SAHO SASAZAWA

Invitation
From The Sea

Saho Sasazawa started in the mystery field as a writer of pure detective stories, though his style was more sensual than intellectual. Gradually his reputation changed and he became a leader in the "romantic mystery." Then his style changed again, and today his mystery fiction is more "hardboiled," with a criminal as the protagonist. He has also gained a following outside the detective field in the area of period novels.

"Invitation from the Sea" begins with a mysterious, tantalizing, and anonymous invitation to a luxurious hotel, and develops into a tale closest to his earliest style, with echoes of Maurice Leblanc, Agatha Christie, and Ellery Queen. The journalist detective finds himself in an extremely puzzling situation which he resolves by clever deductions. . . .

AFTER reading the short letter, Sadahiko Kagawa figured it must be a new kind of hotel publicity stunt. Then he changed his mind. There was no reason for a newly opened seaside hotel to use such methods on him. He was neither rich nor famous. At thirty-three, he worked for a top-flight entertainment magazine, but only as an assistant editor. Although he was in no financial need, his income scarcely allowed him to satisfy all of his own desires or those of his wife and three children. If the hotel were out for publicity, they would have sent the letter to one of the higher-ups. Judging from the word "Toto" in its name, this must be one of the chain of prestigious Toto hotels, with plenty of capital behind them. If they desired publicity, they would not have to resort to tricks; they could pay whatever cost to advertise.

The letter was written in an elegant hand that set the whole tone:

July 23     

Though this may seem abrupt, I have written to extend to you a heartfelt invitation. I should be pleased if you would consent to spend a most enjoyable night in one of the finest suites in the newly opened Toto Kawazu Hotel, at Kawazu Beach, on the eastern shore of the Izu Peninsula. If you accept my invitation, please come to the hotel by five o'clock in the evening, on Saturday, August 1.

Please present this letter at the front desk. You will be guided to the room. I have taken the liberty of including funds for your transportation.

"The Sea"     

Along with the invitation, the envelope contained two ten-thousand-yen notes. Perhaps they intended Kogawa to hire a private car. No name or return address was given, only the words "The Sea." The invitation was from the sea.

Kogawa was undecided what to do. If this wasn't a publicity stunt, who had sent it and for what reason? Though it made him uneasy, it was interesting. Maybe it was only a practical joke played by some intimate friend. After all, the person knew his name and address.

Sadahiko Kogawa decided to accept for three reasons. First, he had received the twenty thousand yen. There was no way to return it. If he ignored the invitation, he would have accepted the money without cause.

Second was the natural curiosity of man. The person extending the invitation seemed to be a woman. The letter asked him to spend a summer night in one of the best suites of a brand new hotel. He could not help entertaining the wishful thought of the kind of night only experienced in dreams.

Third was his curiosity as a journalist. A writer who has worked for years on a weekly magazine specializing in sensational articles comes to have an abnormal curiosity for everything. He develops a sensitive nose for secrets.

About a month ago, his nose for news had led him into something completely unassociated with his work. The editor-in-chief had lectured him about it. A scandal about a famous singer had come up, and Kogawa had hurried to check it out at the Shirahama hot-springs resort in Wakayama Prefecture. The singer was supposed to have disappeared because of a lesbian love affair. While at Shirahama, Kogawa and the cameraman stayed in the Bokiso Hotel, overlooking the sea. Word had it that the singer was at Shirahama, but Kogawa was unable to track her down. The two of them sat in their room drinking until late at night. At about two in the morning, they heard a commotion outside the window. They were on the second floor. The lights that burned all night in the garden brightly illuminated the concrete walkway outside the hotel. Sprawled flat against the pavement lay a young woman dressed in Western-style clothing. Milling around were several guards and men who likely were hotel employees.

Kogawa hurried downstairs. He went out through the service entrance and asked the guard who had found the body, the busboys, and others about what had happened. He learned that the dead woman was Suzuko Kume, twenty-five. She had been staying in room 515.

In her handbag, in her room, were found three suicide notes: one to her parents; one to her younger sister, who was traveling abroad; and one to her superiors where she worked. They thanked the addressees for all they'd done and apologized for the trouble her death would cause. She had decided to kill herself because of an impossible love affair with a man who was married and had children. The handwriting was identified as her own.

The window of 515 was open. She must have jumped.

Although her hometown was Kanazawa, in Shirakawa Prefecture, she had been living with her younger sister in an apartment in Tokyo. The sister worked for a travel agency that sent some of its personnel out with tour groups to act as guides. The suicide had taken place while the sister was in Europe on such a trip.

The hotel log showed that, just before her death, Suzuko Kume had made an hour-long phone call to her parents in Kanazawa. This seemed somehow out of keeping with the mood of a person about to commit suicide.

The suicide notes were in her writing. In her hand she clutched a handkerchief with the initials SK on it, her own handkerchief. But something warned Kagawa that it was not just plain suicide.

Leaving the alleged lesbian singer up to the cameraman, Kagawa began trying to sniff out the secret behind the young woman's death. After receiving a go-ahead, he went to Kanazawa and talked in detail with Suzuko Kume's parents. Later, he visited the place where she worked and questioned several people there. He learned a few things from them, but nothing that would prove the suicide different from normal. He had, thus, wasted three days on the incident, which brought a scolding from the editor-in-chief.

"Leave stuff like that to the women's magazines. We're in entertainment. If it doesn't concern big stars, it's of no value to us." He repeated this several times.

The unintelligible invitation also had nothing to do with entertainment stars. It might be valueless, but it was impossible to get over habitual insatiable curiosity overnight.

Sadahiko Kagawa had already made up his mind. A week later, at noon on August 1, he faked illness and left the office. He hailed a cab. The driver agreed to drive all the way to Kawazu because Kagawa promised to pay the roundtrip fare.

They traveled along the Tokyo-Nagoya Expressway, then switched to the Atsugi—Odawara bypass. It was a Saturday afternoon and there were long lines of cars at every traffic signal. All along the Hakone Turnpike and the Izu Skyline Drive and finally the shore drive, it was impossible to make any speed because of pleasure drivers. It was sunny and hot outside. Kagawa was happy the taxi was air-conditioned. Looking at the deep blue sea and the clear sky, he found it difficult to believe that so much fuss was being made over the issue of environmental pollution.

After passing several other hot-springs beach resorts, they finally pulled into Kawazu. The undulating green mountainsides seemed to thrust outward into the sea. The town looked cheerful with rows of red and blue roofs. The cream-colored, seven-story Kawazu Hotel was clearly visible halfway up one of the hills. Who could be waiting for him in that building? Why was he invited here?. Sadahiko Kagawa was tense as he asked himself these questions.

2

When he presented the letter at the desk, the clerk greeted him politely and called a boy. The clerk seemed almost too polite. This worried Kogawa. It made him think the person who invited him must be very important. Who could it be?

There were many couples and families in the lobby. Children clustered around a large aquarium, admiring tropical fish. The scene seemed to pose no trap. As Kagawa followed the boy into the elevator, he felt sure it was not some kind of trap.

At the fifth floor, they walked down the corridor, thickly carpeted in blue. After several turns, they came to a massive double door with a plaque reading: "VIP Suite." The boy knocked, bowed to Kogawa, then disappeared down the corridor.

Hesitantly, Kogawa touched the doorknob. He was thirty minutes late. He opened the door, stepped inside.

Four people stared at him, seated in the living room. There were two men and two women, unsmiling.

The room was spacious, luxuriously furnished. On the right, a door led to a bedroom; to the left was a Japanese-style room with tatami flooring and a dressing room beyond. At the opposite end, beyond glass windows, was a balcony. The sea lay green-blue beyond. Nearby islands seemed so close one might swim to them. The sky was clear save for light clouds in the direction of Mount Mihara.

Five leather-upholstered chairs were arranged around a large circular table under a chandelier. Four were occupied, one remaining for Kogawa. Making a general greeting, he sat down. He knew none of these people. The chilly mood in the room suggested they were all strangers. Was he in the wrong room?

Presently, three busboys entered with a wagon bearing whisky, sherry, beer. The boys took orders, served drinks, and left without a word. Silence fell again, as everyone sipped drinks.

Across from Kogawa sat a sturdily-built, healthy, refined-appearing gentleman in his mid-fifties. He looked like a company executive. Next to him sat a man of over twenty. His sharp eye and his negative expression concealed his thoughts. Maybe a university student.

To Kogawa's right sat a woman who looked around forty. Dressed tastefully, in expensive clothes with elegant accessories, she was probably the wife of someone with money. Thin, nervous, she gave the impression of being difficult to deal with. Another woman was to Kogawa's left; physically attractive, in her late twenties, with a beautiful face, though heavily made up. Her legs were crossed high and she wiggled the upper one in apparent irritation. Kogawa could barely keep his eyes off the shapely thighs under the short, hiked-up skirt.

By six o'clock, nothing had happened. Kogawa felt anger. It seemed pretty obvious the others had also been invited. The idea of four hosts was absurd. Suddenly brave, Kogawa turned to the younger woman. "Excuse me. But are you here because you received a strange invitation?"

She seemed relieved. "Yes. That's right."

"Any idea who invited us?"

"No. It's weird, really. I didn't even think I'd come. But the letter said something about a very important personal secret. And." she smiled, "there was the forty thousand yen for carfare. I couldn't ignore it."

"Where'd you come from?"

"Nagoya."

She had received twice as much transportation money as he because she had farther to travel.

The older woman spoke up stiffly. "The same thing's true here. I couldn't understand it. Thought I should ignore it. But it said they wanted to discuss a secret about my husband. The envelope contained twenty thousand yen. It scared me, but I came."

She laid an envelope on the table.

"You came from Tokyo?" Kogawa asked.

"Yes." Her tone was cool.

"I came from Yokohama," the executive type said, smiling brightly. "Asked to spend a pleasant day at the beach. I didn't think twice. Crazy about the sea." He placed his invitation on the table.

Turning to the young man who seemed to be a student and who sat with a blank look on his face, he said, "What about you?"

"Same," the young man replied, rather self-derisively. "Where'd you come from?"

"Matsumoto, Nagano Prefecture."

"What'd your invite say?"

"Stupid seduction stuff about a romantic night awaiting me. It was the stupidity that interested me. Then, too, I'm stupid enough to welcome a chance for a trip when somebody else pays the way." He drained his glass of beer.

It was clear they all had been invited by "The Sea." The invitations varied from person to person to create a situation where the recipient felt compelled to accept. Kogawa had been invited to spend a most enjoyable night. The young man had been told of a romantic night. Both letters were calculated to stimulate male curiosity. To the older man, the invitation offered the more wholesome attraction of a day on the beach.

Such were not the tactics to use with cautious women. They received invitations concerning personal secrets and secrets about a husband. Including the money, it was a strategy designed to inspire insecurity.

Next, everyone introduced himself. The younger woman was Shinobu Komai, secretary of a company president. The older man was, as Kogawa suspected, an executive in a trading firm in Yokohama. His name was Sojuro Koshikawa. The younger man was Shiro Kayama, a student at Shinshu University. The older woman was the wife of the chief surgeon and head of a large Tokyo hospital; her name was Setsuko Kijima.

Why had these five people, who had never seen or heard of each other, been invited here? What could it mean?

Where was the person who invited them?

3

Oshima island began to fade from view. White mists lay along the horizon; the last light of day reflected on treacherously calm waters. The small town seemed prepared for the night. Only the cars on the highway, miniaturized by distance, continued to hurry.

Glancing at his watch with a yawn, Shiro Kayama said, "Seven o'clock." His face was flushed from two beers.

"I figured it might be a practical joke," Shinobu Komai said. She bit her lip. Light from the glittering chandelier fell directly on her.

Setsuko Kijima moved restlessly. "I'm beginning to consider going home." After two glasses of sherry, she appeared red around the eyes.

Sojuro Koshikawa lifted a plump hand. "Let's wait a bit longer. Be patient—see what comes of this." Like Kogawa, he had been steadily sipping whisky-and-water.

Setsuko Kijima was strident. "Why? this is a silly game to make fools of us all. I haven't got time—"

"I don't agree with you, Mrs. Kijima," Koshikawa said, shaking his head, smiling. "I don't believe it's a game."

"Well, what is it, then? We just sit here?"

"You think we've been brought here for no reason?"

"Yes. I do."

"There's got to be a reason. Why bring five complete strangers here, like this? Whoever invited us has already spent over a hundred thousand yen on transportation alone. No. He's serious and has a purpose inviting us here."

"What purpose?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and find out."

"He should have appeared at once, then."

"Yeah. But we don't know who he is. There must be some reason behind it all." Koshikawa was no longer smiling as he raised his drink.

Kogawa agreed that it was no mere prank. It was much too elaborate for that. After all, the person who sent the invitations had spent money to summon strangers from Nagoya, Nagano, Yokohama, and Tokyo. But what attracted Kogawa's attention more than anything else was: If the five had been brought together for a purpose, they could not have been chosen at random. He glanced around, said, "I agree with Mr. Koshikawa. This is no simple joke. Not just anyone would do. Only we five received invitations. There has to be a reason."

Koshikawa nodded heavily in approval. "That's right. It had to be us. He knew our names, addresses, ages, and other things. . . ."

Kogawa became a bit tense. He was suddenly realizing the matter was more serious than he'd supposed.

"We know for certain none of us has any connection with the other," Shinobu Komai said, looking insecure and all the more attractive. "What can be the reason for bringing us together?"

Kogawa lit a cigarette. "Maybe what you say is true at first glance. None of us ever met, but there may be some connection—something we're not aware of."

Setsuko Kijima said, "I don't get it."

Kogawa ground his cigarette out in a tray. "Maybe it's something we have in common."

"For instance?" Koshikawa leaned forward intently.

"Oh, place of birth. Or maybe friends. Perhaps we all subscribed to the same magazine years ago."

"Can you think of anything you might have in common with the rest of us?"

"No, frankly."

"We might start by looking for something between you and me. I was born in Kanagawa Prefecture. Finished college in Kanagawa Prefecture. I direct a trading firm, have for thirty-one years. I go abroad every year. I like to swim, play golf, scuba dive—anything between us on that list?"

Kogawa shook his head. "Afraid not."

"Well, we could check the front desk," Koshikawa said. He rose, went to the telephone. After asking a number of questions, he returned, shrugging. "No help. Ten days ago, the rooms were booked in the name of somebody called Nakamura. The following day, a representative of Nakamura showed up. He gave some instructions and paid the bill in cash." Koshikawa sat down again.

"I can't beef about how things are," Kayama said, his eyes sleepy. "I can't go back to Matsumoto now. And I can spend the night free in this hotel."

Turning to the young man, Koshikawa said, "I guess we should look for something in common. You like water sports?"

"In the mountains of Nagano?" Kayama said, closing his eyes.

"A river or lake's just as good. Nothing's as much fun as putting on an aqualung and taking a stroll underwater. Aqualung's really a trade name. In America they call 'em scubas. They were developed as special military equipment during World War II by Colonel Cousteau. Bet he never dreamed scuba diving would become a popular sport. The aqua part of aqualung is. . ."

"Latin for water. And lung is English for lung."

"Yeah. But it's the lung part that's weak. Its only fault. The amount of time the air in the tank will last is limited. The greater the water pressure, the more air we need to breathe. This means an air tank that ordinarily lasts an hour, lasts only thirty minutes at a depth of ten meters. Twenty minutes at twenty meters. I'm seriously thinking of trying to improve this aspect of the aqua-lung."

Carried away with enthusiasm, Koshikawa talked on, lighting a pipe, sucking on it after it went out. No one else spoke and he suddenly fell silent, embarrassed.

Shiro Kayama chuckled. The others looked at him. The women seemed hesitant. Kogawa thought for a moment that Kayama was at last ready to reveal himself as the sender of the invitations.

"Everybody's so dense," Kayama said. "It's so simple. Why didn't anyone guess?"

Kogawa said, "You have something?"

Kayama nodded.

"What is it?" Koshikawa asked.

Kayama became serious, looking at them all. "Sojuro Koshikawa, Shinobu Komai, Sadahiko Kogawa, Setsuko Kijima, and Shiro Kayama. Don't you get it?"

No one spoke.

He said, "All five of us have the same initials."

There was a general amazement.

The letters SK.

Then another association with the initials SK struck a note of alarm in the mind of Sadahiko Kogawa.

4

They all sat thinking about the simplicity and undeniable nature of the thing they had in common.

Sojuro Koshikawa asked suddenly, "But why should we all be brought together just because we have the same initials?"

"Must be thousands of people with the same initials," Shinobu Komai said, frowning.

Kogawa was silent. He knew what the initials SK meant. On June 12, at the Bokiso Hotel in Shirahama, Wakayama Prefecture, a young woman had committed suicide. Her name was Suzuko Kurrie, initials SK.-When she died, she had been clutching a handkerchief embroidered with the initials SK. Kogawa had been struck by the letters at the time, since they were his initials, too. When Kayama pointed out the initials as linKing the five people in the room, he had recalled Suzuko Kume. It was no coincidence that the person who invited them had selected people with these initials. Something very important related them to each other.

"It's no trick," he said. "It's serious."

They all stared at him.

He went on. "It's true we all have the same initials. But that's only a superficial reason for being here. Something much more important connects us."

"How d'you mean?" Koshikawa wanted to know.

"What we have in common has to do with something we all did in the past. I'm talking about forty days ago. On June 12,,we all took a trip to the same place and stayed at the same hotel."

"June 12?"

"Yes. If any of you didn't stay at the Bokiso Hotel, in Shirabama hot springs, that night, please say so."

Kagawa rose and walked to the balcony window. Moths and other insects were thick outside. The room was air-conditioned. Beyond the shore, the sea and sky blended into a vast darkness. He turned to face the room again. They were all staring at nothing. No one denied staying at the Bokiso Hotel that night. Kogawa's guess had been correct.

Shinobu Komai sighed. "How d'you know we all stayed there that night just from the fact that our initials are the same?"

"You probably all recall that, on that night, one of the hotel guests committed suicide by jumping from the window of room 515?"

Kagawa stood behind Koshikawa's chair.

Koshikawa said, "Yes. A young woman."

Kagawa said, "Her name was Suzuko Kume. Initials SK."

"Then why've we been brought here?" Setsuko Kijima said with sudden anger. She was a refined woman, but apparently found it humiliating to be at the mercy of someone else. But she had a point. Why should an unknown person invite them all here just because they happened to stay at a hotel where a young woman committed suicide—just because they had the same initials as that young woman? Kagawa had confidence in his suspected reason. The time he'd thought wasted making inquiries into the history of the young suicide seemed to prove of value. Moving back to his original chair, he remained standing. "I work for a magazine. I'm curious, by nature. At the time of the death of Suzuko Kume, I spent three days making investigations here and there. I probably have more detailed information than any of you. I have an idea about the identity of the person who invited us here." He paused to light a cigarette. They were all watching him.

"Who?" Koshikawa said. "C'mon, who!"

"Probably Suzuko Kume's younger sister. The two of them shared an apartment in Tokyo. But at the time of the suicide, the young sister was traveling in Europe."

Shinobu Komai looked dissatisfied. "But why should the sister do something like this?"

"They lived together. Probably the sister knew Suzuko Kume better than her parents and certainly better than anyone else. Shortly after Miss Kume's death, the sister returned to Japan and made detailed inquiries. Something about the suicide must've struck her as suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Koshikawa said, loudly crushing ice.

"Yes. Something odd or contradictory to what the sister knew from daily association with Suzuko."

"But—what?"

"We all have the same initials as the dead girl. I'd say something suspicious is connected with those initials."

"You know of any connection?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"At the time of her death Suzuko Kume was clutching a handkerchief bearing the initials SK."

"Well—it was her handkerchief."

"Everybody assumed that. But all handkerchiefs with the same initials don't belong to the same person. What about your handkerchief, Mr. Koshikawa?"

"I don't have initials put on my handkerchiefs."

"There are any number of ways to put on initials. Gothic letters, or even letters made up of flower patterns. Sometimes they're printed on, sometimes embroidered. Some use both initials, some only one. My guess is that Suzuko Kume used only the S, in embroidery. Her younger sister knows this. When she heard her elder sister was holding a handkerchief with the initials SK, she was probably astonished. The handkerchief must have belonged to someone else, not to Suzuko at all."

"Then—it was murder. . . ."

"It'd be odd for a person to hold his own handkerchief at the time of death if suicide were planned. Suzuko Kume didn't jump from that window—she was pushed. To keep from falling, she must've grabbed for the murderer's hand and caught the handkerchief, which she was still holding when she struck the ground."

"Then the murderer and the victim both have initials SK."

"Not only that, but the murder took place late at night in a hot-springs hotel. As you all know, hotels of that sort close their doors early. There's no going into or exiting from them late at night. This means the murderer not only has a name with the same initials, but was also staying at the same hotel. The younger sister must've gone to the Bokiso Hotel and found out all the names of people with those initials who were there that night. That's how we five were selected."

"She could get our names from the registration cards. Addresses, everything."

"Exactly."

"But what's her purpose? She invites us here, but doesn't appear. She can't mean revenge on us all."

"The killer is one of us. She's hoping that, as we talk together, we'll solve the question of the murderer's identity."

Kogawa sat down, feeling tired.

Shinobu Komai still kept up the nervous mannerisms with her leg. She had lowered her eyes, unable to conceal her uneasiness. Shiro Kayama sat with closed eyes, as if he were listening to nothing. Sojuro Koshikawa examined everyone's face eagerly. With stiff shoulders, Setsuko Kijima said spitefully, "What a horrible thing! A murderer right here among us."

5

None of them had a clear alibi. Suzuko Kume's sister must have selected them for that reason. All of them but Kogawa had been alone in single rooms. They could have moved freely about the hotel in the middle of the night. Kogawa had been in a twin room with the cameraman, but this was no proof of innocence. There was nothing to show he had not found a way to keep the cameraman quiet, or that the cameraman might even be his accomplice.

Talking about alibis and lack of motive would not solve the issue. They were all equal in terms of advantages and suspicion. Until the killer was identified, they were all suspects.

"This is really stupid," Kay am a said clearly, opening his eyes. He slapped the edge of the table, stood up, and pointed at Kogawa. "It's nothing but your fool imagination. Your guesses. There's nothing as meaningless, boring, and worthless as guesses."

Kogawa kept his voice under control. "Okay. It's my imagination. But it's not without grounds. There's something in what I say."

"You're forgetting the most important thing," Kayama said, scowling.

"What, then?"

"The day after the woman's death, I heard the maids say three suicide notes, in her handwriting, had been found." Kayama stared hard at Kogawa.

Kijima nodded. "I heard that, too." She was assuming the role of Kayama's ally.

"Me, too," Shinobu Komai said.

Kayama was much surer of himself now. "Three suicide notes prove without a doubt that she killed herself. It's irrational to claim the woman was murdered in the face of this kind of evidence."

"Let me ask you this, then," Kogawa said calmly. "Is it possible to say with absolute certainty that a person killed himself because suicide notes were found?"

Kayama shrugged. "I don't understand—"

"Well, even after writing suicide notes, is it impossible that, at the last minute, a person might change his mind about killing himself?"

"Well, I suppose. . ."

"Suzuko Kume was one who did."

"You're talking through your hat again."

"No. It's a fact. Just before she died, Suzuko Kume made a phone call that lasted for an hour, to Kanazawa, her hometown. She spoke with her mother. I met both parents and discussed this with them. Suzuko confessed that she'd come to Shirahama with the intention of killing herself. This shocked her mother, who spent an hour talking and finally succeeded in changing her daughter's mind."

"Maybe she promised her mother to give it up. Then, after thinking it over, she decided to go ahead after all."

"Think about it. She had laughed as she talked with her mother and said suicide was foolish. It takes a little time for a person in that frame of mind to become desperate enough again to die. All the more time for somebody who already initiated suicide plans and then broke 'em off. Only six or seven minutes passed from when she promised her mother and hung up, to when she fell from the window."

This was fact. The hotel telephone log recorded Suzuko Kume's call as ending five minutes after two. The guard had seen her fall from the fifth-story window and had hurried to the spot at eleven or twelve minutes after two. At that time, she had no intention of killing herself. She had not had a chance to dispose of the three suicide notes.

"The killer knew nothing about her original plan to kill herself, the telephone call that changed her mind, or the three suicide notes in her handbag. The murderer must have been happy to learn next day about these coincidences, and about the identical initials. These were the factors that caused the death to be declared suicide."

Kogawa blew a cloud of cigarette smoke at Kayama. Kayama sank into his chair, apparently with nothing more to say. But his next step was to reject the possibility of his having a motive. "I just happened to spend the night at Shirahama hot spring on my way to Wakayama to visit relatives. I'd never seen Suzuko Kume. I have no motive for killing her." His tone was softer now.

"What could be the reason for killing her?" Shinobu Kamai asked, turning timid eyes on Kogawa.

"When it comes to that—" He shook his head, then said, "You ask me, the murderer's a woman." He was blunt.

"What?" Shinobu Komai looked startled.

"How d'you mean?" Setsuko Kijima was shocked, too. She went pale. If the killer was one of the five in the room, and a woman, it had to be either Shinobu Komai or Setsuko Kijima.

Sojuro Koshigawa folded his hands on the table. "Mr. Kogawa, what grounds d'you have for thinking the killer's a woman?"

"Because Suzuko Kume let the person into room 515 without hesitation."

"Maybe the door wasn't locked."

"Think of the time. That late at night, anyone would lock the door as a matter of course."

"Then the murderer knocked?"

"It was no time for casual callers. The murderer must have spoken to Miss Kume and said she had something important to discuss. If the voice'd been that of a man, even without thinking of murder, just natural caution, she would've told the man to wait. She would have arranged a date for the following day, in the lobby, perhaps. She wouldn't have opened the door."

"She opened the door because it was a woman, because there was no reason for caution?"

"Sure."

"That all you think?"

"Nope. There's the handkerchief. In other words, throughout the time in room 515, the killer held a handkerchief. Mr. Koshikawa, we take handkerchiefs out to wipe sweat from our faces, but do men generally go around with handkerchiefs in their hands for no reason?"

"I guess not. They take 'em out when they want to use them."

"You see? But women often use them as accessories. You frequently see women simply hold them in their hands."

"That's right."

"Finally, and most important—the relation between the motive and my belief that the murderer's a woman. Suzuko Kume's reason for wanting to commit suicide was the end of a love affair with a married man with children."

"Not exactly unusual—"

"From what I learned, Miss Kume and the man got along quite nicely until the wife found out and caused a row. This is why they started talking about breaking up, but only three or four days before her death."

"You think the motive's connected with this?"

"Finding out about her husband's young lover made the wife mad enough to kill. Since the breakup had taken place only three or four days earlier, the wife didn't know about it. She thought her husband and the young woman were going on as before. She made up her mind to kill the woman, Suzuko Kume."

Koshikawa asked no more questions. The room was heavy with silence.

Shinobu Komai said loudly, "I'm not married. I don't have a husband. I couldn't have any motive!"

They all looked at her, then slowly turned their eyes toward Setsuko Kijima, who slumped in her chair, shoulders twisting as she sobbed.

"If I'd only known he'd broken off with her. No, if I'd known she had come to Shirahama to kill herself over him. None of this would've happened. He said he was going to Osaka. Then the private detective I hired to follow told me the woman had gone to Shirahama. I figured they were planning to meet there. I hurried there myself and took a room at the Bokiso." She leaned on the table now, sobbing.

For some time no one spoke.

6

Setsuko Kijima called the police herself and admitted to murder. Two detectives and a policewoman came and took her away.

The remainder of the group ordered late supper. No one had much appetite. Afterward, over whisky, Sojuro Koshikawa said, "Now, I suppose the younger sister of Suzuko Kume has had her wish."

"She must be happy." Kogawa said, imagining the sister as his type of woman.

A pity the person who invited us still hasn't shown up."

"Maybe we'll see her yet."

"I hope so."

"I'd certainly like to meet a woman who'd do something as crazy as this."

"I agree."

"I have a hunch we'll never get to see her."

"It'd be like her—smart, I mean—not to turn up."

"Let's forget about her. Why not just take what it said on the invitation at face value? It was this beautiful sea that invited us."

"Mr. Koshikawa? You going to spend the night?"

"You bet. I'm going to have a good day on the water tomorrow. Hire a boat and go fishing. Or, maybe diving. How about you?"

"Well, I could."

"Why not? There's room in this suite for lots of people."

"I'm going to spend the night. And I'm going to order anything I want for breakfast. That's why I came all the way from Nagano." Saying this, Shiro Kayama rose and took an erratic line toward the bedroom.

"If you'll excuse me—" Shinobu Komai bowed to Koshikawa and Kagawa and departed. They watched her leave in silence. It wouldn't do to ask a lone young woman to spend the night with three men.

When Shinobu Komai got out of the elevator at the first floor, she was very deeply grateful to Sadahiko Kagawa. She was lucky a man like that had been a member of the group. If he hadn't been there, it would have been more difficult to set a psychological trap for the murderer.

To the man at the desk, she said, "Three people are going to spend the night in the suite. If there's any extra charge, I'll pay now."

"Miss Nakamura, isn't it?" The clerk smiled. "No. We've already been adequately reimbursed."

Shinobu Komai, alias Miss Nakamura, alias Miyoko Kume, left the Kawazu Hotel and walked to the shore. She was not as happy as she thought she would be to have turned the murder of her sister Suzuko over to the police. Somehow, she felt empty.

Her heart was dark and so was the night sea that spread out before her.