Sherlock Holmes In Japan

by Vasudev Murthy

  On one occasion, a day after we started our journey, he asked me whether I had an opinion about a particular waiter who served us.

  ‘Not really,’ I answered.

  ‘He is a plainclothesman, with orders to protect you, I would imagine, perhaps because you are an ambassador and therefore an important person. And, completely irrelevantly, he is also a pianist.’

  ‘How do you know this? The ambassador did not tell me that he had sought any assistance from the Russian police.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is so. His eyes are alert and he walks about with a firm purpose without a wasted movement. He takes orders, does not offer suggestions and is not knowledgeable about the menu. Before he enters our coupé, he knocks sharply, like someone who would not take “no” for an answer. When I open the door, he looks up and down the corridor to see if anyone is around, with his hand ready in his pocket. I conjecture he has a revolver that he keeps handy there. He enters and stands sideways and is always in a state of extreme alertness. His fingers are very long and elegant and I have observed him moving them about in a deliberate impatient way while he awaits our order. It was as though he were playing a concerto. If there had been a piano here, judging by the way his fingers were moving, I am almost sure we would have heard Liszt’s dazzling etude Feux Follet. Ah, the brilliance!’

  ‘I must compliment your astuteness!’

  On the morning of the second day into the journey, the waiter appeared again shortly after breakfast. After looking up and down the corridor in his usual style, he moved in quickly and handed over a revolver to Holmes who, with a similar fluid movement, pocketed it without looking surprised in the slightest. The waiter turned to me and said in Japanese, ‘WRT77 asked me to keep an eye on you. I can see that you would not know how to handle a firearm and that your friend is in better physical condition. Please be alert.’ He turned and vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. Holmes had been right.

  Holmes patted the revolver in his pocket. ‘This is obviously a more sensitive mission than you have disclosed thus far. It is improbable that someone wants to guard you and hands over a revolver to an unknown person. Are you in danger or am I? Or perhaps the both of us? And why?’

  ‘You are correct, Mr Holmes. It is known at the highest levels that I am travelling to Japan with a very important unidentified person. The waiter referred to someone in our Intelligence Service. It would be safe to say we should both be on our guard. Your presumption about the waiter seems accurate. I am surprised at myself.’

  On the third morning, I took a walk along the carriages to stretch my limbs and get some exercise. I then returned and looked over some papers I had brought with me. Sherlock Holmes was busy reading a newspaper he had picked up at the Moscow railway station.

  The train suddenly stopped at about eleven o’clock at the Gostovskaya station. We could see no obvious reason for the halt. Holmes looked out of the window cautiously and reported a commotion two carriages away. He went outside to investigate, after ensuring the revolver was in his pocket. He was back in ten minutes.

  ‘The waiter has been found dead,’ he reported grimly. ‘Shot through the heart. It is no ordinary crime. Someone is following us and is on this train. The police from the nearby town have been summoned. We shall be delayed for a few hours, I presume.’

  I was too shocked to respond.

  ‘Mr Sugiyama, please stay alert. We cannot both be asleep at the same time. Do not step outside for any reason without informing me. I am the stronger of the two and will have to protect you should the need arise. For now, till the train starts again, we must both sit here and not venture out.’

  We watched the chaos outside as an ambulance arrived and almost a dozen noisy policemen took charge of the dead waiter’s body. Within minutes, we heard the hobnailed boots of the police as they entered our compartment, knocked harshly on each closed door, asked questions in Russian and then moved on.

  As expected, they knocked on ours as well, shouting Atkriytiy, Politsiya, Politsiya! Atkriytiy! I opened the door. Three large agitated policemen stood outside and one of them launched into an incomprehensible tirade in Russian. I invited them in and proffered my diplomatic passport, which immediately lowered tensions. They looked suspiciously at Holmes and examined his passport, which claimed he was a French national. They asked me if they could search the coupé. I had no choice but to agree.

  I remembered that the waiter had given Holmes a revolver and thought that all was lost. Luckily, their perfunctory search revealed nothing and they bid us goodbye and moved to the next cabin.

  After an hour or so, the train moved on, with no satisfactory conclusion to the search for a suspect. I was both relieved and anxious.

  I asked Holmes about the revolver.

  ‘I placed the revolver on a ledge near the ceiling in the common toilet once I heard that there had been a murder. I shall go now and retrieve it.’

  He returned quickly with the revolver and we considered the situation.

  ‘I believe there are a number of possibilities. Let us look at each one of them carefully. One is that someone in your diplomatic communications wing has possibly tipped off Professor Moriarty’s network – the Japanese ambassador to Switzerland suddenly vanishes from Berne with another unidentified person – yes, he would have considered the possibility that I survived and am travelling with you. Perhaps the minor incidents that exasperated us on our journey from Berne to Moscow reached Moriarty’s network and they are now on this train trying to find us. Perhaps your man in Vladivostok has betrayed us too or has himself been compromised. All roads lead to the same conclusion. Or perhaps this is a purely accidental murder; perhaps our waiter found something he should not have. Quite the opposite of serendipity. An unusual coincidence, but a coincidence nevertheless.’

  ‘And what do you feel is most likely?’

  ‘The first. The persons we met on our journey lacked the circumspection needed to be effective criminals – they were simply a nuisance and would not have had the skills needed to observe unusual behaviour and report the matter. I conjecture that someone in your Embassy in Moscow made arrangements to eliminate us on this journey. They are possibly aware that we are armed and are waiting for an opportunity to strike.’

  ‘If true, that would be most disturbing. It may mean we have traitors in our Embassies!’

  ‘Nothing is impossible, Sir! But for now, let us preserve our energies in trying to stay alive.’

  The train staff continued serving the first-class passengers in their coupés. We ate little, fearing poison. Luckily, Holmes had insisted on taking along food supplies for the journey, though I had then felt it to be unnecessary since the train was noted for its first-rate service.

  The long journey passed slowly with many changes due to ongoing construction, adding to my apprehension every moment. Neither of us slept well. It took me two days to regain my equanimity. Sherlock Holmes, though, was quite unperturbed.

  ‘Thank you for helping me. I hope to be of similar assistance to you one day.’

  ‘You will be safe in Tokyo, Mr Holmes. We do indeed need your assistance for a matter of great international import.’

  ‘I am, of course, at a disadvantage as far as language is concerned. But other than that, I am ready to help. What I personally need is time – to recoup and gain the resources I need in order to apprehend Professor Moriarty.’

  On the tenth day, another waiter appeared. ‘We arrive at Vladivostok in an hour, Sirs,’ he announced in accented English and moved on.

  Holmes smiled grimly on his departure.

  ‘He is not a waiter. He is someone hired to keep an eye on us. Perhaps another attempt was considered imprudent. Perhaps we are being lured into a trap.’

  At Vladivostok station, I found DRT33 waiting for us instead of WRT77. DRT33 had worked with me in Singapore in a different capacity, many years ago. He gave us the troubling news that WRT77 had been found brutally murdered at the Vladivostok docks the previous day. There
were no clues, said DRT33. WRT77 had not been a conspicuous person and was a mere facilitator of events. There was nothing to be gained from his death, we thought, except perhaps the news that we were expected from Moscow. Vladivostok was already a place we needed to leave without delay.

  DRT33 had arranged for our passage on a small passenger ship headed straight for Yokohama. This time, our journey was completed without any difficulty, though Holmes was mildly seasick on a couple of occasions. He told me that he believed the ship was being monitored and we were not necessarily safe.

  We arrived in Yokohama and went through Customs very quickly, as WRT77 had made relevant arrangements ahead of time.

  I welcomed Holmes to our country and took him to the transit facility in Tokyo, where he could rest for a day. Jiro Hamada was assigned to be his cook, valet and bodyguard. Hamada is a former sumo wrestler with a very alert and fearless temperament.

  By the time I met Holmes again, he was in perfect health, despite the long and tiring journey. He had also become familiar with a few Japanese words, courtesy of Hamada-san. He had expressed interest in learning judo and asked Hamada-san for a koto to play. He has certainly been a most perfect guest with a very flattering interest in our country and its culture.

  Holmes, Hamada-san and I went to meet the director of Intelligence Research, Shigeo Oshima, as planned. In response to his questions, I had told Holmes that Oshimasan was a quiet, intense man with extraordinary intelligence who had a reputation for directness in thought and action. He is liberal in attitude and has an admirable ability to size up a person within a minute, following world events and the underworld with great interest. He has not stepped outside Japan for many years and is no longer permitted to do so due to his sensitive position, but he speaks many languages fluently and is a voracious reader.

  Holmes enquired after Oshima-san’s work habits. I informed him that each day, he reads the dispatches of his agents from all the major capitals of the world and spends an hour in quiet thought during which he is not to be disturbed. At the end of that period, he dictates memorandums nonstop for three hours using the information he has assimilated in his precise memory. Naturally, he is well connected in the underworld and knows the value of liaising with criminal elements. He has an uncanny ability to connect two apparently disconnected events in two parts of the world at two different times and arrive at a conclusion. His judgement is considered to be exceptional; he is even summoned by the Imperial Court of Emperor Meiji to help decipher baffling situations. He is also an avid student of world history.

  Given what I had learned about our guest, the two were likely to understand each other immediately.

  We reached Adachi-ku in Tokyo and walked to a bland building from where Oshima-san operated. There was an immediate feeling of tension that we experienced as we entered the doors and passed by multiple physical security layers. Oshima-san knew too much and his life was possibly even more valuable than the emperor’s.

  Hamada-san remained outside while Holmes and I went into Oshima-san’s private office with his secretary, Suzukisan, who had worked with Oshima-san for over twenty years.

  The office was full of things that were important to Oshima-san. On the walls were beautiful paintings from the Edo era. At various corners there were delicate Ikebana arrangements and even a very small statue of the Buddha. At one corner was – quite incongruously – a koto, implying that Oshima-san is a musician (indeed he is; his father was quite a well-known artiste in his time). I observed Holmes take in the scene, quietly and methodically.

  He also took in the small slight man, about fifty-five years old, with a pencil moustache and wearing a business suit, who stood up from his chair, walked around his neat and precise desk and bowed first to Holmes and then to me.

  ‘Welcome to Japan, Mr Holmes. This is a great honour for me. I have looked forward to the day when I would meet you. I never imagined you would one day be in my office under such circumstances. Alas, due to my responsibilities, I am not permitted to leave Japan; else I would have certainly visited you in London to pay my respects.’

  ‘You are too kind,’ murmured Holmes and bowed in return. ‘Ohayo Gozaimasu, Oshima-san,’ he said, in unaccented Japanese, establishing an immediate rapport with Oshimasan.

  ‘Sugiyama-san, we meet again and I am, as usual, delighted. I envy your posting. Switzerland!’

  We bowed formally to each other and seated ourselves around Oshima-san’s desk.

  An attendant entered deferentially and poured out some Japanese tea (referred to as ‘O-Cha’) and served all of us. He left discreetly.

  ‘Mr Holmes, I understand from Sugiyama-san’s reports that you have had an eventful past few weeks. We are pleased that you are safe and in our care. Hamada-san is my best agent and will look after your every need.’

  ‘I thank you for the courtesies extended to me. Your distinguished ambassador has taken considerable trouble in personally escorting me all the way from Berne. I am anxious to be of assistance to you while working out the next steps for the detention or containment of Professor Moriarty and his syndicate.’

  ‘There is a possibility that both objectives can be met at the same time.’

  ‘That would be ideal, of course,’ said Holmes, accepting the offer of a cigarette from Oshima-san, as did I. ‘Please tell me what you wish to and how you believe I can be of assistance.’ He settled back in the high chair to listen.

  We have now begun the execution of Operation Kobe55.

  HS

  Shigeo Oshima

  It may be that you do not notice the first snowflakes

  on the trees of your village in Hokkaido. You kicked a

  stone as you walked on that familiar path. The winds

  whisper about you to him. Your secrets are

  already his. He listens. And waits.

  A note: I have assembled the following narrative based on interviews with a number of individuals, including Sherlock Holmes and some Japanese government officials, whose names must be kept confidential. This pertains to the commencement of Operation Kobe55, by far one of the most sensitive and secret overseas counter-intelligence operations ever undertaken by the Secret Service of the Imperial Kingdom of Japan. I confess to have rarely been confronted with a more complex assembly of players. I hope my narrative is found to be accurate; any errors can be ascribed to faulty memories or even the incorrect interpretation of notes.

  The reader can be forgiven if he has not heard of the Yakuza. In London, we are truly not as well informed as we would like to believe we are and do not fully appreciate the menace of global crime. Scotland Yard excels in crime detection, but in the matter of close liaison with and prevention of illegality elsewhere in the world – with the exception of certain European police forces and, of course, the colonies – not a great deal can be confidently asserted. Yet, as Holmes often remarked, crime thrives where man exists and the methods and motives of the criminal class across the world are not altogether different. It is axiomatic that the same contrivances that afford conveniences to us are likely to be used by the criminal class to further their nefarious ends. Whether the telegraph, the principles of the locomotive or the use of chemicals – the master criminal is as likely to find a powerful destructive use where the benign social scientist sees benefits. We have not yet reached a stage in the advancement of mankind where information is quickly available and an international police organization of some kind could maintain records of the activities of individuals of the criminal class around the world in a systematic, orderly manner, much as you might find in Holmes’s index cards.

  Even Holmes had no real idea about the Yakuza before he was spirited away to Japan. Apart from the fact that he was aware of the Japanese martial art of judo, he had limited knowledge of the country and therefore, by extension, of the nature of local crime. In simple terms, the Yakuza of Japan are roughly the equivalent of the American Mafia. Going back to the seventeenth century, a certain group of the ceremonial warrior clans,
the Samurai, previously entrusted with the job of public security, moved into crime and banditry. The group evolved with the passage of time and developed their own nuances and peculiarities. Now the group takes pride in being at the fringes of society. There are three groups within the Yakuza: the tekiya (dubious street merchants), bakuto (gamblers) and gurentai (violent criminals). As part of a vast world-spanning web, the financial management and operational agility of the Yakuza are like any other large business conglomerate. It has its own code of conduct and system of justice, as it were. The head of the syndicate is called kumicho; at the time of our adventures, Shinobu Tsukasa from the island of Kyushu had just become the kumicho of a large clan, the Sumiyoshi-kai. Two very large Yakuza clans– the Sumiyoshi-kai and the Inagawa-kai – were in a state of uneasy equilibrium; territorial claims to various kinds of illegal activities were usually the cause for tension.

  The very word ‘Yakuza’ reflects rejection or loss. Holmes told me that ya means eight, ku means nine, and sa means three. The numbers add up to twenty, which is a losing hand in the Japanese card game hana-fuda. There is probably a fair amount of dramatic myth-making and exaggeration, but presumably those striving for a career in crime found it advantageous to be affiliated to the Yakuza as it afforded them visible symbols of power and influence. But like any other brotherhood – the Freemasons, the Skoptsi, the Illuminati and the Rosicrucians, for example – it is the sense of belonging that is vitally important, a feeling that the group is somehow privy to something unique and different and has some kind of advantage that others do not possess, perhaps an insight into the future that they have been chosen to receive. This leads to a single-minded fanaticism, which others find impossible to understand.

  Loyalty to the Yakuza is a cornerstone of membership. Indeed, the most visible physical sign of affiliation to the Yakuza is the missing digit, which is seen as a sign of atonement. The digit is severed at a ceremony called the ubitsume. It renders, so the notion goes, the individual weaker and creates an even more fanatical loyalty to the clan. And complex body tattoos are also common, though I do recall Holmes finding it strange that a member would advertise his antecedents so openly. ‘A kind of braggadocio,’ he once remarked. Nevertheless, such is the case.