‘Using Zen tactics to get at the truth,’ said Honor. ‘It might help. I’ll sit in with you.’
‘That is not the way,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘We will not have time to look for the sword while we are looking for ourselves.’
He stood up.
‘But you may get some evidence,’ Honor said.
‘There is no such thing as evidence,’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Look for the sword if you like, but I do not think you will find it. Perhaps you have hidden it yourself.’
He turned abruptly and strode towards the door.
‘One moment,’ said Honor.
His hand on the door handle, he stopped.
‘One moment. You talked about holding these interviews – I forget what you called them.’
‘Sanzen.’
‘You talked about holding sanzen interviews tomorrow. All right. But it’s still early. Why can’t we investigate the plain facts tonight? Facts are what we want, a few facts. When was the sword last seen? How exactly do the security precautions work? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you what happened to the sword.’
‘I wonder,’ said Mr Utamaro.
He grinned at her.
‘Follow me,’ he said.
The others got up and went after him. They went upstairs, past the meditation hall and on to the little room where they had been shown the sword that afternoon. Mr Utamaro stopped outside it.
‘Now,’ said Honor, ‘this door, was it locked?’
‘No,’ said Mr Utamaro, ‘a lock does not stop a door being opened.’
‘You could be right at that.’ said Honor. ‘Okay. Let’s go in.’
She jerked open the door and held it wide for Mr Utamaro. He went in and the others crowded after him.
The dusty room. Bare boards, faded wallpaper. The torn patch. A single low-power electric light bulb hanging from a fraying wire. And immediately under it the showcase.
Unchanged. The glass intact. Not so much as a scratch on the painted metal base or the legs. The black velvet smooth and unruffled except where a faint indentation showed the exact place of the sword.
Everything as before. But no sword.
They stood and stared at the showcase.
Honor got down on her knees and looked under it.
‘No sign of any damage here,’ she said. ‘What’s the combination, Mr Utamaro?’
‘The makers know it, Major Francis, who is trekking, as he calls it, in northern Norway knows it, and I know it,’ said Mr Utamaro.
Honor, squatting on the floor, looked up at him.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. ‘It would only confuse the issue.’
She got up and looked at the case again.
Then she put out a finger and gently rested it on the edge of the glass.
At once the deafening alarm filled the room with stultifying clamour again.
Mr Utamaro went to the combination lock, turned the dial, opened the small trapdoor in the base of the case and switched off the bell.
‘Seems to be in working order all right,’ Honor said. ‘But I suppose if anybody had opened the case in the orthodox way the alarm would have reset itself when they closed the door again.’
‘That is what Major Francis told me would happen,’ Mr Utamaro said.
Honor strode to the uncurtained window and peered out into the blackness. Then she half turned to face Mr Utamaro.
‘You haven’t a great deal of faith in what can be done by logic, have you?’ she said.
‘I have no faith in logic at all,’ Mr Utamaro said.
He grinned. The squat castles of his teeth.
‘Yet there must be some explanation,’ Honor said.
Testily.
‘Oh yes,’ Mr Utamaro said, ‘it is easily explained.’
‘Well?’
‘I told you earlier today how it had been done.’
‘What?’ said Honor. ‘Are you telling us that the whole thing is some sort of Zen demonstration?’
‘Everything is some sort of Zen demonstration,’ Mr Utamaro said.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Honor. ‘But please answer a straight question. Have you had the sword all along? Is the whole business a fake?’
‘I have not got the sword,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Then, for heaven’s sake, what’s your explanation?’
‘It’s simple. The goose is in the bottle. How are you to get it out? There it is: out.’
Honor raised her hands high in despair.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to do better than that’
Mr Utamaro grinned.
‘If we can’t get at it mechanically,’ Honor said, ‘we’ll get at it another way.’
‘All this class of talk is a hell of a waste of time,’ Jim said. ‘The sword’s gone. What does it matter? We could be getting on with something useful. I’ve got a big programme for this week.’
‘Anxious to get away?’ said Honor.
‘Yes.’
‘I wonder why?’
‘I’ve already explained why. I brought a good many books down with me and I want to get through them. I can’t afford to waste time.’
‘You seemed perfectly happy to waste it earlier this evening chasing all over the place.’
‘That was my private affair.’
‘I wonder.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jim said.
A darker tinge to his reddish cheeks. A truculent stance.
‘All that chasing in and out. It would give you plenty of time to nip up here and take the sword.’
‘What the hell would I want with a sword?’
‘We’ll come to that. The point at present is what were you doing at the time the sword was stolen?’
‘And when was that? Perhaps you happen to know?’
‘I don’t.’
“Then maybe you’d better find out.’
‘All right,’ said Honor, ‘we will find out. And we’ll see how you look then.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We all saw the sword in its case this afternoon,’ Honor said. ‘Did anyone see it later?’
She looked round at them. Poker faces.
Jim still red and defiant. Miss Rohan distant. Mr Applecheek vague. Alasdair virtuous. Flaveen wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Gerry grinning.
‘I saw the sword just after tea,’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘Say six o’clock?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you found it missing about nine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now I want you to think,’ Honor said. ‘Did anyone stay in the company of other people the whole of that time?’
‘Did you?’ said Jim.
‘No, I didn’t. I don’t attempt to conceal it. I went up to my room before dinner and Gerry wasn’t there.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Rohan, ‘I went up then too. But it was only to tidy up.’
‘You were alone though?’ said Honor.
‘Naturally.’
‘Then you can’t prove that you didn’t come down here and take the sword?’
‘I couldn’t possibly have done that.’
‘Ah, that’s a help. Why do you say that?’
‘Because I wouldn’t have understood about the alarm. Some women, of course, can do all that is necessary with electrical things, but I was brought up to leave the repairs to the people who came to do them.’
‘That’s not what I was asking,’ Honor said. ‘I was asking if you could prove that you had no opportunity, no opportunity at all, of coming in here.’
‘No, of course, I can’t prove that. Why should I be able to? But I still couldn’t have managed the electricity, you know. In many ways I wish I could. They charge so much nowadays, and I know they take advantage of one. They resent having to come and do the work.’
‘But you did have the opportunity?’
‘If you insist upon it.’
‘Anyone else got an alibi?’
Silence. Then a stir of relief. All in the same boat.
> ‘Now where do you go?’ said Jim.
‘To bed,’ said Mr Utamaro.
A decision.
‘Tomorrow you will need all your strength,’ he said. ‘We are going to do something difficult. Tonight sleep.’
*
‘Aber -’ said the plump, dark girl.
‘Aber, aber, aber, but, but, but,’ said the blonde. ‘If they do not want to fetch the police, why should they? The showcase is meant to be burglar-proof, so it must have been one of them who took it, let them sort it out between them.’
‘Nevertheless it is their duty to call in the police.’
‘Pfui. Duty. But all the same they might have suspected us a little bit.’
‘But, no,’ said the dark one. ‘We are above suspicion. We did not know about the alarm bell working at just a touch, and we were together all the time yesterday.’
‘I know that. I know all that. But we are missing the excitements.’
‘Excitements. But that dangerous weapon is hidden, perhaps, somewhere in the house. If at home my parents knew . . .’
‘Just now I went into the library,’ said the blonde. ‘The room Mr Utamaro calls the meditation hall –’
‘But it is private now. They are all in there.’
‘Of course. But I took with me a broom to pretend it was the morning for cleaning the room, and when I saw them I said, “Oh, so sorry”.’
A curtsey bobbed. A smirk.
‘And what were they doing?’ said the dark one. ‘It is so geheimnisvoll.’
She looked over her shoulder fearfully.
‘Not geheimnisvoll, you should say “sinister”. You must read more light literature.’
‘But what are they doing?’
‘I’ll tell you. They are sitting in two rows facing each other, not saying a word, and looking very seriously at the ground. Except Mr Gerry. He is holding his squirt flower and looking at that. Ach, Mr Gerry, he is so -’
‘Stop about Mr Gerry, always Mr Gerry. Was Mr Utamaro sitting there too?’
‘No, I think he is in his room,’ said the blonde.
‘I wish we could know everything they do. Could you ask Mr Gerry, perhaps?’
The blonde’s eyes lit up. Sparkling blue eyes.
‘Well, I might, but you will have to wait. They are all still in the meditation hall and I can’t go in again.’
‘I wonder if they are saying anything now?’
*
‘Well,’ said Alasdair, getting to his feet, ‘somebody’s got to be first. He said we were to go and see him when we felt ready. I’m going in now.’
‘Fancy, a human voice,’ Gerry said. ‘I thought we were all going to sit here on our whatsits till the cows came home. And I’ve forgotten what we were supposed to be thinking about.’
‘The koan, Mr Manvers,’ said Miss Rohan.
Icy.
‘Yes, but I’ve forgotten what that is.’
‘Well now,’ said Mr Applecheek, ‘so have I. I found myself day-dreaming about something quite different. But the clergy are chosen for their absentmindedness, as everyone knows.’
‘The koan,’ said Alasdair, ‘is simply this saying: what is the sound of one hand clapping?’
‘That’s right,’ said Gerry. ‘I knew it was something barmy.’
‘I happen not to think so,’ Alasdair said. ‘And now I’m going in for my sanzen.’
‘Come and tell us about it after,’ said Flaveen. ‘It’s giving me the creeps sitting thinking about it.’
Defenceless,
‘It may be against the rules,’ said Alasdair.
‘But do, all the same. Please do. I’m frightened of it. Really I am. If I knew what was going to happen it would be much better.’
She smiled at Alasdair. Wanly. Her smooth white skin and the thick tress of pale red hair over her shoulders.
‘We’ll see when I come out,’ Alasdair said.
He closed the door behind him with care and walked along the corridor to Mr Utamaro’s room next door. He knocked.
‘You may come in,’ said Mr Utamaro.
Alasdair went in.
The room was small. Once a housekeeper’s sitting room. Now bare and almost empty. It had a high ceiling in common with the other rooms on this floor, its ornamentation almost obscured by successive layers of whitewash. The walls were papered in a pattern of tight bunches of roses. The only window, tall but narrow, was curtainless. There was an iron mantelpiece with heavy decorative work painted all over in a yellowing shade of cream. The grate was empty. A single electric light bulb hung from the centre of the ceiling without a shade. The floor was bare boards, minutely clean. On it was a straw mat rolled up with scrupulous neatness with a small black lacquered box beside it. There were two kitchen chairs set in the middle of the room facing each other four feet apart.
On one of them Mr Utamaro was sitting. He got up and held out his hand for Alasdair to shake.
Alasdair looked at it, realized what was meant, put out his own hand.
Solemnly they shook hands.
‘Be seated,’ said Mr Utamaro.
He went back to his own chair and Alasdair sat down opposite him. Cautiously.
Alasdair pulled a white handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his face.
‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’ said Mr Utamaro.
‘I look at it this way -’ Alasdair began.
Mr Utamaro shot forward.
‘Look at it another way,’ he said.
A command.
‘Another way?’
‘Yes, another way. Quick, hurry.’
Alasdair put out his right hand, groping. The chair solitary in the middle of the room.
‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I came in here with my answer ready. I was perfectly prepared to cooperate. And what do I get? Shouted orders. I’m not a schoolboy, you know.’
Mr Utamaro laughed.
‘And what’s more,’ said Alasdair, ‘I think my prepared answer was perfectly satisfactory.’
The moth batters against the light shade. Bang, bang, tap.
‘I see you are determined to tell me what you have thought.’
‘Certainly I am. After all, I devoted a good deal of time to the matter. I came to a certain broad conclusion, and I feel I have a perfect right to formulate it in my own way.’
‘Be careful to choose the right words.’
The corner of the mouth twitching.
‘Very well,’ said Alasdair. ‘Then as I see it this koan – the sound of one hand clapping – isn’t intended to be answered directly at all. It is merely intended to evoke any reply, however inconsequential. It doesn’t matter what one says.’
‘So what do you say?’
‘Well, anything. It – it doesn’t matter what.’
‘So you say nothing?’
‘No, no. I don’t say nothing. I say anything.’
‘Nothing would be a good answer. But you don’t say nothing.’
‘No, I don’t say nothing. You don’t seem to understand.’
Mr Utamaro smiled.
‘I understand a little bit,’ he said. ‘But you must try to stop asking yourself what your answer to a question should be. You must ask yourself the question.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Alasdair said.
He leant back in his chair – the hard kitchen chair – pushed his legs out and settled his heavy spectacles on his nose.
‘Forgive me for putting it in this way,’ he said, ‘but I think you’ve got an unduly simple view of life.’
Mr Utamaro sat still.
‘You see,’ said Alasdair, ‘it’s not just a question of saying a thing to suit oneself. One doesn’t speak into a vacuum, you know. Anything I say, no matter how trivial, is really quite a complex matter. It’s compounded of not only myself, but the people who hear it and the time it’s said, and even the place. They all must be taken into account, and what one says adjusted accordingly.’
Alasdair held up his right hand.
The policeman halts the flow of interruptions.
‘Now I know what you’re going to tell me. You’re going to tell me that this is lying. And I simply reply: of course it is. You see, lies are very necessary things. They’re the oil of human relationships. They’re civilization. Without them we’d be reduced to mere fighting animals.’
‘You were at the university, Mr Stuart?’
‘Yes, yes. I was. But I didn’t learn this theory there. I worked it out for myself. I’m no philosopher. This is simply what life has taught me. Up at Oxford I read history.’
‘And what else did you do there?’ said Mr Utamaro. ‘Ah, I remember. You told us you played many games, not well but with spirit. And chess as well. But what else did you do?’
‘I didn’t learn any metaphysics, if that’s what you mean. And I thought Zen was more than a mere matter of juggling with words.’
‘Quite right.’
Mr Utamaro brought the palms of his hands together in a soft clap.
‘Did you take part in university rags?’ he said.
‘Rags?’
‘Yes, in the universities of the West students frequently indulge in acts of horseplay, often on a wide scale. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is. There are rags. But I don’t understand. We seem to be getting away from the subject.’
‘That is often the best way of getting there,’ said Mr Utamaro.
Alasdair’s eyes brightened.
‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘I must remember that. That’s pretty well Alice in Wonderland.’
‘So did you steal the sword as a rag?’ said Mr Utamaro.
Chapter 5
ALASDAIR looked at Mr Utamaro.
Agape.
‘No, I did not take the sword for a rag,’ he said.
Mr Utamaro grinned. The flash of broad teeth.
‘I think you forgot to adjust that remark to your company,’ he said.
‘Perhaps I did,’ said Alasdair. ‘Sometimes one is stung by something and replies without thought.’
‘You must watch like a tiger watching its prey,’ said Mr Utamaro.
He got up abruptly.
‘Let us see what is happening to the meditators,’ he said.
Alasdair stood where he was when Mr Utamaro left the room. But before the Japanese had got to the double doors of the meditation hall he had caught him up.
Zen there was Murder Page 5