The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Japan

by Ben Stevens

  ‘Quite the opposite… There were a number of false entries, and other discrepancies which had been made in an attempt to ‘disguise’ what I believe was an illicit loan – from each of the three men whose financial records I was able to check. It required some effort, and, dare I say it, no little ability, for me to be able to see past the deliberate deceptions each moneylender had attempted, in order to keep this payment secret.

  ‘They were successful and wealthy men skilled at their craft, after all – which frequently strays into assorted ‘gray areas’…

  ‘I had heard about your extraordinary grasp of the Japanese language already, Holmes-san…’ noted Suzuki with evident admiration. ‘But, that aside, what is the meaning of this?’

  Holmes gave a slight shrug.

  ‘There are any number of rules and regulations governing the dealings between moneylenders and their clients – as you well know, Suzuki-san,’ returned Holmes. ‘This includes the payment of tax, the amount of which is dependent upon the size of the loan.

  ‘So it is hardly rare for someone requiring a sizeable loan to attempt to have the moneylender give it to them ‘in secret’ – a transaction which benefits both parties (anonymity for the party needing the loan, and avoidance of tax payment by the moneylender), but which is only viable if the person or persons requesting the loan are significantly trusted by the moneylender to not later try defaulting on the loan, due to there being no physical record of it.’

  ‘So you mean to say that someone could have asked for such a loan, been given it, and then somehow assassinated the moneylender, making it look as though it was a ‘natural’ death?’ demanded the city official. ‘A fiendish process, which was repeated seven times during the course of just one year – and which could quite possibly happen again?’

  ‘This would hardly seem to be an impossible hypothesis,’ returned Holmes carefully, with a quick, curious glance at the city official.

  ‘Then… How were these men murdered, to make it look as though they’d just died ‘naturally’?’ Suzuki almost begged.

  ‘Now that I don’t know, having not examined the corpses of the men myself. This might have allowed me the chance to spot the telltale signs of poisoning, for example. Yet such signs as clouded eyes are hardly unknown by anyone else, and also a skilled, practiced poisoner can almost completely avoid such things, just as they can tailor their poison to work almost immediately, or in many hours’ time,’ replied Holmes.

  ‘Also,’ he continued, ‘I do not believe it will be possible, at all, to discover who the secret ‘loans’ were paid to. Which means that whoever might have killed the seven moneylenders, and how, will almost certainly never be known…’

  The city official named Suzuki sighed, shook his head, and then pointed a short distance ahead of him.

  ‘Anyway, there is the sign for Shige-san’s business,’ he said. ‘Let us try and put this whole unfortunate business – the death of Kato’s opponent, as well as the mysterious deaths of the seven moneylenders – out of our heads for just a short while, and enjoy the work of one of Osaka’s finest craftswomen…’

  3

  We were greeted by Shige’s assistant, a tall, thin man with intense eyes named Tamura, who greeted us cordially and showed us inside.

  The building was on two floors, with the ground floor being used by Tamura to mix the powders which served as dyes. These were of such basic colors as red, black, blue and white although Tamura could combine them so skillfully that he claimed he could make well over three-hundred different colors. These powders were put in precise measures into water-filled metal pots at the top of three brick-built ovens, inside of which was placed chopped firewood, taken from a tidy heap in one corner of the room with its stone floor and steamy, smoky atmosphere.

  In one such pot, even as Tamura spoke, thread was being dyed a wonderful golden color. It seemed incredible that Tamura could have been capable of producing such a hue, using only the powdered dyes and the boiling water. Truly, he was a master of his art.

  ‘…So this is how I mix and prepare the dyed thread for Shige-san,’ declared Tamura, who had a low, breathy kind of voice. ‘Now, if you would like, I will take you up to see Shige-san. She is looking forward to meet you, Holmes-san – we hear so much about you, here in Osaka.’

  ‘Indeed?’ returned Holmes noncommittally; his standard reply, whenever someone sought to flatter or otherwise praise him. With Tamura leading, we ventured up a long, narrow flight of wooden stairs, at the top of which was a room constructed mainly of light-colored wood, brightly lit by the sun which spilled in through the two open windows.

  A young woman smiled delicately at us, so that I was instantly enchanted. She was not especially attractive, far less beautiful, yet her face radiated a good and gentle nature, and her eyes displayed her kindness as clearly as words.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said quietly, and her voice was like a gentle stream in the middle of an ancient forest. ‘You honor me, by coming here.’

  ‘The honor is all mine,’ returned Holmes, with a slight bow. ‘I see now that your reputation, as one of Osaka’s – indeed Japan’s – finest female artists, is one well-deserved…’

  ‘Indeed?’ she returned, and I could not help but smile, as she used the very same word the foreigner employed to bat aside pointless praise.

  Then I became absorbed in the machine – for that was almost what it was – which Shige was sat in front of. It was essentially a large wooden frame, at a forty-five degree angle running up from the area by Shige’s waist, but with a large wooden beam above and below it, both beams suspended by ropes and with numerous cords attached to the actual frame. Through these beams, I gathered, the actual angle of the frame could be altered in any direction.

  The large frame itself had any number of vertical white threads running from the bottom to the top bars, and across these, one by one, various threads of multiple hues were minutely pulled into place by incredibly skilful fingers, thus slowly building up pictures and designs of astonishing vibrancy and brilliance.

  Some of Shige’s finished designs were hanging on one wall, possibly waiting for whoever had commissioned them to come and collect. A kimono in stunning purples and greens, a dragon with glittering gold scales and claws stretching itself out across the front… What appeared to be some sort of flag, depicting a castle upon a mountain, below a forest of vibrant, truly living greens – an array of color which fully showed off the skill of Tamura the dyer, as well as the artist…

  As she sat and talked to us, telling us a little of her work, and how she’d come to practice this craft, Shige continued to work. Her fingers selected one of the many dyed threads above her frame and expertly pulled it down into place, her keen eyes knowing exactly what subtle variation of color was needed, from the many colors on offer…

  On occasion she employed a curious tool, almost like a small wooden spoon except at its ‘tip’ – as it were – there were three triangular-shaped protrusions, used every so often to draw a stubborn thread down into place on the frame. Otherwise Shige’s fingers served perfectly (I noticed she favored using both her middle-fingers), playing upon the wooden frame with its many horizontal and vertical threads.

  I glanced at Holmes, so to gauge his interest in what was happening… I almost started, his eyes having that ‘fixed’ look I knew so well, as he gazed down at the artist obliviously working away, talking in that soft voice about a craft which was so obviously her primary passion…

  Then, quite suddenly, I realized that Suzuki was informing her about what had happened just a short time before. About her partner’s triumph – and also Kato’s opponent’s death.

  At once Shige’s skillful, delicate hands left the frame, and flew to cover her mouth.

  ‘Oh no, please…’ she breathed, in a voice which made me almost want to take her in my arms. Holmes says I am far too susceptible to the charms of certain women, and yet Shige-san truly was exquisite, for all that she lacked in what I might clumsily de
scribe as being ‘surface’ beauty.

  ‘I am afraid it is true,’ returned Suzuki gravely. ‘Kato-san’s opponent collapsed and died, apparently right at the end of the match – so Kato-san has been declared yokozuna.’

  ‘What do I care about that?’ returned Shige. ‘A man is dead – oh now, finally, will Kato leave that sport, and so live a quieter, if far safer life…?’

  I realized that Shige did truly love this boorish young rikishi – or yokozuna, as he was now. She did not care for his fame, or his toughness, but for who he truly was just as a man. Kato should count himself lucky, I thought (I confess almost jealously), to have such a woman as his lover. Because – from all that I had seen and heard of him – he really seemed nothing more than a glorified thug.

  ‘You will not return with us, to the sumo arena, Shige-san?’ inquired Suzuki hesitantly. ‘Kato-san will still be there, in his dressing-room with his entourage.’

  ‘No,’ she said, and at once that face and delicate voice were firm. ‘Let him have his precious moments of glory – so hard-earned at the expense of another life, poor man! – and then I will see him.

  ‘He mentioned something about going into farming. I just hope…’ and her voice fell into almost troubled silence

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise at these last words. The thought of a firebrand like Kato becoming yokozuna, and then throwing it all over to go and live in obscurity and near-poverty ‘on the land’, was not really one I could entertain.

  But then, for the love of this particular woman, even the strongest-willed man might do something wholly surprising…

  ‘Thank you, then, for allowing us to visit,’ said Suzuki, as Holmes also murmured his praise.

  ‘Thank you for having come here,’ returned the artist, as she returned her full attention upon her work. ‘I hope to see you again sometime…’

  With this, Tamura escorted us downstairs, and showed us back into the street with a bow.

  4

  We had walked only a few paces, the door of the modest wooden building closed behind us, when Holmes said at once –

  ‘We must act immediately, Suzuki-san! There is not a moment to lose…’

  ‘Holmes-san?’ the city official almost gasped in reply.

  ‘Contact the head magistrate of this region – and so get several soldiers dispatched to the address we have just visited, to arrest Shige and that assistant of hers.’

  ‘Arrest them? What on earth for?’

  ‘Upon the charge of multiple murders,’ returned Holmes grimly.

  ‘But…’

  ‘There is no time to spare. I will provide a full explanation later. All I can say at the present is – and this is essential – do not allow Shige to touch anyone on any pretext whatsoever. As for now, I must return to that building where several thousand people – including me – observed Kato murder his opponent, and yet completely failed to realize that such a crime had just taken place…’

  ‘I… I…’ gasped Suzuki, his face turning quite white. Indeed, such was his obvious state of shock that I feared he might be the next one to simply ‘keel over’ and die.

  ‘Go, now!’ urged Holmes, and such was his reputation that the high-ranking city official instantly obeyed.

  Holmes and I entered back inside the tournament building, and hurried through the empty hall, past the dohyo ring to where we could hear the sounds of carousing coming from the backrooms. It seemed as though Kato and his entourage were continuing to have a lively time.

  ‘It is essential he has not been left on his own at any time, lest he do the one thing he must do at the earliest opportunity, so to complete ‘the perfect crime’.’

  ‘What is that, Holmes-san?’ I asked.

  ‘Cut his nails – or should I say, one nail in particular…’

  With this bewildering declaration, Holmes strode into a large room with tatami mats, full of people, food and drink. In the centre of this room Kato was holding court, now dressed in a clean white kimono, and with a geisha either side of him attending to his every need.

  ‘You do not weave yourself, as does your girlfriend?’ demanded Holmes, in a loud, firm voice which instantly silenced the rest of the room.

  ‘What? Who are you?’ returned the rikishi, his face turning almost purple with anger.

  He rose to his feet, declaring –

  ‘I’ll throw you out of here myself, you damn gaijin – ’

  I have spoken before of Sherlock Holmes’s martial abilities. As Kato stomped towards him, those massive hands reaching out in their desire to tear the tall, lithe Englishman apart, Holmes grabbed one hand and performed some sort of complicated wrist-lock, instantly bringing the rikishi down to his knees, tears sprouting in Kato’s eyes as he bellowed that his wrist was being broken.

  ‘I said – you do not weave yourself?’ repeated Holmes, and again I glanced at him in utter bewilderment at this question.

  ‘No, no, of course I don’t,’ returned the sumo wrestler.

  ‘And yet looking at the middle finger of your right hand – the one I hold in my grasp – I see that its nail is cut in exactly the same manner as Shige’s. That is, with three minute but still razor-sharp points. So why do you have this, eh?’

  Those people gathered around stared closer – and it was true. When you looked closely (you would never have noticed it on such a fat finger otherwise), you could see the nail cut in three points. Doubtless Holmes had also observed such a feature while watching the artist Shige work; a true indication of his close-eyed genius.

  ‘You… you…’ rumbled Kato, still on his knees, helpless with the wristlock Holmes was continuing to apply. But his eyes now showed piggish guilt, and he then closed his mouth and simply glowered, Holmes continuing –

  ‘Shige’s nails – of the middle-fingers of both hands – assist her in pulling down the threads, as she creates her truly fantastic works of art. But coated with poison (expertly mixed by her assistant Tamura, depending on how quickly she wished for her target to die), they could provide a small, seemingly ‘accidental’ cut on a person’s hand – the sort you might make if you accidently ‘nick’ someone’s skin with your own nail, while handing something over, for example – thus introducing the poison into that person’s body.

  ‘Such was how those seven moneylenders, here in Osaka, met their demise over the past twelve months, after they’d been persuaded by the apparently demure and utterly reliable Shige, in turn, to provide her with a large loan – in secret. Doubtless, she promised an extremely favorable return of interest, based upon some expected increase in her business.

  ‘She again met with each merchant, so perhaps obliged to at least provide the first repayment – one moneylender was found slumped over a sum of money – and in handing it over, she ‘accidentally nicked’ the moneylender’s hand with her fingernail. She apologized and effected gentle concern, he assured her that it was nothing – wiping away the slightest trace of blood, as the skin has been broken – and they parted company.

  ‘And then later, suspecting absolutely nothing, he simply died…’

  ‘But Kato, Holmes-san?’ demanded one man listening. ‘What of him?’

  ‘A blubbery blabbermouth, with scarcely more intellect than a small dog,’ said Holmes contemptuously. Still, despite such verbal provocation, the rikishi did nothing expect glare up at Holmes.

  ‘The money obtained from the murdered moneylenders has doubtless been placed in various, backstreet ‘bets’ on the outcome of this match,’ continued Holmes. ‘Thus entirely in the ‘sway’, as it were, of Shige – who allowed her simple-minded partner to indulge his appetites for sake and geisha, thereby humoring his base desires – he was persuaded to cut one nail in a similar fashion, coat it with poison just before the match (a poison mixed especially by the assistant Tamura, so that it would take almost instant effect), and avoiding placing his hands in the bucket of salt that is located at either side of the dohyo, which would have removed the poison, then managed to ‘cu
t’ his opponent as he delivered his trademark volley of hard, slapping blows to the upper-body.

  ‘The smallest abrasion somewhere upon the skin of a fallen man-mountain… Who would notice such a thing? Or even upon the much smaller bodies of seven deceased moneylenders…

  ‘In any case,’ said Holmes then, ‘once the prize money was paid, I have no doubt that the extremely-wealthy Shige would have considered the previous object of her affections to now be a liability, possibly prone to blabbering all these sordid little secrets in some drunken fit of remorse – for although an insufferable bully, Kato is not truly evil – and so would have ‘dispatched’ the yokozuna to meet Buddha forthwith…’

  5

  Holmes’s tale was fantastic, and at the trial which followed – of Kato, Shige and the ‘master-mixer’ Tamura – there were many who did not quite believe it, despite the ‘evidence’ of Kato’s fingernail, which some thirty people had seen after Holmes had entered the tatami room.

  Shige, in particular, impressed the magistrate with her seemingly gentle nature. She could only quietly weep, and shake her head, and say she’d no idea what could have possibly prompted Holmes to say such a thing…

  ‘Always there is this tendency, among the ignorant, to portray ninja as being these black-clad wraiths of the night,’ said Holmes to me at one point. ‘Yet we see two real examples of ninja in Shige and her assistant – both of them utterly skilled in a deadly art, and yet disguising this perfectly through the small business they ran, which was widely praised for the quality of its products…’

  But an assistant at the sumo building came forward to say that he’d delivered a small, wrapped package to Kato just before the start of the match, and that the rikishi had insisted on then being alone – which was not at all usual.

  The body of Kato’s opponent had been examined, after Holmes had spoken there in the crowded tatami room, but there had been so many marks and abrasions upon it – as might be expected – that this examination hadn’t really served any purpose.