"Did he preside over the forging of ancient sword-blades in Japan?" he
asked.
"I do not know of preside--that is a new word. But the great workers
of the steel, those who made the _katana_ in the times of Yoshitsuné
and Taiko-Sama, they hung curtains and made offerings to Hachiman when
they forged a blade--yes. The great Muramasa and the great Masamuné
and Sanénori--they forged their blades at the foot of Hachiman. And it
is believed that the god Inari came unseen with his hammer and forged
the steel too. Though Hachiman is Buddhist and Inari is Shinto. But
these are not things to talk about. There is one religion, which is
yours, and there is another religion, which is mine, and it is not
good that we talk together of them. There are things that people call
superstition when they are of another religion, though they may be very
true."
They walked a little farther, and then Mr. Colson, determined to
penetrate Kanamaro's mask of indifference, observed--
"It's a very sad thing this about Mr. Deacon."
"What is that?" asked Kanamaro, stolidly.
"Why, it is in all the newspapers!"
"The newspapers I do not read at all."
"Mr. Deacon has been killed--murdered in his rooms! He was found lying
dead at the feet of Hachiman the god."
"Indeed!" Kanamaro answered politely, but with something rather like
stolid indifference. "That is very sad. I am sorry. I did not know he
had a Hachiman."
"And they say," Mr. Colson pursued, "that _something_ has been taken!"
"Ah, yes," Kanamaro answered, just as coolly; "there were many things
of much value in the rooms." And after a little while he added, "I see
it is a little late. You will excuse me, for I must go to lunch at my
lodgings. Good-day."
He bowed, shook hands, and hailed a cab. Mr. Colson heard him direct
the cabman to his lodgings, and then, in another cab, Mr. Colson made
for Dorrington's office.
Kanamaro's stolidity, the lack of anything like surprise at the news
of Mr. Deacon's death, his admission that he had finished his business
in England successfully--these things placed the matter beyond all
doubt in Mr. Colson's mind. Plainly he felt so confident that none knew
of his errand in England, that he took things with perfect coolness,
and even ventured so far as to speak of the murder in very near
terms--to say that he did not expect to have to do what he had done,
and would not have believed it possible that he _could_ do it--though,
to be sure, he checked himself at once before going farther. Certainly
Dorrington must be told at once. That would be better than going to
the police, perhaps, for possibly the police might not consider the
evidence sufficient to justify an arrest, and Dorrington may have
ascertained something in the meantime.
Dorrington had not been heard of at his office since leaving there
early in the morning. So Mr. Colson saw Hicks, and arranged that a
man should be put on to watch Kanamaro, and should be sent instantly,
before he could leave his lodgings again. Then Mr. Colson hurried to
Bedford Mansions.
There he saw the housekeeper. From him he learned that Dorrington had
left some time since, promising either to be back or to telegraph
during the afternoon. Also, he learned that Beard, the hall-porter, was
in a great state of indignation and anxiety as a consequence of the
discovery that he was being watched by the police. He had got a couple
of days leave of absence to go and see his mother, who was ill, and he
found his intentions and destination a matter of pressing inquiry. Mr.
Colson assured the housekeeper that he might promise Beard a speedy
respite from the attentions of the police, and went to his lunch.