The Sword Of The Samurai

I was in Tokyo, Japan, with the honourable Prefect of Paris, Hugo Bonheur, assisting in the training of the local police, when I was informed about an unsettling series of murders that had occurred in the city over the span of a week. We were asked to lead the investigation. Bonheur had taken time to join me in Tokyo, and I was certain that we could solve the mystery of these inexplicable murders. My name is Jack Cauvain, a Chief Inspector from London.

Bonheur, at first, was a bit reluctant and dubious to accept the task, but he eventually acquiesced after I reminded him of his Parisian prowess, which exuded his talents as a sleuth.

It was the year 1903, and Japan was emerging from its prolonged centuries of isolation from the West. However, old customs were hard to die, especially those associated with the nefarious actions of secret societies and the legendary samurai. It was a time to seek and establish new relations—particularly between the countries of Japan and England. The first Anglo-Japanese Alliance had been signed in London, by Lord Lansdowne, the British Foreign Secretary, and Hayashi Tadasu, the Japanese minister in London. Tokyo was a bustling city, known for its large industries and banking conglomerates, with innovative architecture and streets full of bicycles, trams, and rickshaws.

It was evident that Western influence had begun to transform the city as well as the country, but there were those who opposed a Western alliance and wished to retain the traditional way of life. I wore my bowler hat, and Bonheur his familiar kepi hat. The victims were either Westerners or Asians. Some were international businessmen living in the country, others affiliated with the politics of the Emperor.

The latest victim was a gentleman named Isamu Ito, who was closely aligned with the Emperor. A certain Sergeant Minato Hiyashi, fluent in English, had begun to apprise us of the details of the murders, and he would be assisting us.

‘Sergeant Hiyashi, you state that the murders follow a singular pattern and were committed with a sword? Is that not the case?’ I asked.

‘Yes, that is true—but it was no ordinary sword, inspector,’ he spoke with a trace of an accent.

‘What are you saying?’ Bonheur interjected.

‘It was a katana sword!’ replied Sergeant Hiyashi.

Bonheur, unfamiliar with Japanese culture, asked, ‘What is so special about this sword?’

‘Everything, as I suspect, Bonheur,’ I responded.

‘You mean, you know what this sword is?’

‘I have heard about it. Sergeant Hiyashi, where is the deceased’s body at present?’

‘In the mortuary, inspector’.

‘Can you take us there?’

‘Of course’.

‘What do you expect we will find in the mortuary?’ Bonheur was intrigued.

‘Evidence, Bonheur’.

We were taken immediately to the mortuary, located in an area of the city near the universities and hospitals. There, we examined the body of the businessman, after discussing the reports with the local pathologist, Dr Yamamoto.

From my studious examination and observation, there was sufficient evidence to conclude that the victim had been killed by a powerful sword, as previously suggested by the sergeant. The only lingering doubt that remained was: who was the actual murderer? The throat was severely slashed and nearly severed from the torso. It was a macabre scene to witness in person, but I had seen countless such horrors in my profession.

‘There is no doubt in my mind that a katana sword—possessing a sharp, curved, single-edged blade with a circular guard—was used in this murder’.

‘You are convinced of that, Inspector?’ Bonheur enquired.

‘Naturally. I am no expert, but I trust the opinion of Sergeant Hiyashi. Would you not agree, sergeant?’

‘Indeed, I would agree, inspector’.

‘If this sword you call a katana is strong and made of steel, then why did it not decapitate the victim?’ Bonheur’s curiosity had compelled him to ask.

‘We are not certain. If the sword was made from low-carbon steel, it could become dull or brittle over time. Yet its curvature allows for a more effective slicing action’, I responded.

‘Then why were the other heads sliced off?’ Bonheur insisted.

‘That is an excellent question. I would believe that either the murderer did not have enough time to fully decapitate this victim, or he had changed his sword’.

‘Does that seem credible, inspector?’

‘What we can categorically prove is that the killer has an objective. And until that objective is accomplished, he will continue to murder, Bonheur’.

‘And what is that objective?’

‘If I am not mistaken, Sergeant Hiyashi, you believe that these murders are not the act of one man. Is that not true?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, that is true, inspector’.

‘Am I to assume, from reading the newspapers, that your country is dealing with—if I may be candid—illicit activities involving secret societies and other insidious affiliations?’

‘That is true, inspector. This is why we requested your presence and expertise’.

‘Do you have any idea who could be behind these murders? Or a name of a secret society?’

‘Forgive me, inspector, but I am not at liberty to reveal the name just yet’.

‘Pardon—why do you not reveal the name?’ Bonheur interrupted.

‘Let the man speak, Bonheur’, I reprimanded him.

‘We have a direct order from the Emperor not to incriminate this secret society until it is time to make that revelation public’.

‘I respect that order, sergeant. But you do realise the murders will continue, and we will remain at a clear disadvantage in this investigation?’

‘This I know, inspector’.

Keeping the name of a known secret society concealed was not what I had expected from the Japanese, but I had to remind myself I was in a foreign country, with its own protocols. Bonheur was not content with the tactics of the local police. He made it absolutely clear to me that our involvement placed us in extreme danger, especially as we had no knowledge of who we were confronting.

I told Bonheur that his objection was duly noted, but this was not the first time we would need to unmask a secret society with limited clues. From the facts available, we knew we were dealing with a murderer who used the same modus operandi and a lethal samurai sword. There was no doubt the method of execution was intended to be swift and accurate.

That afternoon, back at the hotel, I pondered the sword. I was intrigued and eager to learn more, but that would have to wait until we had gathered more reliable facts. We had to be satisfied, for now, with the few clues we had been able to deduce. Our task would be challenging indeed. Sergeant Hiyashi had escorted us to the hotel.

Whilst we were there, he received a call informing him of a forced entry into the Imperial Palace of Emperor Meiji. Fortunately, the emperor was away from the city, but the very fact that someone had dared to defy the symbol of imperial authority was disturbing.

For Bonheur and me, it was a chilling demonstration of the secret society’s capabilities. At the palace, we discovered that the intruder had left no clue whatsoever—except for one thing. He had killed the guard patrolling the entrance. That alone was not shocking. What was shocking was that he had entered through a secret passage known only to the emperor and a few trusted confidants. This indicated the emperor had a dangerous foe within his own inner circle.

Perhaps the intruder had miscalculated, thinking the emperor would be present. Or perhaps it was simply a test to see whether the secret passage would be discovered. I believed the criminal knew the emperor was away on private business.

‘I can’t believe they would have the audacity to break into the Imperial Palace—but I underestimated their abilities’, Bonheur muttered.

‘It is never wise to underestimate the criminal, Bonheur. But I too am stunned by this boldness,’ I replied.

Sergeant Hiyashi was silent, clearly lost in thought.

‘And why are you so quiet, Sergeant Hiyashi? Have you nothing to say?’

‘All I know, prefect, is that if we do not apprehend the criminals, the emperor will not be pleased’.

‘That is an understatement, sergeant. What we need to focus on is: where do we find this secret society? If you won’t give us their name, you can at least tell us where to start looking’,

‘I believe you are a man of confidence, Inspector Cauvain. I shall take you to them. But you must understand—neither the killer nor the members of this clandestine association will be easy to find, let alone prosecute’.

‘The killer is never easy to apprehend, sergeant. But we must never allow him to outwit us. If we do, then we are defeated’.

‘What do you suppose will happen next, inspector?’ Bonheur asked.

‘I’d like Sergeant Hiyashi to answer that’, I replied.

‘We should search for the criminal’.

‘Where do we begin that search, sergeant?’

‘I believe I can escort you to where we might possibly find some clues’.

‘Where?’ Bonheur interjected.

‘At the local brothels, where this secret society operates under the auspices of the night’.

‘I should have thought of that before, sergeant. A good place to start’.

‘What do you expect we will find there, inspector?’ Bonheur’s curiosity was increasing.

‘Certainly, what all brothels have—prostitutes!’

We were taken to one brothel in particular, known for its connections to secret societies, but the sergeant had told us it was better for him to enter alone and for us to wait outside. He did not want to arouse any unwanted suspicion or draw attention to us, being foreigners.

We agreed and understood his primary concern. Whilst we waited, Sergeant Hiyashi was busy questioning the prostitutes for any pertinent information they might divulge. As expected, none were bold enough to make any reliable disclosures. However, there was one clue that Sergeant Hiyashi managed to ascertain: a foreigner, seemingly European, had been seen doing business with the secret society.

The name of that individual was Philip Bower, an Englishman. The reason for his involvement was unclear and uncertain. What was obvious to me was the reluctance of the prostitutes to reveal any significant information about the society we were pursuing.

I don't know exactly how the sergeant managed to obtain the trust of the particular prostitute who gave him the Englishman’s name. Was it a deliberate ploy to mislead us and derail our investigation, or a genuine clue we could exploit to our advantage? I was not keen on questioning the tactics of other men of the law.

Bonheur was somewhat uneasy about the sergeant’s actions. He was adamant that we should compel the sergeant to disclose the name of the secret society behind the murders. I, on the other hand, was more concerned at the time with gaining access to more credible evidence. I was not one to rely solely on others to achieve my objective. Whether Mr Bower was involved or not remained a mystery.

A few days passed before the next murder occurred. As with the previous killings, the victim was a foreigner. Instead of an Englishman, this time it was a Chinese politician who, unfortunately, happened to be in Tokyo at the time. His head had been sliced clean from his torso. There was no doubt about the grisly method of execution—a samurai sword was concluded to be the weapon of choice.

It was becoming patently clear to me that the killer was highly trained in the martial art of swordsmanship. He was precise with a single cut. It was utterly appalling to witness such a macabre sight. I had seen brutal murders in my profession before, but the severing of the head in this case was particularly disturbing. The newspapers had dubbed him ‘the samurai killer’.

To us, he was more of a calculated murderer—one who would, in the end, make a tremendous mistake. Bonheur was baffled by the brutality of the homicide.

‘We are dealing with a devil in disguise, Inspector. How can any sane man commit such a barbarous act of depravity?’

‘It is easy, Bonheur. We are not dealing with an ordinary man. We are dealing with a hired assassin—one who knows exactly what he is doing and is committed to his cause, as I suspect’, I replied.

‘I’m afraid I’ve seen several of these types of men in Paris before. The question I have is this: how are we going to apprehend him if we have no idea what organisation he belongs to?’

‘We know at least that his targets are mostly prominent and affluent foreigners. That’s enough of a lead for us to pursue’.

‘But that’s small consolation, inspector!’ Bonheur exclaimed.

‘Indeed’.

‘What do you have to say about these murders, Sergeant Hiyashi? I am interested to hear your opinion on the matter’.

The sergeant gave his answer, then paused. ‘I think we are closer to the murderer than before’.

‘Really? In what way? I’d like to know’, Bonheur asked eagerly.

‘I believe that once we discover where he is hiding, we’ll capture him. I have no doubt about that’.

‘That’s easier said than done, sergeant’, I replied.

‘What I fail to understand, messieurs, is frankly how we are supposed to prevent the next murder’,

‘We don’t’, I said.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Bonheur asked.

‘I’d like to know that as well, inspector!’ Sergeant Hiyashi interjected.

‘Allow me to explain, gentlemen. The killer knows that we’re searching for him and that we’re involved in the case. I’m certain he’s aware of the tactics we’ve employed and how he selects his victims. What we must do is remain patient and catch him in his game of perversion’.

‘Game of perversion, Inspector?’ The sergeant enquired.

‘Forgive me, Sergeant. I mean to say that he will eventually be compelled to seek us out’.

‘Seek us out? What are you implying?’ Bonheur asked, visibly puzzled.

‘I mean that, with this forced intrusion into the Imperial Palace, there will be increased vigilance from the police. This may prompt affluent foreign businessmen or politicians to flee the city. What I am about to say next is not a careless remark. I’m certain the sergeant can attest to the fact that this brings unwanted publicity to Tokyo’,

‘You are correct, inspector’.

We left the crime scene and returned to our hotel, where Bonheur and I discussed the plausibility of solving the case with such scant evidence. He had little faith in the competence of the local police to handle the illicit actions of secret societies so entrenched in Japanese culture and politics.

I was convinced our only viable option was to investigate the brothels ourselves, but Bonheur was not keen on the idea. There was too much risk involved, and we didn’t speak Japanese. It would be a formidable challenge, one that would require our utmost skill.

Thus, we decided not to visit the brothels. Just as we felt we were going in circles, we were visited by a strange young woman dressed as a geisha. We heard a light knock at the door, and when we peered through the peephole, we saw her—standing alone in the corridor, wearing a long black kimono, a traditional hairstyle, and the distinctive oshiroi makeup, with striking red lipstick and black eyeliner around her eyes and eyebrows.

Bonheur was hesitant to open the door. I instructed him to ask what she wanted. At first, there was no response—until she spoke perfect English. She said her name was Himari, and that she had valuable information about the secret society we were investigating. I was unsure what to expect; we had yet to meet a single brave soul willing to expose that clandestine group. I told Bonheur to let her in.

‘You said you’ve come to inform us about the secret society we’re searching for?’

‘Yes, inspector’.

‘What can you tell us then? To begin with, who are they?’ I asked.

‘They’re called the Genyosha Society, inspector’.

‘What can you tell us about them?’

‘They’re extremely ruthless and dangerous. I suggest you leave Tokyo while you can. They’re coming for both of you. They know you’re involved’.

‘And how do you know that? Why should we believe you?’ Bonheur interjected.

‘I know, prefect, because I once worked for them’.

‘You worked for them? Why did you leave?’

‘I left them, inspector, because I discovered their dealings with one of the Emperor’s loyal cabinet members’.

‘Mon Dieu! Then the intrusion into the Imperial Palace was the result of one man’s treachery?’ Bonheur exclaimed.

‘Yes, prefect. That’s exactly what happened’, she replied.

‘What more can you tell us, young lady, about their activities and reputation?’

‘The Genyosha Society was founded by a wealthy ex-samurai and mine owner named Toyama Mitsuru, who had mining interests in Manchuria. They wanted a return to the old feudal Japanese order, with privileges for the samurai class. After taking part in uprisings in Kyushu, they were suppressed during the Satsuma Rebellion in 1877. They later emerged as a political force in Japan. They operate clandestinely, using brothels as meeting points to gather information for blackmail or sabotage. They’re believed to have masterminded the assassination of Queen Min of Korea in 1895. Their influence extends into Korea and China’.

‘I was under the impression that the samurai were outlawed and their privileged status abolished after the 1870s by the emperor’.

‘That’s true, but they remain a force to be reckoned with, inspector’.

‘If what you say is true, young lady, it implies that this traitor in the emperor’s cabinet is deeply involved with this organisation of former samurai. Do you know the name of this individual?’

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. Bonheur looked through the peephole—this time it was the sergeant. I immediately told the geisha to hide on the terrace while we spoke to him. When he entered the room, he informed us that the emperor wanted to see us in person.

The emperor was in hiding, in a secret location known only to a handful of his most trusted circle. I was not surprised by the emperor’s summons, but I was troubled by the lack of evidence and the sergeant’s unwillingness to confirm the secret society’s name—something we had just been told by the geisha.

I wondered who I could truly believe, and who I could trust. The sequence of events to follow would be crucial to solving the case. We agreed to meet the emperor, though Bonheur had misgivings. He had a sense—just as I did—that something about the encounter was unusual. He didn’t trust Sergeant Hiyashi.

The sergeant told us he would return within the hour to escort us to the emperor’s location. In the meantime, we helped the geisha leave the hotel safely. She gave us an address where she could be found.

Back in the room, we discussed the name Genyosha Society. Bonheur was sceptical about the evidence, and he confessed he feared we were walking into a trap by agreeing to meet the emperor.

He also doubted the geisha’s intentions. I shared his concern. When it came time to leave, Sergeant Hiyashi returned and took us to where the emperor was supposedly hiding.

We passed through several streets—Kichijoji Sun Road, Jingu-dori Street, Inokashira-dori Street, Koen-dori Street, Sugamo Jizo-dori Street, and finally Chuo-dori Street, lined with jewellers, restaurants and cafés. Eventually, we approached a large, towering temple, secluded and mysterious. This was where we were meant to meet the emperor.

I never imagined I would meet the emperor inside a solitary Buddhist temple—or face a danger that grew by the hour. Upon entering, there was no one in sight. The temple’s interior was impressive, with its rich architecture, yet the emperor was nowhere to be seen.

Sergeant Hiyashi told us to wait, as he would go to inform the emperor of our arrival. I was growing suspicious, and Bonheur—never one to mask his feelings—told me plainly that something ominous was awaiting us.

Indeed, it was a trap. One that had been set for our death. As we began to step cautiously back toward the front entrance of the temple, Sergeant Hiyashi returned—but not with the emperor. He had something far more lethal in store.

‘What is going on here, Sergeant Hiyashi?’ I asked him.

‘It is regrettable that you gentlemen must meet your death today. If it is of any consolation, it was not planned this way. You were both meant to die at a later time, but we could not afford to let you live’.

‘What is the meaning of this, sergeant?’ Bonheur interjected.

‘It is simple, prefect. We cannot risk you interfering with our plans’.

‘What plans are you referring to?’ Bonheur asked with emotion.

‘I believe what the sergeant is alluding to is the Genyōsha Society’s scheme. Since when have you been a member, Sergeant Hiyashi?’ I asked.

‘For a decade, inspector’.

‘Are you even a real policeman?’ I pressed.

‘I am, at times!’

‘I suspected as much!’

‘Then who are you?’ Bonheur uttered.

‘Who I am is irrelevant, prefect. What matters now is that you will both meet your end here’.

He then gave instructions to two masked men in disguise—ninjas—who were ordered to kill us, as he exited the temple through the rear door. Before leaving, he forced us to throw our pistols to the ground. The ninjas unsheathed their straight-bladed ninjatō swords, prepared to slay us in an instant.

However, Bonheur had secretly concealed a small Colt M1903 pistol, and, in a swift act of courage, he managed to thwart the advancing ninjas just as they lunged towards us with their blades.

He shot them, saving our lives in the nick of time. It was the closest I had come to death in many years, and I had felt helpless without my weapon. Though we were shaken, we were grateful to have survived. It was then clear to us that Sergeant Hiyashi was involved with the Genyōsha Society and its crimes. A close call, indeed.

We decided to remain hidden for the moment, sensing that if we returned to the hotel, the sergeant would discover we were still alive. Bonheur suggested we find a cheap hotel where we could stay incognito. The geisha entered my thoughts as a potential source of help. I told Bonheur we could visit the address she had given and seek her assistance. I had to persuade him that it was our only viable option at that time.

This time, we would act with greater caution and discretion. We could no longer rely on Sergeant Hiyashi, who was now considered an enemy working directly with the Genyōsha Society.

Although the murderer of the foreigners remained at large, we made our way to the location the geisha had provided. We found her in the Shinjuku Golden Gai area—a lively district filled with large placards, trams, wagons, and bustling crowds.

Geishas—known as saburuki—were skilled entertainers, versed in dance, song, tea ceremonies, and calligraphy. They typically performed at parties called ozashiki, catering to wealthy clientele. We found Himari and spoke with her privately after she had finished with a client. She was willing to talk about the Genyōsha Society. We didn’t mention the temple incident involving Sergeant Hiyashi and the ninjas, not wanting to risk the investigation should she also be involved.

‘I want to thank you for speaking to us under these conditions. As you know, we are still investigating the murders’. I began.

‘There is no need to thank me, inspector. I am just as much in danger as you. That is why I am leaving the city and returning to my native Okinawa as soon as I can’.

‘When will you be leaving?’

‘Tonight’.

‘Do you know where we might find the man behind the Genyōsha operations—the mastermind? Do you know his name?’

‘His name is Jiro Akiyama. He is a powerful businessman, inspector. As for where to find him—he is very secretive. But he has visited me here before. In fact, he comes weekly’.

‘I know I’m in no position to ask you a favour, but would you help us trap him?’

She hesitated, then agreed. ‘If you can guarantee my safety’.

‘I shall. Bonheur and I will remain nearby, observing the encounter’.

‘I must warn you, inspector. Even if you capture him, imprisoning him will be difficult. His influence in Tokyo is immense’.

‘I expected as much—and have already planned for it. I’ll need your help’.

‘What do you plan to do?’ She asked.

‘I plan to speak directly with the emperor—but I need you to act as my interpreter’.

‘I don’t know where to find him’.

‘Leave that to me. But if I do, will you assist?’

‘Yes’.

‘Do you really think you can speak to the emperor?’ Bonheur asked, sceptical.

‘If it’s a matter of life and death—yes’, I replied.

Himari agreed to stay and assist. She was the only witness linking the murders to the Genyōsha Society, though I knew her testimony alone would not suffice due to her questionable profession. We needed more damning evidence to convict the society.

I considered returning to the brothel Sergeant Hiyashi had taken us to, despite Bonheur’s objections. We remained in disguise following the temple incident. To make our visit less conspicuous, I suggested we observe the brothel from a nearby building using binoculars. Bonheur conceded to the plan, understanding its necessity despite the risk.

Once in position, we hoped to identify familiar faces. We had few leads—only the name Jiro Akiyama. Fortunately, Himari had provided us with his photograph. It seemed an unlikely gamble, but to our amazement, Akiyama entered the brothel late in the afternoon.

Bonheur could scarcely believe our luck. I watched Akiyama through the binoculars. The brothel, notorious for gambling, attracted locals and foreigners alike. After an hour, Akiyama exited and left in a carriage.

The plot thickened. We had three primary suspects: the killer with the samurai sword, Sergeant Hiyashi, and Akiyama—the mastermind.

Disappointingly, none had been captured. Of them, Akiyama would be the most difficult to arrest, given his power and influence. Still, I was resolute—he would pay for his crimes. We had come too far from Europe to return empty-handed.

Bonheur wished to follow him, but I dissuaded him, stressing the risk of exposure. He understood and agreed. We now knew Akiyama frequented both the brothel and Himari.

He moved around with impunity, defying local authorities. I began to suspect corruption within the police—some members may well have ties to the Genyōsha Society. Meanwhile, Himari helped us find another hotel.

Unbeknown to us, our previous hotel had been ransacked by Genyōsha members—they had discovered our location, confirming we were alive. At our new hotel, Bonheur paced nervously.

‘Good God, Bonheur, if you don’t stop pacing, you’ll make me anxious too’.

‘What are we going to do next, inspector? Now that they know we’re not dead!’

‘Try to survive, Bonheur. And if you must know, I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do’.

‘I’m listening’.

‘We’ll remain here, watchful of course, until tomorrow, when we expect to see Mr Akiyama again’.

‘And what then? We can’t arrest him—we’ve little evidence’, Bonheur said.

‘I don’t intend to arrest him yet. But I do believe he’s the mastermind’.

‘And what do you hope to accomplish with that?’

‘If I’m right—everything’.

‘Please explain, inspector’.

‘If we find the murderer, we may find crucial evidence’.

‘Such as?’

‘Such as something that directly incriminates Akiyama. But I’ve devised a plan’.

‘A plan? What sort of plan?’

‘We’ll make the killer believe you’re a prominent French businessman’.

‘And how do you plan to do that?’

‘That’s where I’ll need your cooperation’.

‘I don’t like that contemplative look on your face. What exactly do you want me to do?’ Bonheur asked, suspicious.

‘Judging by the killer’s victims, you’re the perfect addition to his collection of heads’.

‘Mon Dieu! Are you serious? I don’t plan on having my head sliced off like the others!’

‘I don’t expect you to’.

‘How do you expect the killer to fall for such a bold plan? Do you realise the risk we’re taking?’

‘I’m fully aware. But trust me—I know what I’m doing’.

‘That’s easier said than done’, Bonheur muttered.

‘Have I ever let you down in a case?’ I asked.

‘Not yet!’

‘Then, my dear friend—don’t start doubting me now’.

Bonheur would sleep with one eye open, and the other closed that night, and the following morning we awoke with the anticipation of what was to occur. I admit that I did not sleep much either, but the urgency to solve the case was pressing.

It was the first time, in numerous investigations of mine, that the evidence I had retrieved was not as extensive as I had expected. The implication of that realisation was that I was relying on my intuitive sense more than on the tangible evidence presented in the case. I was always immersed in the analytical approach of my investigations, and logic was a contributing factor in my deductions.

So much was at stake—not only the safety of the emperor, but the scandal that could be exposed in the political realm of the country and abroad. As we waited in the hotel, Bonheur once more began to pace nervously. I sensed his preoccupation and attempted to distract him with the sundry details of the case.

We discussed at length the circumstances and sequence of events that had ensued since the first murder was perpetrated. Usually, we would depend on the assistance of the local police, as had been the case previously. However, after the betrayal by Sergeant Hiyashi, we felt that we could not confide our innermost thoughts and ideas to them, risking our whereabouts and the progress of the investigation.

It was evident that the only person we could somewhat confide in was a local geisha whom we had met, whose loyalty to us remained unproven. This was little consolation to Bonheur, but he understood the precarious nature of the situation that was unfolding by the day. If there was one man I trusted with my life, it was him.

We remained in disguise, dressed as foreign businessmen. My ultimate plan was to lure the murdering swordsman to an isolated place where we could at least be seen in public. There was a moat lined with plentiful rows of pulchritudinous cherry blossom trees, near a riverbank. This would be the ideal location for our planned encounter with the killer.

It was no guarantee that the killer would present himself or dare to murder us. Nevertheless, it was the only viable option we had to attract his attention, in such an open space where we were vulnerable to his lethal sword and machination. There would be no one to assist us; we were on our own. I hid behind a thick tree, hoping to detain the swordsman. After approximately an hour of waiting, a lone individual, dressed in ordinary attire, was seen heading towards the vicinity.

At first, we could not distinguish much about his general features, as he was wearing dark spectacles to cover his eyes. But I did notice him adjusting something inside his coat, which appeared to be an object of considerable size. Was it a sword, I asked myself? The stranger then began to approach Bonheur. My forehead began to sweat, as did Bonheur’s. Was it the killer?

The man walked casually, as if there was no urgency in him. He uttered not a single word, and swiftly pulled out from his coat a large blade—it was a menacing katana. We knew then it was the murderer. Sensing what was about to occur, I immediately shot the man, wounding him in the chest. He fell into the river nearby, dead.

We had finally neutralised the assassin who had been committing the brutal crimes, but there was still the mastermind behind the murders to apprehend. I knew the assassin was only a willing participant in the crimes of the Genyosha Society.

Even though it would not be facile to trap Mr Akiyama, we knew that we had to expose him for who he was behind his public persona. That afternoon, we had our golden opportunity. We visited Himari at the geisha lodging, known as an okiya. There, she and the other geishas entertained their invited guests, including the infamous Mr Akiyama.

Bonheur was uncertain whether we could implicate him at all without substantial evidence. He had a good point. We had no credible witnesses, except for the geisha. Thus, I proposed something even more daring in nature and conviction.

‘I have an idea that perhaps will lead to Mr Akiyama’s downfall’.

‘And what is that idea, inspector?’

‘We shall set up a meeting with the emperor’.

‘How do you suppose to achieve that, if you do not know where he is?’ Bonheur was bemused.

‘We shall present ourselves at the lodging as foreign businessmen, who are going to meet the emperor in person’.

‘But how do you expect to achieve that?’

‘Simple, Bonheur. By posing as interesting men of business affairs, we shall inadvertently say, as we are conversing, that we shall meet with him tomorrow in the afternoon’.

‘Do you expect him to believe us? That would be foolish of us’.

‘Optimism, Bonheur! We must be optimists’.

‘How can we be, when danger is facing us from every direction?’

‘It is like catching a mouse with a trap. We shall provide a supposed location and a credible reason to meet the emperor. A little hearsay does tend to arrest the attention of criminals’.

‘You mean offer a bait to entice him?’

‘Indeed!’

‘It might just work—if we are convincing enough, inspector’.

‘We shall soon find out, Bonheur’.

When we finally arrived that late afternoon, Himari was awaiting us, and we informed her of our devised plan. Mr Akiyama had already arrived and was occupied with one of the other geishas. We instructed Himari to pretend to be an informant. It was a terrible risk for her to partake in our plan, because if caught, she would most likely be murdered.

She was valiant enough to do as we requested, without complaint. It was not uncommon for geishas to learn secrets in the privacy of their clients. We, for our part, acted as distinguished businessmen, with lofty aspirations of investing in Japan. This attracted Mr Akiyama’s attention. Upon hearing from Himari that we were going to meet the emperor, he had reason enough to ask for more details.

Our secret meeting with the emperor was supposed to take place the following morning. There was a tense moment when it almost seemed he had recognised us beneath our disguises, but he was distracted by Himari’s natural beauty and paid us little attention in the end.

It was now set: we would attempt to deceive Mr Akiyama. All our effort and time on the case depended on the expected success of this surreptitious meeting with the emperor that we had fabricated. I had never felt so compelled to utilise such duplicity, but given the grave nature of the circumstances, it was the only recourse we could feasibly enact.

There was one piece of good news: Himari had overheard, in conversation with a diplomat from the emperor’s circle of trusted men, exactly where the emperor was staying. A letter would be sent to his hidden address, informing him about my secret meeting with Mr Akiyama. We left the geisha lodging—and Himari too. Before we departed, I told her to leave the city at once, until further notice. I did not want her to lose her life after her valuable assistance in the case.

We returned to our last hotel with the knowledge we needed, and the sober realisation that if we could not trap Mr Akiyama and prove his involvement, we would have to start from scratch. Bonheur was more pessimistic and believed that if we failed with the plan, we would never resolve the case entirely. Though we had discovered the murderer—the swordsman—we still had nothing concrete to link Mr Akiyama to the murders and the illicit activities of the Genyosha Society.

This was the main reason it was imperative to lure him into the trap that would expose his participation. Bonheur was troubled by ponderous thoughts, doubting every minute that passed, questioning the effectiveness of our plan. But I told him it was not the time to be uncertain of our actions.

We were extremely alert and conscious of the dangers around us in Tokyo. Inside the hotel, we removed our disguises and began to discuss how we would approach the delicate situation. We had a plan; we just needed to be precise and calculative in its execution.

We knew that Mr Akiyama frequently visited the brothels and geisha lodgings of the city, and that he was an influential man. Nevertheless, this did not deter us from our objective. I was resolute to apprehend him at whatever cost was permitted, and I was prepared to outwit him with my ingenuity and experience.

Bonheur was thinking about the crooked Sergeant Hiyashi and his involvement in the case. I had not forgotten him. We could not afford to let him disconcert our intentions.

‘What are we going to do with Sergeant Hiyashi, inspector?’

‘There is not much we can do, Bonheur, for the moment’.

‘You know that he must know we are alive and still in the city’.

‘Indeed I know—but it is my intuitive sense that we shall not have to look far for him’.

‘What are you trying to tell me, inspector?’ Bonheur enquired.

‘It is my logic that tells me he will come looking for us—instead of us looking for him’, I responded.

‘And if he does, then what?’

‘Then we shall confront him’.

‘Arrest him?’

‘That—or kill him! Although I must admit, I do not relish the thought of another death, even if it is Sergeant Hiyashi’s’.

‘Do you truly believe the emperor will have received the letter and believe what we are trying to prove?’

‘That is a good question, Bonheur’.

‘Do you have an answer?’

‘Of course! Trust me—he will receive the letter’.

That night, I wrote a letter to the British ambassador in Japan, informing him of the treacherous activities and clandestine actions of the Genyosha Society, which had resulted in unlawful crimes. I had been told he had just returned from England. I informed him we had managed to kill the executioner of the foreign businessmen and diplomats, and that we were closing in on resolving the case and arresting the principal leader of this secret society.

I did not go into specific details about our plan, being mindful of the possibility the letter could be intercepted. I was taking a chance that the letter would reach the ambassador without delay. It was crucial that, if we were to be killed, he would have the essential evidence we possessed concerning the Genyosha Society.

When morning arrived, we were ready to execute our plan with conviction. Preparations were intact; the only thing missing was the actual episode—the meeting with Mr Akiyama in person. Once more, we disguised ourselves in clothing and profession. We took into consideration all necessary precautions and reasoning. This meeting was intended as our last meaningful attempt to solve the case.

When we headed to the place where we were to have our encounter with Mr Akiyama, we contemplated the possibility that he might not appear at all. We arrived at the designated location—an old theatre in the traditional area known as Asakusa. After several minutes of waiting, a man resembling Mr Akiyama approached. He came alone.

I thought it queer that he would come unaccompanied, but we were prepared for any unexpected occurrences. We had pistols in our waistcoats, in case they became necessary. At the time, there were few pedestrians in the street. Bonheur was wary of being led into a perilous trap Mr Akiyama had planned. I could not dismiss that dreadful possibility.

After all, we knew little about him or his intentions. He was a man of reverence and imposition, despite his average stature. We knew his family had belonged to a distinguished lineage of ancient samurais who once ruled the country. He was not a man to underestimate. He presented himself and greeted us with a firm handshake. Then, in perfect English, despite his noticeable accent, he explained his interest in speaking with us.

‘Gentlemen, I was told by an important businessman of the area that you two were interested in investing in my country?’

‘That is correct!’ I replied.

‘And you were planning on speaking to the emperor?’

‘Yes, that is also correct. But may I ask the name of your businessman?’

‘That is not important, Inspector Cauvain. We meet at last! You do not know how long I have waited for this meeting’.

‘I believe you have mistaken me for another individual’.

It was then Sergeant Hiyashi emerged from behind the theatre, gun pointed at us.

‘We meet again, inspector!’

He ordered us into the theatre. Inside, it seemed we were at the mercy of his gun.

‘I know the emperor is not here—but it does not matter, for I shall have the opportunity to murder him afterwards’.

‘You shall eventually be apprehended, Mr Akiyama. You shall not get away with the murders or your crimes’.

‘And who will prevent us? You are in no condition to do anything, inspector’.

It was then that five local policemen emerged from their concealment, weapons at the ready, prepared to arrest both Mr Akiyama and Sergeant Hiyashi. They had been listening intently to our conversation.

‘I believe if you look behind you, you shall have your answer’.

The policemen had been informed about the encounter we had planned with Mr Akiyama. Without hesitation, they arrested Sergeant Hiyashi, but Mr Akiyama managed to flee through another exit of the theatre. He did not get far before the police cornered him in a nearby street.

Rather than surrender, he chose to take his own life. He committed the ultimate act of the samurai—harakiri.

Himari and the British Ambassador had accompanied the police to the theatre. Another figure arrived shortly after. It was the emperor himself.

He had come to personally thank us for our determination in resolving the case and ridding the country of the criminals who had been terrorising Tokyo. We were awarded distinguished medals for our deeds.

As the Emperor’s carriage disappeared into the misty streets of Tokyo, a heavy silence fell upon us. The weight of what we had witnessed—the fall of the Genyōsha Society, the tragic death of Mr Akiyama, and the arrest of Sergeant Hiyashi—pressed on my thoughts like an iron shroud. The city, so vibrant and yet so veiled in shadows, seemed different now, as if a subtle yet profound change had begun to ripple through its innnermost soul.

Himari stood beside me, her expression serene but contemplative. ‘This is not the end’, she said softly. ‘The darkness that bred the Genyosha will linger, waiting for new voices to rise. Our work has only just begun’.

I nodded, feeling the truth in her words. Though we had dismantled the society’s immediate threat, the seeds of corruption and unrest were deeply embedded. We could not afford complacency.

The British Ambassador, a dignified man named Sir Arthur Pembroke, approached. ‘Your courage and dedication honour not only Japan but the ideals we hold dear in Britain’, he said, shaking my hand firmly. ‘I hope this collaboration marks the beginning of stronger ties between our nations’.

We exchanged pleasantries, but my mind wandered to the shadowy corridors of the theatre where it all had unfolded. The theatre itself, once a place of light and culture, had become a battleground for hidden wars, a metaphor for the dual lives so many here led.

‘Perhaps a final visit to the theatre is in order’, I suggested. ‘To pay respects, and perhaps find closure’.

Himari agreed, and together we made our way back through the labyrinthine streets, the chill evening air tinged with the faint scent of incense and cherry blossoms. The theatre loomed ahead, its once-glorious façade now marked with the scars of violence and betrayal.

Inside, the echoes of the past whispered through the empty seats. The velvet curtains hung heavy, untouched since the fateful night. As we stepped onto the stage, I imagined the many performances that had entertained audiences here—plays of joy, tragedy, and passion. Now, the stage bore witness to a far grimmer story.

Suddenly, a faint noise caught our attention—a soft shuffle from the wings. We exchanged a glance, instinctively reaching for the small daggers concealed beneath our coats.

‘Who’s there?’ Himari called out, her voice steady but firm.

From the shadows emerged a figure, elderly and thin, clad in the simple robes of a monk. His eyes held a calm wisdom, but also a flicker of sorrow.

‘I am Mr Kenji’, he said quietly. ‘I have served this theatre for many years, though mostly in the shadows. I witnessed much that the city’s eyes never saw’.

We lowered our weapons, sensing no threat.

‘The Genyosha’s influence runs deeper than you realise’, Mr Kenji continued. ‘Their tendrils stretch into places you have yet to uncover. But there are those who would stand against them—quiet guardians who seek to restore balance’.

Himari stepped forth. ‘We have seen the cost of their shadow games. How do we fight an enemy that hides in plain sight?’

Mr Kenji smiled sadly. ‘Through knowledge and vigilance. By understanding the nature of darkness, we can light even the smallest flame to dispel it’.

He paused, then reached into his robes and produced a small, intricately carved box. ‘This belonged to the founder of the Genyosha, passed down through generations. It holds secrets that could help bring true peace to Tokyo—if it falls into the right hands’.

I took the box carefully, feeling the weight of history in my fingers.

‘You must decide what to do with this,’ Mr Kenji said. ‘But be warned, many will covet its contents, for power always breeds desire’.

We bowed respectfully, understanding the gravity of his gift. As we left the theatre, the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and gold, signalling not only a new day but a new chapter.

Our journey was far from over.

In the days that followed, Himari and I convened in a discreet tea house nestled within a quiet alley of Ginza. The box rested between us, its secrets waiting patiently to be revealed. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

‘Shall we open it?’ Himari asked, eyes shining with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

I nodded. With careful hands, I lifted the lid. Inside lay a collection of ancient scrolls, ink faded by time but still legible. The writing was in a cryptic script, interspersed with diagrams and symbols that seemed both mystical and practical.

‘These are the lost teachings of the original Genyosha’, Himari murmured. ‘They were once a brotherhood of scholars and warriors dedicated to protecting the balance of Japan, but somewhere along the way, ambition twisted their purpose’.

As we studied the scrolls, a plan began to take shape. We would form a new society—one that upheld the true values of honour, justice, and harmony. Not a secret order for power, but a network of vigilant protectors committed to rooting out corruption wherever it lurked.

Sir Arthur Pembroke had also expressed interest in assisting, offering resources and connections from Britain that could aid in this endeavour. A cross-cultural alliance that could stand as a bulwark against the rising tide of lawlessness and shadow factions.

Our first mission was clear: to track down Sergeant Hiyashi, whose arrest seemed only the beginning of a larger conspiracy. What secrets did he hold? And could he be persuaded to aid us?

Before we could act, a messenger arrived bearing a sealed letter, delivered under the strictest confidentiality. The seal was unfamiliar, bearing a symbol—a stylised phoenix rising from ashes.

‘A new player’, Himari said quietly, breaking the wax. Inside was a message written in elegant calligraphy:

To those who seek to restore balance, beware the ashes, for the phoenix may yet burn those who draw too close.

The warning was chilling. It suggested an enemy even more formidable than the Genyosha, one that operated in the shadows beyond our knowledge.

Determined, we set out under the cover of night, following leads that took us through the hidden underbelly of Tokyo—secret meetings in dimly lit tea houses, coded messages exchanged in the bustling markets, and whispers of ancient rivalries rekindled.

Our investigation led us to an abandoned temple on the outskirts of the city, where we discovered evidence of ritualistic practices and symbols matching those on the letter’s seal. It was clear that the phoenix was not merely a metaphor but the emblem of a clandestine faction wielding influence through fear and superstition.

Navigating this new danger would test our resolve and resourcefulness as never before.

As days turned into a week, the alliance we forged grew stronger. Together with Himari, Sir Arthur, and a growing circle of trustworthy allies, we worked tirelessly to expose corruption and protect the innocent. The box and its scrolls became a guide, teaching us ancient techniques of strategy, meditation, and subtle diplomacy.

Tokyo slowly began to change. The once-ubiquitous fear gave way to cautious hope. People whispered about the ‘Guardians of the Dawn’, a secret network who operated unseen but whose actions rippled through the city’s heart.

Yet, even as we celebrated small victories, the phoenix’s shadow loomed large, reminding us that in the delicate balance of light and darkness, vigilance was eternal.

I often thought back to Mr Akiyama’s final act—the harakiri that marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. His death was tragic, but in it lay a lesson: honour could be reclaimed, even amid ruin.

Himari once said to me, ‘The soul of a nation is like the cherry blossom—brief, beautiful, and resilient. We must protect it, no matter the cost’.

And so, beneath the cherry blossoms’ falling petals, we continued our journey—guardians in the shadows, bound by honour, driven by hope.

Before departing the city, I thanked Himari for her crucial role in the investigation. It was thanks to her that we were able to uncover the darkest secrets of the Genyosha Society.

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