“Again my best thanks,” said Kyūsuké bowing low; then turning to the poor woman he said softly:—
“I am very sorry to have brought all this trouble upon you, forgive me.”
“No, no, it was I who was to blame but, indeed, I did it for the best.”
“A truce to this nonsense!” cried the robber impatiently. “Here is a torch to light your way; be off before I change my mind about letting you go.”
“Then, master and mistress, farewell to you,” and with these words Kyūsuké accepted the torch held out to him and hastened away. But the fates seemed to be still against him, for no sooner had he set forth than the rain which had begun to come down in torrents put out his light so that he was in complete darkness. But this misfortune in reality saved his life, for the robber had given Kyūsuké a light for no other purpose than that it would serve his own evil intent, which was to shoot the traveller as soon as his back was turned. True, he might have despatched him before he left the cottage, but in that case his wife would have interfered and been troublesome; besides he hardly liked to turn upon Kyūsuké and murder him just when he had so ungrudgingly given up all he had. Wicked man though he was he could not bring himself to such a dastardly action as that. However, as soon as Kyūsuké closed the door the robber, weapon in hand, softly opened it again and crept out, intending to take aim by the light that Kyūsuké carried. But, alas for him, and fortunately for his intended victim, the heavy rain had extinguished the light; so muttering “lucky dog!” he re-entered his home leaving Kyūsuké to continue his way unmolested.
On arriving at Oiwaké Kyūsuké drew a long breath and congratulated himself on his narrow escape, though how narrow he did not realise. There he gave up his cherished idea of visiting his old home, and determined to retrace his steps to his master’s house, begging his way as he had now no money to pay for even the poorest fare. Gonzaemon received him very kindly, though, having heard the details of Kyūsuké’s adventure, he could not resist saying:—
“Did I not warn you? If you had drawn a draft for the money as I advised you this would never have happened. But it is too late to talk of that now. You were lucky to escape with the loss of your property,—you might have lost your life as well. Do not give way to despair. Rest for a few days and then set to work again.”
While speaking to Kyūsuké the master happened to take up the old sword he had got from the robber. The thread round the hilt was frayed and coming off. He tried to draw the blade but it was so rusty with disuse that it stuck fast in the sheath. Bending over it his eye was caught by the decorative stud which he was convinced was not of brass. Thinking the weapon might be of more value than appeared at first sight, he sent for a dealer in old wares, Kichibei by name, and requested his opinion as to its merits, pretending that it belonged to one of his friends who wished to dispose of it to the best advantage.
The dealer, with the skill acquired by long practice, soon withdrew the blade from its sheath, and after closely examining it for some time, said:—
“The sword is a valuable one. The blade is so rusty that I cannot say anything for certain about it, but the ornamentation is undoubtedly of solid gold. The pommel and stud are of Gotō’s engraving, and the guard itself being by Nobuié is worth at least thirty-five ryō. I am willing to give one hundred and thirty ryō for the decorative parts alone.”