Yasaburo fidgeted. “Oh. He was a colleague. Lost his university position because of his drinking after his family died. Smallpox. But he was good with numbers. His fingers play tunes on that abacus of his, and his bookkeeping is immaculate. He got no wine from me while he was working, but once a month I let him off for a few days in the capital.” Seeing disbelief in their faces, he added grudgingly, “And he worked cheap.”

Akitada drifted on. In a niche hung a calligraphy scroll above a vase filled with dead branches. Both the scroll and the ledge for the vase were covered with thick dust, but a large trunk next to it looked clean. Idly Akitada opened it. It was filled with brilliant robes and gowns. On top lay a carved mask of some magic creature. He opened his mouth to ask if Yasaburo’s daughters had taken part in theatrical performances, but thought better of it.

It was becoming obvious that Harada had made good his escape. Kobe stopped in front of Yasaburo. “We will take you back to the capital for further questioning. You may pack some clothes and enough money to purchase food from the prison guards.”

“Why?” wailed Yasaburo. “I’ve done nothing. You cannot do this!”

While Kobe had Yasaburo readied for the return journey, Akitada made a quick tour of the house.

At one time, the dwelling and an adjoining smaller building must have accommodated comfortably a family and several servants, but now Yasaburo seemed to be living in one room, for the other rooms were not only shuttered and empty, but thick layers of dust lay on everything. Managing with only Harada and the boy, Yasaburo would not expect much in terms of service. However, in the other wing, one room was the exception to the general state of dereliction. Here a few grass mats covered the floorboards and trunks held clean bedding. Several braziers and oil lamps stood around and the room had been cleaned recently. No doubt this was where Nagaoka’s other daughter stayed with her husband on their visits.

He walked back to the courtyard. The sergeant and his men were getting off their horses with glum faces. No Harada. Since the man knew the area better than the constables, he could have hidden anywhere and nobody the wiser. Harada was the biggest puzzle of all.

Kobe came out with Yasaburo and two constables. Yasaburo’s hands were tied behind his back. Kobe said, “One of the horses in the stable bears the marks of a post station in the capital, and my men found poison. Arsenic. He says it’s for the birds, but I charged him. Dr. Masayoshi will be able to tell what Nagaoka took. Ready? It’s a long ride back.”

They rode ahead of the others. Akitada felt vaguely uneasy. He asked Kobe what he thought about the visit of the other daughter and her husband.

“That half-wit of a boy! I doubt they are involved, but we’ll get the truth out of Yasaburo.” After that they fell silent, each caught up in his own thoughts.

Akitada found the recent revelations confusing rather than enlightening. Until now they had not been aware that the dead woman had had a married sister. And the costumes in Yasaburo’s trunk were even more intriguing. Yasaburo had claimed his interest had ended when his daughters had moved away, but as dusty as the rest of the room had been, Yasaburo seemed to have cared lovingly for the reminders of a happier past. Most troubling were the ubiquitous ties to the acting profession. Everyone connected with the case so far had some interest in or involvement with actors.

The snowy landscape was mostly empty. Few people took to the road this time of year, and those were walking, mainly local peasants or itinerant monks. But when they topped the final rise, they saw a lone horseman ahead of them.

The rider, covered in some large colorful garment, slouched and drooped, leaning alarmingly first to one side, then to the other, and was alternately kicking the beast into bursts of speed and reining it in again.

“Heavens,” cried Kobe, “that’s Harada, isn’t it?” and kicked his own horse into a gallop.

It was. When Harada heard the pursuit, he glanced over his shoulder and whipped up his mount. The animal reared and took off madly across a barren, snow-covered field, with Harada clinging on for dear life, the strange robe fluttering behind like a huge pair of multicolored wings. At first they gained only slightly on him. Then, abruptly, his horse became airborne, and Harada flew off.

When they reached him, he was sitting on the edge of a frozen irrigation ditch, shaking his fist after the escaping horse. He was surrounded by the colorful folds of a quilt, one of those which had covered his shivering body in the unheated pavilion. He seemed to have fashioned it into a cloak by cutting a hole in it for his head.

Kobe swung himself out of the saddle and said happily, “Not a bad haul. Two prisoners on a single murder charge. Trouble is, I don’t have chains or rope to tie him up with. Do you?”

Akitada shook his head and dismounted. “It’s just as well,” he said. “I have a feeling this man is a witness rather than an accomplice. Let’s go easy with him.”

Harada made no effort to get up. Instead he greeted them with the words, “I hate horses and they hate me. It’s a measure of the misery to which I have been reduced since I entered the service of that man that I should choose his horse to escape it.”

Kobe looked baffled. “Better than facing a murder charge, surely,”

“Is it murder, then?” Harada shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then why did you steal the horse and run away?” Kobe growled.

“From the purest of motives, Superintendent, I assure you. Even Confucius would approve. A man should not add to his employer’s troubles if he can avoid it.”

Akitada asked, “Are you hurt?”

Harada felt various parts of his body and shook his head. “Good thing I brought the quilt against the cold. It cushioned the impact.” He eyed his surroundings. A little distance from them one of the many little groves of trees hid a small farmhouse. “I suppose I must impose on the good farmer’s hospitality tonight.”

“Nonsense. You’re under arrest,” snapped Kobe. “Who do you think you’re dealing with? A couple of yokels? This is a murder case.”

Harada heaved a shuddering sigh. “I knew it wouldn’t work, but it was worth a try. I’m not getting on a horse, though.”

Kobe raised his brows. “You want to walk?”

“Perhaps a palanquin?”

Kobe roared with laughter. “You think you’re the emperor himself, do you? You either ride or walk. And seeing that we are in a hurry to get your master locked up, you may have to run.”

“You’ve arrested Yasaburo for the murder of his son-in-law?” Harada finally made a move to disentangle himself from the quilt, and get to his feet.

“I did. What do you know about it?”

“Not much. I was drunk at the time.”

“I thought you were supposed to have no wine except on your visits to the capital,” said Akitada.

“Yes, yes. Part of the contract, A roof over my head and a bit of food, plus a monthly binge. Except that day. He sent me a pitcher of wine—very superior stuff, by the way, which is astonishing in itself—with the message that I was to take it for my cold. I did. All of it before the sun went down. And forgot my cold and slept. When I woke up it was the middle of the next day, I was feeling a lot worse, and Nagaoka was gone.”

Kobe said, “What about Yasaburo’s daughter and husband?”

“Them? A more disreputable pair you’ll never meet. I stay out of their way when they show up. They cavort about, dressed up like lions with masks and long manes of hair, the daughter in man’s pants, lifting her legs up in the air, screeching like a demon possessed. And the old man is beating a drum and shouting encouragement. And he complains about my drinking! I ask you, would you let your daughter act that way?”

Kobe looked baffled by the question. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “We can’t spend the rest of the afternoon chatting in a field.”