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the appointed time and had not written a letter of any sort, they had begun to have doubts. So they had examined his room, and at the same time the landlord inquired at Shimbashi Station as to where he had been sent. All his things were in the room as before, but the information received at the station was surprising: Supposedly on a business trip, Morimoto had actually been dismissed at the end of the previous month.
    "Such being the case," the landlord said, "I thought you might let me know where he is, since you were so friendly with him. That's why I've come. I don't intend to ask you to do anything about his rent. Could you please just let me have his address?"
    Keitaro was rather annoyed by the landlord's treating him as if he were a crony of the missing man and had something to do with his dishonorable conduct. True, Keitaro had recently been approaching Morimoto with a kind of secret admiration, but to be regarded as his confidant in such a vulgar affair was, he felt, a disgrace to a youth on the threshold of life.

    The honest Keitaro was angry with the landlord for the mistaken accusation. But even before anger, he had received an impression of something uncanny, as if his hand had grasped unawares the cold body of a snake. The misunderstanding by this fellow who, with a peculiar sort of composure, filled his pipe with tobacco scooped from an old-fashioned pouch, gave Keitaro as much uneasiness as if the misconjecture had been correct. The landlord handled his pipe as deftly as if it were a part of the art of negotiating. Keitaro observed this behavior for some time; at the same time he felt regret at finding no means to dispel suspicion save by emphasizing his own ignorance. As he expected, the landlord did not soon stow away his smoking equipment, but put his pipe in and out of the case, inevitably repeating that popping sound each time until Keitaro began to feel he had to silence it by any means.
    "I am, as you know, a poor student fresh from school with no definite position yet, but I think I'm a man of some education. It's an insult to my pride to be lumped together with a vagabond like Morimoto, still more to be suspected of having a connection with him in some underhanded scheme. It's impertinent of you to be so insistent in your suspicions when I've said I know nothing of his whereabouts. If that's your way of treating a lodger who's lived here for two years, so be it. I have my own thoughts on the matter. During the two years that I've lived here, have I ever been in arrears for even a month?"
    The landlord affirmed repeatedly that he had no doubts whatsoever about Keitaro's integrity and, asking once more not to forget to let him know Morimoto's address if Keitaro should receive a letter from him, said he would apologize as much as Keitaro wished if what he had said had given offense.
    Keitaro replied simply, "Good," desiring only to have that pouch put rapidly away, and at last the tools of negotiation were stowed behind the sash. When the man left the room, there was no indication of his doubting Keitaro, so he thought he had done well to show his annoyance.
    Some days later, a new lodger was occupying Morimoto's room. Keitaro was curious to know what had been done with Morimoto's possessions, but ever since the landlord had brought in those smoking utensils for that parley, Keitaro was determined not to ask again about Morimoto's affairs, so at least outwardly he behaved as if he were quite indifferent. He continued indefatigably but with less impatience to hunt for a position even though he remained dubious of success, thinking it his immediate obligation to make the effort.
    One evening his search took him to Uchisaiwaicho, but he found that the man he was calling on was away from home. Returning by streetcar, he was attracted to a woman seated just opposite him. On her back under a short coat of yellowish silk she carried a baby. She was a rather smart-looking woman of the geisha type, her eyebrows