Suspicion

The next morning, Kobayashi Monzō appeared in the entrance hall of the Yamano residence with a strangely vacant look on his face. He had had nightmares all through the night. His dreams had intermingled with the previous night's happenings, and now he could not be certain how much had been reality and how much had been dream.

It may have been his imagination, but somehow the Yamano estate made a different impression than it had previously. Garbage lay on the gravel path inside the gates, dust had collected on the step in the entranceway, and the shutters on the second storey were only half open. The whole aspect of the place had become lonely and wild.

Even Yamaki, the houseboy who came out to receive guests, was strangely pale. Monzō's only concern was whether or not Mrs. Yamano was still missing.

"Your mistress?" He inquired in a small voice, trying to peer inside.

"She's not here."

When he heard that, Monzō was startled.

"Since when?"

"Eh?"

Yamaki gave Monzō an odd look.

"I suppose she hasn't come home since last night?"

"No, she went out to Mr. Akechi's place a moment ago."

"Oh, to Akechi's," Monzō spoke rapidly to hide his embarrassment. He had turned bright red. "Didn't she go out anywhere last night, then?"

"Last night she went to visit a relative in Katamachi." The houseboy answered coolly.

"And about when did she return?"

"It was around nine o'clock."

The houseboy gave another odd look. Speaking of nine o'clock, Monzō had still been loitering in the dark alley at that time. He understood less and less. How had Mrs. Yamano been able to slip past his strict lookout? Such a thing could not be possible. Assuming that to be the case, had the previous night been nothing more than a bad dream? In any case, he felt that he should try to meet with the lady.

"Then she must still be at Akechi's."

"Yes, she only went out a moment ago."

"There's been nothing especially unusual other than that?" As Monzō prepared to leave, he suddenly came to himself and inquired, "How about your boss's illness?"

"He doesn't seem at all well. His fever is high, and it's reached the point that two nurses came this morning, and, on top of everything, the household is in disorder. To make matters worse, Komatsu the maid went out last night, saying she was going to the doctor, and hasn't returned."

" Komatsu is the one who said she had a headache or something and slept in her room while Akechi questioned the servants, right?"

"Yes. We tried making telephone calls to every likely place and sent out messages, but right now she's still missing. And on top of all that, people from the police have been coming since early this morning. It's difficult for the mistress on her own."

"The police? Have they found a clue or something, then?"

Monzō had a bad feeling. It seemed he had been outwitted on every point.

"They're no good; they don't know anything at all," the houseboy practically spat. "It seems Mr. Akechi told them about that arm parcel. Well, they came to look into it. The police have figured out that the arm in that noisy department store is connected to our young mistress's case, so they've finally begun to kick up a fuss in earnest. The young mistress's death has been a secret from the master until now, but he found out everything because of the police inquiry, and now his illness is worse than ever. It's a real mess. We've barely even been able to sleep at night."

The houseboy made an exaggerated show of grumbling, twisting his pimple-covered face into a scowl.

Having heard that much, Monzō quit the Yamano house and made for Akechi's lodgings in Akasaka in pursuit of the lady. It was all coiling hazily into a whirlpool in his head. The number of suspects appeared to be increasing by the day. First was that mysterious dwarf; then the driver, Fukiya, who had taken time off; and the mysterious bespectacled man of the previous night. Now there was the absconding maid Komatsu as well, and, on top of that, his respected and beloved lady Yurie was also, beyond a doubt, caught up in the whirlpool of suspicion.

The events of the previous night had been no dream and, however favorably they were interpreted, it was certain that the lady played quite an important role in this case. If they were considered unfavorably, it was even possible to suspect that the lady had by some means done her stepdaughter to death. Since the previous night, Monzō had repeatedly collided with this terrifying doubt. Every time he did, he gave an involuntary start and forced himself to concentrate on other things.

But even if those suspicions were by some chance justified, he would not detest the lady. On the contrary, he would doubtless fear the exposure of that sin just as she did and cooperate to preserve the secret. Then, making his knowledge of the lady's weakness into an eternal bond between them, he would privately rejoice. That was the level to which his yearning for the lady had risen over the past several days. So he could not fail to fear Akechi's ability. If Akechi were able to succeed in discovering the criminal behind Michiko's murder, and if that criminal were none other than Yurie . . . The thought made him uneasy. That was another reason he wanted to meet with Akechi again and sound out the situation.

"But that could never be. If the lady had a guilty conscience, she wouldn't have called in Akechi in the first place. From her perspective, even visiting him would be illogical."

That thought enabled him to gain a little peace of mind.

While Monzō was engrossed in such worries, the train had arrived at his destination. If the conductor had not called out loudly, he would have ridden thoughtlessly past. When he called at the Kikusui Inn, he was immediately conducted to Akechi's room, but Akechi was alone. There was no sign of Monzō's object, Mrs. Yamano.

"Haven't you seen Yamano's wife?" Monzō first asked as he took a seat.

"I sent her home just now. If you had been just a little earlier, you could have seen her."

Akechi welcomed Monzō with his usual smile.

"Is that so? I came in a hurry, but . . . By the way, have any more clues been found?"

Despite the difference in age and social position, the intimacy of old boardinghouse friends loosened Monzō's tongue. Besides, he had been made somewhat conceited by his adventure the previous night. It appeared that, even though an amateur like him had caught wind of that weighty secret, Akechi Kogorō, called "the great detective," still knew nothing about it. Monzō felt impatience but also more than a little pleasure. "No, there's nothing which I could even call a discovery." Akechi was composed.

"It seems this case will be quite difficult. Isn't this slow progress unlike you?" Monzō spoke against his better judgment. Afterwards, he read Akechi's countenance, taken aback at his own audacity.

"It's an extremely odd case, isn't it?" Akechi was smiling as usual, without any appearance of anger. "Incidentally, I hear you were quite active last night. Why don't we hear about that, rather than any evidence of mine? It looks like you aren't to be underestimated either."

Monzō turned red. How did Akechi know what had happened the night before? It was mysterious, but there was nothing to be done. His smiling face suddenly seemed an eerie thing.

"You probably think I heard something from Mrs. Yamano just now, but you've nothing to worry about there. She certainly didn't suspect your disguise," Akechi said, adroitly reading Monzō's expression. "She hasn't been telling me anything these days. She tries her hardest to conceal even trifling matters. It even looks as if she regrets calling me in as a detective. She didn't come today because she wants the criminal found quickly; she came, timidly, to ferret out just how far I've penetrated into the truth." "Then, do you think she has some connection to the crime?" Monzō wanted to know Akechi's true intentions.

"That there is a connection is evident. But why should the lady set out of her own free will to call in a detective like me, and why should she begin to regret that now? These points want some clearing up. That woman is an enigma. She appears extremely chaste, but somehow there seems to be something ridiculously coquettish about her as well. There's nothing about her one can easily latch onto. Perhaps she deliberately threw down this case before me, in an attempt to put on a still more daring play. She may have underrated me and believed that there was no fear of her secret leaking out. One finds that sort of wildness in female criminals."

"Supposing that were so, wouldn't it mean that something happened recently to make her lose that confidence?"

"I've been doing quite a bit of work on this case. If there's anything shady about her, it's only natural that she would begin to worry. You probably think that I've been lounging around here with my arms folded, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I even know all about your movements last night."

"Last night?"

Akechi let out a loud guffaw.

"It's useless to feign innocence. My investigation has gone as far as the number of the automobile. Although you couldn't have known it, the car in which you, disguised as an assistant, rode with the lady and one other man last night was number

2936."

"Then, last night, were you hidden somewhere as well?"

"Look at that. You've gone and confessed at last. That was a guess. I thought it was probably you, so I tried tricking you into confirming it. I'll reveal my trick: A maid of the Yamano household called Oyuki is my confidante. When I went there the second time and questioned the employees one by one, I selected a suitable agent. Although of course I promised a reward, Oyuki is the most loyal of the servants, and she willingly agreed to my request when I told her it was for the sake of the household. She's quite a useful woman. She followed the lady last night and memorized the number of the automobile for me. Then, thanks to a telephone call from Oyuki, I went out to investigate myself. Because I knew the number of the cab, finding the stand it belonged to was simple enough. Once I knew the stand, I knew the driver, and with a single five-yen note I found out everything. It became apparent that a man like you had asked to ride in the driver's seat, and that that man had followed after the two passengers. But the man who carried off the lady did it extremely carefully, didn't he? He's one used to wickedness. He wouldn't do anything so careless as taking a hired car all the way to his destination. Therefore, I don't know what house you went to, but I can guess, because the place where the automobile stopped was T. Street, Nakanogō, in Honjo. I wonder if it might not have been a house with no storefront behind a certain small gate on O. Street, in the same area. Am I right?"

"Just so. How did you know?" Monzō blurted out, taken aback by Akechi's insight and forgetting that he had meant to keep that house secret for the lady's sake.

"So it's as I thought. Well then, we have an opportunity, so why don't you tell me everything? But before that, I have something to show you."

Akechi took several long, thin pieces of torn paper from his stationery box. He carefully smoothed out the wrinkles, arranged them on the desk, and joined them together in order.

After patching together the strange scrap of paper, Akechi placed it on a corner of the table. He proceeded to remove other articles from the stationery box one after another: that black metal hairpin caught in the piano spring, many types of cosmetics brought from Michiko's dresser, fingerprint-covered blotting paper that had been on Michiko's desk, a mysterious fragment of plaster, a web-like spring shawl, a small ladies' handbag, a photograph, three sealed letters. All those articles were arranged in rows on the table, just like a stall selling antiques at a night market. In addition to the items on the table, a pair of worn-out felt sandals remained at the bottom of the stationery box.

Kobayashi Monzō was taken aback by this startling scene. Those articles were without doubt all the pieces of evidence in the case, but when had Akechi gathered them all? Even without hearing each item explained, just the sight of that ostentatious display caused the little feeling of disdain, which he had held toward Akechi until just then, to vanish without a trace.

"How about it, Kobayashi? This is proof that I haven't been idle. These items will pass out of my hands before long. It's been decided that my friend, public prosecutor Tamura, will take on the case, so I mean to pass all of them on to him. With so much, I will be extremely helpful to the investigation. No, it isn't a question of being helpful; a careful investigation of these items may enable me to grasp the truth of the case while I sit here, without any struggle at all. This is a perfect opportunity, so I'll have you look them over once before they leave my hands.

You're the one who introduced this case to me, and you seem to be quite an enthusiastic amateur detective yourself. So although to me they are a trade secret, as it were, I've decided to show them especially to you. On the other hand, I won't tell you all of my conclusions regarding these articles. It's not that I can't speak, just that I'll be moderate in what I say. As you know, it is my habit not to voice half-baked ideas before I completely solve a case."

A faint, inscrutable smile played across Akechi's lips as he twirled those objects as if caressing them. He had the appearance of an antiques dealer appraising the value of secondhand goods.

"I wonder which I should start with." He appeared really cheerful. "That's right. We had begun to talk about the house in O. Street. You seemed surprised, but there was actually a trick behind my guess. It was this torn scrap of paper. Try reading it."

It was about half the size of a sheet of calligraphy paper, and in addition to having been torn into fine pieces, it had holes burned through it here and there. It may have been the remains of a letter, but it was not entirely legible.

. . . burial done according to your request . . . and my humble self and that Fukiya, just the three of us . . . wish to consult fully regarding the aforementioned . . . gō-Omote (one or two characters missing) 63 Nakamura . . . after reading once, be sure to burn. . . .

However he reexamined it, Monzō could make out no more than that.

"I was able to predict your destination last night because of the phrase '. . . gō-Omote' here. The '63' could only be an address, so the name of a street corresponding to '. . . gō-Omote' must come before it, and in Tokyo that can only be O. Street in Nakanogō. I went there at once to see for myself. I had no difficulty discovering a certain house with a small gate and a nameplate reading 'Nakamura.' I went inside and met a deaf old woman. She says that her husband is a salaried worker, but I don't know whether or not that's true. 'Nakamura' never showed himself, but I searched the house itself and gained light on several points as a result. If my ideas are not mistaken, a truly terrifying person is intervening in this case. Their curse has complicated the whole business immensely. But they probably aren't the murderer; the criminal lies in another direction. It is unfortunate, but, because of that, I can't disclose that demon's true form until the culprit is found. I'm afraid of allowing the real criminal to escape."

Monzō found Akechi's roundabout way of speaking irritating. He had no doubt that Akechi meant the man who had taken Mrs. Yamano. The suspicious man was clearly threatening the lady. But, if he were not the criminal, then might his victim, Yurie, Michiko's own stepmother, be a terrifying murderess? He could think of no other possibility. Doubtless Akechi was also suspicious of Mrs. Yamano, but whether or not he really thought her the criminal was impossible to say.

"But where did you find this scrap of paper?"

Monzō had a feeling that something would become clear to him if he could clear up that point.

"My confidante Oyuki picked it up for me. The recipient of the letter was Yamano's wife. After she finished reading it, she tore it into fine pieces, rolled it up, and tossed it into the charcoal brazier in the kitchen, just as instructed. Oyuki secretly snatched it out. Luckily the fire in the brazier was low, so that while Yamano's wife thought it burned up completely, this much was left on the inside. It's regrettable that the envelope turned completely to ash, but what we have is still a considerable clue."

When he heard that, Monzō felt that his suspicions were at last confirmed beyond a doubt.

"Then, if the recipient of this letter was Mrs. Yamano, this 'according to your request' must mean her request, mustn't it? I suppose 'burial' probably means burying Michiko's corpse somewhere. And then, before this '. . . and my humble self and Fukiya, just the three of us,' must have been her name."

His imagination rushed forward, quick as an arrow. Then, because he was really quite afraid, he examined Akechi's expression.

"It can be taken that way, but we can't jump to conclusions. Although the matter seems a simple enough, so if we had to deliver a verdict now, then we would certainly say that Mrs. Yamano is the criminal."

Akechi smiled enigmatically.

"But there aren't any other ways to take it, are there?"

In his enthusiasm, Monzō was unable to prevent himself from revealing his real intentions to Akechi.

"If we want to suspect Yamano's wife, then we have other grounds for doing so as well," Akechi swept on calmly. "This shawl and handbag, as well as the sandals inside this stationery box. These three items are all Michiko was said to have been wearing when she ran away from home, but my Oyuki found them for me in a corner of a closet in Mrs. Yamano's room."

"In other words, Mrs. Yamano hid those things beforehand, in order to make it appear that Michiko had run away from home. Doesn't that make the lady even more suspicious?"

Monzō plunged ahead, growing more heated as he struggled with these new pieces of evidence.

"We can't declare her the criminal just because she's suspicious," Akechi lightly turned Monzō's thrust aside. "If you're so convinced of the lady's guilt, then why don't we examine the opposing viewpoint as a test? First of all, the lady voluntarily entrusted this case to me. Of course, this may have been a drama staged by a daring criminal, as I suggested earlier. But there is still a great deal of difference between her carelessness in taking her leave without ascertaining that the letter was completely burned up or putting precious pieces of evidence in the corner of a closet in her own room, a place where a brief search would discover them immediately, and the skill that erased the fingerprints from the piano and hid the corpse in a garbage bin. Criminals often commit stupid blunders, but isn't this a little too ridiculous to be conceivable?"

Akechi's speech was deliberately vague. He stopped and gazed at Monzō for a little while, but before long he resumed his startling narration.

"As for the lady, pieces of evidence against her are popping up one after the other. Here is another."

Careful not to leave any fingerprints, he gripped the odd fragment of plaster between his fingers and lifted it from the desk. "This also came from inside the lady's closet. It was hidden underneath the small chest of drawers into which the shawl and the rest were packed. Naturally this is only one fragment which Oyuki carried off, but the broken remains that were once a foottall plaster statue were all there."

Monzō stared at Akechi with a look of confusion.

"No, you couldn't understand from just that but, before I explain, we must first examine this hairpin." Akechi took up the hairpin, previously discovered inside the piano. "I'm not Dr. Thorndike in the detective stories, but this one required a microscopic examination. I'm totally unskilled in such things, so I asked a doctor friend of mine. The head of this pin is terribly bent, the mark of its being struck by some object with corners. I took it home, inspected it carefully under a bright light, and saw that there is white powder sticking to the bent part. Looking still more closely, something like a bloodstain seems to be on it as well, although because the material is black I cannot know for certain. If you look closely, it's still there even now. I scraped off that powder and blood and had it examined under a microscope, and the result was that the powder seems to be plaster mixed with some dye. It's probably the powdered remains of a bronzed plaster statue. I discovered that the blood is definitely human. I then needed to ascertain whether or not there was a bronzed plaster statue in the Yamano residence. But, of course, this was easily learned by means of Oyuki's testimony. A blue statue of just a head rested on a shelf in Michiko's study. Because of its thick pedestal, it could probably knock a person unconscious, or even kill them, if it were thrown at them and struck them in the wrong place. Shockingly, the fragment of plaster that came out of the closet of Mrs. Yamano's room had bloodstains on it as well, so there is no doubt that a corner of the pedestal struck the victim's head and she received a cerebral concussion. So the fragment of plaster that was found in the lady's room corresponds, so to speak, with the murder weapon."

"Even in the face of that much evidence, you say that the lady is not the criminal?"

"I won't say that she isn't. I think any assertion would be a little hasty. This case appears simple on the surface, but it is in reality quite complicated. It's quite a singular case, even if only by virtue of the monster I mentioned just now being connected with it. There are strangely aberrant, inhuman points about it; a dwarf walking around carrying a freshly severed arm, a corpse's arm sprouting from a decorative doll in a department store. Be that as it may, considering the fact that the murder weapon was a plaster statue, as I said just now, and that the corpse was hidden in a piano, this murder definitely was not planned in advance. It probably came as a surprise even to the criminal. They certainly intended to kill, but they never meant the affair to become such a major incident. But that makes the work of the detective all the more difficult. A planned crime will leave traces of the preparations somewhere, and it will be possible to grasp something by following up those traces. In this case there is nothing of the kind."

"But doesn't everything which can be called evidence point to Mrs. Yamano?"

"Wait, there's still a little left. Let's put off argument for the time being, and I'll finish explaining. I'm still a busy man myself. Next are these three letters. They have several things to teach us. Two envelopes, one postcard. The sender in each case is 'K,' but the real name 'Kitajima Haruo' is written on the interior of this envelope. It means that an unsettling ex-convict has been added to the case. This Kitajima left the penitentiary only ten days ago. I believe you knew Michiko well, but it seems she was an extremely loose woman. Her father was soft on his only daughter, and her mother wasn't related by blood and couldn't discipline her sufficiently, so it's nothing to wonder at. But I wonder if Michiko may not have been a born harlot.

"This is a recent photograph of Michiko, which I received from Mrs. Yamano. Just looking at it is enough to enable me to guess at her disposition."

Akechi took a large photograph from the table and gazed intently at it while he spoke. The Yamano family had taken it all in a group, with Mr. Yamano in the center and even the servants included.

"I deliberately got a photograph taken in a large group because I wanted to know not only Michiko's face, but that of the driver, Fukiya, as well. After all, according to the torn letter there, it's certain that Fukiya has some connection to this case." Akechi added by way of explanation. "I like looking at human faces. Something comes welling up inside me when I gaze at the face of another. I feel as if the stories of that person's past are crystallized in their face. It amuses me to unravel them one by one. Even this look of Michiko's has things to say. The first thing that comes to me is a sense of artificiality, the sense of something false. The way she dresses her hair, her makeup, the fact that she dresses in fashionable Western clothes: the sight of these is enough to let one know what a woman of skill she is. And look at this artful expression. This is certainly not Michiko as she was naturally. It is the face of an actress on the stage. The maid Komatsu is right beside her. It's an amusing contrast, isn't it? She is Michiko's polar opposite: completely artless. From her hair and kimono to her expressionless face, she is the old-fashioned Japanese girl through and through. But such a docile-looking woman is quite capable of doing surprisingly wild things when she sets her heart on something. She appears to be nearsighted and wears glasses. And her eyebrows are nowhere to be seen. Isn't it odd that she shaves them? It seems she does it to hide naturally thin eyebrows, but somehow it gives one the impression of a married woman. Thin eyebrows. Ah, I know a woman who had thin eyebrows. It frightens me even to remember her."

Akechi became gradually more eloquent. He appeared to be extremely glad about something. But what his loquacity meant, his audience of one had not the slightest idea. While he toyed with the three letters Kitajima Haruo had sent to Michiko, Monzō suddenly recalled the mysterious disappearance of Komatsu. Then, from the drift of the conversation, he wondered if Akechi might possibly suspect the maid.

"Do you know that Komatsu has gone?"

"I heard it from Yamano's wife. An idea about that came to me just now. That woman may be the central character of this case."

Akechi ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke. He was oddly excited. Monzō felt that he had been right to think that Akechi suspected Komatsu. Komatsu had been Michiko's rival in love, so she would have been the prime suspect if she were not such a mild-mannered girl. But Monzō realized later that this conjecture of his was not entirely correct.

"We were speaking of those letters." Akechi returned to the original subject as if he had only just noticed that the conversation had strayed. "I found them inside the cushion of the chair in Michiko's study. I looked at a bundle of letters when we first examined Michiko's desk, but they were all strangely commonplace, so much so that it drew my interest. I thought that there ought to be gayer, more flamboyant letters in a young lady's room. So the next time I went, I made a thorough search to see whether there mightn't be a secret hiding place somewhere. I even examined the bookshelves. From them, I learned to my surprise that this young woman was a fan of detective fiction. Her shelves were lined with detective books, domestic and foreign. It made me feel rather embarrassed. Taking into account that Michiko was a connoisseur of detection, I felt that I must alter my search plan. So this time I searched for hiding places that would recommend themselves to a lover of detectives, and the chair cushion was the first to catch my eye." Akechi laughed amusedly.

"By the way, what surprised me was the sheer quantity of love letters concealed in the cushion. Her father's lax management and her mother's diffidence were past hope, but Michiko would have been incapable of such immoral conduct if she herself had not been by nature a woman of loose morals. And still both her parents are completely ignorant. The dates on the envelopes show that she has exchanged love letters with seven men in just two years. Judging by the contents of the letters, it appears that all of those relationships were considerably involved. The seventh was with the driver, Fukiya. The devotion in this instance appears to have been rather on Michiko's side. I've only seen his photograph, but Fukiya seems a man women would like. He also writes quite serious letters. But he had his relationship with Komatsu at the same time, and Michiko reproaches him for that. Fukiya's seems to have take the position of claiming that he could not be so cruel as to throw over Komatsu for Michiko. There was another man before Fukiya, and this Kitajima is that previous connection. You'll understand when you read the letters, but, paying for his mistakes or not, I feel sorry for the man. He even went to prison for Michiko's sake. She was a frightening woman to have covered that up so well that her parents didn't notice a thing. Read the ones in the envelopes first."

The dates of both letters were February of the year —. In other words they had been written about a month previously.

. . . I curse you. What sort of hardship have I been through to win your favor? In the end I even sank to becoming a burglar. In order to be with you, in order not to be disdained by you, I had no other choice. You appealed to me with deception, and now I am enthralled. Do you remember that I once asked you to raise money? If you had done something for me then, it would have never have come to this. But you'd already had a change of heart. You hurried on to another man, and wouldn't even listen to anything I said. Can you imagine my feelings then; the bitterness of love and the fear of sin? I was already half mad. Many times I put a dagger in my pocket and prowled the perimeter of your estate. But there was never an opportunity. I've been avoiding my lodgings and staying at a cheap boardinghouse, wanting to escape the hands of the police until I've laid this grudge to rest. I've been thinking only of thrusting a dagger into your silky smooth cheek and churning it around. But it's no use anymore. I was finally caught. I begged the detectives, and finally got the time to write this letter. There's a mountain of things I want to say, but I'm out of time. There's just one thing I'll promise you: I don't know how many years I'll be locked up, but when I get out, I swear I'll take vengeance. I'll be looking forward to that day from now on. Just you wait. . . .

The other letter, written about ten days before the first, contained a pleading request for just one more meeting and a continuous stream of other entreaties.

The postcard was dated March the twenty-seventh. It had arrived a day or two before Michiko's violent death. Kitajima had most likely stopped by the post office immediately upon being discharged from the penitentiary. Simple, yet terrifying phrases, intelligible only to the interested parties, had been hastily scrawled in pencil.

Please rejoice. We'll be able to see each other at last. I mean to fulfill our promise to meet within a few days. That promise. —K

"She received a postcard like this and kept silent. Surely that means she wasn't afraid?"

Monzō finished reading and interposed a doubt.

"I considered that as well, but she may have opened her heart to Mr. Yamano. I still haven't met with him. It seems his fever is serious. But it's certain that she didn't request the protection of the police or do anything of that kind. To do that would have been extremely embarrassing. She may also have hesitated because she found it difficult to speak frankly to Fukiya. It would be bitter to learn that one's lover has known an ex-convict like Kitajima."

"If that's the case, then Michiko's murder might be the revenge of this vindictive unrequited lover."

Monzō was fascinated by the pieces of evidence that appeared before him one after the other. Before coming to the Kikusui Inn that day, he had felt that he grasped something of the truth of the case, but he gradually lost his confidence as he listened to Akechi. He had not the least idea what this evidence was pointing to or what sort of judgments Akechi was making. The mysterious thing was that the truth of the case did not become clearer each time a new piece of evidence appeared. On the contrary, it seemed to grow more tangled and obscure.

"Now, we can't say for certain just yet, but if we take this man to be the criminal, it gives rise to a number of contradictions, starting with the fact that there was no sign of a person coming in from outside on the night of the crime. But it seems too much of a coincidence to be mere chance that Michiko was killed just at the time this man left prison. Kitajima must have thought of nothing but revenge during his year in jail, so we can't know what ingenious methods he thought up. On top of that, a man doubtless half-mad with unrequited love and prison would be quite capable of risking his life in some desperate attempt, so we cannot easily declare him cleared of suspicion."

Monzō wondered if Akechi was being deliberately employing a vague in order to irritate him. At the same time, the hideous figure of the dwarf came suddenly to his mind. Lately, he had come to immediately recall that deformed child whenever he came up against some inexplicable reality.

"Are this Kitajima's whereabouts known?"

"Not at present, but if I pass this into the hands of the police, they should be able to find him without too much trouble because he is an ex-convict. Be that as it may, there is still a little evidence left." Akechi indicated the cosmetics and blotting paper on the table with his eyes. "I think you will have heard this from the lady already, but I took the fingerprints of that arm in the department store as well as those of the one which arrived yesterday for Mr. Yamano by post and examined them to see whether or not they match Michiko's. Unhappily, my surmise was correct, and here is the proof."

Akechi untied a linen handkerchief and arranged the nickel containers and bottles of various shapes that it contained with great care. Many black speckles could be seen on their smooth surfaces. They had been sprinkled with black powder in order to make fingerprints clearly visible.

"Michiko appears to have been extremely fashion-conscious, and she had a shocking quantity of various cosmetics. She had the full array of hand cosmetics along with nail polishing powders, files, buffers and so on. But among her collection, it is only on these that fingerprints can be clearly seen. The surfaces of the rest are rough or made of paper. Even most the smooth things were no use because no fingerprints remained on them. I also examined the surface of the mirror and the metal fixtures of the drawers, but they had already been cleaned. Still, these will be more than sufficient for evidence."

Akechi picked up the containers between his fingers one by one and carefully sorted them.

"Hydrogen peroxide cucumber, fresh face-whitening cream, face powder, camellia flower perfumed oil, hydrogen peroxide cream, . . . all commonplace items, Japanese-made and not very expensive. Michiko collects cosmetics indiscriminately without any fixed principles or opinions. She doesn't have refined tastes. But this one is an imported Pompeian10. While it's not a terribly high-class item, it is a powerful grease cream."

This last item Akechi kept happily toying with.

"That's the only one that appears not to have any fingerprints on it," Monzō remarked suddenly.

"The exterior has been cleaned spotless. But look what complete fingerprints are impressed on the cream inside," Akechi said with a sly expression, like a mischievous child.

The last item was peach-colored blotting paper, but, aside from Michiko's fingerprints, there were no points about it particularly worthy of notice. It bore the overlapping marks of blotting many letters, but all were indistinct and could not be read.

"Now, I've shown you everything that I've discovered. Why don't we hear your story next? The story of last night." Akechi prompted Monzō as he cleared the items on the table back into the stationery box.

"No, there'd be no point." Monzō scratched his head in embarrassment. "I've nothing to tell beyond what you already know."

He briefly told how Mrs. Yamano and the strange man had vanished from the house the previous night.

Akechi, totally unsurprised, ignored that mystery with a look of disinterest. Then, as if suddenly struck by an idea, he abruptly inquired about something entirely different.

"Did Michiko have a good complexion? I can't tell by the photograph. If you had to say one way or the other, didn't she have a glossy, red-tinged face?"

"No, the exact opposite. I haven't heard that she was particularly frail, but her face was pale and made a sickly, dissolute impression. She cleverly hid that with cosmetics and tricks of expression. Somehow or other, she never gave me the impression of a maiden."

Monzō gave Akechi an odd look. Akechi began to eagerly run his fingers through his hair in that habitual way of his.

When at last Akechi had said just as much as he would say, he disregarded Monzō's further attempts at questioning, called the maidservant, and ordered tea with the air of one whose business is already concluded.

Before long, Monzō announced his departure and exited the Kikusui Inn. As he walked away, and even after he boarded the train, his head was filled with the evidence that Akechi had shown him and the suspicious persons who had appeared one after another.

Setting aside the cosmetics and blotting paper, which were just to confirm Michiko's fingerprints, and the letters that came out of the chair cushion, which show that Kitajima Haruo can be suspected if anyone can, the hairpin, the plaster statue, the shawl, the handbag, the felt sandals, and all the other evidence is unfavorable to Mrs. Yamano. Besides which, the lady burned a suspicious letter and is having secret meetings with a mysterious man. No one would doubt that she is the prime suspect.

In spite of Akechi's defense of the lady, Monzō was unable to rid himself of this idea. He also tried to consider all the suspicious persons who had so far appeared and every imaginable motive for the murder.

By any standard, there are six persons who ought to be suspected. Of those, the dwarf and the man who took Mrs. Yamano away last night are complete enigmas. That Fukiya the driver returned home to his parents just after the incident and that his name was in the burned remains of that letter are sufficient reasons to suspect him. But the three mentioned in that letter don't seem to be the direct perpetrators. At present he has no motive whatever, so even considering the circumstances, it seems that he isn't the criminal. Against that Mrs. Yamano, Kitajima Haruo, and Komatsu all have motives for being quite capable of murdering Michiko. The lady was Michiko's stepmother, and it's certain that she was not on good terms with that willful girl. Kitajima has gone mad from the resentment of unrequited love. Komatsu held a deep grudge over having her love with Fukiya snatched away. Incidentally, if, of these three, we suppose Kitajima to be the perpetrator, then it doesn't seem to make sense that there were no traces of a person entering from outside that night, that the murder weapon was not prepared in advance and a plaster statue in Michiko's room was used, and that after hiding Michiko's corpse once the criminal then carried it away. Komatsu is naturally docile and doesn't seem capable of such a terrible thing, and if we do take her to be the criminal, there is the problem of why she hesitated to escape until last night. Mustn't Mrs. Yamano be the most suspicious one after all?

No matter what he tried, Monzō fell into that line of thinking. He still could not forget his fresh, weird experience of the previous night.