Masako Togawa - The Master Key

‘As I’ve repeatedly told you on the phone, I cannot hand any part of it over until the whole is completed. You know that.’

After this outburst, she shut up like a clam. The visitor gazed on her unmoving back and reflected how the same excuses had been made, year after year, to all his predecessors. They had encountered the same stubborn refusal to compromise. He realised that today, also, he would have to return empty-handed; reaching into his pocket, he took out an envelope and placed it a little distance from Toyoko’s feet.

‘It is truly impolite of me, but if you can make use of this in any way…’

Toyoko displayed no reaction whatever. The visitor made no further reference to the manuscript and, after expressing a few formal sentiments, took his leave. At the top of the staircase he paused for a moment and gazed back towards the room. A thought crossed his mind—perhaps the reason for Toyoko’s refusal to hand over the manuscript lay in its value; without having seen it, he could not say, but perhaps some commercial publisher had examined it and was negotiating for it at a high price. But could that really be so? It seemed unlikely that such a manuscript would fetch a large sum. Surely not; it was only as a tribute to the late Professor’s war record that his pupils had collected a sum of money to ensure its publication. There was no question of its having a commercial value.

Comforted by these thoughts, the visitor set off downstairs with a jaunty step, removing the tally from his neck as he went on his way.

Back in her room, Toyoko opened the box of cakes and, removing one, sliced it carefully with a small bamboo knife. As she ate, she ecstatically counted and recounted the money her visitor had left in the envelope. After a while, she returned to her desk and, assuming a busy countenance, took up an ancient German fountain pen which fitted exactly into a groove worn by writing in her index and middle fingers. She wrote the number ‘711’ on a sheet of paper, and energetically proceeded to scribble in a sort of shorthand of her own. At three pm on the same day, just after the changeover of duty at the reception office, the phone rang. Miss Tamura had just arrived, and Miss Tojo was still standing by the desk, with an expressionless face. Miss Tamura gazed at her and then took up the phone.

‘Hello, this is the K apartments.’

A man was at the other end of the phone; he spoke in flat tones. Miss Tamura strained to hear his words, but found it difficult; screwing up her face in concentration, she gazed once again at Miss Tojo. She was about to say something when the line went dead. She shouted into the receiver.

‘Hello! Hello! Don’t ring off! Who is it?’

But to no avail. Gripping the receiver tightly, she stared vacantly at the desk until her colleague asked, ‘Who was it?’

‘Er… well…’

She struggled for words. Somehow, she didn’t want to answer, but she had become so used to treating Miss Tojo as her superior, even though they were equals, that she found it difficult. At last she replied.

‘Wrong number, I think.’

‘Oh well, see you later, then.’

And Miss Tojo, not feeling like pressing her colleague for further information which she was plainly reluctant to give, thereupon left the office. The monotonous echo of her crutch echoed dully in the corridor for a while.

The office was dark and chilly. Miss Tamura stirred the embers in the charcoal brazier and busied herself for a few moments examining the duty register, then got up and went to the locker at the back. A notice stating the regulations governing the use of the master key was pasted on the locker door.

1. The key may only be used in the presence of a witness.

2. It may only be used in an emergency.

3. The key must be returned to this office immediately after use.

She stood in front of the locker for a while, subduing some inner conflict, and then shrugged her shoulders and went back to the desk. For a while, her customary faraway look was replaced by an earnest and penetrating stare as she pondered on the telephone call that she had just received. Who on earth was that fellow? What did he mean by suggesting that if she wanted to uncover a secret she should peep at the manuscript in Toyoko Munekata’s room? It was all too nonsensical to bother about—just a practical joke, no doubt.

But when she had taken the student visitor to Toyoko’s room, she had noticed a pile of manuscripts on the desk. Was there really some secret buried in that enormous heap of papers? If so, then…

She tried once again to drive the thought from her mind, scrutinising the duty register which still lay open on top of her desk.

(Date………)

Long-distance phone call (to Kiryu city)—Miss Takebe, 2nd floor, 3 minutes.

Collection of gas bills

1st floor Complete

2nd floor Complete

4th floor Complete

5th floor Complete

Note Chase representative of 3rd floor about this.

Cat mess in 2nd floor corridor. Admonish owner.

The letters danced before her eyes, and seemed to lose all meaning. She picked up her abacus and tried to concentrate on totalling the pile of receipted gas bills, but to no avail; every time, the answer came out differently.

It was no use; the memory of that phone call lingered persistently in her mind, and she could think of nothing else. From that moment on, one thought dominated all others—how to get into Toyoko’s room. Some day soon, when Toyoko was out, could she not use the master key? Surely no one would find out… Toyoko would certainly leave the building at some time when she was on duty. Kaneko thought of the locker and of the master key which she would inevitably be tempted to use. It was not as if she was moved by any criminal intent, but rather by the additional excitement brought by a moment of daring into the life of one usually given over to laziness and sleep.

Because of this, she soon brushed from her mind the fact, dangerous and startling as a snare suddenly discerned, that behind the telephone call lay a knowledge of her feelings towards Toyoko Munekata and the will of the caller to manipulate her to his own ends…

Miss Tamura climbed the stairs, one step at a time, ruminating on human nature. She paused fearfully on the second-floor landing, for she heard the sound of someone coming down from above, but mercifully the footsteps trailed off to another corridor on the upper floor. Heaving a sigh of relief, she tightened her fingers around the master key in her pocket.

She could not afford to be seen entering Toyoko’s room, and prayed that none of the residents would be about. The excitement made her sweat.

Toyoko very rarely left the apartments, but today she had gone out early. Half an hour ago, she had phoned from long distance announcing in her usual aloof manner that she was heavily involved in discussions with her publishers. She would not be returning before ten pm and therefore her evening milk delivery was to be cancelled.

The message echoed in Miss Tamura’s head with the insistence of an alarm bell. This was surely going to be the best chance to look in Toyoko’s room for some considerable time. Feeling slightly guilty, Miss Tamura had approached her colleague Miss Tojo.

‘That was from Miss Munekata. She doesn’t want her milk this evening.’

‘What? Does that mean she won’t be back tonight?’

‘No—she’ll be back about ten. She’s having discussions with her publishers.’

‘Why, that means she must have nearly finished her manuscript. That’s marvellous!’

‘Yes. Oh, I nearly forgot. I’ve got a relative coming up to Tokyo tomorrow, and I’d rather like to take the day off. If it’s all right with you, I’ll swap with you—I’ll do today, I mean.’