He bent his face close to the boards and shouted, “Saburo?”
The scratching stopped, and then came Saburo’s croak, “Tora?”
“What the hell are you doing under there?”
“Scratching my way out.”
Looking around the yard, Tora saw a discarded wooden bucket with a missing stave. Prying off another stave, he returned and shoved the stave under one of the boards, prying it loose. Another few moments, and he had made an opening large enough for Saburo to peer out at him.
“Amida!” Tora jumped back.
Saburo slowly crept out. He said nothing.
Tora eyed Saburo’s bloody clothes and stared at his face again. “Dear gods,” he muttered, “not again! The bastards didn’t torture you again?”
Saburo got to his feet somewhat painfully. He looked down at his hands, caked with dirt and blood and now also with oozing blood from his fingernails. “No!” he said wearily. “There was a wildcat down there.” He paused. “And a dead man. And Kanemoto nailed us in together.”
There was a well in the far corner of the yard. Tora put an arm around Saburo and led him over. Hauling up some water, he helped him wash off the blood and dirt.
“Thank you for coming,” Saburo said. “I’m getting too old for this work. In my younger years, this wouldn’t have happened. He sat down on the well rim.
Tora was about to start asking the questions burning on his tongue when they heard the trotting of many feet on the street in front of the house. A moment later, ten constables appeared around the corner of the house and surrounded them, their jitte prongs extended in a threatening manner.
They were under arrest.
“What for?” demanded Tora, aware that Saburo’s blood-stained clothing and the wounds on his face and hands were unlikely to convince the constables of their harmlessness.
He was right. A jitte poked him a little, and the senior constable said, “Report of robbers making a public disturbance.”
Tora suppressed a curse. No doubt the neighbor woman had kept watch and seen him prying loose the boards. He said, “The robbers are gone. You can see my friend here is a victim.”
They looked Saburo over. The senior constable said, “Those look like scratches. Are you telling us that robbers use their fingernails these days?”
That brought some guffaws from the rest.
The senior constable snapped, “Stop cackling like monkeys. Chain them.”
Tora protested.
“You can tell your story to the police,” the senior constable told him.
Tora did not want to bring the Sugawara name into this yet. He exchanged a glance with Saburo.
Saburo said, “There’s a dead man under the house. And the wildcat that scratched me. The dead man’s a gambler called Hankei. The man who killed him is Kanemoto. It’s his house. I was under the house and heard them arguing. Then it was suddenly silent. The next thing I knew, Kanemoto was shoving a body under the house and nailing boards over the opening. My friend here came looking for me and just released me.”
Tora knew right away that it had been a mistake.
They goggled at this. The senior constable walked over and studied the loose boards with their bent nails, then peered into the darkness under the house. “You, Joshu! You’re the smallest. Crawl in there and check it out!”
Joshu made a face but obeyed. He disappeared under the house. Some unintelligible sounds emerged, and then he shot back out. “Amida,” he gasped. “The place is full of corpses. I’m not going down there again.” He rushed over to the well to wash his hands and rinse out his mouth.
Tora grinned.
His amusement was short-lived. When the constables had dragged out the body of Hankei, looking more than ever like a dead monkey, along with the strangled cat, they decided to charge Tora and Saburo with murder and lock them up in the local warden’s jail.
This created an unanticipated difficulty. At the city jail, they might have had a chance to identify themselves and explain, but here nobody knew them or cared.
The warden and constables did, however, know Kanemoto, who was, by the willow quarter’s standards, a respected businessman and, in any case, not home.
Tora and Saburo were locked into a small cell that stank of vomit and worse. It was also hot and airless, and the stench got worse during the long day. The one meal they were offered was inedible and the water so dirty and stale they only took a few sips.
They talked, though.
Tora said, “You could have been killed, too.”
Saburo picked at his lacerated hands. “That cat was something else.”
“I mean by Kanemoto. Are you sure he didn’t know you were down there? Why nail you in, if he didn’t know?”
“He was just covering the hole to keep people from finding the monkey.”
“Dead bodies stink after a while.”
“I don’t know, Tora. Maybe he planned to come tonight and take the body elsewhere.”
“Maybe. I wish we could arrange for a reception committee.”
They fell silent.
Saburo said suddenly, “There was a woman there. Kanemoto’s mistress. She saw what happened.”
“Then I expect she’s run away, too. Did Kanemoto call her by name?”
“No. Just ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my love.’ It was disgusting. I’d expected better from a gangster boss.”
Tora chuckled.
“It’s not funny. What can we do? What about the master?”
“Oh, well, he sent me to look for you. I expect he’ll tell Kobe about it.”
“He sent you to look for me?”
“Of course. What did you expect?”
“But he was angry?”
“A little. Not too much.”
Saburo gave a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.
“Stop that. It’s not manly.”
Saburo sniffled. “It’s just … I didn’t expect him to care what happens to me.”
“I told you you were wrong about that.”
Another silence fell.
After nightfall, there finally was some activity in the front room of the jail. They could hear the warden’s voice and some sharp commands. Then the sound of feet came their way, and the cell door was opened. The faces of several red-coated policemen peered in at them.
Tora stood. “About time, fellows,” he said. “We’ve been stewing here since daybreak.”
The man in front wore the insignia of a sergeant. He wrinkled his nose. “What a sty!” he said, then asked, “Are you the men arrested for a murder last night?”
They nodded.
“We’re here to take you to the city jail,” the sergeant announced.
“To the jail?” yelped Tora. “We’re not guilty. These yokels got it all wrong.”
The sergeant chuckled. “I wish I had a copper for every criminal who said that. I could retire and live at my ease in my country house.”
Tora protested, “Look here, I’m Lieutenant Sashima and served the governor of Chikuzen province.”
The sergeant laughed. “You can tell it to the judge.”, but
Saburo tugged at Tora’s sleeve. “Let it go,” he muttered. “We’ll explain to Kobe.”
But this was not to be, or at least not until much later. Their protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears at the jail. It was late by then, and the day shift was getting ready to go home. Neither the constables who delivered them, nor the guards who locked them into a somewhat cleaner cell wanted to delay their departure by a lengthy investigation.
When the night shift arrived, Tora attracted their attention by shouting, This met with a stern admonition that he was to sleep and let others also get their rest. The alternative, he was told, was a bad whipping with the bamboo rod.
The following morning, Tora and Saburo had calmed down considerably. Kobe was unlikely to be available until later, and when the guard brought some unappetizing stew of beans and vegetables, Tora not only asked politely to have the superintendent notified but also asked about Sachi.
“The blind girl?” The guard shook his head. “She’s pretty low. Her trial starts tomorrow.