So they rushed on at a gallop, on horses requisitioned for government business, followed by the cowed sergeant and six mounted constables.

It was difficult to talk over the sound of the horses’ hooves and the gusts of wind, and for a while they simply covered ground. Soon the horses were steaming; flecks of foam from their muzzles flew back past the riders.

To the right and left of the raised highway, fallow rice fields and withered plantings of soybeans stretched into the murky distance. A few small farms huddled under dark groves of trees, like birds gone undercover from the freezing cold.

It began to snow when they were about halfway. The low dark clouds had steadily caught up with them, moving faster and lower, and when the first flakes materialized in the cold air, they stung their cold faces like pins and dusted their clothes and the horses’ manes.

The sergeant pulled up beside Akitada, perhaps to avoid catching more of Kobe’s wrath. He was eager to make up for his mistake and scanned the distance anxiously. “See that line of pine trees up ahead?” he shouted, pointing at a shadowy bank of darkness in the general murk. “That’s a canal. It crosses the road. About a mile after that is the turnoff.”

Minutes later they passed over the small bridge and turned down a narrower track.

“Where does this road lead, Sergeant?” Akitada asked.

“To a village called Fushimi.”

The name was familiar. “Isn’t that where Kojiro’s farm is?”

“Yes, sir. Though it’s a pretty large place, actually.”

Well, Nagaoka had said that his brother’s hard work had made his farm prosper. Akitada had a strong desire to see for himself. Since it was not far from where Nagaoka had been found, he thought Kobe might accept the need for a visit.

Eventually the narrow road cut through a forest of pines and leafless trees, and the sergeant called out to slow down. They came to a place where the ground was churned up by the hooves of horses and boots of men, and stopped. The sergeant pointed. “He was right over there! Against that rock!”

The sergeant, Kobe, and Akitada dismounted. Akitada cast a hopeless glance around. Those who had found the dead man, and those who had come later to get him, surely had destroyed any tracks left by his killers.

But when they reached the rock, the sergeant pointed out hoof marks in the soft ground. “They brought him on a horse,” he said. “We came on foot and carried him back to the highway.”

“ ‘They’?” Akitada crouched to stare at the indentations. His heart started beating rapidly. “A single horse! Perhaps his own? And whoever brought him took it away again. Could a single person manage? One man … or woman?”

The sergeant glanced back at the waiting constables on the road. “His companions may have stayed on the road.”

“Not likely under the circumstances, Sergeant,” snapped Kobe. “He was poisoned. I hardly think the murderer would bring along an escort while disposing of the body.”

The sergeant flushed. “The body was sort of flung down,” he said to Akitada, “not laid flat or sat up or anything. I suppose a strong woman, if she had a dead man draped over the saddle of a horse, could pull him off. A man, definitely. Getting him on is a bigger problem.”

They all crouched, studying the prints, but there were too many to make sense of. Akitada gave up first and followed the hoofprints away from the rock. The tracks slanted toward the road more or less along the same line on which they had arrived, and rejoined the tightly packed dirt track about fifty feet from the rock. The horse’s hooves had left clear marks in the moist earth of the grassy verge. To Akitada’s eye, the impressions looked the same both coming and going. “Come here, Sergeant,” he called. “Have a look at this. All the hoofprints are the same depth. Yet we know that, coming, the horse carried the body. That means the person who brought the body must have led the horse to the rock, and then ridden back to the road. Do you agree?”

The sergeant nodded eagerly. “You are right, sir. Let’s look for his footprints here.”

Akitada turned to Kobe, who had come up. “There was only one horse,” he said. “And only a single individual leading it. This individual lives within walking distance from here.”

Kobe glanced down the road where it disappeared among the trees in a haze of blowing snow. He scowled. “How far is the brother’s place?” he snapped at the sergeant.

The man flinched. “A couple of miles, sir. I can’t make out any footprints, except in this place here.”

In the growing darkness, they gathered and peered at a shallow impression. “Maybe a boot, not big, but not a woman’s, either,” guessed Kobe. Nobody could improve on this, and after another look around they gave up. The light was failing rapidly, and the snow fell more thickly.

“Let’s go to Kojiro’s farm,” said Akitada, swinging back in the saddle. “The weather is worsening and we will probably have to seek shelter anyway.”

Kobe scowled at the sky, but he nodded with a grunt, and the small cavalcade set out again.

They reached their destination just before it became necessary to light their lanterns. To Akitada’s amazement, Kojiro’s property was a manor house in a compound of buildings which was larger than his own in the capital. The entire compound was walled and had an imposing roofed gate.

“Are you sure we have the right place?” Akitada asked the sergeant. “This looks like some nobleman’s estate.”

The sergeant assured him that there was no mistake and applied the wooden clapper to the bell.

Kobe joined Akitada. “What do you make of this?” he asked, clearly thunderstruck. “The man acts like the merest peasant. If he has this much wealth, why didn’t he make an outcry? Where are all his wealthy friends? Or the poor officials who would gladly put in a good word for him for a small present?”

Akitada was completely out of his depth. “Perhaps he just does not have any connections and friends. Or maybe he does not believe in bribes.”

Kobe was snorting his derision when the gate opened on oiled hinges.

A boy of ten or eleven stood there, holding up a lantern and looking at them. Behind him an elderly man in a simple cotton robe came hobbling up, leaning on a stick. The wide courtyard was neat in the light of torches fixed to the walls of the manor house before them.

“You are welcome,” the old one said, a little out of breath. “I suppose you need lodging for the night?”

Akitada glanced up at the sky, which was nearly black and filled with swirling, dancing snowflakes. “Yes, thank you for your hospitality. The weather caught us unprepared. We are from the capital, investigating a murder which happened nearby. This is Police Superintendent Kobe with his men, and I am Sugawara Akitada.”

It was doubtful if the old man took in Akitada’s name, but when he heard Kobe introduced, his expression changed, and his eyes became fixed on the superintendent. “Are you the one that’s put my master in jail?” he asked, suddenly belligerent.

Akitada glanced nervously at Kobe to see how he would react to the sudden defiance of the old man.

Kobe scowled, being used to abject bows from mere peasants, then glanced around the compound again and cleared his throat. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “I am in charge of the prisons in the capital. Who are you?”

Completely unimpressed, the man stood a little straighter. “I’m Kinzo. Senior retainer in charge of the manor while my master is away, jailed, though he is as pure and innocent as Saint Zoga.” He glared back at Kobe.

Kobe cast a glance at the sky. “I don’t blame you for your feelings,” he said peaceably, “but your master cannot be released until the evidence against him is either disproven or we find another suspect. That is why we are here now.”

The old servant’s fierce expression softened marginally. “You’d better come in,” he said grudgingly, and turned to lead the way.