Ancho’s rosy cheeks, flushed by the cold air or his labors, paled a little and he cast a fearful look toward the open door. “I don’t know,” he said nervously. “Master Genno has forbidden us to think about such things. It is very difficult, but I have endeavored to obey.”
“Never mind,” said Eikan. “This is a special situation. You know His Reverence has told us to cooperate fully with the authorities.”
Seeing the young man’s uneasiness, Akitada said soothingly, “I will be as quick as I can. I am sure you must find all this upsetting.”
Ancho nodded gratefully. He looked like a bright youngster, not much more than eighteen, Akitada guessed.
“Well, then, Ancho, are you certain that the door to this room was locked when you came to clean the room?”
“Yes. When there was no answer to my knocking, I pushed against it. Usually the guests leave the door unlatched when they leave. I knocked again, and when there was again no answer, I inserted my key and tripped the latch.”
“May I see the key, please?”
Ancho exchanged a glance with Eikan—who nodded firmly—and handed over a thin metal gadget he carried tied to the rope around his waist.
The key was peculiarly shaped, and Akitada saw immediately that it was made especially for this kind of latch. He inserted it into the hole and heard the small click as the latch moved. A slight twist released it again. Satisfied that only an expert thief, and one who had come prepared, would be able to unlock the door without this special key, Akitada returned it to the young monk.
“Now I must ask about some things which you may find upsetting,” he said. “Please forgive me and do the best you can. First, tell me exactly what you saw when the door opened.”
The young monk closed his eyes. He grew a bit paler, but spoke readily enough. “I saw the lady on the floor. Her feet were toward the door. I recognized the robe right away. Very pretty it was, with chrysanthemums and golden grasses embroidered on it. I thought she was asleep, but she was not on her bedding. She was on the bare floor and lying strangely. Then I thought she had become ill and fainted. I went in to help her.” He shuddered and swallowed hard. “There was blood and her face… there was no face… it was all cut up. I knew she was dead then and I ran.” He opened his eyes and looked at Akitada miserably.
“You are doing very well,” said Akitada reassuringly. “Were you at all aware that there was someone else in the room?”
Ancho shook his head. “There wasn’t much light, only what came from the open door, and I only looked at the lady, never thinking that a man might have joined her.” He flushed painfully and averted his eyes.
“You said you recognized her robe. Had you seen her the night before?”
“Yes, my lord. When I brought her bedding and some food and water.”
Eikan cried, “You had served her? You never told me.”
Ancho said simply, “You never asked me.”
For a moment Eikan looked irritated, then he brightened. “How about that? Only someone like you, my lord, would discover such a very important fact from a casual word. I have much to learn, it seems.”
Akitada’s mouth twitched. “Do you expect to need such skills in your way of life?”
“Certainly, my lord. You’d be surprised at the sorts of tricks our youngsters get up to, though not murder, of course. Also, with so many visitors, and low types like those actors … though I believe the abbot plans to review the policy of permitting acting groups and women to stay here. It is written: All degeneration of the Law begins with women.’ “
“I confess I was startled that the temple admits lay women free access to the monastery. I found some of the actors, men and a woman, in the bathhouse that night.”
Eikan looked profoundly shocked. “A woman? Are you certain, my lord? That area is strictly forbidden to lay persons of either gender. What about the bath attendant?”
“He went to speak to them, but with little effect. I thought perhaps the rules had been lifted for the occasion of the festival.”
“Not at all, my lord. The actors were supposed to remain in their rooms here.” He shook his head. “No wonder the abbot is upset.”
Akitada turned back to Ancho.
“Tell me about the evening before, when you saw the two people alive.”
“They sent me to serve new guests, a gentleman and a lady. I stopped first in the kitchen. It was closed already, but I put cold rice cakes and two pitchers of water into a basket. These I took to the veranda before the lady’s room. Then I fetched a roll of bedding from the storeroom and knocked. The lady opened the door. I tried not to look at her, but noticed the pretty gown. I took in the bedding first and put it under the window.” He flushed. “We are not supposed to spread it out. As soon as I had done that, I went back for some of the rice cakes and a pitcher of water. I put those just inside the door and went to do the same for the gentleman.”
“I see. You did not speak with either of the guests?”
“No, my lord. It is discouraged. The gentleman thanked me.”
“Did you notice any luggage?”
“Yes, my lord. The gentleman had a saddlebag and his sword, and the lady had just a saddlebag.”
“How did they seem? Cheerful, nervous, bored, or irritated?”
“It is hard to say. The gentleman gave me a smile and a nod. He looked tired, I think. The lady was walking about. Perhaps she was nervous. I don’t know. She did not smile, and did not so much as look at me. I’m afraid that is all I can tell.”
Somewhere a bell began to ring again, high and strident. Ancho glanced over his shoulder and began to inch away.
“The bell for our noon meal, my lord,” said Eikan.
“Just a moment more,” said Akitada. “As you were on duty that evening, did you have occasion to serve another visitor who would have arrived later? He would have been in his fifties, gray-haired and thin.”
“Oh, no, sir. There were no other visitors later that night. And I don’t recall seeing anyone like the man you describe.”
So Nagaoka apparently had not followed his wife and brother. “One more thing: did any of the other guests express an interest in the lady who died?”
Ancho shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, sir.”
“Thank you. That is all. It was very good of you to think back to something which must have troubled you a great deal.”
Ancho bowed briefly and then ran. Eikan lingered behind, watching as Akitada pulled the door to the murder room shut behind him and found that it would not latch. “There is no need to lock it, my lord,” he said.
Akitada stared at the door fixedly. Then he pulled it to again, harder this time. The latch jumped into place with a loud click and the door was locked.
“It locks from the outside,” Akitada said with pleased surprise. “And that explains why Ancho and his fellow attendant have keys and why he opened the locked door with the key after knocking. He assumed it was empty and had slammed shut.”
“Of course. People sometimes slam the doors so hard that they lock by themselves.”
“But that makes all the difference,” said Akitada. “While no one could enter a locked room without a key, it was quite simple to leave a room locked. Thanks to your help, we now know that someone other than Kojiro could have killed Mrs. Nagaoka.”
Eikan looked blank. After a moment he said, “I am not sure I understand. May I ask if my lord suspects one of us?”
“Not necessarily. Someone who was in the temple or monastery the night of the murder. There were, by all accounts, many outsiders here that night. But you will miss your meal and I must continue my journey. I shall not forget your generous and invaluable assistance.”
Eikan brightened slightly. “I have time. Someone brings my food to the gate. Will you come back, my lord?”
“Perhaps. But whatever happens, I shall let you know the outcome.”