There was really but little to be gleaned. The body of the Japanese had been found on the stairs of a rooming house for laboring men, down near the river front, and, as Grail noted, not more than a block or two away from the Dolliver Foundry. Struck evidently from behind, by an unexpected knife thrust, as he was starting to go out, he had lurched forward, clutching at the banister, then sagged down lifeless on the third step from the top, his straw hat rolling on down the flight, and, by exciting the curiosity of a lodger on the floor below, leading, later on, to a discovery of the dead man.
Life had not been extinct more than half an hour when he was found, it was stated, and thus the time of the murder was definitely fixed at about two o’clock in the afternoon; yet, although a number of the occupants of the place had been in their rooms at that hour, no one could be unearthed who had heard any outcry or sound of altercation.
Indeed, there seemed an utter lack of any clew to indicate the motive or perpetrator of the crime. The door of the house was usually left open, all kinds of people coming and going at will; so it was assumed that the murderer must have entered deliberately, gained the third floor, then laid in wait in the dark hallway until Sasaku, all unsuspecting, came out. That the assassin did not belong in the house seemed certain, from the fact that the Japanese was an utter stranger in the place, having only engaged his room the afternoon before, and being, so far as could be learned, unacquainted with any of the other tenants. Besides, all those at home at the time of the affair were able to account satisfactorily for their movements.
Some significance, at first, was attached to the circumstance that the door of the room directly across the corridor from Sasaku’s was found ajar, whereas the man to whom the room belonged, a foundry worker by the name of Marice Matschka, was known to be very circumspect about keeping his door locked, and one of the fourth-floor lodgers, who had come in at noon, asserted that when he passed by the door had undoubtedly been closed.
Matschka, however, was able to prove conclusively that he himself had not been back to the place since leaving for work at six o’clock that morning, and also stoutly denied having given up his key, or sent any one else there. He was confident, he said, that he had locked the door behind him, as usual, that morning, but, of course, might be mistaken, and in that case it would have been an easy matter for the unlatched portal to have swung open in the draft.
There was, moreover, no reason to believe that he had known the Japanese, or could have harbored ill will against him for any cause, so this line of investigation was very speedily abandoned.
In short, the case was a puzzle, looked at from any angle. Sasaku’s scanty effects, consisting chiefly of his clothes, a few letters, and a notebook containing a few names and addresses, offered nothing in the way of a clew; nor did his history, so far as it could be traced out, disclose the existence of any enemies. He had been an affable, friendly sort of a little chap, generally well liked. Finally, it was plain that robbery was not the cause, since a diamond ring, a gold watch and chain, and some fifty dollars in his pocket, had been left untouched.
The police, all at sea for an adequate motive, had to fall back on the fantastic theory that he had been the victim of some sort of Oriental vendetta at the hands of his own countrymen; and, with great pretense at secret knowledge, made significant allusions to oath-bound clans and mysterious brotherhoods.
Grail had just about completed his reading of the newspaper narrative, digesting carefully not only what appeared, but also what lay between the lines, when Sergeant Cato entered and saluted him.
The sergeant was dusty and perspiring from what had evidently been an arduous day, but his beaming expression showed that his efforts had not been in vain.