“I help Ito friend,” Dr. Huygens said. “I look body.” His pronunciation was strange, but the words intelligible. “I maybe see how die. Who kill.”

Sano stared in amazement. “You speak Japanese!”

Glancing at the door, the doctor put a finger to his lips, then said, “Two years I here. People talk. I listen. Learn. Now I help friend. Yes?”

“Come on.” Jubilant, Sano led Dr. Huygens to the house where Spaen’s corpse lay. To the guards outside, he said, “The doctor will prepare his comrade’s body for the funeral now. Bring it to his surgery.”

The guards hesitated. “Chief Ohira told us to keep the body here, and the barbarians away from it,” one demurred.

“I’ll take responsibility,” Sano said.

The guards brought out the corpse, now shrouded in white cloth. They carried it into Dr. Huygens’s ground-floor surgery near the east guardhouse. The room ran the whole depth of the building, with large windows overlooking both street and back garden. Cabinets and shelves lined the walls; two long, waist-high tables with accompanying seats occupied the center. The guards unloaded the corpse onto a table. Servants appeared and started to open the shutters.

“No. Light the lamps.” Sano wanted no witnesses. “Bring water and cloths.”

The servants obeyed. Sano ordered the staff away. At last, he and the barbarian doctor were alone.

“Unwrap the body,” Sano told Dr. Huygens. He had no intention of physically handling the examination if he didn’t have to. Already he sensed death’s foul aura seeping through the white shroud, suffusing the dim, hot surgery.

The barbarian seemed not to share the Japanese distaste for death. Gently, but without squeamishness, he uncovered Director Spaen’s head, then peeled back the cloth to reveal the mutilated torso and stiff limbs. He didn’t flinch at the nauseous odor of decay; he surveyed the killer’s work with calm detachment.

Sano experienced a sudden qualm. Shouldn’t the barbarian show surprise at Spaen’s wounds, or display respect for his dead superior? Or had he known what to expect? Sano tried to dismiss these disturbing thoughts while he watched Dr. Huygens examine the crucifix around Spaen’s neck, then the stab wounds. Perhaps the doctor had merely seen so many terrible deaths that he’d grown hardened to such experiences.

Dr. Huygens shook his head. “This not kill,” he said, pointing to the crucifix’s chain. “Body swell up in water. Then—” He pantomimed choking, then indicated the stab wounds. “I think this not kill, too.”

Taken aback, Sano said, “What do you mean? Surely that alone”—he pointed to the hacked area below Spaen’s breast—“would have been fatal. And he was badly beaten.”