Seichō Matsumoto - Points And Lines

"Yes. When I called on him today I found him telephoning to Kamakura. He's anxious about his wife's health."

"I see. He's living in Tokyo alone, then?"

"He has a house in the Asagaya district. He lives there with two servants. I've already investigated."

Mihara sent a long telegram to the Central Police Station in Sapporo. There would be no reply until the following day or the day after, at the earliest. However, he was not expecting much from that source. He was sure Tatsuo Yasuda would not be telling obvious lies; he was too clever for that.

He was at a loss. Perhaps, at the back of his mind, he was still hoping for something tangible in the reply to his telegram. But a feeling akin to frustration was growing within him. Brooding over the meager facts in his possession he seized upon a new thought. Was Yasuda's wife really convalescing in Kamakura? Hadn't he better check that part of the story?

She could not possibly be involved in the case. Yet there was the matter of the four-minute interval. Yasuda learned about it because he went often to Kamakura to visit his sick wife. Mihara's suspicions were suddenly aroused. Suppose it was not his wife but someone else who lived there? He was certain Yasuda's trip to Hokkaido would be confirmed; Yasuda knew that would be checked. But regarding his wife, ill in bed, that was something people might easily believe, something so commonplace one was apt to accept it without question.

He looked in on his chief but Inspector Kasai had already left. He put a note on his desk to say that he was going to Kamakura and went out. It would be late by the time he returned.

He bought a box of cakes at a well-known store in the Tokyo Station Building. If he was going to call on Mrs. Yasuda it would look well to take a gift.

He climbed the stairs to platform 13 and got on a train that was waiting there. He looked over at platform 15. As he knew already, his own train and the one alongside at platform 14 prevented him from getting a clear view of platform 15. How very clever to have used that four-minute interval, Mihara again remarked. He was certain it was not just by chance; it must have been planned. Of course! Yasuda must have known he would be questioned and he prepared for it by providing the eyewitnesses. This was why he had other people present at the scene; Mihara was convinced of it now.

The train left the station. Many thoughts passed through his mind during the hour it took him to reach Kamakura. There was definitely something suspicious about Yasuda's movements. But what was it? The case was a simple one of double suicide. What did Yasuda gain by having these witnesses present? What was his purpose?

Moreover, Yasuda had stated that he was on his way to Hokkaido the night of the twentieth when Sayama and Otoki had committed suicide at the other end of Japan. Kyushu and Hokkaido! Kyushu and Hokkaido! They were too far apart to be in any way connected.

At Kamakura Mihara changed to the local line to Enoshima. The car was full of noisy school children on a day's outing.

He left the train at Gokuraku-ji. He was not sure of the house number but the town was small and the residences were closely clustered. If Mrs. Yasuda's house really existed it would not be difficult to find.

Mihara went to a police box and identified himself. He asked the young policeman on duty whether there was a Yasuda living in the neighborhood.

"You mean the house where the sick lady is living?"

Mihara felt strangely let down. He had vaguely hoped to catch Yasuda in a lie.

Since he had come this far he decided to see it through. He walked in the direction the policeman had indicated, carrying the box of cakes. It was a quiet residential neighborhood. A few of the houses had thatched roofs. A small hill rose abruptly to one side; on the other, over the top of some garden shrubbery, he caught a glimpse of the sea.

The house stood at the bottom of a slight slope, some distance from the station. Most of the houses in the neighborhood were of wood, the walls a combination of bamboo and cedar. The Yasuda home had only one story and was quite small. It was shaded by a few tall cedars and a hedge enclosed the tiny garden. It was the kind of place a person would choose to recuperate in.

Mihara pressed the bell. He could hear it ringing in the house. He took a deep breath; the task before him was not a pleasant one.

The door was opened by an elderly woman.

"My name is Mihara; I'm from Tokyo. I'm a friend of Mr. Yasuda's. I happened to be in the neighborhood and have called to inquire about Mrs. Yasuda."

The servant listened politely, then disappeared indoors. She presently returned. "Please come in," she said.

She showed him into a Japanese-style room, about eight mats in size. The sunlight, slanting through the sliding glass doors that faced the garden, reached to the middle of the room where a bed was spread on the tatami.

Mrs. Yasuda was sitting up in the bed, waiting to receive her guest. The servant slipped a haori over her shoulders while she acknowledged Mihara's greeting. The dark silk jacket had a brilliant red pattern that formed a pool of color in the center of the room. She was a woman in her early thirties; her hair was tied loosely at the back and on her thin, extremely pale face Mihara noticed a trace of make-up, as if she had put it on hastily to receive him.

"Please forgive me for dropping in unannounced," Mihara said. "My name is Mihara; I'm a friend of Mr. Yasuda's. I was in the neighborhood and felt I should call." He could not very well hand her his official business card.

"It is very kind of you. I am Mr. Yasuda's wife."

She was very beautiful. Her eyes were large, the nose rather thin and pointed. The line from cheek to chin was angular and sharp but there was no noticeable sign of illness. A broad forehead, very slightly creased, gave her an air of intelligence.

"I hope you're feeling better," Mihara said. He felt guilty for deceiving her.

"Thank you. It will be a long convalescence, I'm afraid; I have given up hope of a quick recovery." A polite smile played about her lips.

"That is unfortunate. But perhaps now that it's getting warmer you'll get better more quickly. It has been a particularly cold winter."

Mrs. Yasuda looked out at the garden, her eyes blinking in the bright light. "This part of Kamakura does have a mild climate. There's usually a difference of four or five degrees be-. tween here and Tokyo. Even so, it has been very cold. I'm glad the warm weather has set in."

She looked up at Mihara. She had clear, beautiful eyes, and her gestures were graceful but studied, as if she calculated the effect of her glances. "Forgive me for asking, but are you a business friend of my husband?"

"In a way," Mihara replied vaguely. He was feeling uncomfortable. He would have to explain later to Yasuda.

"I'm sure my husband must be greatly indebted to you."

"On the contrary, it is I who's obligated to him." Perspiration appeared on Mihara's forehead. He quickly changed the subject. "Is Mr. Yasuda able to come here often?"

The invalid answered with a slow smile. "He's a busy man. But he makes a point of coming once a week." This confirmed what Yasuda had told him.

"How difficult for you both! But I'm glad to hear that your husband is so very busy."

He glanced casually around the room. Time must be heavy on her hands, he thought, as he noted the stacks of books in a corner of the alcove. He was surprised to see a literary monthly on top of one pile; atop another, a foreign novel in translation. Under the latter he noticed a paper pamphlet, the size and thickness of a small magazine. It looked familiar but the cover was hidden.

The servant entered with cups of tea. Mihara felt he should leave.