Shirakawa was thin, so thin that the summer kimono of linen with the narrow band of light blue showing below his long, slender neck billowed out with an effect of coolness. His nose was aquiline in an oval face and his eyes, despite the mild expression with which he habitually veiled them, would from time to time dart a fierce light that suggested more than a trace of monomania. Yet at first glance he was merely a middle-aged gentleman of a neat and unassuming appearance that seemed to belie his position as chief henchman of the ‘demon governor.’

‘They’re late, surely?’ said Ōno as he swept toward him the black stones that he had been using in the game just finished. Shirakawa took a puff at the tobacco in his silver pipe, then without haste drew out the gold watch tucked beneath his sash and said, half to himself:

‘It’s getting on to five – I imagine they’ll be here soon. The steward’s gone to the outskirts of the town to meet them, so they can hardly miss the way.’

He affected composure, but the eagerness with which he was waiting was betrayed by the fact that he did not suggest another game. Ōno moved the go board out of the way and glanced at the tatami where it had stood to make sure there was no dust; he knew how fastidious Shirakawa was about such things.

Shirakawa, who had arrived in this town the day before on the pretext of a need to visit the prefectural office of Tochigi prefecture, had in reality come to await the wife and daughter whom he had sent to Tokyo more than three months previously. Ōno had already heard from the Shirakawas’ steward, who had accompanied them, that it was something more than a desire to meet his daughter and his wife of such long standing that had brought him all the way to Utsunomiya.

‘They say she’s a terrific beauty,’ the steward had declared with a sensational air. ‘Either way, the master’s a queer one, sending his wife all the way to Tokyo to choose her for him.’ He looked scandalized.