Akitada regarded him with pity. Tora's estimation had been cruel but correct. The homely face, now red-splotched, the dripping nose and lax mouth made him a most unlikely romantic hero. Such a young man must feel deeply the hurt of rejection by the one person he idolizes. And a girl like Omaki, pretty, pert, ambitious, would have considered the adoration of this youngster, with neither looks nor fortune, a tedious joke. Had she taunted him, tried his patience and devotion too far until he had killed her? Was he the student she had been in the habit of meeting in the park? Or had he followed her and, finding her with another student, lashed out in anger at her betrayal?

"What made the police fix on you as a suspect?" Akitada asked.

"They talked to some of the students and my name came up." Nagai hung his head again. "One of them found a poem of mine and told the others. I was angry at the time, but perhaps it was very foolish of me to think that such a pretty girl could like me. When we first met, she was really nice to me. And she seemed to enjoy going for walks in the park. She told me all about her music, and I told her about my family."

Akitada's heart went out to the poor infatuated youngster. But pity would not clear Nagai of the charges against him. He said, "Your name being mentioned by the other students explains why the police talked to you, but it does not account for your arrest. What else happened?"

Nagai sighed and gave Akitada an imploring look. "We quarrelled, Omaki and I. The day she . . . before she was found. Someone overheard us. And then, when the police searched my room, they found the poems and my diary." He hung his head, twisting his red, bony hands.

"You quarrelled in the park?"

Nagai looked up. "Oh, no!" he cried. "We did not go to the park that day. We talked in the university, just inside the dormitory enclosure. She had finished her lute lesson. I usually waited for her there."

"What did you quarrel about?"

There was a pause. Then Nagai said, "I asked her to marry me. I know I should not have asked her without my father's permission. My family counts on me to do well in the examination. But I was afraid they would forbid it, and I couldn't wait. Well, I thought Omaki needed someone . . . and I thought if I could take the next examination instead of waiting my turn, I might pass. Even if I did not do very well, I could still become a schoolmaster back home. And Omaki and I could live with my parents. She could help my mother, while my father and I could run the school." He shook his head sadly. "I should have known I was being foolish."

Akitada said dryly, "I take it she was not overjoyed by your offer."

An expression of acute pain passed over the young man's face. "She laughed at me! She wanted to know how we would live until I passed the examination. When I suggested that she might give lute lessons or play for guests just a little while longer, she got angry and called me names. She called me r . . . rabbit because of my ears and teeth, and . . . ugly toad and worse things." He flushed and looked at Akitada earnestly. "She was not herself. You see, she was expecting a child. I am told women become very high-strung in that condition."

"Was it your child?"

Nagai hesitated, then shook his head. "No. We didn't . . . it must have happened before we met. I never asked. Some unprincipled person must have taken advantage of her and then deserted her. When she first confided in me, I got the idea that she might consider being married to someone like me."

He looked so completely humiliated that Akitada's heart contracted with pity and he felt increasingly angry with the dead girl. Finding herself pregnant, she meant to marry the infatuated student, but later decided he was not good enough. This change of heart, if you could call it that, confirmed Sato's impression that she had seemed untroubled by her pregnancy and even pleasantly excited. Something had happened to make Hiroshi Nagai dispensable, so that she had felt free to mock and revile his unselfish and sincere devotion before sending him on his way. Her behavior gave him a strong motive to kill her. But Akitada wondered what had happened to change her expectations so drastically.

He told Nagai, "I will try to help you, but you must tell me all you know about her private life, her friends and her family."

The student bowed deeply and expressed his gratitude. Then he said, "I am afraid I don't know much." Looking a little uneasy, he confessed, "I met Omaki in the Willow Quarter. I know it is against the rules for students to visit there, but some of the others took me along one night. We climbed the wall. I was very nervous."

Akitada nodded understandingly. No doubt the lonely, unpopular youngster had accepted the invitation eagerly, even against his better judgment.

"Omaki had a job playing the lute in one of the wine houses we went to. She played as beautifully as she looked." He smiled a little at the memory. "I kept going back there as much as I could, and one day she noticed me and smiled. After her performance I got up the nerve to talk to her. We took a walk by the river. I thought she was wonderful. She talked about herself, how poor her family was and how very unhappy she was. Her stepmother beat her and made her rise before dawn to do all the work, even when she didn't get home from her job in the wine house until very late. She told me many times she wanted to run away or kill herself." Nagai sighed deeply.

"What about the people where she worked? Did she tell you about them?"

"Not much. The auntie at the Willow was always wanting her to sell herself, but Omaki wanted to be an entertainer. I know some people have said bad things about her, but that proves she was a decent girl, doesn't it, sir?"

Akitada did not share this conviction, but nodded. "Who said what about her?" he asked.

"Oh, some of the fellows I went out with. But they were lying. They were always making fun of me." With a bashful glance at Akitada, he said, "I thought maybe they were jealous of me."

"I see. Was there anyone else who knew her well?"

"She was taking lute lessons from Professor Sato. Professor Fujiwara and Professor Sato often go to the Willow. The first time I saw them I was frightened, thinking they would turn us in, but the others told me that I had nothing to worry about. Anyway, Professor Sato being an instructor of the lute, I pointed him out to Omaki. She managed to get him to take her as a private student. That was wonderful, because then I got to see her during the day. We'd always meet after her lesson and sometimes we'd stroll over to the park. Until that last day." He sighed and wiped his eyes again.

"What about other people? Friends, coworkers, regular patrons?"

"There is another lute player at the Willow, but they did not get along. Omaki said the woman was too proud. And the girls were silly and common."

"What about men friends?"

"Omaki had no men friends!" He was emphatic. "She was not a loose woman. I don't care what they say! There were no other men after we met."

They looked at each other. Hiroshi held the gaze defiantly, but Akitada did not know whether the agony so eloquent on the homely face was due to better knowledge, to grief, or to rejection. He sighed and rose. "Very well. It is not much to go on, but I shall try to find out more. Meanwhile, if you can recall anything else, something she said or any gossip about her which might point to other relationships, send me a message."