In the hallway outside the cell, steps and voices approached, followed by the grating of a key in the door. It opened and Kobe stepped in. Kojiro rose, his mouth set and his face expressionless.

Kobe nodded to him and turned to Akitada. “They told me you were here. Does Kojiro know?”

“I only told him what I knew. Was the report correct?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Sorry, Kojiro. Your brother was found bludgeoned to death near the southern highway. You have my sympathy.”

The prisoner looked down at his shackled hands. They were clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed white against the sun-darkened skin. “Thank you, Superintendent,” he said tonelessly. “I can only hope it was not my arrest and imprisonment which caused my poor brother to undertake this tragic journey.” He grimaced, then looked up at Kobe. “I don’t suppose you would let me out to find the bastards who killed him?”

“You know I cannot do that. There is still a murder charge against you.”

Akitada said, “All the evidence we have points away from Kojiro and to someone else. Now that Nagaoka himself has been killed—and Kojiro certainly could not have done that—is it not likely that the two murders are connected?”

“Why? From all accounts, the man carried money, which has disappeared. He must have been set on by bandits.”

Akitada sighed and rose. It was all too likely. “How is it that you are back so early?” he asked.

“I met my sergeant at the city gate. He was bringing back the body. I suppose you would like to see it for yourself ?”

“Yes.” Akitada turned to Kojiro. “I promise to do my best to find who is responsible for this. I liked your brother, you know. His knowledge of the antique trade was admirable, and he had great affection for you.”

Kojiro struggled to his feet. “I know. Thank you,” he said with a bow.

Akitada and Kobe crossed the prison courtyard to the same small building which had held the corpse of Nagaoka’s wife only a month earlier.

Nagaoka lay in much the same spot. He, too, had suffered dreadful wounds to the head, but his thin, sharp features were untouched and looked strangely noble in death. He wore the clothes the servant had described, but there was something odd about the way the body lay, and Akitada stared for a moment before he realized what bothered him.

“Are his legs broken?”

Kobe looked, then bent to manipulate one of them. “No.”

Behind them the door opened, admitting Dr. Masayoshi, the coroner.

“A new case?” He came forward and stared at Akitada. “You again? Do you make a habit of visiting the dead?”

“And a good day to you, Doctor.” Akitada made him a tiny bow, which the coroner returned in the same deliberately rude manner. Akitada pointed. “What is wrong with this man’s feet?”

Masayoshi looked at the corpse, briefly felt one of the legs, then grinned. “Your little joke, my lord? Forgive me, but it was rather puerile even for you.”

Akitada stared, then flushed at the insult. Controlling his fury with an effort, he walked to the body and jerked off one of the boots. Nothing at all was wrong with Nagaoka’s leg. His boots had been put on the wrong feet. Akitada’s eyes flew to Masayoshi’s face and caught the moment the coroner realized that it had not been a joke after all, but a mistake. Masayoshi’s eyebrows rose mockingly.

Akitada was tempted to wipe the sneer off the man’s face, but he clenched his fists and turned his back abruptly on the grinning coroner. He told Kobe, “Did your men do this?”

But they had not, and it changed everything. Even Kobe could not see bandits taking off their victim’s boots and then replacing them.

Kobe scratched his head. He removed the other boot and looked at Nagaoka’s feet. They wore clean white socks. “Strange!” he muttered. “I thought they might have tortured him. Maybe they tried on his boots and they didn’t fit.”

“Nonsense! They would not have bothered to put them back.”

Masayoshi had knelt to examine the head wound, probing it gently with his fingers. He was pursing his lips. Moving forward, he lifted the dead man’s eyelids and then smelled his mouth. He got to his feet with a satisfied grunt. “Even stranger than the boots,” he said, “is the fact that this man died from poison.”

“Poison!” yelled Kobe. “How poison? Even an idiot can see he’s been clubbed to death. Why poison him, too? Are you mad?”

Grinning, Masayoshi folded his arms across his small paunch and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Not at all.” He chuckled. “I must say, you present me with the most interesting cases, Superintendent,” he said appreciatively. “But actually you got it backward. He was poisoned first and clubbed afterward. You notice that there is very little blood in the wound. Dead men don’t bleed, you see.”

Silence greeted his explanation.

Much as he detested Masayoshi’s manner, Akitada did not question his professional expertise. In fact, he should have seen the lack of blood himself. He asked brusquely, “Can you tell when he died? And how much later the head wounds were inflicted?”

Masayoshi became businesslike. He returned to the body, flexing its limbs and joints down to the fingers and toes, then pulled apart the clothing to study Nagaoka’s torso and poke his thin belly. Finally he pinched the skin in a few places. Straightening up, he said, “Hard to tell. Depends on whether he was left lying around outside or inside near a fire. He’s been frozen, of course, so he was outside at least part of the time and probably all of it. My guess would be several days. The head injury happened shortly after death, probably while the body was still slightly warm. There are some residual traces of bleeding in the wounds.”

“Several days! That’s not much help for the time of murder,” exploded Kobe. “What about the poison? How soon before he died did he take it?”

“Ah. That is even more difficult. Some poisons work quickly and some are quite slow. And we do not know how much he consumed. He may have lasted a few heartbeats, or taken a whole day and night to die, or even several days. I cannot be certain what he took until I dissect him and make certain tests. These, as you will hardly wish to spare any of your prisoners, will involve rats, whose tolerance for poison is different from that of humans. Still, we’ll know if it was quick, and may be able to guess at what it was. Though I have an idea about that.”

“Which is?” demanded Kobe.

“No, Superintendent! You must wait. I don’t enjoy making a fool of myself and avoid it at all costs.” His eyes slid to Akitada, and he smirked.

Akitada bit his lip. “Well,” he challenged Kobe, “either way, it eliminates highway robbery as a motive. Poisoning a man requires thought and selection. It is not random. Are you ready to admit that you made a mistake about Kojiro?”

“Certainly not. This does not clear him of the other charges.”

“Your people should not have moved the body. The killer may have left clues to his identity. Footprints, for example.”

“I know.” Kobe cursed. “It looked like a robbery. The money was gone, along with his horse. He was lying by the road. And my sergeant was so pleased with himself for identifying the missing Nagaoka that he decided to bring him back here for us to see. I’ll have his balls for this and fry them in oil. How’s Tora, by the way?”

Akitada suppressed a chuckle. “Seimei thinks he will do well.” Suddenly and perversely he felt a great deal better about the Nagaoka case. “Shall we go take a look at the scene while your capable coroner does his job?” he suggested, with a smile and bow toward Masayoshi, who looked at him in blank astonishment.

Kobe cursed again. “I suppose wed better. Before it gets dark.”

Dusk fell early, before they were well out of the city. It was bitterly cold. A sharp northerly wind pushed them onward and brought heavy dark clouds on their train. Kobe muttered something about the failing light, but Akitada would not turn back. The smell of snow was in the air, and he was afraid all tracks would disappear if they waited for the next day.