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THE DECAGON HOUSE MURDERS

JUKKAKUKAN NO SATSUJIN
 Paul Halter books from Locked Room International: The Lord of Misrule
(2010)
The Fourth Door (2011)
The Seven Wonders of Crime (2011)
The Demon of Dartmoor (2012)
The Seventh Hypothesis (2012)
The Tiger’s Head (2013)
The Crimson Fog (2013)
The Night of the Wolf (2013)*
The Invisible Circle (2014)
The Picture from the Past (2014)

*Original short story collection published by Wildside Press (2006)

Other impossible crime novels from Locked Room International: The Riddle
of Monte Verita (Jean-Paul Torok) 2012
The Killing Needle (Henry Cauvin) 2014
The Derek Smith Omnibus (Derek Smith) 2014
The House That Kills (Noel Vindry) 2015

Visit our website at www.mylri.com or www.lockedroominternational.com

 THE DECAGON HOUSE MURDERS

Yukito Ayatsuji

Translated by Ho-Ling Wong

The Decagon House Murders

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are
drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jukkakukan no Satsujin © 2007 Yukito Ayatsuji. All rights reserved.

Publication rights for this English edition arranged through Kodansha Ltd.,
Tokyo.

THE DECAGON HOUSE MURDERS

English translation copyright © 2015 Yukito Ayatsuji

FIRST AMERICAN EDITION

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ayatsuji, Yukito
[Jukkakukan no satsujin Japanese]
The Decagon House Murders/ Yukito Ayatsuji;
 Translated from the Japanese by Ho-Ling Wong

For information, contact [email protected]

All names in the text of this work are given in Japanese order, family name
preceding given name.
Dedicated to all of my esteemed predecessors
 Contents

Introduction
 Prologue

Chapter One: The First Day On The Island Chapter Two: The First
Day On The Mainland Chapter Three: The Second Day On The
Island Chapter Four: The Second Day On The Mainland Chapter
Five: The Third Day On The Island Chapter Six: The Third Day On
The Mainland Chapter Seven: The Fourth Day On The Island
Chapter Eight: The Fourth Day On The Mainland Chapter Nine:
The Fifth Day
Chapter Ten: The Sixth Day
Chapter Eleven: The Seventh Day
Chapter Twelve: The Eighth Day
Epilogue

Translator’s Notes
The Kyoto University Mystery Club
 Introduction: The experiment called The Decagon House
Murders Shimada Soji There is a particular term in the world of Japanese
mystery fiction called “honkaku mystery,” or “orthodox mystery.” Honkaku
refers to a form of the detective story that is not only literature but also, to a
greater or lesser extent, a game. It follows the concept of “a high degree of
logical reasoning,” the key prerequisite for the most exciting form of detective
fiction as proposed by S.S. Van Dine, a prominent figure of the English-language
Golden Age of detective fiction during the 1920s.
I shall introduce a brief history of Japanese honkaku mystery for the fans of
English-language mystery fiction, focusing mainly on works that are available in
English. As one of the earliest short stories, we first have Edogawa Rampo’s
take on the locked room murder, The Case of the Murder on D. Hill (1925).
Other stories by Rampo are The Psychological Test (1925) and Beast in the
Shadows (1928).
Before World War II, honkaku mysteries mostly used the short story form,
although some novel-length stories were published. Major works are, for
example, Hamao Shirō’s Murderer (1932, not available in English), which was
strongly influenced by Van Dine, and Aoi Yū’s The Tragedy of the Funatomi
Family (1936, also not available in English), which was influenced by F.W. Crofts
and Eden Phillpotts.
Almost immediately after the war, novelists like Takagi Akimitsu and
Yokomizo Seishi wrote several excellent honkaku detective novels. Takagi
Akimitsu made his debut, thanks to Edogawa Rampo’s recommendation, with
The Tattoo Murder Case (1948). That novel, together with Yokomizo Seishi’s The
Inugami Clan (1951), are the quintessential Japanese honkaku mystery novels of
this period.
Rampo and Ellery Queen started exchanging letters in 1950[1]. Two years
later, both Edogawa Rampo and Takagi Akimitsu became members of Mystery
Writers of America, In Japan, Prison Gate Island (1949) is considered Yokomizo
Seishi’s most important work, but I mention The Inugami Clan as it is his only
work available in English.
In the latter half of the 1950s, the literary world of the Japanese detective
novel was shaken up by a heavy earthquake. With Matsumoto Seichō in the
forefront, detective novels emphasising natural realism started being published
one after another, gaining popularity and becoming mainstream practically
overnight. Honkaku was thus driven away. The new style was called “the social
school” in the Japanese literary world and its attention for natural realism was
seen as the next evolutionary step of the detective novel. Seichō novels of this
period available in English are Points and Lines (1958), Inspector Imanishi
Investigates (1961) and Pro Bono (1961).
When Ellery Queen (the Frederic Dannay half) visited Japan in 1977,
Matsumoto Seichō and he held a discussion session, during which Seichō
declared that the most important elements of the detective novel were the
motive that led to the crime and the depiction of the psychology of the criminal.
While this is certainly an opinion worth listening to, his ideas differed greatly
from those of Van Dine. Seichō did not consider the characteristic elements of
honkaku important, such as the genius deductions of the young great detective,
his occasionally theatrical behaviour when he explains it all and the closed-circle
situations. In fact, Seichō openly disapproved of such elements, as he
considered them unrealistic.
After Seichō’s appearance on the scene, editors stopped actively publishing
good old-fashioned honkaku mystery novels—detective novels in the spirit of
the Golden Age—and the climate in Japan turned to “the winter of the age of
honkaku.” The criticism aimed at the social school made by one of the
characters in the first chapter of The Decagon House Murders refers to this
overreaction of the Japanese publishing world at the time. Among the writers
who fought against this ordeal of time and who kept on writing honkaku
mystery were Ayukawa Tetsuya and Tsuchiya Takao. As of today, one short
story by Tsuchiya has been translated into English, but so far none of Ayukawa’s
has.
What put an end to this “winter of the age of honkaku” were my own humble
works: The Tokyo Zodiac Murders (1981) and The Crime in the Leaning Mansion
(1982, not available in English). The thick ice conjured by Seichō’s spell had
started to thaw, but unfortunately more writers following in my footsteps did
not readily appear.
In 1987, however, the honkaku mystery writer I had waited so long for finally
arrived. He was Ayatsuji Yukito with his debut novel The Decagon House
Murders. I felt this writer’s appearance to be of tremendous importance, so I
wrote an introduction for the novel and supported his debut in every way I
could.
While the road may have been full of twist and turns, Golden Age detective
fiction is still alive and thriving in Japan today, whereas in the United Kingdom
and the United States it seems to have shut up shop. This is because in Japan
we have the concept of honkaku. The word refers not only to the novels
themselves, which emphasise logical reasoning, but it is also a badge of pride to
the authors who write honkaku, indicating they are writers from whose novels
their readers can expect a certain level of intelligence. Honkaku is a word that
has given all Japanese writers, prominent or otherwise, the power to keep on
writing.
It is my belief that if we can introduce this concept to the field of American
and British detective fiction, the Golden Age pendulum will swing back, just as
The Tokyo Zodiac Murders and The Decagon House Murders managed to
accomplish in Japan. Ayatsuji’s first novel is to this day remembered by many in
Japan as an epoch-making event which transformed the world of Japanese
mystery fiction with revolutionary new ideas.
To understand the importance of this work, we must also take a short look at
the history of Western detective fiction. The new form of literature we now
know as detective fiction was born out of the scientific revolution, which
completely changed Western society. It was Edgar Allan Poe who first detailed
the curious case of an evil spirit which made its way into a locked room and,
with terrible strength, killed a young woman, as well as the surprising truth
behind the case that was revealed by cool-headed science. Poe was followed by
Doyle, who gave the world the stories of Sherlock Holmes, a young scientist
who championed a new field of study: the art of deduction, creating readers all
over the world and firmly establishing the genre of detective fiction. More than
eighty years after Poe, Van Dine in the United States gave the genre a second
start in 1928. It was his idea to put the murder, the solving of the case and
everything else from start to finish, inside a mansion or a closed-off stage, in the
manner of a sports game, as is also done in The Decagon House Murders.
At the time Van Dine arrived on the scene, fanatical readers had become all
too familiar with the various literary exploits of Poe and Doyle and, unlike
readers at the dawn of the genre, they now knew what to expect as they turned
the pages of a novel, which meant that authors had to readjust and change
course also.
The introduction of suspicious inhabitants of a mansion and the fair
presentation of the character profiles right from the start; clearly outlining the
stage of the murder tragedy; the writer not being allowed to lie in the
narration; no vital information necessary for the deduction game to be withheld
from the reader; getting rid of elements that could interfere with the
enjoyment of the pure deduction game (like the magic of the Chinaman or
vulgar love stories): these were the rules of the game as proposed by Van Dine.
They themselves may have denied it, but John Dickson Carr and Ellery Queen,
too, were inspired by these proposals and created their own successful
masterpieces of detective fiction—also inspired by the Gothic novel—so leading
the way to the Golden Age.
However, this particular creative process also limits the number of elements
available when writing a novel and one could say that, after the Golden Age,
new developments were not made in the genre. The focus on the latest science,
as embraced by Poe and Doyle, had also been abandoned by Van Dine, and the
many revolutionary scientific discoveries of the twentieth century left detective
fiction trailing in their wake.
Looking back now at what Ayatsuji Yukito accomplished, I think we can say
that he conducted an experiment that followed Van Dine’s approach to mystery
fiction, but that he was even more daring and more ready to push the genre
further. It is for that reason his writing style is called shin honkaku, or “new
orthodox,” and why so many writers followed in his steps.
Riding the wave, many new writers of honkaku stories suddenly made their
appearance in the short period between 1987 and 1990, including Utano Shōgo
and Nikaidō Reito, as well as Ayatsuji’s fellow members of the Kyoto University
Mystery Club, such as Norizuki Rintarō, Abiko Takemaru and Maya Yutaka. I also
wrote the introductions for these writers’ debuts. In response to this
movement, other writers like Arisugawa Alice, Kitamura Kaoru, Imamura Aya
and Ashibe Taku also made their debut through different routes. All these
writers came together and formed the movement known as shin honkaku. It
was as if the grand spirit of honkaku had been biding its time during “the winter
of the age of honkaku” and with the time ripe, it had finally woken up again.
Ashibe Taku’s Murder in the Red Chamber (2004) has been translated into
English, and two of Norizuki Rintarō’s short stories, An Urban Legend Puzzle and
The Lure of the Green Door have been published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery
Magazine, as has my own The Locked House of Pythagoras (in 2004, 2014 and
2013 respectively).
In the manner of Van Dine, Ayatsuji also did away with focusing on the latest
science in The Decagon House Murders, and set the murder and the solving of
the case with an isolated house as its stage from start to finish. But he ruthlessly
eliminated all the elements which Van Dine had thought necessary to make his
stories “literary,” such as the depiction of the American upper class; the
witticisms; the attention to prideful women; the cheerful conversations while
the wine is poured at dinner; the polite demeanour of the butler and servants.
Thus his novel approached the form of a game more so than anything
previously written.
As a result, his characters act almost like robots, their thoughts depicted only
minimally through repetitive phrases. The narration shows no interest in
sophisticated writing or a sense of art and is focused solely on telling the story.
To readers who were used to American and British detective fiction, The
Decagon House Murders was a shock. It was as if they were looking at the raw
building plans of a novel.
People devoid of any human emotion, only moving according to electrical
signals: a setting reminiscent of the inside of a videogame. Ayatsuji Yukito’s
unique method of depicting such abstract murder theatre plays, in which he
hides his murderers, follows the traditions of the “whodunit” game of the Kyoto
University Mystery Club. The participants in this game are given nothing in
print, but have to guess who the murderer is based on an oral reading of a
detective story. In a tense situation like that, where every word disappears the
moment it is spoken, there is no need for beautiful or witty writing.
Ayatsuji Yukito first introduced this technique, dubbed “Symbolic
Characterisation,” and his experiment The Decagon House Murders was also his
debut novel. Some have mistakenly taken his calculated abstractness as
inexperience in expressive power or even a lack of writing skill, and he was
criticised harshly when the book was first released. However, he had his
reasons for writing the book the way he did. And to everyone’s surprise, bot-
like characters from videogames became widely popular soon after the book’s
release, just as Ayatsuji’s style of detective fiction had already foretold. Thus
Decagon found its place among other masterpieces. Anime (Japanese
animation) which would soon take over the world, would also feature the
closed-off worlds of the Ayatsuji school.
As the person who once introduced this novel to the Japanese world, I am
thrilled now to be the person to introduce this experiment in mystifying tricks
to the English-speaking world.
Shimada Soji Tokyo, 2015
 PROLOGUE

The sea at night. A time of quietude.

The dull sound of the waves welled up from the endless obscurity, only to
disappear again.
He sat down on the cold concrete of the breakwater and faced the expansive
darkness, his body veiled by the white vapour of his breath.
He had been suffering for months. He had been brooding for weeks. He had
been thinking about just one thing for days. And now his mind was focusing on
one single, clearly defined goal.
Everything had been planned.
Preparations were almost complete.
All he needed to do now was to wait for them to walk into the trap.
He knew his plan was far from perfect. It was best described as shoddy rather
than meticulous. But he’d never intended to plan everything out in perfect
detail in the first place.
No matter how hard he tries, man will always be mere man, and never a god.
It was easy to imagine oneself as such, but he knew that as long as humans
were simply humans, even the most gifted amongst them could never become
a god.
And how could anyone who was not a god predict the future, shaped as it was
by human psychology, human behaviour and pure chance?
Even if the world was viewed as a chessboard, and every person on it a chess
piece, there would still be a limit as to how far future moves could be predicted.
The most meticulous plan, plotted to the last detail, could still go wrong
sometime, somewhere, somehow. Reality is brimming with too many
coincidences and whimsical actions by humans for even the craftiest scheme to
succeed exactly as planned.
 The most desirable plan was not one that limited your own moves, but a
flexible one that could adapt to circumstances: that was the conclusion he had
come to.
He could not allow himself to be constrained.
It was not the plot that was vital, but the framework. A framework where it
was always possible to make the best choice, depending on the circumstances
at the time.
Whether he could pull it off depended on his own intellect, quick thinking
and, most of all, luck.
I know Man will never become a god.
But, in a way, he was undoubtedly about to take on that role.
Judgment. Yes, judgment.
In the name of revenge, he was going to pronounce judgment on them—on
all of them.
Judgment outside the court of law.
He was not a god and so could never be forgiven for what he was about to do
—he was completely conscious of that fact. The act would be called “a crime”
by his fellow men and, if found out, he himself would be judged according to
the law.
Nevertheless, the common sense approach could no longer keep his emotions
under control. Emotions? No, nothing as shallow as that. Absolutely not. This
was not just some powerful feeling within him. It was the cry of his soul, his last
tie to life, his reason for living.
The sea at night. A time of quietude.
No flickering of the stars, no light of the ships off-coast could disturb the
darkness into which he gazed. He contemplated his plan once again.
Preparations were almost finished. Soon they, his sinful prey, would walk into
his trap. A trap consisting of ten equal sides and interior angles.
They would arrive there suspecting nothing. Without any hesitation or fear
they would walk into the decagonal trap, where they would be sentenced.
What awaits them there is, of course, death. It is the obvious punishment for
all of them.
And no simple deaths. Blowing them all up in one go would be infinitely easier
and more certain, but he should not choose that route.
He has to kill them in order, one by one. Precisely like that story written by
the famous British female writer—slowly, one after the other. He shall make
them know. The suffering, the sadness, the pain and terror of death.
Perhaps he had become mentally unstable. He himself would be the first to
admit to that.
I know—no matter how I try to justify it, what I am planning to do is not sane.
He slowly shook his head at the pitch-black roiling sea.
His hand, thrust into his coat pocket, touched something hard. He grabbed
the object and took it out, holding it in front of his eyes.
It was a small transparent bottle of green glass.
It was sealed off securely with a stopper, and bottled inside was all he had
managed to gather from inside his heart: what people like to call “conscience.”
A few folded sheets of paper, sealed. On it he had printed in small letters the
plan he was about to execute. It had no addressee. It was a letter of confession.
I know Man will never become a god.
And precisely because he understood that, he did not want to leave the final
judgment to a human to make. It didn’t matter where the bottle ended up. He
just wanted to pose the question to the sea—the source of all life—whether,
ultimately, he was right or not.
The wind blew harder.
A sharp coldness went down his spine and his whole body shivered.
He threw the bottle into the darkness.
 CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST DAY ON THE ISLAND

‘I’m afraid this will turn into the same stale discussion though,’ said Ellery.
He was a fair young man, tall and lean.
‘In my opinion, mystery fiction is, at its core, a kind of intellectual game. An
exciting game of reasoning in the form of a novel. A game between the reader
and the great detective, or the reader and the author. Nothing more or less
than that.
‘So enough of the realism of the social school of mystery fiction once so
favoured in Japan. A female office worker is murdered in a one bedroom
apartment and, after wearing out the soles of his shoes through a painstaking
investigation, the police detective finally arrests the victim’s boss, who turns
out to be her illicit lover. No more of that! No more of the corruption and secret
dealings of the political world, no more tragedies brought forth by the stress of
modern society and suchlike. What mystery novels need are—some might call
me old-fashioned—a great detective, a mansion, its shady residents, bloody
murders, impossible crimes, and never-before-seen tricks played by the
murderer. Call it my castle in the sky, but I’m happy as long as I can enjoy such a
world. But always in an intellectual manner.’
They were on a fishing boat reeking of oil, surrounded by the peaceful waves
of the sea. The engine was making worrisome sounds as if it were trying too
hard.
‘That stinks.’
Carr, leaning against the boatrail, scowled, and stuck out his long, freshly-
shaven chin.
‘I’m not so sure about that, Ellery. You and your “in an intellectual manner.”
Fine if you consider mystery fiction a game, but I can’t stand you emphasising
“intellectual” every single time.’
‘That’s surprising coming from you.’
‘It’s just elitism. Not every reader is oh-so-smart as you.’
‘That’s so true….’
Ellery kept a straight face as he looked at Carr.
‘…and it’s very regrettable. I realise it all too well simply by walking around
the campus. Not even all the members of our club are what you might call
intelligent. There are one or two of them who might even be intellectually
challenged.’
‘Picking a fight?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
Ellery shrugged.
‘Nobody said you were one of them. What I mean by intelligent is their
attitude towards the game. I’m not talking about smart or stupid. There’s no
one on the face of the earth who doesn’t possess at least some degree of
intelligence. Similarly, there’s no one on the face of the earth who doesn’t enjoy
games. What I’m talking about is an ability to play while maintaining an
intellectual approach.’
Carr snorted and turned his head away. A faintly mocking smile appeared on
Ellery’s face as he turned towards the boy with the youthful face and round
glasses standing next to him.
‘And furthermore, Leroux, detective fiction evolved based on its own set of
rules, and if we consider it to be its own unique universe, in the form of an
intellectual game, then I must admit that in these modern times, the foundation
of that universe has weakened severely.’
‘Oh.’ Leroux looked doubtful.
Ellery continued:
‘It’s a discussion that’s been going on since time immemorial. Diligent police
officers performing their job slowly but surely; solid, efficiently run
organisations; the latest techniques in forensic investigation: the police can no
longer be regarded as incompetent. They are almost too competent.
Realistically, there’s no place any more for the exploits of the great detectives
of yore, with their little grey cells as their only weapon. Mr. Holmes would be
laughed at if he appeared in one of our modern cities.’
‘I think that might be an exaggeration. A modern Holmes, fit for our modern
times, will surely appear.’
‘You’re right, of course. He’ll make his entrance as a master of the latest
techniques in forensic pathology and science. And he’ll explain it all to poor
dear Watson, using complex specialist jargon and formulas that no reader will
ever even begin to comprehend. Elementary, my dear Watson, were you not
even aware of that?’
With his hands inside the pockets of his beige raincoat, Ellery shrugged again.
‘I’m just taking the argument to the extreme, you understand. But it
illustrates my point perfectly. I don’t feel at all like applauding the victory of the
unromantic police techniques over the magnificent logic of the great detectives
of the Golden Age. Any author who wishes to write a detective story these days
is bound to face this dilemma.
‘And the simplest way round it—or rather let’s say the most effective—is the
“chalet in the snowstorm” method of establishing a sealed environment.’
‘I see.’ Leroux nodded and tried to look serious. ‘So what you mean is that of
all the methods used in classic detective fiction, the “chalet in the snowstorm”
is the one best suited for modern times.’
Late March. It was almost spring, but the wind blowing across the sea was still
cold.
On the S—Peninsula on the east coast of the Ōita Prefecture in Kyūshū lay J—
Cape. The boat had left the rustic S—Town harbour near J—Cape, and was
moving away from the cape, leaving wakes behind it in the water and the sight
of J—Cape disappearing into the sea. Its destination was a small island about
five kilometres off the cape.
 The weather was perfectly clear, but because of the dust storms so typical of
spring in the region, the sky was more white than blue. The sunlight shining
down turned the rippling waves to silver. Dressed in the dusty veil carried by
the wind from the faraway mainland, all of the scenery became misty.
‘I don’t see any other boats here.’
The large man, who had been smoking silently while leaning on the boatrail
opposite to Ellery and the others, suddenly spoke. He had long, unkempt hair
and a rough beard covered the lower half of his face. It was Poe.
‘The tide on the other side of the island’s too dangerous, so everyone avoids
it,’ replied the elderly but energetic fisherman. ‘The fishing spots ’round here
are more to the south, ya see, so ya won’ see any boats goin’ in the direction of
the island, even those that’ve just left the ’arbour. By the way, y’all really
strange college students, aren’t ya?’
‘Do we really seem that strange?’
‘Well, for one thing, y’all have strange names. I just heard ya use odd names
like Lulu and Elroy and such. You like them too?’
‘Yes, well, they’re sort of nicknames.’
‘Kids at universities all’ve these kinds of nicknames nowadays?’
‘No, it’s not like that.’
‘So ya really are an odd bunch, eh?’
The two young women, in front of the fisherman and Poe, were sitting on a
long wooden box set in the centre of the boat, which served as a makeshift
bench. Including the fisherman’s son, who was steering the rudder in the back,
the boat held eight passengers.
The six people besides the fisherman and his son were all students of K—
University of O—City in the Ōita Prefecture and also members of the
university’s Mystery Club. “Ellery,” “Carr” and “Leroux” were—as “Poe” had
said—something like nicknames.
Needless to say, the names were derived from the American, British and
French mystery writers they all respected so much: Ellery Queen, John Dickson
Carr, Gaston Leroux and Edgar Allan Poe. The two women were called “Agatha”
and “Orczy,” the full original names being, of course, Agatha Christie, the Queen
of Crime, and Baroness Orczy, known for The Old Man in the Corner.
‘Look o’er there. Ya can see the building on Tsunojima now,’ the fisherman
yelled out loudly. The six youngsters all turned to look at the island that was
coming closer and closer.
It was small and flat.
A vertical wall rose from the sea, covered at the top by a dark fringe. It
resembled a pile of gigantic 10 yen coins. The three short capes, or “horns,”
protruding into the sea were what had given it the name of Tsunojima, or “Horn
Island.”
Because there were sheer cliffs on all sides of the island, the boat could only
reach it via a small inlet, which was why the island was only occasionally visited
by curious amateur fishermen. About twenty years ago, someone had moved
there and constructed a strange building called the Blue Mansion, but now it
was genuinely uninhabited.
‘What’s that on top of the cliff?’ asked Agatha, getting up from the bench. She
squinted her eyes in delight as she held one hand on her long, wavy hair
dancing in the wind.
‘That’s the half-burnt annex building. Heard the main mansion burnt down to
the ground completely,’ the fisherman explained in a loud voice.
‘So that’s the “Decagon House,” eh, pops?’ Ellery asked the fisherman. ‘Have
you ever been on the island?’
‘I’ve gone into the inlet a few times, to avoid the wind, but I’ve never set foot
on the island itself. Haven’t even come anywhere close to it since the incident.
Y’all better be careful, too.’
‘Careful about what?’ asked Agatha, turning round.
The fisherman lowered his voice.
‘They say it appears on the island.’
Agatha and Ellery gave each other a quick look, both puzzled by the answer.
 ‘A ghost. Ya know, the ghost of the man who got murdered. Nakamura
something.’
The numerous wrinkles chiselled into the fisherman’s dark face turned into
frowns and, as if to frighten them, he grinned at the students.
‘I heard ya can see a white figure on the cliff o’er there if ya pass by here on a
rainy day. ’Tis the ghost of that Nakamura guy, trying to lure ya there by wavin’
his hands at ya. There’re other stories too, like people havin’ seen a light at the
abandoned annex, or will-o’-the-wisps floatin’ near the burnt-down mansion, or
even one ’bout a boat with fishermen being sunk by the ghost.’
‘It’s no good, pops.’ Ellery chuckled. ‘No use trying to scare us with those
stories. We’ll just get even more excited.’
The only person among the six students who seemed to have been scared,
even a little, was Orczy, who was still sitting on the wooden box. Agatha didn’t
seem at all perturbed. On the contrary, she was even muttering: ‘That’s so
awesome,’ in delight. She turned towards the back of the boat.
‘Hey, are those stories really true?’ she excitedly asked the fisherman’s son—
still a boy—who was holding the rudder.
‘All lies.’
He shot a glance at Agatha’s face and, turning away as if he had been dazzled
by something bright, said gruffly: ‘I heard the rumours, but I’ve never seen a
ghost myself.’
‘Not even once?’ said Agatha, disappointedly. But then she smiled
mischievously.
‘But it wouldn’t be all that strange if ghosts really did appear there,’ she said.
‘For it is the place where that happened.’
It was 11 o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, March 26th, 1986.

2
 The inlet was located on the west coast of the island.
It was flanked on both sides by steep cliffs. To the right, facing the inlet, was a
dangerous-looking bare rock surface and this cliff wall,
almost twenty metres high, continued towards the southern coast of the island.
On the east side of the island, where the currents were very
strong, the cliff wall even reached fifty metres in height. Directly in front of
them was a steep incline, almost another cliff wall, with narrow stone steps
crawling up it in a zigzag pattern. Dark green shrubs clung to the face here and
there. (See Figure 1.)
The boat slowly entered the narrow inlet.
The waves inside were not as fierce as out at sea. The colour of the water was
also different: an intense, dark green.
To their left inside the inlet there was a wooden pier; further back, a decrepit,
shabby boathouse came into view.
‘So I really don’t have to check up on ya even once?’ the fisherman asked the
six as they set foot on the dangerously creaking pier. ‘Don’ think phones work
here.’
‘It’s alright, pops,’ Ellery answered. ‘We even have a doctor-in-training here,’
he added, placing his hand on the shoulder of Poe, who was smoking a cigarette
while seated on a big knapsack.
The bearded Poe was a fourth year student in the medical faculty.
‘Yes, Ellery’s right,’ Agatha pitched in. ‘It’s not often we have a chance to visit
an uninhabited island, and it would ruin the mood if someone kept coming to
check up on us.’
‘You have a brave lil’ miss there too, I see.’
The fisherman exposed his strong white teeth as he laughed and undid the
rope that was tied to a post of the pier.
‘I’ll come pick ya up Tuesday next week at ten in the morning, then. Be
careful.’
‘Thanks, we’ll be careful. Especially of ghosts.’
*
 At the top of the steep stone steps, the view suddenly widened. An
overgrown grass lawn appeared to be the front garden of a small building with
white walls and a blue roof, which stood there as if it had been waiting for the
students.
The blue double doors right in front of them were probably the front
entrance. A few steps led up to the door.
‘So this is the Decagon House.’
Ellery was the first to speak, but, having climbed the long stone staircase, he
was out of breath. He dropped his camel-beige travelling bag on the ground and
stood gazing up at the sky.
‘Agatha, your thoughts?’
‘Surprisingly lovely place.’
Agatha put her handkerchief to her light-skinned forehead, which was
gleaming with perspiration.
‘And I… I think…that.…’
Leroux was also out of breath. His arms were full of luggage, including
Agatha’s.
‘I had expected… how to put it?… Something more sinister.’
‘Can’t always have what you want. Let’s go inside. Van should have arrived
here before us, but I don’t see him.’
Just as Ellery had caught his breath, picked up his bag and uttered those
words, the blue window shutters immediately to the left of the front entrance
opened, and a man looked out.
‘Hey, everyone.’
And so Van Dine made his appearance, the seventh member of the group of
students who were to sleep and eat on this island, and in this building, for one
week. His name was, of course, taken from S.S. Van Dine, the literary father of
the great detective Philo Vance.
‘Wait a sec, I’ll come out,’ Van said in his strange, husky voice, and closed the
shutters. After a brief pause, he came scurrying out of the front entrance.
‘Sorry I didn’t come to meet to you down at the pier. Caught a cold yesterday.
Also have a slight fever, so I was lying down for a while. I was listening for your
boat coming, though.’
Van had arrived earlier on the island to prepare everything.
‘A cold? Nothing serious, I hope,’ Leroux asked with a worried look, pushing
up his glasses which had slipped down his nose due to perspiration.
‘It’s nothing serious… At least I hope not.’
A shudder went through Van’s slim body, as he laughed uneasily.
*
Led by Van, the group entered the Decagon House.
Going through the blue double doors, they entered a large entrance hall—
which, they soon realised, only appeared to be large because of an optical
illusion. In fact, it was not really that spacious. But because the room’s shape
was not rectangular, it appeared larger than it actually was.
On the wall facing them was another set of double doors leading further into
the building. Looking closely, they realised the wall was shorter than the one
behind them, which meant the entrance hall was shaped like a trapezoid,
becoming smaller as they went forward.
Everyone except Van was puzzled by the strange layout of the room, which
played with their sense of perspective, but once they had passed through the
second set of doors and arrived in the main hall of the building, comprehension
dawned. They were standing in a decagonal room, surrounded by ten walls, all
of the same width.
To grasp the structure of the so-called Decagon House, it is probably best to
imagine a simple floor plan. (See Figure 2.)
The distinctive feature of the Decagon House is, as the name implies, that the
outer walls form a decagon—an equilateral decagon. Inside this outer decagon,
ten separate blocks are set next to each other, surrounding the inner decagon
that makes up the main hall. In other words, an equilateral inner decagon (the
main hall) is surrounded by ten equal-sized trapezoidal rooms. The entrance
hall they had just passed through was one such room.
‘And? Bizarre, right?’
Van, who had been leading the way, turned to the others.
‘Those double doors over there opposite the entrance lead to the kitchen. To
the left of that are the toilet and bathroom. The remaining seven rooms are the
guest rooms.’
‘A decagonal building and a decagonal hall.’
As he looked around the interior, Ellery walked towards a big table in the
centre of the room. He tapped on it with his fingers.
‘This is decagonal too. What a surprise. Could the murdered Nakamura Seiji
have been suffering from monomania?’
‘Perhaps,’ Leroux replied. ‘They say that in the burnt-down main mansion—it
was called the Blue Mansion—everything was painted blue, from floor to
ceiling, to every single piece of furniture.’
The name of the individual who had moved to the island and built the Blue
Mansion about twenty years ago was Nakamura Seiji. And the Decagon House,
which is the annex of the main building was, of course, also built by Nakamura
Seiji.
‘All the same,’ said Agatha to no one in particular, ‘I wonder whether I’ll be
able to tell all these rooms apart.’
The doors of the entrance and the kitchen opposite were both double doors,
and both were decorated with figured glass set in a frame of plain wood. When
the doors were closed there was no way to tell them apart. The four walls to
each side of the double doors had doors leading to the guest rooms. These plain
wooden doors were also difficult to tell apart. There were no furnishings in the
main hall that could serve as a guide, so Agatha’s worries were quite natural.
‘You’re right there. I myself got confused about the rooms several times this
morning, as well.’ Van cast a wry smile. It could have been the fever that made
his eyelids look swollen.
 ‘How about making some nameplates and hanging them on the doors? Orczy,
did you bring your sketchbook?’
Orczy looked up anxiously as her name was called.
She was a small woman. Mindful of her rather plump figure, she was always
wearing dark clothes, but that only made her look out of fashion. She was the
complete opposite of the brilliant Agatha and was always looking away with
timid eyes. But she was very skilful at her hobby: Japanese-style paintings.
‘Yes. I have it with me. Shall I take it out now?’
‘No, later is okay. Take a look at your rooms for now. They’re all the same, so
you don’t have to fight over them. I’m already using this room though.’ Van
pointed at one of the doors.
‘They gave me the keys, so I’ve left them in the keyholes.’
‘Okay, gotcha,’ Ellery answered energetically.
‘Let’s rest a bit, then go and explore the island.’
 3

The rooms were quickly divided.

Counting from the front entrance, Van, Orczy and Poe occupied the left and
Ellery, Agatha, Carr and Leroux the right.
After the six had disappeared into their rooms with their luggage, Van leant
back against the door of his own room, took out a Seven Stars cigarette from his
ivory down vest and put it in his mouth. Having done his work, he stared keenly
into the dimly-lit decagonal hall.
The walls were made of white plaster. The floor was covered with blue
oversized tiles and, unlike most Japanese homes, you could walk inside with
your shoes on. The ceiling rose diagonally upwards from the ten walls and in the
centre was a decagonal skylight, from which light kissed the exposed rafters
before falling on the white decagonal table. Ten chairs with blue cloths covering
their whitewood framework surrounded the table. Those were the only
decorations in the room, save for the round lamp hanging from the rafters like a
pendulum.
There was no electricity. Natural light from the skylight was the only source of
illumination, which is why, even during the day, a mysterious atmosphere
permeated the hall.
After a while Poe, dressed in discoloured jeans and a light blue shirt, stepped
languidly out of his room.
‘Oh, you’re fast. Wait, I’ll make some coffee now.’
Holding his half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, Van walked to the
kitchen. He was currently a third year student in the science faculty, which
meant he was one year younger than Poe, who was a fourth year student in the
medical faculty.
‘Thanks. Must have been a hassle bringing the big stuff like the blankets.’
 ‘Not at all. I had some people help me.’
Agatha also appeared from her door, busy wrapping her long hair with a scarf.
‘These are pretty good rooms, Van. I’d expected something much worse—
Coffee? I’ll make it.’
Cheerfully Agatha walked into the kitchen, where she saw a glass bottle with
a black label on the counter.
‘Instant coffee?’
She picked the bottle up with a look of displeasure and shook it.
‘Don’t be picky,’ replied Van. ‘You’re not at a resort hotel, you’re on an
uninhabited island.’
Agatha pouted her rose-coloured lips.
‘And the food supplies?’
‘In the refrigerator. But it isn’t working, as the electricity and phone lines all
went down in the fire. Hope that’s okay.’
‘Oh well, they’ll probably keep. There’s water, I hope?’
‘Yes, I’ve already connected the water line. I also hooked up the propane gas
tank I brought, so you can also use the gas heater and the boiler. I don’t
recommend it, but you could even use the bath.’
‘Good job. Hmm, there are still some pans and tableware left, I see. Or did
you bring them with you too?’
‘No, they were here already. Three kitchen knives too. There’s a lot of mould
on this cutting board, though.’
Timidly, Orczy joined them.
‘Orczy, you come and help too. Luckily there’s a lot left here, but we’ll need to
clean everything first.’
Agatha shrugged and took off her black leather jacket. She turned to Van and
Poe, who stood behind Orczy and was peeking into the kitchen.
‘If you aren’t going to help us, then please leave. Go and explore the island or
something. You won’t get any coffee before we’re finished.’
Putting her hands to her hips, she glared at the two of them. Van cast a wry
smile and retreated, together with Poe. The two turned to face the hall, and
Agatha said coolly to their backs:
‘And don’t forget the nameplates. I won’t have you coming into our rooms
when we’re undressing!’
By now, Ellery and Leroux had also arrived in the main hall.
‘Thrown out by the Queen, I see.’
Ellery laughed as he put a finger to his chin.
‘So, following Her Majesty’s orders, let’s take a look at the island.’
‘That’s probably the best—where’s Carr? Still in his room?’
‘He’s gone out. On his own,’ said Leroux and he glanced towards the
entrance.
‘Already?’
‘He likes to play hard to get,’ Ellery said ironically and smiled.
*
A row of high pine trees grew to the north of the Decagon House. There was a
break in the line and the branches of the black pines on either side had
connected to form an arch which the four passed through to reach the remains
of the Blue Mansion.
All that remained on the site was the foundation of the building, together
with a few dirty stone bricks. The desolate front garden had been covered by a
thick layer of black ash, and the sight of the surrounding trees, scorched in the
fire and standing decayed, was striking.
‘Completely burnt down. Must have been a tremendous fire.’
Looking over the dismal scene, Ellery let out a sigh.
‘There’s really nothing left.’
‘So, Van, is this your first visit also?’
 Van nodded.
‘My uncle told me a lot about the island, but today is the first time I’ve been
here. I had to carry all the luggage this morning and then there’s my fever, so I
didn’t think it’d be wise to explore the island on my own.’
‘That was wise. But there’s really nothing but ashes and bricks here.’
‘I guess a corpse would have made you happy, Ellery?’ Leroux grinned.
‘Lay off. That’s something more up your street, isn’t it?’
A little path opened into a pine grove to the west. It led straight to the cliffs.
On the other side of the wide azure sea, they could just make out the black
shadow that was J—Cape.
‘Great weather today. Almost tranquil.’
Ellery faced the sea and stretched. Wrapping his hands in the hem of his
yellow sweatshirt, Leroux also turned his small body towards the sea.
‘You’re right, Ellery. It’s almost unbelievable that only six months ago, at this
very place, such a horrific incident occurred.…’
‘Horrific…that’s the word. A mysterious quadruple murder, right here in
Nakamura Seiji’s home, commonly known as the Blue Mansion.’
‘I’m quite used to quintuple, even decuple murders in books, but this one was
real and happened relatively close by, too. I was really shocked when I saw it on
the news.’
‘I seem to recall it happened in the early morning of the twentieth of
September? A fire broke out and the building burnt down completely. Four
bodies were discovered in the remains: that of Nakamura Seiji, his wife Kazue
and the bodies of the servant couple who lived there.’
Ellery spoke in a detached manner.
‘A significant amount of sleeping medicine was found in all four bodies, but
the police also discovered that they had not all died of the same cause. The two
servants had been tied up in their own rooms with rope and their heads had
been smashed in with an axe. The head of the household, Seiji, had been
doused with kerosene and obviously burnt to death. His wife Kazue, who was
found in the same room, was found to have been strangled to death with a
rope-like object. What’s more, her left hand had been cut off at the wrist using
a sharp instrument. The hand was not recovered from the ruins of the fire. I
think those were the main points of the case, Leroux?’
‘I think there was also a gardener who disappeared.’
‘Ah, you’re right. The police couldn’t find the gardener, who was supposed to
have arrived on the island some days earlier to work there. He appeared to
have disappeared completely.’
‘Yes.’
‘There are two views on that. One is that the gardener was the murderer and
that’s why he disappeared. The other view is that someone else was the
murderer. For example, the gardener might have been fleeing from the
murderer and accidentally fallen off the cliffs and been swept away by the
current.’
‘The police seemed to have gone with the “gardener equals murderer”
theory. I don’t know what results further investigations uncovered, though.
What do you think about the case, Ellery?’
‘Well.’ Ellery brushed away a lock of hair that had been displaced by the wind
blowing from the sea. ‘Regrettably, we have too little data. All we know is the
information we were given in the few days the news and newspapers were all
over the case.’
‘You sound surprisingly unsure.’
‘Not particularly. It’s easy to come up with a fairly reasonable hypothesis. But
there’s too little data to prove any one theory and declare Q.E.D. In this
particular case, the police investigation was also rather poorly handled. But
then again, this is all what was left of the crime scene. And there were no other
survivors on the island. It’s quite natural that the police would consider the
missing gardener the criminal.’
‘True.’
‘So the truth is hidden beneath these ashes.’
 Ellery turned and walked back to the remaining stone bricks and picked up a
piece of wood. Crouching, he looked at what lay beneath it.
‘What’s the matter?’
Leroux looked puzzled.
‘Wouldn’t it be interesting if I’d just found the wife’s hand here?’ Ellery said
with a straight face.
‘Or maybe we’ll find the skeleton of the gardener beneath the floors of the
Decagon House.’
‘You’re all crazy.’
Poe, who had been listening to the talk in silence, stroked his beard. He had a
worried look on his face.
‘You have a rather peculiar sense of humour, don’t you, Ellery?’
‘I agree,’ chimed in Leroux. ‘It’s as you said on the boat: if something
happened on this island tomorrow, it would be just like the “chalet in the
snowstorm” Ellery loves so much. How happy he’d be if there were a series of
murders as in And Then There Were None.’
‘And he’d be the first to get himself killed.’
Poe spoke very little, but occasionally gave vent to harsh words.
Leroux and Van looked at each other and laughed.
‘A series of murders on a remote island. Heh. Sounds good,’ Ellery said with
good grace.
‘Precisely what I want. And then I’ll take on the role of the detective. So?
Anybody want to challenge me, Ellery Queen?’

‘When it comes down to something like this, we women are always the worst
off, aren’t we? They basically consider us to be their servants,’ Agatha grumbled
as she quickly took care of the dishes. Orczy stood beside her, staring at the
white, supple fingers swiftly doing their work, until she realised she wasn’t
doing any work of her own.
‘Let’s have the boys do some work in the kitchen, too. They shouldn’t think
they’re off the hook just because the two of us are here. Don’t you agree?’
‘Eh, y—yes.’
‘It’d be hilarious to see Ellery wearing an apron and holding a ladle with that
nonchalant expression of his. He might actually look cute in it.’
Agatha laughed gaily. Orczy cast a glimpse at her shapely profile and sighed.
A bright face with a shapely nose. Eyes that had been accentuated by a light
touch of violet eye shadow. Well-kept long, wavy hair.
Agatha was always cheerful and full of confidence. She had an almost
masculine character, but she was very well aware that she was a female. She
seemed to enjoy the looks she received from the men who flocked around her
glamorous beauty.
Compared to her, I’m just….
A small, round nose. Childish red cheeks covered in freckles. She did have big,
wide eyes, but they weren’t in balance with the rest of her face, which made it
appear as if she were always looking around restlessly. Even if she could use
make-up the way Agatha did, she knew it wouldn’t suit her. She hated her own
timidity, her constant worrying and the fact that, despite all that, she was also
very unaware of what was going on around her.
It had always been like this. Agatha and she, as the only females in the group,
inevitably seemed to end up together. That weighed heavily on her.
I shouldn’t have come. She had even begun to think that.
She had not wanted to come to this island in the first place. It felt…
disrespectful. But she was also too timid to decline her friends’ invitation.
‘Orczy, what a wonderful ring,’ Agatha said looking at Orczy’s left middle
finger. ‘Have you always had it?’
‘No.’
 Orczy made a vague denial as she shook her head.
‘Was it a present from someone special?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
Orczy had considered carefully before making up her mind to come to the
island. The trip wasn’t an intrusion: she was paying her respects. I will go to the
island to pay my respects to the dead. And that’s why she had to come.
‘Orczy, you’re always like that, aren’t you?’
‘—What?’
‘Always keeping your thoughts to yourself. We’ve known each other for two
years now, and I still feel as if I don’t know anything at all about you. Not that
it’s not okay, but still, it’s so strange.’
‘Strange?’
‘Yes. I sometimes feel like that when I read the stories you write for the club
magazine. You’re always so lively and bright in your own stories.’
‘Because that’s a made-up world.’
Orczy turned away from Agatha’s gaze and smiled awkwardly.
‘I’m not good with reality. I hate my real self. I don’t like myself.’
‘What are you saying?’ Agatha laughed and ran her fingers through Orczy’s
neat short hair. ‘You need to have more self-confidence. You know, you’re cute.
You just don’t know it yourself. Don’t look down so much and stand proud.’
‘You’re a nice person, Agatha.’
‘Let’s clean this mess up fast and have lunch, okay?’
*
Ellery, Leroux and Van were still at the remains of the Blue Mansion. Poe had
gone over to the grove on the other side of the burn site on his own.
‘Ellery, and you too, Van. We’ll be here for seven days, so I’d really like to ask
you—.’
Behind his comical silver-rimmed round glasses—although he himself didn’t
find them comical—Leroux’s eyes were gleaming.
‘—I don’t say a hundred pages, but at least give me fifty.’
‘Y—you’re joking, right?’
‘I’m always serious, Ellery.’
‘But this is completely out of the blue. We didn’t come here to write, don’t
you agree, Van?’
‘I’m with Ellery.’
‘But I already explained it to you earlier. I want to publish the new issue of
Dead Island a bit sooner than usual, about mid-April. We can use it to attract
some new members, and it would also be a special issue to commemorate the
tenth anniversary of our Mystery Club. I’ll be the new editor-in-chief soon, so I
want to give it my all. I can’t come out with a flimsy club magazine for the first
issue in my new job.’
Leroux, a second year student in the faculty of literature, would take on the
role of editor-in-chief of the club magazine Dead Island from April onwards.
‘But Leroux—.’
Ellery took out a new pack of Salem cigarettes from the pocket of his wine-red
shirt and removed the seal. Ellery was in the third year in the faculty of law. He
was also the current editor-in-chief of Dead Island.
‘—Carr is the one you need to butter up. I won’t comment on the contents,
but he is the most productive writer in the Mystery Club. Sorry. Van, have you
got a light for me?’
‘It’s not often you two fall so foul of each other.’
‘Not my fault. Carr started it.’
‘Now you mention it, Carr does seem to be in a bad mood,’ said Leroux. Ellery
chuckled and blew smoke out of his mouth.
‘He has reason to be.’
‘What reason?’
‘A while back, our poor Carr made advances to Agatha and was immediately
rebuffed.’
‘He went for Dame Agatha? Wow, he had guts.’
‘And… I think it might have been out of spite, but he then tried his luck with
Orczy, but even she wouldn’t talk to him.’
‘Orczy.…’
Van frowned.
‘And so our great writer is not amused.’
‘Well, of course he wouldn’t be amused. Together under one roof with the
two girls who rejected him.’
‘Exactly. So, my dear Leroux, if you want something from Carr, you’ll need to
be a smooth talker.’
At that moment they saw Agatha coming from the direction of the Decagon
House. She stopped under the arch of black pine trees and waved her arms to
the three men.
‘Lunch is ready—where are Poe and Carr? Weren’t you together?’
*
The little path went into the pine grove behind the Decagon House.
He had started along it to take a look at the cliffs on the eastern coast, but the
path had become smaller and smaller as he proceeded. It was also full of twist
and turns, so he hadn’t even gone fifty metres when he lost his sense of
direction.
It was a gloomy grove.
The long sasa bamboo shoots that grew between the pine trees clung to his
clothes with every step. Also, the ground was uneven and he had almost
tripped several times.
He had considered turning back, but he didn’t feel like doing that either. It
was a small island. No way he could get lost and not find his way back.
The collar of the black turtle-neck sweater he wore beneath his jacket was
getting soaked in perspiration. Just as it was becoming unbearable, the path
finally led him out of the grove.
He was at the top of the cliffs. The bright reflection from the water dazzled his
eyes. And a big man was standing there looking out to sea—it was Poe.
‘Hmm? Oh, it’s you, Carr.’
Poe had turned around at the sound of footsteps, but when he saw it was
Carr, he turned back again to the sea.
‘This is the north coast of the island. I think that’s Cat Island over there.’
He pointed towards a small island close by.
Considering its size, it might as well have been called a reef. Only a few
bushes grew on the undulating elevated ground. As the name suggested, it
resembled a dark animal crouching in the sea.
Looking at the island, Carr nodded briefly.
‘What’s the matter, Carr? Why the long face?’
‘Heh, I’m beginning to regret coming here.’
With a scowl on his face, Carr began complaining.
‘Just because something happened here last year, doesn’t mean there’s
something interesting here now. I came hoping it might stimulate my
imagination, but now just the thought that I’ll be looking at those same faces
every day for a whole week… You should have a long face, too.’
Like Ellery, Carr was a third year student in the faculty of law. But because
Carr had failed the university entrance exams his first year, he was actually as
old as Poe, who was one year above him.
Carr was of average height and build. But he looked smaller than he was
because he stooped and had a short neck.
‘And what are you doing all alone in a place like this?’
‘Nothing in particular.’
Poe squinted his already small eyes beneath thick eyebrows. He took out a
cigarette from the birch-wood cigarette case which hung from his waist like a
traditional pillbox, and put it in his mouth. He held the case out to Carr.
 ‘How many boxes did you bring? Offering cigarettes to others like this, while
you’re a heavy smoker yourself.’
‘I just like to smoke. Even though I study medicine.’
‘And always Lark cigarettes. Not a brand for the intelligentsia.’
Despite this remark, Carr still took him up on the offer.
‘But at least it’s better than young Master Ellery’s menthols.’
‘Carr, you shouldn’t get upset like this all the time because of Ellery. Your
bickering is a bother to us too, you know. Even if you try to get in a fight with
him, he’ll just laugh about it and make fun of you for it.’
Carr used his own lighter on the cigarette and turned away.
‘Look who’s talking.’
Poe didn’t seem to mind. He enjoyed his smoke in silence.
After a while Carr threw his half-smoked Lark into the sea. He sat down on a
nearby rock and took out a whisky flask. He jerked the cap off and took a swig.
‘Booze in daytime?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Can’t say I approve.’
Poe’s tone became stern.
‘You should really drink less. Not just in daytime, but….’
‘Hah. Are you still thinking about that?’
‘Yes, so you see—.’
‘No, I don’t see. How long has it been? We can’t keep on thinking about what
happened.’
Ignoring Poe’s silent, reproachful look, Carr took another swig.
‘It’s not just Ellery who’s got me upset. What about having women here on an
uninhabited island?’
‘It might be uninhabited, but we’re not here on a survival trip.’
 ‘Huh. Even so, I don’t like being together with someone as arrogant as Agatha.
And then there’s Orczy. The seven of us somehow became what you might call
“a close group” these last two years, so I can’t say this out loud, but that girl’s
all gloom and is worth absolutely nothing, plus she’s overly self-conscious about
herself.’
‘Now you’re just nit-picking.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten you and Orczy have been friends since you were little.’
Sourly, Poe put out his cigarette with his foot. As though he’d just
remembered, he looked at his wristwatch.
‘It’s already half past one. If we don’t hurry back, we won’t get any lunch.’
*
‘Before we eat, I’ve an announcement to make.’
Wearing delicate golden plain-glass spectacles, Ellery spoke to the party.
‘Our next editor-in-chief has something to say to us all.’
Lunch was already laid out on the decagonal table. Bacon and eggs, a simple
salad, baguettes and coffee.
‘Err, sorry to interrupt your meal. I’d like to introduce myself as the new
editor-in-chief—,’ Leroux said, tensing and coughing to clear his throat.
‘We had talked about coming to the Decagon House at the club’s New Year’s
party. Of course, nobody had imagined it would actually come true at that time.
But then Van told us his uncle had come into possession of the island and he
invited us.’
‘It wasn’t as though I invited you. I just said I could ask my uncle, if you really
wanted to go.’
‘Don’t be modest. Anyway, as you all know, Van’s uncle is a real estate agent
in S—Town. He’s also a talented entrepreneur and has big plans to transform
Tsunojima into a leisure island for the young. Right, Van?’
‘I don’t think his plans are that big.’
‘Anyway, we’re here today also as a sort of test panel. Van came here this
morning to make the preparations for our stay, so we’ll have to thank him first.
We all really appreciate it.’
Leroux made a deep bow to Van.
‘And now for my main announcement—.’
‘The bacon and eggs are getting cold,’ interrupted Agatha.
‘I’m almost finished—ah, what does it matter, the food will get cold. Please
have your lunch as I speak.
‘The talents of everyone gathered here have been acknowledged by our club
seniors—who have already graduated—and the seven of us have inherited their
names. This is a gathering of the core writing group of our Mystery Club.’
It had been a tradition of the K—University Mystery Club since the club’s
foundation that club members called each other by nicknames. Ten years ago,
the founding members had decided to give everyone nicknames taken from
famous writers from the United Kingdom, France and the United States, an idea
born from the innate childishness of fans of mystery fiction. Of course, with the
number of members growing every year, fewer and fewer names remained. The
solution to that problem was “inheriting names,” a system whereby graduating
members would pass on their name to a junior member of their choice.
In time, successors of names came to be chosen based on their contributions
to the club magazine. Therefore, the seven present, who each bore a nickname,
were considered the core of the club and often gathered for various occasions.
‘…these top class members will stay here on this island for one week, starting
now, with nothing to distract them. You can all make the best use of your time.’
Leroux looked at everyone in the room.
‘I’ve brought writing paper with me, so I’ll ask each of you to write one story
for the upcoming club magazine in April.’
‘Ah!’ Agatha yelled out. ‘So that’s why you had so much luggage with you. You
were scheming this!’
‘Yes, this is my scheme. Agatha, and you too Orczy, please write something.’
Leroux bowed lightly and stroked his round cheeks, chuckling. He resembled
one of those lucky Fukusuke dolls, but with spectacles. Bitter smiles appeared
on the party members’ faces.
‘You might only get “murders on a remote island” stories, Leroux. What will
you do then?’ Poe asked. Leroux stuck out his chest.
‘Then I’ll say it’s this issue’s theme. Or let’s go with that theme right from the
start. That would be even better. The magazine’s title, Dead Island[i], was taken
from the first Japanese translation of Dame Agatha’s masterpiece anyway.’
Ellery, who had been leaning on his elbows, whispered to Van next to him: ‘I
fear we underestimated our new editor-in-chief.’

The first day ended without incident.

They had no other commitments except for Leroux’s call for manuscripts.
They weren’t the kind of people who would go out and have fun together
anyway, so in their free time, everyone went their own way.
And so the evening arrived.
‘Ellery, what are you doing with those playing cards all by yourself?’
Agatha came out of her room. The bright yellow scarf that held her long hair
contrasted with her monotone set of a white blouse and black leather pants.
‘I’ve been into this lately. Not obsessed with it, mind you.’
‘Into what? Fortune telling?’
‘You must be joking. Not interested in that.’
As he shuffled the cards on the decagonal table, Ellery said:
‘Card magic tricks of course.’
‘Card magic?’
An intrigued expression appeared on Agatha’s face for a second, but then she
nodded knowingly.
 ‘It is what you would be into, isn’t it?’
‘What I would be into?’
‘Baffling other people.’
‘You make it sound like a bad thing.’
‘That so?’ Agatha laughed. ‘So show me something. I haven’t seen many
magic performances.’
‘It’s quite rare for someone into mystery fiction not to be interested in magic
tricks as well.’
‘It’s not that I’m not interested. I just haven’t had that many opportunities to
see it. So show me.’
‘Okay. Come here and sit down.’
With the sun setting, the hall of the Decagon House had become dimly lit.
Agatha sat down on the chair diagonally across the table. Ellery gathered his
cards, arranged them on the table and took out another deck of cards from his
coat pocket.
‘Here I have two card decks with different backs: one red and one blue. You
and I will each use one set of cards. Which will you use?’
‘Blue,’ Agatha answered instantly.
‘All right. You take these cards.’
Ellery passed the blue deck of cards across the table.
‘First make sure there’s nothing funny about them and then shuffle them
anyway you like. I’ll shuffle the red cards.’
‘OK. They appear to be ordinary cards. From the United States?’
‘Bicycle Rider Back playing cards. There’s an illustration of an angel riding a
bicycle, do you see it? They’re the most popular type of card over there.’
Ellery placed his carefully shuffled deck of cards on the table.
‘Now we’ll exchange decks. You’ll give me the blue deck, and I’ll give you the
red. OK. Now take a card out of the deck and memorise it. I’ll take a card from
your deck as well and memorise it.’
‘Any card I want, yes?’
‘Yes. Finished? Now place the card back on top of the deck. And now cut the
deck once, just like me. Now the bottom half of the deck has been swapped
with the upper half. Yep, yep, like that. Now repeat two or three times.’
‘Am I doing this correctly?’
‘You’re doing perfectly. And now we exchange our decks once more.’
The blue deck returned to Agatha’s hands. Ellery stared straight into her eyes
and asked: ‘All right? So to summarise what we just did: we each took one card
from a shuffled deck, memorised the card, returned it and shuffled the deck
again.’
‘Yes.’
‘Now Agatha, please take out the card you’ve memorised from your deck, and
place it on the table face down. I’ll take out my card from this deck.’
Two cards, one red, one blue, appeared on top of the table. Ellery took a deep
breath and then asked Agatha to turn both cards over.
‘Ah, how did you—!?’
Agatha shrieked in surprise. The cards were of the same suit and number.
‘The four of hearts?’
Ellery laughed contentedly.
‘Neat trick, don’t you agree?’
*
After the sun had set, the antique oil lamp which stood in the middle of the
decagonal table was lit. Van had brought it along, knowing there was no
electricity there. He had also prepared a number of thick candles in each of the
guest rooms.
It was already past seven when they finished their dinner.
‘Ellery, why won’t you explain the magic trick you did just now?’ said Agatha,
shaking Ellery’s shoulder. She had just brought coffee for everyone.
‘It’s no use asking me all the time. It’s taboo to reveal magic tricks. That’s
where magic differs from mystery fiction. No matter how mysterious the trick,
you’ll just be disappointed when you hear how simple it is.’
‘Agatha, did Ellery show you one of his magic tricks?’
‘Ah, you knew of Ellery’s magic too, Leroux?’
‘Know? He’s been using me as a guinea pig this whole month. I had to keep it
a secret until he became better at it. He can be rather childish at times.’
‘Leroux!’
‘What did you show her?’
‘One or two simple ones.’
‘So those were simple ones?’ Agatha looked annoyed. ‘Then it’s okay, right?
Just tell me.’
‘I can’t tell you just because they were simple. The first one I showed you, in
particular, is a very elementary one—even children know it. But magic isn’t just
about the trick, it’s about performance and misdirection.’
‘Performance?’
‘Yes. For example—.’
Ellery took his cup in his hand and took a sip of his black coffee.
‘There’s a scene in the movie Magic, where Anthony Hopkins, who plays a
magician, performs practically the same trick for his former love. But there it
wasn’t presented as a normal magic trick, but as an experiment in ESP. The
magician seduced the girl by saying that if they were soul mates, they’d choose
the same card.’
‘Oh. And you had no intention of seducing me with the same trick?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
Ellery shrugged in an exaggerated way and attempted a smile.
‘Alas, at the moment I don’t have the courage to seduce our queen.’
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
had come now, as she expressed it, to take the bull by the horns.
“Well, Uncle Peter,” she said; and she chose a seat opposite to that
in which the Captain was sitting. “Oh, how hot it is outside,” she
continued, “and how beautifully cool here! I have brought my
knitting. I am making a tie for you, Uncle Peter. May I work here
while you read the paper?”
“Of course, Augusta; just as you like,” answered Captain Richmond.
Augusta took her work from its bag and began slowly to knit.
Presently she dropped a stitch, which caused her to utter an
exclamation of annoyance.
“What is it?” said the Captain; and he flung down his newspaper and
looked at her.
“I have dropped a stitch in my knitting. But it doesn’t matter; Nancy
will find it for me by-and-by.”
“Has Nancy such good sight?”
“Yes. My eyes ache very often. And Nancy is very good-natured; she
always does what I ask her.”
The Captain looked both pleased and relieved.
“You have found Nancy good-natured?” he asked.
“He is thinking of the report in the orderly-book,” Augusta thought to
herself. “I won’t do poor little Nancy more harm than I can help.”
“Nan is certainly good-natured,” she said aloud.
“I am glad you like her,” continued the Captain; and he sighed a very
little as he spoke.
Augusta fiddled with her knitting. After a time she looked up.
“As we are quite by ourselves, may I speak to you?” she said
suddenly.
“Why, of course, Gussie. What is it?”
“Well, you know that father and mother are away?”
“So my sister-in-law has told me.”
“And I am their only child, and I feel being parted from my parents
very much.”
“Of course you do,” said the Captain; and he looked with sudden
interest at Augusta. Hitherto he had not admired her in any way.
“When will your parents be back?” he asked.
“Next year; and when they come back they are going to send me to
Paris.”
“To Paris! What for?”
“Oh, Uncle Peter, don’t you know? To be educated—to be finished—
to get Parisian French and Parisian deportment and dancing, you
know, and all the rest.”
“I am afraid I do not know, Augusta. I am unacquainted with any
young ladies who have been educated in the French capital. I have
no particular love for the French ways. You see, I am an Englishman
to the backbone.”
“But I shall still be an English girl even if I have got a little bit of
French polish. Besides, it will so please father and mother! If I go it
will be because”—— Here she dimpled and smiled and looked full at
the Captain.
“Because of what?”
“Because of you, Uncle Peter.”
“Now I do fail to understand you. What on earth can I have to do
with it?”
“You have a great deal more to do with it than you can guess. If my
marks are very good—particularly my marks as regards conduct—I
shall go. And, oh, I am so anxious to go! And if by any chance I
could win the Royal Cross, then indeed I should be safe.”
“And suppose you did win it, would that be your object?”
“Oh! besides that there would be many others; but that too. Can you
blame me, Uncle Peter? It would so please my parents!”
“No, I cannot blame you, Augusta; and, without giving myself away
in any manner, I may as well say that you have at least as good a
chance as the others.”
“Have I indeed? Have I truly? Oh, how very happy you have made
me!”
“Continue to behave well, Augusta, and nobody knows what will
happen.” He rose as he spoke.
“I am bound,” he thought, “after the excellence of Augusta’s marks,
to give her that much encouragement, but surely never before was
there man so disappointed.—I am going into the woods,” he said
aloud. “Good-bye for the present.”
“Oh! one word, please, before you go. What do you say to our
walking through the woods and having a gipsy tea there this
afternoon?”
“If your cousins like it, Augusta, I am quite agreeable. Do you prefer
the woods to the seashore?”
“Yes; it will be so very hot on the sands to-day,” said Augusta.
“I am, as I said, at your disposal.”
The Captain strolled away, and the moment he had gone Augusta
flew to the chiffonier, pulled open the drawer, and looked at it.
“Any one can see that it has been tampered with,” she said to
herself. “I am certain by his manner that he has discovered it. But
one thing at least is clear—he has not the remotest suspicion of me.
—Oh Nancy, what are you doing here?”
“I thought Uncle Pete was here,” said Nancy, who had entered the
room and looked with disappointed eyes all over it; “Kitty said he
was, and I wanted to talk to him. What are you doing by that
drawer, Gussie? Is it not very strange that it should be open—that
Aunt Jessie left it unlocked?”
 “What are you doing by that drawer, Gussie?”

“Solve the mystery if you can, Nancy,” said Augusta, quite vexed at
being discovered. “But if you want your darling Captain, he has just
strolled through the woods.”
“Of course I want him,” replied Nancy; “I love him so much.”
She ran out of the open window, and was soon seen flitting across
the lawn in the direction of the cool and sheltered woods. Captain
Richmond was not far off. Nancy called his name, and he whistled to
her to come to him. She ran quickly to his side.
“It is so lovely to have you here!” she exclaimed. “And, oh, Uncle
Pete, I have tried! It has been very hard, but I have tried.”
Her eyes were raised to his face. There were dimples in her cheeks
and smiles round her lips.
“What a face!” thought the Captain. “Angelic is the only word for it.
And yet, my eyes cannot deceive me—she is a hypocrite;” and in
spite of himself he shook off the loving hand which touched his arm,
and began to talk quickly of indifferent matters.
For a moment a cold, curious sensation visited Nancy’s heart, but it
soon passed off! She was so sympathetic that she could throw
herself with zest and interest into almost any conversation.
Notwithstanding his grief and displeasure, the Captain could not help
confiding in her, telling her some of his own worries, and laughing
when she gave childish but practical advice.
“I am so excited about the prize!” she said as the two presently
returned to the house. “I don’t believe I have any chance of getting
the Royal Cross, but I have tried for it.”
“Have you indeed, Nancy?”
“Yes, Uncle Pete. Why do you look at me with such a sad face? Do
you think I would not try?”
“I always thought you would try,” he answered. “But remember, it is
a cross for valour. Do you know what that means?”
“Bravery,” said Nancy.
“I think it means rather more than ordinary bravery. It needs both a
tender and gallant heart to really aspire to valour; it needs a rare
unselfishness. I want you all to forget the prize in the joy of
attaining to it. It is the attainment that really matters; the prize in
itself is but a symbol.”
“Yes,” said Nancy gravely, “but the symbol testifies to the
attainment.”
“What a serious subject for a little girl!” said the Captain.
Nancy’s eyes were full of tears.
“Sometimes it is rather hard for me,” she said, “but when you are
here I can do almost anything.”
“Is it possible that that child can be cruel?” thought the Captain after
she had left him. “It certainly seems inconceivable; and yet Jessie
would not have put such a mark in the orderly-book for nothing. If
there is a very capable, careful, and trustworthy person it is my
sister-in-law. And she loves Nancy, too; she would not act so to her
unless there were some very grave reason. Poor little girl, when did
everything fail and the great crash come? She doesn’t look a bit like
it.”
At early dinner the four girls and the Captain were, to all
appearance, in the highest spirits; and soon afterwards they started
on their expedition to the woods.
Augusta had now fully and absolutely made up her mind to obtain
the Royal Cross, and for this reason she was determined to show to
the utmost advantage in Captain Richmond’s eyes.
It was arranged they were to have their gipsy tea in a part of the
pine-woods about two miles away from the house. This part was just
above the seashore. The place of rendezvous was not only sheltered
from the rays of the sun, but freshened by the sea-breezes.
The picnic basket was packed, and the kettle, spirit-lamp, &c. were
put into another basket.
“Come,” said the Captain, seizing the heavy basket and striding
forward; “you girls must take turns in carrying the edibles.”
“I will carry the basket first,” said Augusta.
She dragged it out of Nancy’s hands, who gave it up in some
astonishment, for, as a rule, the office of carrying Augusta’s things
devolved upon her. Having secured the basket, Augusta ran forward
and joined Captain Richmond. The three other girls walked together
behind.
Augusta’s heart beat hard, for not only had she to play the part of a
good and unselfish girl for the Captain’s benefit, but she was looking
forward to meeting her fascinating friends, the Asprays, and their
delightful companion, Mr. Archer. What would happen when the
meeting took place she must leave to circumstances.
But she was quite resolved that if it lay within the realm of possibility
she would get the Captain to admire her friends and to let them join
their picnic party. By-and-by Kitty ran up to her.
“Come, give me the basket now, Augusta,” she said; “you are
looking very hot and red in the face. Nancy and I will carry it
between us.”
“No, thank you,” said Augusta, “I don’t feel its weight at all, and you
are so pale it would tire you to carry it. Leave it to me,” she added.
“I really like it; I assure you I do.”
“Then leave her the basket by all means,” said the Captain. “It is
such a pity to take from us what we like, particularly when we are
doing a service to others.”
Augusta could not be quite sure whether Uncle Peter was laughing
at her or not. But in another moment a sudden bend in the road
effectually diverted her thoughts, for coming to meet them were the
two Aspray girls, looking remarkably pretty in white embroidered
dresses and big shady hats; and walking between the two girls was
a tall young man of about two-and-twenty years of age. The
moment Flora Aspray saw Augusta she gave a shout of welcome,
and rushing to meet her, kissed her with great empressement.
“How very nice!” she said. “Oh, so you are all here! Now I do think
this is a rare piece of luck. Let me introduce Mr. Archer.”
“Captain Richmond, this is my friend, Flora Aspray; and this is my
other friend, Constance Aspray,” said Augusta.
The Captain talked to the two girls in a polite and pleasant fashion;
Mr. Archer began to notice Augusta; and the three girls from behind
came and joined the group. In a very short time, no one quite knew
how, the Asprays and Mr. Archer found themselves invited to join the
Richmond party. They now all turned in a mass and walked in the
direction where the picnic was to take place.
 CHAPTER XXIV.—THE GIPSY TEA.

The gipsy tea was pronounced afterwards to have been a great

success. Mr. Archer was agreeable, bright, and witty. He talked with
a slight American twang, which added to his fascination in Augusta’s
eyes. Whenever he looked at you his eyes seemed to laugh. He had
white teeth, too, which he showed constantly. His hands were strong
and muscular, and also very white. He was slenderly made, and
looked years younger than Captain Richmond.
Augusta, determining to be her very best, her most amiable, and her
most fascinating self, won approval on all sides. She was really a
clever girl, and having been in her father’s and mother’s house more
or less accustomed to society, knew better what to say and how to
act than either her cousins or Nancy. The Richmond girls were only
too pleased to remain in the background, and Nancy of course kept
them company.
When the kettle boiled, and the hot cakes, mysteriously toasted by a
special arrangement of cook’s, not only appeared on the scene, but
vanished; when the tea itself had come absolutely to an end, the
little party strolled in twos and threes through the wood. The great
heat of this lovely summer’s day was tempered by a slight breeze,
and under the trees the shade was a comfort. Captain Richmond
could not help remarking on the great beauty of the scene. He
turned as he spoke and met the clear, wide gaze of Nancy. He was
about to say something to her when a laugh from Flora Aspray
diverted his attention.
“Ah!” she said, “who will race with me to catch that admiral
butterfly? I am collecting butterflies, and I must have it to add to my
collection.”
“I hate that sort of thing,” said Captain Richmond; and as he spoke
he again looked at Nancy. Her colour was coming and going.
“Oh! never mind, Captain Richmond; you must put up with it,” said
the American, with a slight laugh. “And I am not so cruel after all. I
generally use a chloroform-bottle. Now, who will take this net and
try and catch that beauty?—Will you, little Miss Nancy? You would
oblige me so much!”
“I could not for worlds,” said Nancy. She coloured crimson, and then
turned very pale.
“But if I make it a request, and a very great request; if I ask it as a
personal favour,” continued Flora.
“Nancy shall not be pressed,” said Captain Richmond.—“Go back to
the others, Nancy, and leave this matter to me.—Suppose, Miss
Aspray, that I request the life and liberty of the beautiful admiral
butterfly, will you, instead of hunting it down, take a walk with me
through the woods?”
Flora Aspray gave an indignant toss to her head, but Captain
Richmond looked both handsome and gentlemanly, and she found it
impossible to resist him, and soon was walking rapidly away from
the others by his side.
Augusta found herself between Mr. Archer and Constance, and the
three had a very gay time.
“I wonder what this all means,” said Kitty. “I want to ask you a direct
question, Nancy. Do you, or do you not, like the Asprays?”
“I wish you had not asked me,” said Nancy; “but I don’t.”
“What is the matter with you, child? You look so queer and nervous.
What can the Asprays have done to you?”
“Nothing—nothing. Of course, I ought not to dislike them, but I do. I
wish they were not here. I had hoped that when Uncle Peter came
everything would be all right, but I sometimes think that nothing will
ever be right any more.”
“Why, Nancy,” said Nora—“why are you so miserable?”
“I wish—I wish I could tell you.”
“But can’t you, darling—can’t you?”
“No—no, I can’t—not now; perhaps in a few months’ time, but not
now. Don’t ask me. Don’t take any notice of me. I will try and keep
it to myself.”
“Oh, whatever is worrying you?” said Nora. “You are getting quite
pale and thin. Kitty and I have noticed it, and we don’t like it at all.
We feel somehow that Augusta is to blame, but we are not sure.”
“Don’t blame anybody,” said Nancy. “It was my own fault in the first
instance, and nothing can remedy it—at least until the holidays are
over.”
“Well, let us forget it,” said Kitty, going up to her little friend and
kissing her. “It is so lovely in these darling woods! Don’t you just
adore that peep of the blue, blue sea between those trees? And, oh,
how pretty the butterflies look flitting from flower to flower! I don’t
think it is right to be unhappy in such a perfect place as this.”
Nancy tried to smile.
“There, that is better,” said Nora; “come and sit between us. Let us
talk about prize-day. Won’t it be exciting when it comes?”
“Yes—very,” said Nancy.
“Do you know what Kit and I are quite certain about?” continued
Nora. “We are positively sure that you will get the Royal Cross.”
“Oh no, I sha’n’t! Why should I?”
“Well, you see, as far as we can tell, you have never had even what
might be called a dubious mark for conduct. Your conduct every
single day has been good, or very good, or excellent.”
“But how do you know?” said Nancy. “Have you seen the marks?”
“I did once, when Miss Roy was here. She just let me look at a page
or two, and then shut the book and said I must not see any farther;
but I saw quite enough to perceive how high you were on the ladder
of good conduct. Neither Nora nor I will grudge you the great
honour, Nancy; but I am afraid if Gussie took the prize we should be
green with jealousy.”
“She has not a chance,” said Kitty. “And now let us pack up the
baskets. It will soon be time to return to the house.”
The little girls busied themselves. The crockery was washed and put
carefully away, the tablecloth folded, the knives and forks and
spoons wrapped in tissue-paper.
“Wasn’t it funny Gussie insisting on carrying this heavy basket all the
way here? Why did you offer to help her, Nancy? I quite loved to see
her dragged down by the weight,” said Kitty.
“There is one thing certain,” said Nora—“we shall have to carry the
things back. Why, even Uncle Peter has deserted us. I did think he
would have stayed. I suppose he has fallen a victim to the charms of
the Asprays.”
Now, Captain Richmond had done nothing of the sort. He was a
grave man, with lofty views on all subjects. He also had considerable
insight into character. Augusta was a girl who could never be in the
very least to his taste, but as she happened to be his sister-in-law’s
niece, he was bound to be kind to her. She was also living in the
same house with Nora, Kitty, and Nancy. He had not taken to the
Asprays, nor did he consider them suitable companions for his
nieces; and it gave him a certain sense of satisfaction to see that
Nora, Kitty, and Nancy were as indifferent to these gay young ladies
as he was himself. It was Augusta who liked them. Now, in the
absence of his sister-in-law he felt it his duty to look after Augusta,
and it was really for her sake that he took this walk alone with Flora
Aspray.
Flora found him exceedingly fascinating. A red colour had come to
her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. She put on her most up-to-
date society airs for his benefit, and felt sure in her silly little heart
that she was making a conquest, for the Captain replied to her light
and silly nothings with such politeness. He was determined to
perform for her benefit those thousand and one little attentions
which mark, as a rule, the gentleman and the soldier. She laughed
merrily about nothing at all, and was highly pleased with herself. But
when Captain Richmond began to talk of graver matters Flora
quickly got out of her depths. She did not know that she was being
weighed in the balance and found wanting. From one subject to
another did the Captain lead her, and more and more did she
disappoint him. None of his feelings, however, were allowed to
appear, and they said good-bye to each other apparently the best of
friends.
Augusta and Captain Richmond walked home together. As soon as
they were out of earshot of the Asprays, Augusta turned to her
companion and said eagerly:
“Didn’t you have a delightful afternoon? I am sure I did. I do think
Constance the most charming girl! And as to Mr. Archer, he is so
American, is he not? You like him very much, don’t you?”
“What a quantity of liking I have to do, Gussie!” said the Captain.
“Now, do you want the truth, or just a polite remark?”
“Oh! the truth—the truth, of course,” said Augusta, colouring, and
then dropping her eyes under Uncle Peter’s steadfast gaze.
“Very well; I will give it to you, for I think I ought. I don’t care about
Mr. Archer. He may be harmless, but that is the most that can be
said of him. I don’t like Miss Flora, and I have a strong persuasion
that Miss Constance is as like her as one pea resembles another.”
“And why don’t you like Flora? I am sure she tried to be nice to you.”
“She was extremely nice to me, but she is not the sort of girl I care
about. Why need we talk about them any more? They are not our
friends; they are only chance acquaintances.”
“But I want them to be our friends,” said Augusta; “it is so lonely
and dull here, and their society would make such a great difference.
At the worst you have to admit that they are harmless, Uncle Peter,
and you cannot possibly object to our seeing a good deal of them.”
“I will write to your aunt to-night, Augusta, and ask her what are her
views on the subject. Until I hear from her you must not have much
to do with the Asprays. Of course, if you meet them by accident, as
we did to-day, you will be polite and all that. But you are not to go
to Fairlight; neither are they to come here until I hear from your
aunt Jessie.”
“Oh dear!” said Augusta, “I did hope you would have liked them.”
“I am here to look after you all,” said the Captain, “and I want your
companions to be worthy.”
“But how are they unworthy?”
“Ask yourself, Augusta; you are not without common-sense. And
now, don’t talk to me any more on this matter.”
Augusta had to make a great effort to keep back her temper, but the
prize, which was so near, had to be thought of. She remained silent
for a few minutes, and then spoke as cheerfully as she could on
other subjects.
Immediately after supper that night Augusta went up to her own
room, and Nancy too disappeared; thus the Captain found himself
alone with his nieces.
“Now, this is really cosy,” said Kitty, taking his right side. “Sit here,
Nora.—You are not to stir, Uncle Pete; we are each going to sit on an
arm of this exceedingly comfortable chair. You are going to have
your nieces very, very near to you. Oh, isn’t it quite delicious?”
The Captain smiled and patted Kitty’s soft white hand.
“How are you getting on?” he said. “How does the soldiering prosper
—or are you both tired of the campaign?”
“No; we both love it,” said Nora. “But I am afraid we are poor
soldiers—very; still, I think we do our best. Uncle Pete, may we talk
to you about something? Are we to see a lot of these new people,
the Asprays, during the holidays?”
“I cannot tell you. Augusta wishes it, and her desires ought not to be
altogether ignored. But nothing can be done until I hear from your
mother.”
“I hope you will tell mother the exact truth about them,” said Kitty. “I
am most anxious to have nothing further to do with them.”
“Well, you had very little to do with them to-day, Kit; you talked to
Nora or Nancy all the time.”
“They didn’t want me. I am nothing but a child compared to Flora
and Constance. But it isn’t that, Uncle Pete. I should not really
greatly care if they came or not were it not for Nancy.”
“And what about Nancy?”
“Ah! I wish I could tell you, for I don’t think she likes them at all, but
she is too good-natured to say a word against any one.”
“I wish you could find out what ails her,” said the Captain, with
interest. “Does she admit that something does?”
“Yes—oh yes, poor darling; and she looked so sad when she just
alluded to it! She is awfully patient, you know, and I think—— Nora,
may I tell?”
“Of course you may,” said Nora. “Uncle Pete is like one of our very
own selves.”
“Well, what Nora and I think is that Gussie worries her; that she has
got a sort of hold over her. We can’t make it out, but we have
thought it for some time.”
“I don’t see how that is possible,” said the Captain. “Perhaps there
may be some other reason for Nancy’s unhappiness.”
“But what can there be?”
“How can I tell you?”
“Uncle Pete, why do you get up from your chair and look so funny?
You almost tossed me on the floor.”
“A thousand pardons, Kit.—I am going to have a smoke on the
terrace, and I think it is time for you little women to go to bed.”
“But have you nothing to propose about Nancy?”
“I am afraid not.”
“Are not you interested in her, Uncle Peter? You always seemed to
like her so very much.”
“I am interested, but sometimes one cannot see an inch beyond
one’s own nose.”
“Oh, Uncle Pete, you are not so blind as all that!”
“At the present moment I am, Kitty. Don’t say any more to-night.
Justice must be done to Nancy; of that rest assured.”
The Captain left the room, and the little girls stared at each other;
presently they went hand in hand up to bed.
It was not until they left the room that a girl suddenly stepped out
from behind a screen, where she had been hiding for the last
quarter of an hour. The girl was Augusta.
“Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves,” was her inward
comment; “but all information is useful. So those impudent little
chits think I am bullying Nancy, and they will try to persuade Uncle
Pete to their way of thinking if I don’t put a spoke in their wheel. I
must, and will, or my name is not Augusta. Uncle Pete thinks at the
present moment that that pretty and fascinating Nancy is guilty of
cruelty. I will prove it before his very eyes between now and the day
when the prizes are given away. Nancy, I have no dislike to you
personally, but I am determined to get the Royal Cross, for it means
Paris and a good time in the future; and I am also determined to get
you more than ever into my power, for you must help me with
regard to the Asprays. See them again I will—ay, many times. I am
not going to be balked of the first bit of genuine fun that has come
across my path.”
 CHAPTER XXV.—THE PACKET OF LETTERS.

Two or three days later Captain Richmond received a long letter from
his sister-in-law. The post arrived at breakfast-time, and the four
girls watched him with more or less interest while he read.
He read the letter very carefully over to himself, and his face
expressed no emotion whatever. Mrs. Richmond, in reply to a long
letter from him, had written as follows:

“My Dear Peter,—I am so thankful that you are able to stay with
the children at Fairleigh for the present; you understand Nora
and Kitty so well, and I am quite certain that you equally
understand our dear little Nancy. As to Augusta, she is more
difficult, but I trust the dear child will behave well and not give
you any anxiety. Before I reply to your letter, just received, I
must tell you that my own plans are somewhat puzzling; and
were it not for you, and also for the fact that Miss Roy will be
almost immediately returning to Fairleigh, I could not carry
them out. My dear friend is in the most alarming condition both
of body and mind. The death of her son has completely
shattered her, and the doctors have ordered her to go to South
Africa immediately to pay a visit to her married daughter. She is
quite incapable of taking the voyage alone, and I am forced to
go with her. I shall only stay to see her settled, and after putting
her into the care of her daughter, will return home by the first
boat possible to England. But the whole thing will probably take
a couple of months, and during that time I want you and Miss
Roy to keep house for me. I have not even time to come home
to say good-bye to the dear children, but they are quite well
and in the best of hands. I am writing to my own girls, and they
will receive their letter by the next post. Please tell them so, and
give them my dear love. My maid, Justine, will return to
Fairleigh to pack some things for me, for I cannot leave my poor
friend even for a day. We sail, all being well, on Monday.
“Now to come to the subject of your letter. I do not know the
Asprays personally, although their name is familiar to me. My
dear brother, I have something curious to tell you with regard to
them. You know how fond I am of Nancy Esterleigh. I have
adopted her as my own dear child, and trust she will never give
her affections to any other so-called mother. But this is the state
of the case: By her father’s will she is entitled, should she ever
wish to claim it, to a permanent home and also to provision for
the future from Mr. Aspray. Were she to leave me and go to him
he could not refuse her this home. The matter was arranged
many years ago, when dear Nancy was only a baby. It has
something to do with a considerable sum of money which Mr.
Aspray borrowed from Nancy’s father. He was unable to pay it
back at the time, but offered, if ever necessary, to take his little
daughter and to do for her and bring her up with his own
children, and to provide for her future. Nancy’s mother told me
all about this when she herself was dying, and she gave me the
letter which Nancy, if necessary, is to take to Mr. Aspray. Nancy’s
mother anything but wished that her little girl should be
adopted by the Americans, and implored of me to do all in my
power to prevent such a contingency. I feel, therefore, that any
intimate acquaintance is scarcely desirable. Not that I am in the
least afraid that Nancy would prefer those people to my little
girls or me.
“What I have told you with regard to Nancy is for yourself
alone, and you will be guided how best to act under the
circumstances.
“Yes, Peter, Augusta is certainly the one who troubles me, and I
am going to write her a special and private letter. She is sure to
take a fancy to the Asprays, for she is more worldly-minded
 than my own dear children. Now I think I have explained
everything to you. Of course, we cannot be rude to them, but
any intimacy with the Asprays is the reverse of desirable.—Your
affectionate sister-in-law,
“Jessie Richmond.”

Having read this letter once, Captain Richmond slowly and carefully
perused it again, and then raised his eyes.
“Oh, Uncle Pete! that is good,” cried Nora; “you have looked up at
last. We have been watching you by the clock, and you have been a
quarter of an hour and two minutes reading mother’s letter. What
can she possibly have to say? We expected to hear from her this
morning, but she has not written. Is anything wrong, Uncle Pete?
How funny you look! You have your half-glad and half-sorry face on.
—Hasn’t he, Kitty?”
“Yes,” said Kitty; “and we can’t keep in our curiosity any longer, so
please read that long, long—wonderfully long—letter aloud.”
Captain Richmond rose.
“No,” he said; “the letter is private. But if you will all come to me on
the terrace in a quarter of an hour I will tell you what parts of it you
ought to know. Be sure you come, Nancy—and you, Augusta. Ta-ta
for the present.”
He blew a kiss to his nieces, nodded to the other girls, and left the
room.
“Then it is something very exciting,” said Kitty. “I thought so when
he frowned and his brows met in a line, and then when he gave that
quick little jerk and sort of sigh. Oh dear! aren’t you nearly mad with
curiosity, Nancy?”
“I should like to know what Aunt Jessie has written about,” said
Nancy. “But, after all, Uncle Pete will tell us in a very short time; and
I must go now and feed my canary.”
Nora and Kitty had given Nancy a very beautiful canary a few days
before. The bird was a splendid specimen of its kind, and sang
magnificently. She had hung it up in her own bedroom, and now
went up to give it fresh seed and groundsel.
The quarter of an hour soon passed, and the four girls met Captain
Richmond on the terrace, which at that hour in the morning was
quite cool and sheltered from the fierce rays of the sun. He was
seated reading that wonderful letter for the third time; but when he
saw the girls he thrust it into his pocket and came to meet them.
“Now then,” he said, “for my news, which is somewhat startling. We
shall not have your dear, kind mother here for the present.”
“Why?” said Kitty. “Is her friend so very ill?”
“Poor thing, she is very ill indeed, Kitty—I fear alarmingly so; and
your mother—just like her kindness—is going to accompany her to
South Africa. They start on Monday, and your mother says she has
no time to return home between now and then. Indeed, even if she
had, she could not leave Mrs. Rashleigh. Justine will arrive to-day or
to-morrow and pack her things.”
“Don’t cry, Kitty,” said Nora; “mother would not go if she could help
it.”
“Of course not,” said Kitty; but as she sat down on the nearest seat
her pretty little face was white and tears were brimming over in her
eyes.
Nancy immediately seated herself next to Kitty, and flung one
protecting arm round her neck.
“I understand—I understand,” she whispered in her ear.
The low and intensely sympathetic words comforted the little girl,
and she squeezed Nancy’s hand and nestled up against her.
“Well,” continued Captain Richmond, “that is one part of the letter.
Miss Roy returns to resume her duties next week, and between now
and then I shall be in charge. You have been very good girls in the
past, and I trust you will be equally good in the future. You may be
certain I shall do all I can to promote happiness and good-will
amongst us.”
Here he laughed, and his eyes met those of Augusta, who was
gazing at him as if she would read him through.
“Now to take the bull by the horns,” thought Captain Richmond to
himself. He paused for a minute, and then he said slowly and
emphatically:
“With regard to the subject about which I wrote to your mother,
Nora and Kitty, and to your aunt, Augusta, she—as I thought she
would—agrees with me. We are to be polite to the Asprays, but
there is to be no intimacy. We cannot dispute my sister-in-law’s
wishes; we may therefore regard that subject as a closed book.”
Captain Richmond put on his most determined air as he spoke, and
held out his hand to Kitty. “Who will come for a walk with me in the
woods?” he said.
“No, thank you; I don’t want to go,” cried Augusta; and she turned
and went very sulkily into the house.
She ran up to her own room. Shutting the door and turning the key
in the lock, she took out of her pocket a letter which she had slipped
into it unperceived by any one that morning. The letter had been
lying on her plate at breakfast, but she had managed to secrete it
before the other girls had come down. She had read it once, and
now she proceeded to read it again. It was from Flora Aspray, and
its contents were of the deepest interest to Augusta. Flora wrote
with great earnestness and spirit.

“Oh, we want you so badly!” explained the letter. “I don’t like to

say too much, but, you dear, bewitching girl, you have made a
conquest. However, more of that anon. Yours is the very first
invitation sent out. We are getting up a little dance—quite a
scratch affair. It is to be this day week—only a poor little
Cinderella, from eight to twelve o’clock. There will be several
girls quite as young as yourself, so the most fastidious could not
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