with explosives, but that’s a hell of a mistake, you know.” “That, you see,” “was your own subordinate who was made to wear my clothes.” “In other words, it was K-kun.” “I’ve done a terrible thing, haven’t I?” “I never imagined you would resort to such murder, you see.”

At that time, while the three thieves were chasing Inspector Namikoshi, Akechi found himself alone with the thief K. He seized that opportunity to stage an astonishing ruse. Though the pistol remained in the enemy’s possession, facing a single opponent unarmed proved no challenge for one versed in jujutsu. He subdued the man, stripped off his golden garments, forced him into a driver’s uniform, gagged him with a muzzle, and disguised the thief as Akechi Kogorō—all executed without the slightest difficulty.

Thus, Akechi himself—using the golden mask and golden mantle he had seized from the thief—disguised himself as one of Lupin’s subordinates, rode along in the fleeing automobile, and lay in wait, ready to seize any opportunity to capture them. But unfortunately, both Lupin and Miss Fujiko had those poison capsules in their mouths. If one were to make a careless move, they would immediately bite through the rubber bags and commit suicide. Lupin was one thing, but killing Miss Fujiko would leave no chance of redemption.

Therefore, he persisted in his disguise as Lupin’s subordinate K, obeying the boss’s orders to subdue Mr. Chapelin and others, and even went so far as to assist in stealing the flight suits.

Even given Akechi’s considerable skill, how could he have carried out such an extraordinarily difficult act with such ease? It was because, by sheer coincidence, all the conditions had aligned perfectly. That it was dark from late night until early morning; that the gang of thieves wore golden masks and constantly concealed their faces; that at the airfield, Lupin and his men kept their aviator goggles on throughout, making Akechi’s unnatural facial concealment not stand out particularly—and so on.

Putting that aside, not only was Akechi—whom Lupin had believed dead—still alive, but he had even disguised himself as subordinate K and boarded the fleeing airplane. Even Lupin, for all his composure, was struck by such intense shock that for an instant, he completely lost his ability to think.

The airplane, like a lost bird, swayed and tilted unsteadily without end. So much so that Miss Fujiko involuntarily let out a scream.

But 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 candidly.

“I’ve lost. “Akechi, I’ve lost. “Arsène Lupin, the world’s greatest thief, humbly tips his hat to Japan’s renowned detective. “But now that we’re here—what exactly do you plan to do with me?” “Land this plane back at its original airfield. “Return Miss Fujiko to the Otori household—then surrender yourself to Monsieur Hébert’s custody.” “Ahahaha… Now now, Akechi—save that grandstanding for solid ground. “Here—one wrong move means death for us all. We’re hundreds of meters above the clouds! “A paltry weapon like a pistol holds no power here. “Fire that thing and you’ll lose your pilot—this plane will plummet straight down. “Hahaha… Up here among the clouds—it seems I’m holding all the cards.”

Ah, what audacity! Far from faltering in this dire predicament, the phantom thief sought instead to counterattack with reckless abandon. If he were to abandon his life and force a triple suicide, even Akechi would be at a loss for how to handle it. "Then, on your part—what exactly do you intend to do with me?" "Needless to say, I'll take you to some deserted island in the northern seas and vent my spleen."

He might even intend to abandon me on an iceberg or something. “Hahahahaha! Hey, Akechi—you seem terribly troubled now,” he jeered. “Can’t you muster any retort? Has that famed wisdom of yours finally run dry?”

A silence continued for some time. Akechi had been secretly preparing to take his final desperate measure. “Very well, Mr. Lupin—I’ll abandon your arrest.” “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?” “You see, I intend to reclaim Miss Fujiko—your sole prize—from your demonic grasp.”

Before those words had finished echoing, the airplane shuddered violently as a shrill scream plummeted earthward. Two dark shapes somersaulted through the open sky before plunging like cannonballs. Akechi Kogorō—clutching a struggling Miss Fujiko beneath his arm—had flung himself from the aircraft. This was no suicidal act. Both his back and Fujiko’s bore parachute harnesses securely strapped about them.

Rumors spread faster than the speed of the airplane, and the people below knew that the aircraft now flying overhead belonged to the phantom thief Golden Mask. When they saw two parachutes gush out from the phantom airplane, the commotion grew even more intense.

On the roofs of every house, the townspeople clustered like bunches of grapes, all gaping up at the sky in unison. Along the white-paved national highway, over a dozen automobiles raced in pursuit of the airplane. Most carried newspaper reporters and cameras. The spectacle of two parachutes—floating gently downward one after another like giant jellyfish—made for a truly wondrous sight. And since those swaying beneath them were none other than the renowned detective Akechi Kogorō—presumed dead—and Miss Ōtori Fujiko, known to all as the phantom thief Lupin's lover, one could easily imagine how feverishly the next day's newspapers buzzed.

The two parachutes landed on the coast near Kisarazu. The two were being cared for by the fisherman’s wife and resting at a house there when, before long, automobile after automobile came rushing in from Tokyo. Among them was a Metropolitan Police car, and Inspector Namikoshi—accompanied by Detective Hébert—came hurrying out with a smile splitting his face. How our Akechi Kogorō was welcomed by all present like a triumphant general—it goes without saying.

After handing Miss Fujiko over to the Otori family, he turned to Inspector Namikoshi and Monsieur Hébert and, with a slightly embarrassed smile, said the following: “Though we let Lupin escape, all his kind have been apprehended, the national treasures and artworks recovered, and even Miss Fujiko has slipped free from his demonic grasp. All things considered, I daresay this battle counts as my victory.” “But since Lupin was fighting an unfamiliar battle on foreign soil, I suppose we had to give him a bit of a handicap out of pity.”

×　　　　　　×　　　　　　×

Lupin's airplane had gone missing for several days, but one day a newspaper telegram shocked the public—a steamship navigating the Pacific had discovered Monsieur Chapelin's aircraft adrift on the sea surface.

Had Lupin vanished into the Pacific's watery depths? No, no—this fiend wasn't one to be caught by ordinary means. Just as before, he'd likely faked his death and was now holed up in some corner of the world, devising yet another grandiose scheme.