The youngster closed the box, blushing a little. "It is very good of them and I am glad that they are healthy and have not been dismissed. Do they need anything?"

Akitada marvelled again at the sense of responsibility this eleven-year-old felt for his people. "No," he said, "I don't believe so. They grieve, of course. For your grandfather and because you are not with them."

The boy blinked. "I am glad they are at the old place, because that is where my grandfather's spirit will be until his forty-nine days are up," he said, his voice choking a little. "Is there any news of my sister, sir?"

"None, I'm afraid. She is in the country. By the way, where is your country house?"

"Near Mount Kuriko on the Nara Highway."

"I have also spoken to your great-uncle, Bishop Sesshin. I don't suppose he has sent for you or changed your living arrangements?"

"No, sir. My great-uncle is a priest. He takes no interest in worldly things."

It was said matter-of-factly, but Akitada's heart contracted for the lonely boy. "Well," he said with a forced smile, "enjoy your dumplings!"

He was rewarded by a big grin and watched with a chuckle as the boy skipped out, clutching his precious box. It took so little to make a child happy. Even the dim memories of his own past included moments of sheer bliss.

His smile faded a moment later, when he was interrupted in his childhood reminiscences by Nishioka, who stuck his long nose in, asking, "My dear fellow, aren't you having your noon rice today? I'm on my way to my office for mine. Come, be my guest! I am anxious to share my new theory with you and give you a taste treat at the same time."

Akitada was about to decline, when he saw Hirata's gaunt face appear behind Nishioka. Sighing inwardly, Akitada accepted the invitation. Hirata nodded to both of them and withdrew again.

Nishioka chattered away as they walked together towards the Temple of Confucius. Akitada, feeling guilty about Hirata, said little. It was uncomfortably hot for the first time this year. Glancing up at the sky, Akitada thought the weather was changing. An oppressive heat haze hung over the city, and hardly a leaf stirred in the trees.

"Master Tanabe took off today on my urging," Nishioka said when they reached his room. "I'm a bit worried about him. He's getting too old for all this excitement. The sooner the police arrest the killer, the better for all of us."

Thinking of how frail and ill Hirata had looked, Akitada agreed.

Nishioka confided excitedly, "I think I have worked it out. We agreed it is all a question of the murderer's personality, and by that premise I have narrowed it down to a single person. Of course, if it were not for the fact that it takes a very strong man to tie a body the size of Oe's to that statue, the field would be much larger. But let us discuss it over our food."

They settled down on the veranda outside Nishioka's cramped and cluttered study to a meal of rice and pickled vegetables delivered from the staff kitchen. Akitada eyed the food with little interest or appetite. "A taste treat, did you say?"

Nishioka's eyes sparkled. "Later," he promised and returned to the subject of Oe's murder. "It seems to me that we should consider everybody who had a motive, eliminate those who could not have done it, and analyze the psychological traits of those remaining. Agreed?"

Clearly this would take a while. Unhappily, Akitada nodded, brushing away a few beads of perspiration from his brow. He was not particularly hungry and ate listlessly.

"Let us begin with ourselves," said Nishioka, waving his chopsticks. "No, no! Don't shake your head. We must be systematic. System is everything in scholarly research. I, Nishioka, did not like Oe. He was quite rude to me on several occasions. I also did not care for his lack of respect towards Master Tanabe. But dislike is not a strong enough motive for murder. You, unless you inform me otherwise, would not have known the man long enough even for that. Am I right?"

Akitada gave Nishioka a long look. Then he put down his chop-sticks and rice bowl and said bluntly, "You may have had a stronger motive than dislike. The police captain seems to think that Oe was threatening you over certain gambling activities."

Nishioka's jaw dropped. He turned absolutely white. "K . . . Kobe said that? How could he? What did he say?"

"Nothing specific. He picked up the information among a lot of gossip about the faculty."

Nishioka relaxed a little. "It's a silly story. Vastly exaggerated. There is really nothing to it. A couple of clerks in administration were taking bets on the outcome of the last examination and they asked me to hold the money for them. Nobody would have said anything about it, if we had not had some sore losers. You see, the favorite did not place first."

"So I gathered," Akitada said dryly. He had noted the shift in pronoun from "they" to "we," and wondered just how culpable his host had been. Everybody needed money, and assistants, as Akitada knew, were paid a pittance. He asked, "How much money was involved?"

Nishioka fidgeted. "All in all about five hundred pieces of silver."

"That much!" Akitada stared at him. "Who won?"

"There was only one winner. Ishikawa."

"Ishikawa! You don't say! If he got that much, why was he reading Oe's papers?"

Nishioka put on an irritatingly mysterious look and merely said, "Ah!"

Akitada took up his bowl and ate a bite. "Please continue your analysis of the murder," he said curtly, after he had swallowed some very dry rice.

His host, disconcerted by Akitada's tone, stammered, "Oh. Yes. Motives. Well, er, as far as your friend Hirata is concerned, he seems to get along with everybody. I could not discover a motive. Master Tanabe also was always very patient with the man. I think we can eliminate both of them. Fujiwara, on the other hand, is more complicated. He's another easygoing fellow, but Oe hated him and never missed an opportunity to malign Fujiwara publicly or privately. The incident at the poetry contest may have been the last straw for Fujiwara. A definite motive of revenge, I would say."

Akitada ran a finger between his stiff collar and his neck. Perspiration made the silk cling to his hot skin. "You are guessing," he said. "Hirata, or I for that matter, may have had a motive you know nothing of, and Fujiwara may be so easygoing that nothing will ever push him to violence."

Nishioka looked offended. He snapped, "You must remember that I know my colleagues a great deal better than you do." Gobbling a few bites of his vegetables, he muttered, "I suppose you will next defend Takahashi. That man hates everybody and does his best to make them suffer! Even you must remember that he was practically incoherent with fury after what Oe did to his precious memorial. I would call that a strong motive of revenge."

"I think," said Akitada, "that one should guard especially carefully against pinning a crime on a man one dislikes."

Nishioka put down his rice bowl with a distinct rattle. "Perhaps," he said, controlling his voice carefully, "you would honor me with your views on the others?"

Well, thought Akitada, it serves me right. Why can't I keep my temper under control and my mouth shut? There was nothing he could do, except comply and hope that Nishioka would gradually calm down. "I found Sato quite interesting," he said calmly, pretending nothing had happened. "He is outwardly quiet but has things to hide. The private lessons are against university rules, and there is gossip about scandalous affairs with women in his university quarters. I am sure that you know more about this than I."