“Lies,” cried Danjuro. “Ohisa left to go home to her parents.”

“That will be easy enough to disprove,” Kobe said coldly. “Your next murder, that of your paramour’s husband, happened at Kohata in the home of her father. After extracting a fortune in blood money from him, you poisoned him and dumped him by the side of the highway, hoping we would blame it on robbers.”

Danjuro looked at the ceiling. “I know nothing of the man. Total stranger!”

“Then there is murder number three, also by poison. I suppose you found it worked very well the last time, or you had a supply left over. In any case, you entered the eastern jail disguised as a Buddhist monk and asked to see Yasaburo. When you were admitted to his cell, you passed him the poison in a gift of food and departed.”

“What a fantastic tale!” scoffed Danjuro. “Just because I’m an actor and you’ve seen me play a priest, you accuse me of murder. Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you were afraid that Yasaburo would identify his daughter and because he knew or suspected that you killed Nagaoka. Believe me, Danjuro, your game is up. You can save yourself some pain by confessing now.”

“You can’t scare me. I’m innocent,” Danjuro blustered.

“Don’t forget,” said Kobe, smiling ferociously, “we have your lover in custody. She will talk soon enough once the guards take the bamboo whips to her pretty backside. And she’ll blame it all on you.”

Danjuro sagged. Like a cornered animal’s, his eyes moved frantically this way and that, “Then she’ll be lying,” he muttered.

He was taken away to the doctor, and Nobuko was brought in. She was in tears, but had washed the makeup off her face and managed to rearrange her hair and fairy princess gown. She knelt without urging and bowed deeply to Kobe and Akitada.

“This insignificant person is the actress Yugao, daughter of Yasaburo Seijiro and wife of the actor Danjuro. I humbly ask your honors’ explanation of the charges brought against me.”

Kobe regarded her bowed figure with contempt. “You can stop acting now, Mrs. Nagaoka. We know who you are and what you and your current husband have done. It is in your interest to confess quickly and completely to your involvement in the triple murder of the girl Ohisa, your husband Nagaoka, and your father Yasaburo.”

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then raised a hand to it and bit her knuckles. “Oh,” she wailed, “that you should think I could lay a hand on my own father for whom I grieve day and night. I have not always been a dutiful daughter to him and the guilt weighs heavily on me. May the gods of heaven and earth forgive me!”

Akitada thought it a fine performance, though perhaps just a little overdone. That last phrase especially sounded quaint, like some ancient Shinto prayer.

“Guards!” shouted Kobe. Two uniformed constables entered and stood to attention. “Bamboo whips!” Kobe ordered.

The prisoner dropped her pose, her beautiful face suddenly a mask of fear. “No, please not that,” she cried. “Ask me anything! I shall answer.”

Kobe dismissed the constables and glowered at the prisoner. “Did you join Uemon’s troupe on the sixth day of the Frost Month on the occasion of a pilgrimage to the Eastern Mountain Temple?”

“Yes. I had always aspired to be an actress, and our father encouraged us to participate in private performances. Theater was his passion. When I heard some actresses in the temple’s visitors’ quarters talking about one of their troupe having deserted them, I acted on impulse and offered to take; her place. It was to be for only one performance, but I fell in love with Danjuro and stayed.”

Regardless of what she called herself, this woman was not only beautiful and self-possessed but very clever. The story hung together. Both her father and Harada had spoken of performances with visiting actors, and Nagaoka and Kojiro had mentioned her talents in singing and dancing. A lonely middle-aged bachelor like Nagaoka would have been enchanted by her. Even now her manner was consciously flirtatious, the lips full and moist, every movement of her body provocative. Such a woman would hardly settle for the quiet devotion of a reserved, older husband, but would try to seduce the stolid Kojiro. Danjuro, a dashing ladies’ man and part-time hero onstage, would have been irresistible to her. Akitada leaned toward Kobe and whispered.

Kobe nodded. He asked the woman, “Did Uemon’s Players ever perform at your father’s house while you lived there?”

The question made her pause. “I… I can’t remember. They may have. It was such a long time ago.”

Kobe leaned forward. “We have a witness who says you met Danjuro there and later had an affair with him.”

She flushed. Kobe smiled triumphantly. Then she lowered her eyes. “Yes. It’s quite true. I was ashamed to admit it. It is the reason my father and I quarreled. He was terribly angry when he found out. I wanted to leave with Danjuro, but he forbade it.”

Kobe and Akitada looked at each other. What was this? A confession wrapped into the old story of the maiden seduced and ruined by the villain?

Kobe muttered to Akitada, “That old man may have dug his own grave when he raised his daughter to associate with such riffraff.”

Akitada murmured back, “In this case, I suspect the woman corrupted the man.”

Kobe snorted and turned back to the prisoner. “We are not getting anywhere,” he snapped. “You lied earlier, claiming to be your sister Yugao. Are you now admitting the truth? That you are Nobuko, widow of the late Nagaoka?”

“The truth? Oh, no. The truth is that poor Nobuko was murdered. I’m Yugao. You must believe me. We look … looked as much alike as twins.”

Kobe frowned. “Do you claim that you and your sister spent the same night at the Eastern Mountain Temple? How could you not meet?”

She sighed. “It rained. Neither of us left her room, or I might have saved her life that night.”

She was good, thought Akitada. He cleared his throat. “This is pointless, Mrs. Nagaoka. Your brother-in-law told us that your sister Yugao died shortly after your marriage, certainly long before the night at the temple. There has been only one of you for years.”

She tossed her head. “You take the word of the drunken sot who murdered my poor sister?” Raising her chin, she glared at Kobe. “I ask you again, why is it that that murderer runs free, while I am accused of his crime?”

Kobe growled, “Do you want me to send for the whips again? You know very well that your sister’s death can be proven easily.”

She smiled sadly. “My death, you mean. I’m afraid you’ll not prove it. You see, my father was so angry when I ran away that he announced my death. He even went so far as to have an empty coffin cremated and a marker erected with all due ceremony. Father enjoyed making fun of the Buddhists that way.”

Akitada felt the first stab of unease. This sounded remarkably like Yasaburo. His unease changed into dismay when he realized how difficult it would be to prove the woman wrong. Who had seen both women together? Their father Yasaburo and Nobuko’s husband, both dead. The retarded servant? Harada, a recluse?

Kobe gave a disgusted grunt. “So! You persist in your tale! Very well. We shall prove your identity in court. You would do well to remember that the punishment for lying to a judge is one hundred lashes. Some have been known to die from it.”

She paled, but managed a smile. “Then I’m safe,” she said.

“Take her away!” Kobe snapped to the guards.

She walked out gracefully, her hips swaying lightly. One of the guards watched her and swallowed visibly. Kobe cursed.

Akitada shared Kobe’s frustration. If this was indeed Yugao, where was Nobuko? Dead? And what of the missing Ohisa? Worse! If this was not Nobuko, then the whole case against her and Danjuro fell apart and Kojiro would once again stand accused of Nobuko’s murder. But Akitada was certain that they had been right. He thought furiously.