Fuhito blinked. ‘I must warn you that there are nearly thirty house servants here. And another eighty-five have various duties at the gate, in the stables, the kitchens, the bath house, and the gardens.’

It was an impossible proposition, and the major-domo knew it. Akitada said coldly, ‘I expect a man in your position has questioned them already. Perhaps you would share what you have learned?’

Fuhito looked at his clenched hands. ‘Not everyone, sir. But I did speak with those on duty in the house, at the gate, and in the gardens. I made a list of all the visitors who entered the compound that day. Neither the servants in the house nor in the gardens observed anyone who was not supposed to be there. The list is in the hands of the police.’

‘Did you make a copy?’

Fuhito flushed. ‘No, sir. I did not know it would be needed. I have some rough notes, which I used to compile the final list.’

That was better. Akitada asked to see the notes, and Fuhito went to a bamboo stand with shelves, where he took several sheets of paper from a writing box. These he passed to Akitada with a bow.

Akitada studied them closely. Fuhito wrote in an excellent hand. In fact, his brush strokes marked him as university-educated, though sometimes graduates of the Imperial University were forced to teach in the provinces, and Fuhito might have benefited from one such instructor.

He saw his own name, and that of the poet Ono. In each case, the purpose of the visit was noted. He himself was identified by his former rank and position and his intention ‘to speak to His Lordship on a matter connected with the Ministry of Justice’. Ono was unidentified, perhaps because he was a familiar and regular visitor. He had paid a call on Her Ladyship. The others were tradesmen, messengers from various offices of the Greater Palace, and people from the Kiyowara estate. They had been seen by Fuhito or the head cook, because they had brought supplies or received orders.

When Akitada had read the notes carefully, he looked up. Fuhito met his gaze. ‘I see the name of His Highness, Prince Atsunori. He and I met briefly in the waiting room. Why is the purpose of his visit missing?’

The major-domo seemed astonished by the question. ‘His Highness was shown into the waiting room by mistake. I was horrified when I discovered what an ignorant servant had done and rushed to remedy the situation. His Highness should not have been asked to wait. He was angry.’

Akitada recalled the air of outraged importance that had enveloped the Minister of Central Affairs. ‘But why not list the reason for his call? Did you also leave that off the list you gave the police?’

‘I saw no need to demand a reason from someone of such exalted rank. He probably stopped on his way to the emperor to remind Lord Kiyowara of some small matter. I took him in myself and waited outside the door. He left after only a moment. His lordship was alive then.’

Ah, that helped narrow things, though Akitada, in a perverse humor, was a little disappointed that the prince was cleared of suspicion. He said, ‘Thank you. May I ask you to make a list for me also? And then perhaps you might show me the house and the room where your master died. As you know, I never got farther than the waiting room the day I came here.’

Fuhito accepted his notes back. ‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Did you by chance attend the university here in the capital? Your calligraphy is excellent.’

This time, the major-domo blushed with pleasure. The man’s eyes became moist. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he stammered. ‘Yes, I was so fortunate. Those were happy days. Long gone, I’m afraid.’

Seeing so much nostalgic emotion, Akitada felt like apologizing, but he desisted. Fuhito jumped up, tucked the notes away, and rushed to open the door for him.

The tour of the house was enlightening about the dead man’s wealth and his hopes for the future. Clearly, he had aimed for palatial appointments, rejecting true elegance like the austere simplicity of the emperor’s own residence. Costly fabrics, objects, and paintings abounded. The room where he had died was no exception.

More to the point, Akitada suspected that it had been cleaned after the police left and the body was removed.

In addition to Kiyowara’s own desk, there was a smaller second desk meant for a secretary rather than a scribe. Akitada asked about this and was told that the secretary had not been employed yet, but that Lord Kiyowara had been casting about for a suitable man.

‘Why was the job not offered to you?’ Akitada asked. ‘Surely your background would have made you an excellent choice.’

Fuhito bit his lip. ‘Not at all, sir. I am too old. His Lordship hoped for someone younger and with connections among the court nobility.’

Was he bitter that he had been passed over? Or relieved? The position would surely have meant constant exposure to Lord Kiyowara’s whims. Akitada found Fuhito increasingly interesting. What were his true feelings about his late master? So far, he had not seen signs of grief.

Since the room had been cleaned and rearranged, he could learn nothing from it. No doubt the police had noted whatever clues there might have been. Akitada went to look at the scrolls and books on Kiyowara’s shelves. Much of it was what you would expect to find: the great poetry collections, the law books, the Records of Ancient Matters and some other chronicles, translations of the Chinese masters, and the court calendars.

Akitada turned away from the books. The desk was handsome, but bare of anything but the writing set. ‘Where are Lord Kiyowara’s papers kept?’ he asked.

‘His official documents are not in this house, and the estate documents are kept at the provincial mansion. I myself keep those documents that pertain to household expenses.’

‘Then Lord Kiyowara did not work here?’

‘His Lordship used the room for meetings.’

‘Who served as his secretary on those occasions?’

‘It was rarely necessary to keep notes. His Lordship’s son occasionally sat in on a meeting. His Lordship wrote his own letters.’

That was very curious. A man as wealthy as Kiyowara should have had both secretaries and scribes at his disposal. It sounded very much as if Kiyowara had not trusted anyone with the transactions taking place here. Akitada eyed the desk thoughtfully. ‘Who found your master’s body?’

‘I did.’

‘Ah. Could you describe the scene?’

Fuhito thought a moment. ‘He was on his side near the desk. His face was in a puddle of blood. And his head – his head had wounds, one dreadful wound just there.’ Fuhito gestured to his right temple. ‘His arms were by his sides, and one leg was straight, the other bent at the knee.’

‘And where was he?’

Fuhito indicated a place halfway between the desk and the doors to the garden. ‘His feet were towards the doors.’

Akitada frowned, then went to the closed doors that must lead to a veranda. Opening these, he stepped out. The garden stretched before him. He saw that this spot was around a corner from the place where he had first seen Ono step from the shrubbery. The sound of women’s voices came from the other side of a bank of shrubs.

‘Were these doors open when you found your master? I recall it was a sunny day, and the doors of the waiting room were open to the garden.’

‘I believe one of the doors was slightly open. His Lordship usually kept them closed when he expected visitors, but it was a warm day.’

Akitada nodded and turned back to scan the room one more time. ‘Did you see anything that could have been used as weapon?’

Fuhito shook his head. ‘The police captain asked that. I was very shocked at the time and tried to bring him back to life, so I did not pay attention. Alas, I was too late. The police said he died from the wounds to his head.’

‘That means he must have been struck with something. Do you know if the police found the weapon that had been used?’