Sherlock Holmes

by Keisuke Matsuoka

  His anger apparently still unspent, Ito dumped out the remaining contents of the box and tore apart the packets. He ground the leaves beneath his sandals. Only once they had been thoroughly pulverized and contaminated did he stop, straightening himself with a sigh. Sherlock leveled a glare at him. Asako, however, stared at her father imploringly. Ito wheeled about in a rage and began walking back toward the door.

  “Umeko,” he shouted angrily. “Clean this up. Do not leave even a speck of a leaf, do you hear me!”

  He disappeared through the door. The garden grew quiet once more.

  Ikuko stared up into Sherlock’s face, seeming no less troubled than before. But seeing that the detective had already calmed down, she hurriedly released him. “Excuse me,” she murmured, flustered.

  The silence grew uncomfortable. Asako stared at him with wet eyes. Sherlock realized that it was he who was responsible for this deplorable situation. He had done this.

  “Forgive me,” he muttered. “My behavior was unacceptable.”

  “Mr. Holmes,” whispered Umeko. “Please, talk to him…”

  He nodded. He walked toward the entrance. His pace quickened. Only once he was racing into the house did he realize that he had forgotten to remove his shoes. He plucked them off in a rush before hurrying down the hall.

  Sherlock spotted Ito through a half-open door. The other man was in his study, standing in an absent daze. Sherlock stepped inside. “Ito…you were right. This is your home. It is only right that I follow the example set by the master of the house.”

  Ito slowly turned to face him. His gaze was piercing. “Not just in my house. I want you to refrain from it entirely while you are in Japan. Indeed, I wish you would swear to never take up the habit again.”

  Sherlock fell silent. Ito possessed a gaze that could unsettle even the most steely of fortitudes. And what could he say in return? After all, Ito was right.

  Ito vacillated for a moment, and then spoke once more. He seemed determined. “Until you return to England, I promise to refrain from my gallivanting as well.”

  Sherlock stared at Ito, openmouthed. Ito returned his gaze.

  It seemed incumbent that he say something. “I understand how great a commitment that is from you,” he said softly. “I promise, then.”

  Ito nodded quietly, breaking his stare. He continued to linger, staring down at his desk.

  Something else seemed wrong. “Ito, what is it?”

  Ito lifted a single sheet of paper and sighed deeply. “This is a section of the unequal treaty we signed with the British. Here, read the column under supplement B.”

  Sherlock saw it was in English. He read the section out loud. “In the event that Japan offers, surrenders, cedes, loans, leases, or sells any national properties to Russia, Britain shall reserve the right to demand a trade of at least equal value with Japan.”

  Ito groaned. “This supplement is not commonly known. In short, anything that Japan gives to Russia we must give to Britain as well.”

  “These are abysmal terms.” Sherlock put the paper back on the desk. “I cannot believe it was signed.”

  “Western countries with constitutions already in place formed a great number of treaties with the less advanced countries that were designed to impose rule—designed to force barbaric, closed nations like ours to listen to their more knowledgeable, more powerful betters. Terms included recognizing extraterritorial rights for foreign residents, ceding territory, leasing territory, and so on and so forth. Some countries even lost tariff autonomy. The Treaty of Nanking, which the British imposed on the Qing Dynasty after the Opium War, was the first of these unequal treaties.”

  Sherlock chose his words delicately. “I imagine you were reluctant to agree to such terms.”

  “It is true, feudal Japan lacked basic legal principles. Torture and other cruel punishments existed, trade was unregulated, and contracts were unprotected. Perhaps that was why the West believed they needed to resort to controlling Japan through treaties.”

  “Our perspective was somewhat different. After being closed off for so long, many believed that Japan would not understand the rules of international society. If a foreigner broke the law in Japan we had no idea by what standards he would be judged. It also seemed possible you might not understand the concept of tariffs. From our perspective, Britain was simply helping Japan manage its affairs in a more modern manner. The same interpretation had been applied to China, earlier.”

  Ito laughed mirthlessly. “After the attack on Tsarevich Nicholas, Russia is likely as convinced as ever of our barbarism. And yet it is precisely at this juncture that we show our concern for the rule of law by choosing to not execute Sanzo Tsuda. It must seem like very impertinent behavior from such an uncivilized nation.”

  “Britain does not see Japan in that way.”

  “Perhaps you do not, but the British Empire might disagree. Five years ago a merchant vessel sank off the coast of Japan. The English captain and the 26 Western crewman used lifeboats to escape. The 25 Japanese passengers, however, were all left onboard. None were saved.”

  “If you are referring to the sinking of the Normanton, I read of it in the papers. It was a tragedy.”

  “It was clear the Japanese passengers had been abandoned. The captain, however, insisted that they were forced to leave them behind because they did not understand English and had retreated to the hold rather than board the lifeboats. The entire crew was found innocent in the ensuing investigation.”

  “But the captain was later charged with murder. He was found guilty, I believe.”

  “Imprisoned for only three months, and that was the end of that.” Ito gave Sherlock a morose stare. “Things were easier when I was younger. I thought I could do anything in the name of joui. I meted out punishment, cutting down those who angered me where they stood. Law and order is a much more difficult affair. That became painfully clear to me after the Normanton incident. The captain and his men ought to have paid with their lives, and yet I was powerless to lift a finger against them.”

  An image suddenly flashed before Sherlock’s eyes. It was of Moriarty, waving his arms frantically and shouting his adversary’s name just as he was about to tumble to his death. What had he hoped to communicate in that moment? Did he wish to plead for a fair trial? To say violence was only the purview of the barbaric? Moriarty’s own misdeeds, of course, withstanding.

  “The greatest villains take sanctuary in the protection of the law,” Sherlock said, voicing his own thoughts.

  Ito did not retreat. “And yet the law remains paramount. If we allow people to be killed without trial, merely because they are criminals, we would be left with an entire nation of vigilantes. We would recede into the past, when we must progress into the future.”

  Images of the Reichenbach Falls grew more vivid in Sherlock’s imagination. Moriarty, falling. His body receding, growing smaller and smaller, plummeting down the sheer cliffs before dashing against a rock. His body rebounding into the air, before finally colliding with the frothy surface of the water below.

  “You are an admirable people,” he murmured. “You especially, Mr. Ito.”

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “With your jujutsu you can toss people about like sticks, but instead you are patient and follow the law.”

  Ito’s expression softened. “It was for the future of my country,” he whispered, and looked down again.

  They were silent for a moment. Sherlock wondered how Ito had felt upon hearing the verdict that Sanzo Tsuda would be imprisoned for life.

  The sheet of paper from the unequal treaty was still lying on the desk. Ito stared at it. “This was brought up in this afternoon’s meeting of the Privy Council. I had completely forgotten about this article. Considering this agreement, if we were to cede Hokkaido to Russia we would likely be forced to give Kyushu to the British.”

 
“It will not come to that, Chairman,” Sherlock assured him. “We shall chart a course through these straits.”

  Ito turned his attention back to the English detective and sighed. The expression in his eyes was gentle. “There is a man I’d like you to meet tomorrow.”

  “I am categorically alone in this country. I appreciate every new acquaintance I can make.”

  Ito finally smiled. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but you have already met him before.”

  18

  The following morning, the sky above Tokyo was clear. The two men travelled to a Western-style building located not far from Ito’s home. It was constructed in the Beaux Arts style, its exterior built of stone, with colonnades. The building was grand in scale and expensive in appearance, even compared to the houses Sherlock had seen in Tokyo’s upscale residential areas. At a glance, he might have assumed it belonged to a foreign minister. But Ito said the owner of this residence was Japanese.

  Although the building was Western, Ito and Holmes still removed their shoes in the foyer. In this home, there were many more servants than there had been at Ito’s estate. The two were led into a spacious reception hall. The hall, too, was Western in design. Its dusky natural stone walls were decorated with antiquated weaponry from around the world. There was a boomerang used by Aboriginal hunters, as well as an Aztec atlatl. There was also a bola—three round stones connected by cords—a throwing weapon originating in Southeast Asia, but also used by groups such as the Eskimos, and by the Pampas Indians of South America to hunt ostrich. It was the Inca Empire’s weapon of choice for long-range warfare.

  Ito pointed to the bola. “There is a similar weapon in Japan. It is called the mijin, a type of chain and flail.”

  Many collectors in London held similar tastes. From a European point of view, none of these items were particularly rare. But such a collection was likely quite uncommon in the Far East. Holmes was most intrigued by the descriptive plaques affixed beneath each weapon, rather than by the weapons themselves. “I see these plaques are quite unsparing with this one particular kanji.”

  “Ah, furu.” Ito nodded. “It means ‘old.’ The plaques include words such as ‘antiquity,’ ‘ancient,’ ‘archaeology,’ ‘discovered in old geological strata’…With so many ancient items decorating the walls, it is only natural that this character would come up so often.”

  “Fascinating. I must admit that I am greatly intrigued by the Eastern alphabets.”

  “Intrigued? All of these items from around the world, and it is the plaques that draw your attention.”

  “I must confess to being quite familiar with varied weapons of antiquity. I’m afraid this display offers little new to rouse my interest.”

  “Then tell me, what is this?” Ito pointed to an object resembling a lanyard. The cord had been coiled, but it looked to be around six feet in total length. In the center of the cord there was an oval patch, knitted from wool.

  “That is a huaraca,” Sherlock replied. “A variety of sling used by the cultures of the Andes. A stone is placed into the center patch and then the rope is folded in two, held by the ends, and swung. The stone is propelled using centrifugal force. The huaraca also arrived in Japan during the Yayoi period, but never achieved significant popularity. The few that were discovered have simply been referred to as slings.”

  Ito peered at the plaque under the sling in amazement. “Most impressive. You are brilliant as always, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Nonsense. Even a pawnbroker knows a great number of things. To be useful, knowledge must serve the purpose of deduction.”

  “Deduction? Very well, what can you infer about the owner of these pieces?”

  Sherlock looked over the displays, voicing each thought as it occurred to him. “Like you, he is originally from the Choshu Domain. He has a natural fighting spirit, but has found himself stranded and alone in tight predicaments. Again like you, he has enjoyed the frequent company of women, and was often in charge of procuring funds for dalliances—he was artful in convincing the Choshu leaders to part with such dispensations. You have frequently availed yourself of his skills.”

  A laugh escaped Ito’s lips. “Amazing! How did you find out so much?”

  “You entered this estate without greeting the master of the house, so you have likely been friends since youth. And while I’m sure the man in question has any number of comrades, the range and variety of this collection of weapons, from so many nations and times, leads me to infer they were collected through trial and error—from a desire to overcome peril through his own resourcefulness. The weapons, however, are disappointingly impractical and have since become mere decoration. Moreover, collecting all of them would have demanded significant capital.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And from the scale of the house he appears to be a man of means. Many of the highest posts in government seem to now be filled by members of the former Choshu Domain. But luxury of this magnitude would be impossible for a government official, unless they were colluding with conglomerates and other businessmen to misappropriate funds. What is likely then is that you recognized his ability for fundraising while together in the Choshu Domain, and this has allowed him now to involve himself with the Ministry of Finance—”

  He saw Ito’s expression stiffen. He glanced at something beyond.

  Sherlock fell silent and turned to follow his gaze. A man dressed in kimono stood behind them. He was about five years older than Ito, with deep wrinkles creasing his brow. His hair was long, longer than Ito’s, and his beard had been cut short. Also like the other Japanese man’s, this man’s expression was stern, but the countenance around their eyes differed. Where Ito’s eyes were piercing, this man’s were more bovine and obtuse, and it was more difficult to discern what he was thinking. He had an angry expression and began speaking in Japanese.

  “Inoue,” said Ito, speaking in English. “Please speak in English, so that your other guest may understand.”

  The man whom Ito had referred to as Inoue directed his gaze toward Sherlock. “It’s true, I am the man who was left behind at the British legation. I do not know who you are, but if you have come now to protest you are rather late.”

  Ito glanced at Inoue and grimaced. “Things only went sideways that day because you forgot to bring the gunpowder.”

  “I hid it so well that I forgot to bring it! You were better prepared, you remembered to bring the saw. It is thanks to you that we succeeded in setting fire to the legation at all.”

  “Inoue,” said Ito, casting an uncomfortable glance at Sherlock. “Perhaps you could avoid particulars?”

  So. Inoue must be one of the men who had helped Ito burn down the British legation, before Ito first came to London. A vague memory stirred in Sherlock, who addressed himself to the man. “Are you, perhaps, the man who came running into the Hamish restaurant that day? Ito, myself, and my brother, Mycroft, were there, and you came carrying a newspaper. There was an article about a Western attack on the Choshu Domain.”

  Inoue furrowed his brow. He seemed to be having trouble recalling the event, which was only natural. It had been 27 years ago.

  Ito, however, nodded emphatically. “You are correct. He was known as Monta Shiji at the time, but he is now known as Kaoru Inoue. You recognized me immediately, Mr. Holmes, but you did not recognize my friend so quickly.”

  “As might be expected. I met you a second time at Baker Street. I have not seen Mr. Inoue since I was ten years old.” Sherlock approached Inoue and extended his hand. “Mr. Inoue, it is a pleasure. Sherlock Holmes, at your service.”

  Inoue shook his hand, but his face remained unsure. “Sherlock Holmes…I believe I have heard that name before.”

  “He is a renowned consulting detective,” Ito provided.

  “A detective?” Inoue’s face grew steely. “You have brought him here because you wish to investigate me?”

 
Sherlock grinned. “Set your mind at ease, Mr. Inoue. I have no intention of looking into your personal accounts, or reviewing your payments and deposits. After all, I believe your corruption has already come to light and you have since accepted your share of blame.”

  “My blame?” Inoue frowned. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “It is a weekday morning. Instead of departing for work you have fortified yourself at home, and are dressed in only a kimono. It is impressive that you possess the means to lead such an untroubled life even after having lost your position.”

  Inoue glared at him. “Yes, now I remember. There was an impertinent child in the restaurant that day. He talked far too much.”

  Ito laughed, evidently pleased. “You remember, then. No need to be so guarded, Inoue. Mr. Holmes is a friend. Mr. Holmes, Inoue has held government posts at various times over the years, just as you have surmised. Presently, he is taking a leave from government. But it is not because of finances. Inoue has been trying to revise the unequal treaties.”

  “Is that so?” Sherlock asked.

  Inoue sank down upon one of the sofas with a groan. “After becoming Minister of Foreign Affairs I proposed appointing foreign judges. Ito betrayed me.”

  Ito appeared chagrined. “I wanted to avoid a divided cabinet. I thought you understood.”

  Inoue snorted. “I’d thank you to refrain from attributing anything nefarious to my wealth,” he said, returning his attention to Sherlock and gesturing about the room. “Unlike Ito, I did not come from impoverished circumstances. I was attached to the Mori Clan, though I imagine that means little to you. Regardless, I came from noble lineage and therefore was quite comfortable to begin with.”

  “Noble lineage?” Ito raised his eyebrows. “A mid-level samurai at best, I would say.”