"But I did not kill him," protested Asako.

"Who killed him then? You must know that," said the inspector triumphantly.

"It was Tanaka," said Asako.

"Who is this Tanaka?" the inspector asked the policeman.

"I do not know; perhaps it is lies," he answered sulkily.

"But it is not lies," expostulated Asako, "he ran away through the window. You can see his footmarks in the snow."

"Did you see the marks?" the policeman was asked.

"No; perhaps there were no marks."

"Did you look?"

"I did not look actually, but--"

"You're a fool!" said the inspector.

The weary questioning continued for quite two hours, until Asako had told her story of the murder at least three times. The unfamiliar language confused her, and the reiterated refrain:

"You, now confess; you killed the man!"

Asako was chilled to the bone. Her head was aching; her eyes were aching; her legs were aching with the ordeal of standing. She felt that they must soon give way altogether.

At last, the inspector closed his _questionnaire_.

"_Sa_!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "it is past midnight. Even I must sleep sometimes. Take her away to the court, and lock her in the 'sty,'

To-morrow the procurator will examine at nine o'clock. She is pretending to be silly and not understanding; so she is probably guilty."

Again the handcuffs and the degrading rope were fastened upon her. She felt that she had already been condemned.

"May I send word to my friends?" she asked. Surely even the Fujinami would not abandon her to her fate.

"No. The procurator's examination has not yet taken place. After that, sometimes permission can be granted. That is the law."

She was left waiting in a stone-flagged guard-room, where eight or nine policemen stared at her impertinently.

"A pretty face, eh?" they said, "it looks like a _geisha_! Who is taking her to the court? It is Ishibashi. Oh, so! He is always the lucky chap!"

A rough fellow thrust his hand up her kimono sleeve, and caught hold of her bare arm near the shoulder.

"Here, Ishibashi," he cried; "you have caught a fine bird this time."

The policeman Ishibashi picked up the loose end of the rope, and drove Asako before him into a closed van, which was soon rumbling along the deserted streets.

She was made to alight at a tall stone building, where they pa.s.sed down several echoing corridors, until, at the end of a little pa.s.sage a warder pushed open a door. This was the "sty," where prisoners are kept pending examination in the procurator's court. The floor and walls were of stone. It was bitterly cold. There was no window, no light, no firebox, and no chair. Alone, in the petrifying darkness, her teeth chattering, her limbs trembling, poor Asako huddled her misery into a corner of the dirty cell, to await the further tender mercies of the j.a.panese criminal code. She could hear the scuttering of rats. Had she been ten times guilty, she felt that she could not have suffered more!

Daylight began to show under the crack of the door. Later on a warder came and beckoned to Asako to follow him. She had not touched food for twenty hours, but nothing was offered to her. She was led into a room with benches like a schoolroom. At the master's desk sat a small spotted man with a cloak like a scholar's gown, and a black cap with ribbons like a Highlander's bonnet. This was the procurator. At his side, sat his clerk, similarly but less sprucely garbed.

Asako, utterly weary, was preparing to sit down on one of the benches.

The warder pulled her up by the nape of her kimono. She had to stand during her examination.

"What is your name? What is your age? What are your father's and mother's names?"

The monotonous questions were repeated all over again; and then,--

"To confess were better. When you confess, we shall let you go. If you do not confess, we keep you here for days and days."

"I am feeling sick," pleaded Asako; "may I eat something?"

The warder brought a cup of tea and some salt biscuit.

"Now, confess," bullied the procurator; "if you do not confess, you will get no more to eat."

Asako told her story of the murder. She then told it again. Her j.a.panese words were slipping from the clutch of her worn brain. She was saying things she did not mean. How could she defend herself in a language which was strange to her mind? How could she make this judge, who seemed so pitiless and so hostile to her, understand and believe her broken sentences? She was beating with a paper sword against an armed enemy.

An interpreter was sent for; and the questions were all repeated in English. The procurator was annoyed at Asako's refusal to speak in j.a.panese. He thought that it was obstinacy, or that she was trying to fool him. He seemed quite convinced that she was guilty.

"I can't answer any more questions. I really can't. I am sick," said Asako, in tears.

"Take her back to the 'sty,' while we have lunch," ordered the procurator. "I think this afternoon she will confess."

Asako was taken away, and thrust into the horrible cell again.

She collapsed on the hard floor in a state which was partly a fainting-fit, and partly the sleep of exhaustion. Dreams and images swept over her brain like low-flying clouds. It seemed to her distracted fancy that only one person could save her--Geoffrey, her husband! He must be coming soon. She thought that she could hear his step in the corridor.

"Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" she cried.

It was the warder. He stirred her with his foot. She was hauled back to the procurator's court.

"So! Have you considered well?" said the little spotted man. "Will you now confess?"

"How can I confess what I have not done?" protested Asako.

The remorseless inquisition proceeded. Asako's replies became more and more confused. The procurator frowned at her contradictions. She must a.s.suredly be guilty.

"How many times do you say that you have met this Ito?" he asked.

Asako was at the end of her strength. She reeled and would have fallen; but the warder jerked her straight again.

"Confess, then," shouted the procurator, "confess and you will be liberated."

"I will confess," Asako gasped, "anything you like."