Текст книги "The Hell Screen"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

Tora scanned the women. Pretty girls, he thought, surprised and pleased that Genba finally seemed to take an interest in the opposite sex. He must mean the pert one with the look of a playful kitten. But the others weren’t bad, either. An older woman presided over them, their chaperone or perhaps an auntie. Tora took in her size and blinked. She was enormous, towering over the girls and taking up the space of two men. Big shoulders, a huge jutting bosom, and bulging arms, all covered in shiny black silk, and a round, red-cheeked face topped with coils of hair which were decorated with red silk ribbons dangling coyly down on either side. Tora almost laughed out loud at the sight of her. No wonder she was fat; she was eating with a speed which astonished even him, and he was familiar with Genba’s appetite. Her large fat hand holding the chopsticks darted quickly among the many bowls in front of her, picking up a tidbit here and a pickle there, the small finger extended daintily, the red lips closing with little smacking sounds around each morsel or dipping quickly toward the rim of a soup bowl to suck up broth and fish alike. He turned to Genba. “Pretty girls, but look at that madam! I’ve never seen a woman eat like that. No wonder she’s as fat as Hotei!”

Genba stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. “She’s the most handsome female I ever laid eyes on. Look at that rosy skin, the pretty mouth, and that fine body! And she eats most elegantly. Daintily, like a lady! Which is more than you can say about her companions. I never could understand what you see in those bony little bits you seem to prefer.”

Tora gaped. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “That’s some whore grown too fat to get customers, so now she runs the house, taking out her girls for their evening rice. Leave her alone! She’d make short work of an innocent like you and take you for every copper, having a good laugh with her girls afterward.”

Genba got up, his face like thunder. “Good night!” he growled.

“Where are you going?” Tora cried, pointing to the uneaten food. “We aren’t finished, and we haven’t even started asking questions.”

“You can do your own investigating,” Genba said over his shoulder, and headed for the table of the women. Tora looked after him in stunned surprise. This was not like Genba, who was normally shy around women. But there he was, bowing to the fat woman, and then to the girls around the table. The girls wore the heavy white makeup of street women and clearly were not averse to male company, for Genba took a seat next to a slender girl whose eyebrows had been plucked and painted high on her forehead, in the manner of certain court ladies or actors playing women’s roles. Tora shook his head. Genba would be sorry. He made a move to follow, feeling it his duty to protect his companion from the wiles of the professional women of the quarter. But when he took a step toward them, Genba looked up and scowled so ferociously that Tora quickly sat back down. Very well! Let him learn his lesson, then, he thought, and turned his attention to the food.

Harada was snoring softly. Tora caught the cook’s eye. “What will you do about him?” he asked.

The cook gave the drunken man a glance. “Him? Nothing. He can stay. He’s not a bad sort, comes to town on business for his master, takes care of whatever it is, then comes here to drink away whatever money he brought with him. As he spends it here, I feel obliged to look out for him. In the morning I’ll put him on the road home.”

Tora took a sip of his wine. “I’m told you see quite a few actors here when they’re in town,” he said to the cook.

“Sure. Some are back already. Getting ready to put on shows for the winter festivals and the driving out of the evil spirits at the end of the year.”

“Ever hear of a troupe called Uemon’s Players?”

“Uemon? Sure. Everybody knows of him. Mind you, he’s getting old, but his people are good. They even get asked to perform for the good people.” He scanned the room. “Danjuro, his lead actor, is really good. He used to come, but I haven’t laid eyes on him since they got back from their tour. I guess him and his girl Ohisa got married at last and set up house.”

“Would you know where I might find this Uemon?”

The cook hesitated, looking Tora over. “Why are you looking for him?”

Tora said, “Personal interest, you might say.” He stroked his mustache and winked. “There’s a very pretty girl in that troupe.”

The cook suddenly became distant. “If you’re after one of Uemon’s girls, you can forget it. He’s a respectable man and his people are strictly class. Better go talk to one of the aunties in the quarter.”

Tora smirked. “Come, now! Maybe he doesn’t know everything the youngsters get up to. I happen to know better. You ever meet any of them?”

The cook grinned. “Sure. They come in pretty regular for a meal or some wine. In fact, since you’ve met them before, you must’ve seen the girls with Miss Plumblossom. They were here when you came in.”

Tora cursed himself for having missed his chance. Now he would have to follow them. “Well, where do they live when they’re in town?”

“You’re pretty persistent, aren’t you?” said the cook, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re lying. Maybe you’re a rapist or the slasher. Maybe you’re a constable. Come to think, there’s something official-looking about you. Anyway, I can’t help you.”

Won’t is more likely, Tora thought. He wanted to deny being either a rapist or a constable, but knew it was too late to come up with another convincing tale. Places like the Abode of the River Fairies, though not precisely hangouts for criminals, were sensitive about protecting their clientele. He sighed and looked around for Genba, but the table where he had sat was now empty. Genba had left him stuck with the bill for their meal and Harada’s.

Outside, night had fallen with the abruptness of the season. Tora pulled up his collar and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Genba. The wind still blew from the dark mountains and whistled through the alleys which led away from the river. The lanterns in front of the businesses swayed and bobbed with every gust. Their feeble lights were reflected in the dark, slow-moving waters of the Kamo and resembled madly dancing fireflies. A few customers hurried past, their collars raised around their ears and their arms buried in their deep sleeves.

Tora shrugged resignedly. He had little choice but to try his luck in some of the other eateries and wineshops.

An hour later, half-frozen and discouraged, he entered a ramshackle dive near the end of the quarter, and here his luck changed. The host of this dubious establishment was Tora’s age, but unlike Tora incredibly ill-kempt. His long hair and beard were matted with dirt, and he wore nothing but a pair of stained cotton pants, held precariously in place by a knotted rope tied below his hairy paunch, and a dingy cotton shirt which was too small for him and hung open in front. He looked more like a street ruffian than a legitimate innkeeper. And apparently he was not only careless about his appearance, but also foulmouthed.

When Tora heard the first string of colorful curses, his face lit up. He joined the three barefooted laborers who were leaning on the counter and cried, “By the bare ass of a monkey! A man from Tsukuba!”

His host eyed Tora’s neat blue robe. “Yeah?” he said. “And who are you, then?”

“Why, you filthy piece of ox dung, you pail of cat’s piss, you dog’s turd, you stinking pile of bear’s vomit! Are you too stupid to recognize your neighbors?”

The host’s dirty face relaxed. “Well, fry my balls!” he grunted. “You do sound like it. What village?”

“Ohori.”

“No!” the host cried with delighted surprise. “I was raised across the river from Ohori. My old man and me fished the river and sold the catch in your village. You bastards used to throw rocks at us from the shore. Me and my buddy came across one night and let the water out of all your cisterns.”

Tora guffawed. “You missed us. Half the village had to squeeze into our bath the next day. Say, what brought you here?”

“The cursed army. I was a kid when they grabbed me, the filthy bastards. I ended up here. How about you?”

Tora’s smile faded. He did not like to remember the day when the soldiers had come to their farm. He had never seen his parents again. “Me, too,” he said casually.

His host gave a knowing nod. “Hard times, but you look prosperous enough now. Lucky devil! The gods’ve been good to you. Me, I’m slowly starving.” He slapped his bare belly and chuckled.

Tora laughed. “I’ve had some fighting, a little trouble, and a lot of luck. The name’s Tora, by the way.”

“Hah! The tiger, eh?” The fat man nodded sagely. Everyone knew the value of a pseudonym when you had to leave the military service abruptly. “Me, I’m not so fierce. They call me Ushi because I look like a big old clumsy bull.” He reached under the counter and brought up a pitcher, poured two cups of wine, and pushed one toward Tora. The three laborers looked sadly into their empty cups and swallowed. “All right! All right!” the Bull said, and refilled their cups from an open barrel. “There. It’s on the house! To celebrate this auspicious meeting with my countryman.”

The three grinned, bowed, and tossed back the raw liquor.

Tora tasted. Ushi’s private brew was strong but excellent; the fire it lit in his belly was welcome after the cold night outside. He raised the cup again and emptied it in one slow smooth gulp. “You live better than you think, Bull,” he said with a grin, and belched.

Ushi’s laugh rumbled and shook his belly like jellied bean curd. “So what sort of work do you do? You got your own business?”

“No. I’m in service, but my master appreciates my talents and treats me well.”

“Ah! Lucky dog! A roof over your head, fancy clothes, three squares guaranteed, and money to spend.” Ushi shook his head in envy, and returned to the past. “Say, speaking of strong wine, you ever get a taste of that stuff the monks used to brew in the temple on the Tone River? They called it mountain berry juice or some such and sold it in all the villages up and down the river. Strongest berries I ever tasted!”

Tora remembered it, and much more besides. After an exchange of reminiscences, he managed to ask about Uemon.

“Uemon? Too proud to set foot in my place,” said the host, making a face. “I hear they go to Miss Plumblossom to practice. You after some girl? Better watch your step with the lady, my friend, and keep your hands to yourself. Miss Plumblossom don’t tolerate low manners. She’s a famous acrobat and served at court.”

Tora did not believe that for a moment. Females in the theatrical profession had a very poor reputation. Many made their living with prostitution between engagements. He could well imagine what passed in Miss Plumblossom’s establishment.

The Bull reached for the pitcher again.

“No, thanks,” said Tora. “I’ve got to go. It’s getting late, and I’ve got my bowl of rice to earn like the rest of you. Just tell me how to find this Plumblossom’s place, and I’ll be off.”

The Bull frowned. “Say, you’re not on the lookout for a bed partner for your master, by any chance? You’d better try the Willow Quarter. Or does he prefer men?”

Tora’s arm shot out, grabbed the rope holding up Ushi’s pants, and jerked forward hard. The fat belly hit the counter, and Ushi gasped and cursed. Still holding the man by his belt, Tora put his face next to Ushi’s and snarled, “You filthy-minded piece of offal! What do you think I am, a pimp for a pervert?”

“Sorry, brother,” whined the fat man. “I didn’t mean it. Let go!”

Tora slowly released his hold. “Well, you’ve got your nerve,” he grumbled, “assuming such a thing of a fellow countryman. I’d rather bite my tongue than ask you how you got out of the army.”

The host blanched a little and said nervously, “No need to explain, brother. Whatever it is you’re doing, I wish you luck! We all have our secrets. Just remember not to offend Miss Plumblossom. She’s been keeping her eyes open since the trouble and will have your balls if you so much as smile at her girls. Her place is behind the Temple of the War God, two streets back from the river. You can’t miss it.”

“What trouble?” Tora asked.

“You haven’t heard? Some bastard’s been cutting up whores. Miss Plumblossom took one of ‘em in. They say she looks worse than a monkey, now her nose is gone and her mouth’s been rearranged. What a woman that Miss Plumblossom is! What a soft heart!” The Bull cast up his eyes and sighed in admiration. Tora thought it more likely that the lady needed a cheap maid.

One of the laborers suddenly found his tongue and cried, “A devil did that! The devils are loose at night. One of ‘em tried to do the same thing to me. I only got away because I have an amulet and called on the Buddha.” He reached into his ragged jacket and pulled out a filthy, odorous bag which was tied around his neck.

Tora suppressed a shudder. “Thanks for the wine, Bull, but I’d better go. Looks like the streets aren’t too safe after dark.”

Outside, the wind caught at his robe, and something moist and soft touched his face. He blinked against the light of a swinging lantern. In its golden aura danced the first snowflakes of the year.

He found Miss Plumblossom’s establishment easily enough, though it did not look much like a brothel. The building was a long, low structure like a warehouse. It had solid plaster walls and a wooden roof held in place with large rocks. He stood for a few minutes deciphering the sign above the door. Even his untutored eye saw that the lettering was elegant. “Training Hall of Celestial Grace. Miss Plumblossom, Proprietess.” What a joke! It certainly sounded like no brothel he had ever visited. Light came from behind the bars of two small windows high up, and he could hear muffled thumps, shouts, and grunts. Perhaps the place offered some novel sexual pleasures, and he was definitely not averse to learning new things.

Tora grinned and applied the wooden clapper vigorously to the brass gong which swung from a hook next to the door. It emitted a pleasant clear sound, and the door was flung open from inside.

He stepped into a dim entry. Through a half-open inner door, he could see a segment of a brightly lit room which had a wooden floor with some thick grass mats on it. Suddenly some female flitted past the opening. She seemed to be naked. Then another girl passed and the first one returned with a bounce. Tora swallowed hard. He was by no means easily impressed by the sexual pleasures normally available in the capital, but now he wondered what services these two might be expected to render and felt warm under the collar.

A cracked voice broke into his erotic imaginings. “How may we serve the gentleman?”

Tora took his eye off the cracked door and looked down. An ancient man was closing the outer door against the snow and peered up at him.

“I was told,” Tora croaked, “that Miss Plumblossom… er… entertains … that is, actors come here from time to time?”

“So they do. And other gentlemen, too. Miss Plumblossom’s name is well-known in the profession. And what might the gentleman’s preference be? Something acrobatic? Perhaps the gentleman prefers to engage in the masculine sport of swordplay? Or halberds?”

Tora glanced toward the lit room. He could imagine the acrobatics of lovemaking, but swords and halberds? Perhaps this research would necessitate certain expenditures. “Would it be all right to have a look before I decide?” he asked the old man.

“Certainly. Please enter!” The old man flung the inner door wide and preceded him. He hobbled to a bench against the wall next to the entrance and sat down, inviting Tora to join him. “I shall be happy to answer the gentleman’s questions,” he offered.

Tora stopped just inside the room, his jaw sagging with surprise. He had expected to walk into a small reception area where the girls displayed themselves to the customers. In fact he was in a huge training hall. And he saw now that the tumbling young women wore loincloths and that they practiced with young men in similar undress. The agile youngsters were working out on the mats, bouncing, rolling, jumping over and under each other, the men tossing the women into the air and catching them. Their movements were so skillful and continuous that there seemed to be nothing but bobbing breasts and twisting buttocks in sight. Tora slowly backed toward the bench and sank down, his fascinated gaze on the acrobats. After a while, he managed to separate the flying bodies into three young men and two young women and realized his mistake. This was no brothel, but a training hall for acrobats and entertainers.

There were others in the room, more conservatively dressed. In one corner, an old man sat cross-legged on the floor, beating a small drum, while two very pretty young women in silk dresses swayed in elegant dance steps. In another corner, two men were engaged in a mock sword fight, accompanying their lunges and feints with hideous shouts. Tora shook his head at such unmilitary behavior, and then looked toward the back of the room. A wrestling bout seemed in progress, though his view of the contestants was blocked by some onlookers. Then he got his next surprise. A large chair, like an abbot’s, had been placed on a raised dais and on it sat the fat woman from the restaurant, all glossy black silk and red ribbons.

Tora gasped, “Who the devil’s that?”

“Miss Plumblossom. Giving some pointers to the wrestlers. Very fond of wrestling, is our Miss Plumblossom. Never misses a contest, though she’s an acrobat herself, of course.”

Tora was trying to digest that piece of information when Miss Plumblossom suddenly leaned forward and cried, “Open your hands, Master Denchichi! No punching! Ah! Very good, Master Genba! Haven’t seen that particular hold for years.”

At first Tora thought he had misheard, but just then the onlookers started applauding and he could see the wrestlers. And there stood Genba, stripped to his loincloth and grinning inanely at Miss Plumblossom, while his opponent picked himself up off the floor.

TWELVE

The Prisoner

Tamako rarely entered her husband’s room while he was at work, and Akitada glanced up in surprise from the family accounts when he heard her voice. She hovered at the door, after saying softly, “Forgive me for interrupting you, but there is a small matter on which I would like your advice.”

Seimei rose from his papers, bowed to both of them, and left the room. Akitada looked after him unhappily. Their relationship had been strained since he had discovered that Seimei had concealed his parentage from him all these years. Seimei was aware of his coolness and bore it with a sad resignation, but Akitada chafed under the bitter resentment bottled up inside himself. He wished he could talk about it with Tamako, but with her fondness for Seimei she would urge him to put the matter from his mind. Easier said than done!

He watched her sit down across from him. She looked very elegant in the dark blue silk robe which showed only the narrowest band of her white silk undergown at the wrists and neck. When she had adjusted her trailing skirts and raised her eyes to his, he gave her a smile of affection. “The gown suits you,” he said softly. “Even better than the one I took off you last night.” He watched the rosy blush rise from her neck to her face, wondering why she did not smile. He caressed her face with his eyes, urging it into joy. Her eyes were clear and steady, like shining jewels set into the translucent skin, but the soft, pink lower lip trembled. He cocked his head. “I think,” he murmured, “you must be growing more beautiful with every year.”

That finally produced a fleeting smile. “What nonsense you talk,” she said, but reached across his desk to touch his hand affectionately. “This is not about us. It concerns your sister.”

“Ah.” Which one, Akiko or Yoshiko? Akiko had been on his mind almost constantly since he had spoken with her stepson. But he knew that Tamako meant Yoshiko. “Is something wrong?”

Tamako nodded, looking at her hands, which lay neatly folded in her lap. “I am afraid it will sound as though I am spying on your sister, which I am not,” she said with a sigh. “Even though I am worried about her, I do not keep a watch over her. Still, living in the same house, we can hardly avoid meeting. I noticed that your sister left the house every day at the same time, always between the hours of the monkey and the rooster. She left before sunset and returned after dark, just before the evening rice. And she carried a basket each time.”

Akitada sat up. The day he had returned from the painter Noami, Yoshiko had come home just before he did, and she had held a basket. An empty basket, though she had claimed to have been to the market. “Have you asked her about it?”

“How could I? She never volunteered an explanation and it is none of my business. She is a grown woman, and this is her home. But today, just a little while ago, the same thing happened again. Only this time, she rushed past me without a greeting and ran to her room. I wondered if she was ill and followed. I stood outside her door and heard her weeping. Oh, Akitada, she was weeping dreadfully hard. I was afraid to intrude, but what if she needs help? What should I do?”

Akitada got to his feet and started toward the door.

“Wait, Akitada,” cried Tamako, getting up also. “Don’t rush in! You may make things worse. This is clearly a private matter. Perhaps, if anyone is going to burst in on her grief, it had better be me.”

She was right, he thought, suddenly fearful. Something had happened, wherever she had been. Or it might be some female ailment. Or—heaven forbid—rape. The thought of some man doing violence to Yoshiko made him clench his hands. “I suppose you are right,” he said. “Go to her, then. Only come back and let me know.”

Tamako nodded and left.

Akitada sat back down and stared sightlessly at his accounts. His troubles seemed to be multiplying when they should have been at an end. He was finally free of a lifetime of blaming himself for the dislike shown to him by the woman he had believed to be his mother. His father no longer was the unfeeling authoritarian of his memory. He had come back to his home, truly his now, and was taking care of his own family as his father had done, at the desk his father had used. His career for once seemed secure. Yet peace and contentment escaped him. Happiness was slippery as an eel. Just when you thought you had a solid grip on it, it twisted this way and that, and was gone again. Oh, Yoshiko!

Seimei, his other point of discontent, came back in. “A visitor, sir,” he announced with a bow. Seimei had become very formal lately.

The visitor turned out to be Kobe, and his arrival at this moment was anything but welcome. The superintendent strode in stiffly, nodding instead of bowing, and announced abruptly, “I must speak with you privately.”

Akitada glanced at Seimei, who asked, “Shall I bring wine or tea before the gentlemen begin?”

“Nothing for me.” Kobe stood waiting impatiently for Seimei to leave the room. When the door had closed behind Akitada’s secretary, he waited, then walked quietly to the door and jerked it open. The corridor was empty. He grunted and slammed the door shut again with such force that the panels shuddered. Akitada watched with rising anger as Kobe returned and sat down stiffly across from him.

“My secretary,” Akitada said coldly, “is not the kind of person who listens at doors. I gather from your manner you bring bad news of some sort.”

Kobe stared at him for a moment. “Unpleasant for you, at any rate. I have discovered your little plot. How dare you compromise my investigation by slipping your minions into the prison? You will immediately produce your accomplice. She is under arrest. It is regrettable that I cannot do the same with you because of your position. However, I shall make an official report of the affair and protest in the strongest terms against your abuse of power.” Fists clenched on either knee, he leaned forward and glared at Akitada. “I once thought better of you, by heaven, than that you would resort to sending a woman where you are forbidden to go. This time you have gone too far, Sugawara. This time I shall do my damnedest to put a permanent stop to your meddling.”

Akitada wondered what new trouble was brewing. Kobe appeared furiously angry about some incident at the jail. It was all a mistake, of course, regrettable because he had hoped for a congenial discussion of his discoveries at the temple. Kobe looked angry enough to mean his threats. He said, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

Kobe’s face darkened and he struck the desk. Boxes, water containers, and ink stones jumped and rattled. “Don’t lie to me!” he shouted. “You know precisely what this is about. Today we followed her, and she walked into this house not an hour ago.”

Yoshiko! The answer came to Akitada unbidden, unwanted, and dreaded. His certainty was linked to a memory of a woman with a basket, familiar to him even at a distance, walking away from the prison where Nagaoka’s brother was being held. What had Yoshiko done?

Kobe snarled, “I see you know what I am talking about. Call her! I want to speak to her. I don’t care who she is to you—your wife, for all I care. After she tells me everything that’s been going on, she will be under arrest.”

Akitada felt himself go cold with fear. He knew very well that Kobe could carry out his threat, and he also knew the man well enough to fear his temper. He must try to find the right approach to defuse the other man’s rage.

“You are mistaken, Superintendent,” he said as haughtily as he could manage. “I am still completely in the dark about what you accuse me of, except that it must have something to do with Nagaoka’s brother. Considering your threats against me and mine, I must remind you that it is customary to make certain of one’s facts before laying accusations against persons of rank. I have only recently returned from—”

Kobe interrupted, “No, my lord, not even your fine record in the north is going to protect you from these charges. Flagrant abuse of power and perversion of the due process of justice will disqualify you from all future administrative positions.”

For all his bluster, Kobe seemed a bit less certain of himself. Akitada considered his position. In spite of a fine record up north, Kobe could make trouble for him here. Akitada still had some enemies at court, and while he had been very successful, he had not always followed the rules. A charge of high-handedness in the capital so soon after his return could be used against him.

But at the moment Akitada was less concerned about his career. He was innocent. No, it was the danger to Yoshiko which worried him. In her present state, she could not handle what Kobe had in mind for her. He tried another tactic.

“I must remind you that my family is mourning the recent death of my mother,” he said, keeping his voice low and firm. “My wife and son only arrived a few days ago, hours before my mother died. The funeral is barely over. The only women in this house besides my wife are my sister and a cook and two maids. I hardly think that any of them is likely to be involved in a murder case.”

Kobe stared at him. It was impossible to guess what was going through his mind. Akitada knew better than to think he would now apologize and depart. What he wished to avoid at all costs was that Yoshiko would be dragged off and subjected to interrogation. Even women were stripped by constables and beaten with bamboo whips if the investigating judge or officer was not satisfied with their account. He must hope that Kobe would hesitate to inflict this indignity On a member of his family.

The superintendent finally relaxed his angry posture. “I forgot,” he said, looking away. “I did hear that Lady Sugawara had died. Your mother, you say?”

Akitada nodded, keeping his face bleak and expressionless.

“Yes. Hmm. Sorry to hear it. Come to think of it, there was a taboo tablet at the gate. Hmm.”

Akitada waited.

Kobe sat undecided for a moment, his hands now relaxed, the fingers drumming on his knees. Then he grumbled, “Er, the situation is awkward, and I regret my poor timing, but you must see that I had to investigate this matter immediately. Repeated visits of an outsider to a prisoner about to come to trial very likely will compromise the case. I must be in a position to give a full explanation to the judge or I, along with the people who were responsible for the prisoner, may be dismissed from office. I won’t allow that to happen just to observe the proprieties.”

Akitada nodded again. “That is understandable. Your mind is on your duties, as mine is on family matters. We must find a compromise. Perhaps you had better tell me what happened and what precisely you suspect us of. How many visits were there?”

Kobe’s high color faded. He answered in a normal tone. “The female has come every single day since the time you and I met outside Nagaoka’s house. Always in the evening.”

Akitada thought back. Had he mentioned the Nagaoka case to Yoshiko? Yes, he recalled sharing some of its frustrations with her over dinner that day. And she had taken the brother’s side. A bit too vehemently, perhaps? Did Yoshiko know the suspect– what was his name?—Kojiro? He asked Kobe, “How did she get in?”

“She claimed to be his wife, bringing him his dinner. It was not until yesterday that I heard of it and told the fool of a guard that Kojiro’s not married. Idiot!” Kobe angrily blew through his nostrils.

That explained the empty basket! No doubt it was exactly what she had done, taken the prisoner food. He was not about to have Kobe probe into this mystery before he himself knew what was going on, and said, “Look, Superintendent, I cannot at the moment explain why this mysterious woman should have come to my house, and I shall certainly try to find out what is going on. But under the present circumstances, I must ask you not to trouble my family. If you agree, I shall come to you as soon as I have information. Tomorrow morning, early. For the present, I can only repeat that I knew nothing of this.”