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nothing to do, he went out for at least half the day and often visited Sunaga. For one thing, Keitaro found it worth going because his friend was seldom out no matter what the hour.
    "A job," Keitaro once said to Sunaga, "is of course important, but what I want, even before that, is to come across some event worthy of wonder. Yet no matter how often I ride the streetcars around the city, nothing turns up. I haven't even had my pocket picked yet!" On another occasion he sighed in regret, "I first thought education was a right, but actually I've found it a kind of yoke. Where's the right when after graduating from a university, you can't even find the means of making a living? On the other hand, can we disregard our university status and do as we wish? Definitely not! It restricts us horribly, this education of ours."
    Sunaga seemed unsympathetic to both of Keitaro's complaints. In the first place, Keitaro's way of speaking made it difficult for him to know whether his friend was being serious or merely jesting. After one such vehement speech on these fantastic ideas, Sunaga asked in reply, "Well, aside from the question of making a living, what is it you want most?"
    Keitaro replied that he wished to do what detectives in the Metropolitan Police do.
    "Well, why not do it then? It's quite simple."
    "It's not that simple."
    And Keitaro offered a serious explanation on why detective work was impossible for him. By the very nature of his profession a detective is a diver who plunges from the surface of society to its depths. Almost no other profession is so suitable for grabbing hold of human mysteries. Moreover, a detective has the undoubted advantage of being able to observe the darker side of mankind without any of the dangers of degrading himself. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that his original purpose lies in disclosing the sins and crimes of others, that his profession is based on the malignant intention of trapping his subjects. Keitaro could not bring himself to do such inhuman actions. All he wanted was to study human beings—no, rather, to look with wonder and admiration at the incredible machinery of humanity operating in the darkness of night. Such was the drift of Keitaro's contention.
    Sunaga had been listening without offering a word, neither of contradiction nor of comment. To Keitaro, such behavior appeared mature, but he actually took it as mediocre. He left hating the calm way in which the other listened, seemingly unconcerned about his aspirations. Yet before five days had elapsed, he wanted to see his friend again, and as soon as he left his boardinghouse, he caught a streetcar for Kanda.

    A stranger would have found Sunaga's house extremely difficult to locate. To reach it one had to turn two or three times along a twisting side street sloping upward and branching off to the right from Sudacho, where a tall building, formerly the Ogawatei but now the Tenkado, stood at the corner. Since Sunaga's house was on a back street crowded with many small residences, the lots were not as wide as those in the uptown area. Nevertheless, it was a fine house. Leading from the gate to the bell by the lattice door at the entrance was a path of some yards paved with granite flagstones.
    Sunaga's father had owned the house and had rented it for many years to a relative. But after his death his wife thought that this house would be more convenient for her small family, especially in terms of location and size, so their residence on Surugadai was sold and they moved. When Keitaro once heard from Sunaga that the house was considerably repaired, almost rebuilt, he looked with renewed interest at the upstairs alcove post and the boards lining the ceiling. This second-floor room had been added later as a study for Sunaga. Except for some slight reverberations on very windy days, it was a perfect room of its kind, clean and bright and divided into two parts, one of four tatami, the other six. Sitting in this room, Keitaro could see