Keitaro had never dreamed that this man who had been speaking with such quiet good humor up to then would suddenly be giving him a harsh reprimand.
Until this moment the figure before Keitaro's eyes had been that of an easy-mannered, lower-town master, but when he suddenly overwhelmed him with a severity reminiscent of that which a thoroughly disciplined soldier would receive, his mind was thrown off balance. Had they been good friends, Keitaro might have said in return, "I did it for you," but those words would have served absolutely no purpose in this instance.
"It was simply for my own convenience that I remained standing there even after the time was up."
No sooner had Keitaro answered with these words than Taguchi's stern manner changed. "That was quite convenient for me too," he said with good humor, adding, "but what was this convenience of yours?"
Keitaro hesitated.
"Well, you needn't tell me. It's your own concern. If you don't want to talk about it, I can do without it."
With these words Taguchi drew toward himself a portable smoking set, rummaged through its drawer, and pulled out a long thin earpick made of horn. Inserting it in his right ear, he poked around as if he had an unendurable itch. Keitaro felt something ominous in the frowning face of Taguchi, who seemed to be deliberately looking at him while pretending not to, apparently absorbed entirely with his ear.
"The truth is that a woman was standing at the stop," Keitaro said, driven at last to confess.
"Was she young or old?"
"Young."
"Ah, I see."
Taguchi did not follow this brief remark with anything. Keitaro too was brought to a standstill. Face to face, they remained silent for some time.
"No, whether she was young or old, I shouldn't have asked about her. Since that's your own concern, let's drop the subject. What concerns me is only the result of your investigation of the man with the mole on his face."
"But the woman took part in whatever the man did. First of all, she was waiting for him."
"Oh?" Keitaro's words had evidently been unexpected. "Well, then she wasn't an acquaintance of yours, was she?"
Keitaro did not of course have the courage to say that she was. Even though he felt awkward about it, he had to admit honestly that he had never seen her or spoken to her before.
Taguchi merely replied in a calm way, "Is that so?" showing no sign of further inquiry, but then suddenly asked in an easy tone of voice, "What kind of woman was she? The woman you spoke of. What about her looks?" As he spoke he thrust over the portable smoking set a face suffused with interest.
"Well, she's not worth mentioning," said Keitaro, compelled to answer under the circumstances. He actually felt, recalling her now, that this was so. Yet if he had been speaking to a different companion in a different situation, he might have said quite naturally that she wasn't half bad. Hearing Keitaro's judgment, Taguchi burst into a loud laugh. Keitaro, though hardly able to understand the meaning behind Taguchi's outburst, felt as if a huge wave had broken overhead. His face flushed.
"That's quite all right. Then what happened? When the man came to the stop where the woman was waiting?" Taguchi returned to his usual tone of voice as he seriously prepared to listen to how the event had worked out.
Actually, Keitaro had intended in his opening remarks to amplify his own difficulties in obtaining the information he was reporting on, from his puzzlement about the two stops with the same name to his bringing forth and making good use of the walking stick in which the mysterious oracle was working as a living force, recounting these details fully so that his merit might sound all the higher in Taguchi's ears. However, having immediately been attacked about staying too long at the stop and having been made to feel awkward by ascribing his extended surveillance to a woman who, in the course of the talk, had turned out to be an utter stranger hardly worth supplying him a valid reason for staying — Keitaro was deprived of the courage to advertise himself before Taguchi. So he reported quite simply on those events from the moment the man and woman entered the restaurant, the result being that the account, as he had feared when he left his boardinghouse, turned out as meager as if he had opened his hand before Taguchi's nose and had shown him a fistful of intangible gray cloud.
Yet Taguchi's face did not show any displeasure. His calm manner remained unchanged as he listened with arms folded. He merely threw in at times a "Hmm" or "Really?" or "And then?" in order to allow Keitaro to keep the account going. Even when the report ended, Taguchi's demeanor did not change too soon, apparently expecting something yet to come. Keitaro had to say, "That's all," adding, "I'm really sorry the results are so poor."
"No, you've furnished me with quite a bit of information. Thanks for your pains. It was probably a difficult job."
Taguchi's compliment did not contain much gratitude, but as Keitaro had just made himself look quite stupid, this much affability was more than enough for him. Only now did he feel any relief in finding he had narrowly escaped being disgraced. At the same time a feeling of relaxation so worked on him that he immediately said to Taguchi, "Who is that man?"
"Well, who could he be? What do you guess him to be?"
The image of the man in the black fedora dressed in his salt-and-pepper cloak with its open collar vividly appeared before Keitaro's eyes. He had a clear vision of everything about the man — his appearance, his way of speaking, his walk — yet he could come out with no reply to Taguchi's question.
"I don't have the slightest idea."
"Then what kind of personality do you think he has?"
Keitaro had some idea about that. "I thought he seemed like a quiet person," he said, responding as he had actually observed the man to be.
"You're just saying that because you saw him talking to a young woman, aren't you?"
Noticing the flicker of a smile at the corners of Taguchi's lips the moment these words were said, Keitaro closed his mouth again just as it was about to form an answer.
"All men are tender to young women, you know. Probably even you are not without some experience in that area. That fellow especially may be tenderer than most," said Taguchi, bursting into unrestrained laughter. Even while laughing, however, Taguchi kept his eyes on Keitaro.
Imagining what a simpleton he must appear to anyone seeing him there, Keitaro had to laugh too, even though he was pained inwardly.
"Well, what kind of woman do you think she was?" asked Taguchi, suddenly shifting the topic and now putting this sort of question to Keitaro.
"She was even more difficult to understand than the man," Keitaro blurted out.
"Can't you even tell if she's an ordinary woman or a professional?"
"Well," said Keitaro, pausing a moment to think. In rapid succession there welled to the surface of his memory the leather gloves, the white scarf, the beautiful smiling face, and the long coat, yet all these together did not provide him with enough evidence to reply. "She wore a rather somber-colored coat and leather gloves, but. ."
These two items, which had especially drawn Keitaro's attention among the articles worn by the woman, did not seem to arouse the slightest interest in Taguchi. His face turned serious, and he proceeded to ask further, "Well, don't you have any opinion about their relationship?"
Already complimented a while ago as proof that his report had passed off smoothly, Keitaro had not expected these ticklish inquiries to crop up one after another. What was more, possibly because he was puzzled, he was made to feel each new question increased in difficulty over the preceding one.
Seeing that Keitaro was at a total loss, Taguchi put the same question in other words: "For example, could they be a married couple or a brother and sister or simply friends, or could she be his sweetheart? Of these various relationships, what do you think theirs is?"