The Informer Read online

  “Have whatever you fancy,” he said. “It’s quite stuffy tonight—might be best to start with beer, huh?”

  “Yeah, seems a good idea.”

  They were making small talk while wetting their throats, but then Ogino suddenly became very serious.

  “Segawa,” he said, “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer.”

  “What is it? I’ve no mention of hiding anything from you.” As he said this, he didn’t dare look in Ogino’s direction.

  “Are you seriously interested in a girl called Setsuko Kondo who works as an assistant to my brother-in-law?”

  This wasn’t the question Segawa had dreaded, but that didn’t make it any the easier to answer.

  “Well,” he said, “I can’t say I have a great deal of interest in her. I met her the other day by accident, and as I felt like hav­ing dinner with someone, I asked her, and she accepted. That was the beginning of it, and after that I took her out a couple of times . . . But how do you know about it?”

  “A few days ago, when I visited the research section at the factory, she asked a lot about you. Being a chemist she’s not like other girls who seem to be always busy trapping young men, but she does have a definite interest in you. She didn’t make a secret of this, but she said she wanted to check on your history and present position before continuing her dates with you.” Ogino gave a good-natured chuckle.

  “Well, I’m embarrassed—I must’ve misled her.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I just wanted to find out how you felt about her—that’s all. You see, her late fa­ther was a doctor of chemical engineering who’d given much valuable advice to my father. I’ve no personal knowledge of those days, but my uncle the president has, and he wanted to express our gratitude by giving her a job with the company. We intend to go even further than this. If we can arrange a suitable marriage for her, we’ll give her a nice wedding, and a dowry.”

  “I thought she came from a well-to-do-family?”

  Ogino ignored this and said, “To tell you the truth, I think she’s pretty gone on you. So if your intentions are serious, we’re quite willing to advance the matter further. You’re one of my close friends and we know everything about you, so there’s no need for the usual investigation.” He looked at Segawa expec­tantly, sipping at his drink.

  Segawa was trying hard to snap out of his bewilderment and get his thought processes moving. He’d never imagined this Kondo business would progress so rapidly—to reach the point of mentioning marriage in such a short time. This was a very touchy problem. If he gave the wrong answer, Ogino might be­come suspicious, and that’d be dangerous.

  With him thinking and Ogino hanging on his lips for a reply, the silence in the room was so electric, it nearly crackled.

  Finally he said, “I think she’s a nice, honest girl—one who’ll make a good wife. Once upon a time I used to go for gay and playful women, but after all the hardship I’ve suffered, my way of looking at a woman has changed quite a lot. The only prob­lem is my financial standing—or, rather, the lack of it.”

  “I know about your principle of not marrying until you’ve ac­quired certain possessions, but d’you think you should stick to it with such uncompromising doggedness? A wife who’s prepared to share your difficulties as well as your pleasures shouldn’t be a hindrance in your efforts to make money.”

  “Well, actually, I gave up this principle long ago, but at the moment I’ve no savings, no house. I live in a flat and have a small interest in a tiny firm. Let’s face it—I’m in no position to talk about establishing a family now, or achieving great things in the future. Because I’m one of your friends, she may’ve put me in a category which is actually far above me . . . No, in my present circumstances I really can’t be expected to make up my mind so easily on a thing like this.”

  “Well, I have an idea, anyway,” Ogino said, finishing his beer. “Last time you were here you said your firm would be interested in handling some of our products. I didn’t give you a definite answer then. You might’ve thought I wasn’t much of a friend, but to tell you the truth, I had certain reservations on that oc­casion. I didn’t know what sort of man your partner was, or how much equity you had in the business, or how much ability he had in selling. Furthermore, since we manufacture spe­cialised products, for an agent to operate successfully he’d have to have some specialised knowledge. You might’ve thought I was a cold-blooded creature, but you must remember I’m a di­rector of the company—I’ve certain responsibilities which I can’t shirk.”

  Ogino’s words carried weight and dignity, and Segawa was anxious to expel any idea that he’d resented his previous hesi­tant attitude.

  “To me, your reaction on that occasion was perfectly natural and reasonable,” he said.

  “I had one other reason to hesitate,” Ogino said. “As things stand at present—if your firm’s going to become our agent, your partner will take the lion’s share of the profits. Please don’t be offended, but I must assume that most of the capital in your business has come from your partner. That means that, al­though you may get a certain portion of the profits, you still can’t escape being largely in the position of an employee . . . Wouldn’t you like to become independent again, putting up your own flag?”

  “I don’t think I need to tell you that this is still my dream.”

  “Well, that’s where my idea comes in. How’d you like to marry Miss Kondo and set yourself up as an independent agent? I’ve always valued the selling skill you acquired at Kabutocho, and she has a fair knowledge of our products. I hope I won’t sound too presumptuous, but I can give you the necessary finan­cial backing and anything else you need to get yourself started. And you don’t have to feel obligated to me in any way, since I’m fully conscious of the need to strengthen our sales network.”

  A kind of queasiness was building up in the pit of Segawa’s stomach—he was so disgusted with himself. He couldn’t re­member ever feeling more miserable. Compared with Ogino’s friendship and goodwill, his own mind was soiled and dis­torted. But he couldn’t withdraw now—it was too late. If it had been only a question of giving up his work as an industrial spy—yes, he could’ve probably solved that, simply by running away. But his involvement with Eiko was placing too much pressure on his mind and was affecting his judgment.

  “Thank you very much,” he mumbled. “I’m really grateful to you for this. But once it comes to the question of marriage, I have to discuss it at home. Also, I’d like to meet Setsuko a few more times before making up my mind. Please keep your offer open for a while, and let me think it over.” Wiping cold sweat from his face, he managed to say that much.

  “Yes, of course,” Ogino said, his voice full of understanding. “Marriage is for life, and you can’t be expected to make up your mind straight away. But please give proper consideration to my offer.” He refilled the glasses and then added, “Well, that’s all the business I wanted to discuss with you tonight. Now that we’ve got it out of the way, let’s relax with a drink, hey?”

  His last words were hardly spoken when the phone rang in the hallway. He asked Segawa to have some hors d’oeuvres and excused himself.

  When he returned about five minutes later, he looked tense and unhappy.

  “What’s the matter?” Segawa asked. “Anything wrong?”

  “It’s a damned nuisance,” Ogino said evenly. “Something urgent’s come up—one of our accounts staff is on his way here right now. But he’ll only be ten minutes—fifteen at the most.”

  “The curse of being an executive . . . Well, perhaps I’d better go then. We can always—”

  “No, don’t go. This won’t take long. My wife will be late tonight—if you leave now, I’ll be bored stiff for the rest of the evening.” He thought for a little while, stroking his chin. “I tell you what. How about transferring to my study for twenty min­utes
or so? You could have a brandy there and look through a couple of magazines while I’m talking to the man.”

  “That’ll suit me fine—thanks.”

  “Right, then let’s go—I have some papers to look through before he gets here.”

  Ogino guided him to the study upstairs. It was a western-style room, about fifteen feet by twelve feet, with wall-to-wall carpet, lounge table and chairs, and a big desk alongside the window.

  Ogino took a bottle of brandy and a glass from a side cabinet and poured him a drink.

  “I’ll try to get rid of him as quickly as I can,” he said, obvi­ously annoyed by this intrusion on their evening at home. He picked up a file from the desk and then left the room.

  Segawa looked around absent-mindedly, sipping his brandy, appreciating Ogino’s good taste. Then he stood still, with eyes glued to the top of the desk. A few more files were lying on it.

  He hesitated for a moment. Ogino’s words, full of goodwill and friendliness, were passing through his mind again. But his feet were slowly moving towards the desk as if drawn by a mag­net. No, this was impossible. Ogino wouldn’t leave any secret document lying around on his desk. If this were Nishiwaki’s study, then perhaps there’d be a chance . . .

  His eyes moved quickly from file to file, and then he looked at a title and his heart stood still. It said, Patent Application, Paramizol—Tatsuji Nishiwaki.

  The blood drained from his face as he kept turning over the pages with trembling fingers. The neat characters, firmly writ­ten on horizontally lined paper from the research section, were dancing before his eyes.

  INTRODUCTION: For some time past, sodium alginate has been commonly used in industrial chemistry became of its cohesive qualities. This new material, to be temporarily called “paramizol,” is a radically changed form of sodium alginate with a wide range of ap­plications in the manufacture of food, medicine, cosmetics and other products where an essential requirement is the lasting maintenance of structural properties in fluid form. The material commonly used for this purpose at present is a diethylbarbituric acid preparation manufactured in the U.S.A. Paramizol has an entirely different structural formula. It can be produced far more cheaply, but it is in no way inferior to the American product. It may even prove superior because of its ability to . . .

  This is it. There’s no mistake. Segawa mumbled the words sev­eral times.

  This tallied exactly with Sakai’s description. The name matched the one he’d got out of the chief clerk when he’d vis­ited the factory. This was the secret of paramizol all right—all of it. This report of about thirty pages was the very thing he’d been looking for all this time. But what could he do now?

  He kept mumbling, his glowing eyes fixed on the document.

  He couldn’t steal this original, and there wasn’t enough time to copy it by hand. An expert could pick out and jot down the vital points, but he couldn’t separate the grain from the chaff. What could he do?

  Yes, the camera was the answer—if only he had a camera . . .

  Hurriedly he looked around the place. Yes, there was the cam­era, on top of the cabinet beside the book-shelf, sitting in its case.

  He grabbed the Asahi Pentax from the case and examined it. It had a film in it, but only three of the thirty-six shots hadn’t been taken.

  With a shaking hand he opened the door of the cabinet. As he’d hoped it was full of photographic equipment. Strobe-light, flash-light, copy stand, an assortment of lenses and, luck­ily, a close-up lens. If he had enough time, it’d be better to use the copy stand, but he’d have to do without it now. Using the close-up lens would be good enough. But what about the film? Yes, there they were—about ten boxes of SS36 film stacked in the corner. He was relieved.

  Quickly he changed the film, screwed the close-up lens on the camera, spread out the pages of the report on the carpet and put the fluorescent light stand near them. Steadying the cam­era against the arm of a chair, he focused it in on the writing.

  Cold sweat was oozing through his pores from the top of his head to his toes.

  Had the man arrived yet? he wondered. He hadn’t heard the chime, or any sound, but he might’ve missed it because he’d been so absorbed in the document. He must keep his ears cocked, so that he could stop as soon as there was any sign of the man leaving the house. If he had enough time, he’d replace the original film, and with the lens cap on, work the shutter and the cocking lever thirty-three times. There might be a lit­tle difference in the position of the last exposure, but that’d be near enough just to conceal the operation.

  He pressed the button with a finger that was sending tremors all the way back to his armpit. The click of the mirror, typical of these single-lens cameras, sounded so loud it nearly made him jump.

  Page one, page two, page three . . . The beat of his heart was louder than the sound of the shutter.

  What could he do if Ogino appeared all of a sudden, he won­dered, but kept frantically pressing the button and advancing the cocking lever.

  At least he should be able to hear the sound of Ogino’s steps when he was coming up the stairs . . . How much time had passed now since he’d been left on his own? He couldn’t hear any noise from downstairs. Page eleven . . . page twelve . . .

  “Hey, you! What are you doing there?”

  Sudden—that was really sudden. Ogino’s angry voice ex­ploded like a thunder in his ears. He dropped the camera to the floor and jumped to his feet the same time as the door of the study flew open.

  With legs apart, Ogino stood in front of him. Segawa’s heart gave a lurch and seemed to die.

  “Why did you put on the close-up lens? What’ve you been taking?” Ogino shouted.

  It all seemed like a bad dream to Segawa. He swallowed hard but couldn’t answer—he could hardly breathe. He hadn’t heard Ogino’s steps, and yet he’d been listening carefully. Had Ogino sneaked back here noiselessly like a thief?

  “You needn’t be so angry with me,” he muttered. “I’ve been just playing with your camera a little, that’s all.”

  “Playing? So that’s what you call it? What’s that on the floor?”

  “I don’t know. It was there on the floor from the start.”

  “Hells bells! Will you stop telling stupid lies? I’ve been look­ing through that keyhole in the door. I watched you peeping into lockers like a thief, and snatching up that document!”

  “Looking through the keyhole?” Segawa asked, almost absent-mindedly, his eyes clouded with fatigue. Then suddenly the truth hit him like cold water in the face. “Was it a trap?”

  “If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, you wouldn’t have to worry about traps, would you?” Ogino’s expression was a mix­ture of anger and sorrow, sympathy and contempt. “Somebody informed me you were a spy, trying to ferret out the secret of our new product. I didn’t believe it. I simply couldn’t believe a close friend like you—my old school-mate—could betray me like that. To say nothing about the money I’ve lent you. I thought you would’ve felt at least some gratitude towards me. No, I just couldn’t believe you were a person capable of return­ing such evil for good . . .”

  Ogino’s voice was harsh but also depressed. To Segawa, the tone of voice didn’t matter any more.

  “. . . Nevertheless, after considering it I decided I couldn’t completely ignore this information. There was, for example, your business with Miss Kondo. I knew she wasn’t the type of girl you liked. She’s only average in appearance, and a rather boring person at that, with very little conversation. It seemed strange you should be spending so much money on her.” Ogino raised his brows and sighed heavily. “But then, it’s well known that love is blind. Or you might’ve changed your ideas about women for all I knew. So I brought up the subject of marrying her earlier this evening, adding my offer of the agency for good measure. But you couldn’t back out of it fast enough, could you? So I was left wit
h no alternative but to go ahead with the test . . .”

  Segawa was weighed down by a sense of utter defeat and hopelessness. He sank into a chair and covered his face with both hands.

  “. . . Mind, my offer was more than just a gimmick to find out the truth. I wanted to give you one more chance to rehabilitate yourself. If your answer had been yes, I would’ve willingly taken action to fulfil my promise. But you threw away your last opportunity and fell headlong into this trap.”

  “I’m ashamed of myself,” Segawa mumbled. “I can’t tell you how ashamed I am.”

  “Last time you came to this house you muttered similar non­sense, but I no longer believe a single word you say. And I hardly need to tell you that the document you were so franti­cally copying a little while ago is a fake. The introductory page is correct, but the rest is made up of the report of an earlier test which ended in failure. Even I can’t follow this scientific jar­gon, so I thought it’d be quite impossible for you to judge whether it was the right information.”

  Everything was finished, Segawa thought. His whole world had gone down the drain.

  Ogino’s face hardened again as he said, “This informer has also made certain suggestions about you and Eiko. I’ve no in­tention of going into this now. But even if it were true, once Eiko learns about your real character, I’m sure she won’t find it very hard to forget about you fast.” He pointed to the door and raised his voice once more. “And now, please go. And don’t ever try to face me or Eiko again. I also ask you not to bother Miss Kondo any more, or I’ll have to deal with you . . . Now, get out. Having to look at your face makes me sick in the stomach.”

  Dark with shame, Segawa unsteadily got to his feet. He had no strength left even to open his mouth. In the vast emptiness inside him, two weak flickers of emotion—his self-hatred and his hatred for Ogino—were about to snuff out.

  Then he heard Ogino’s voice again, coming at him sharp like the edge of a sword about to complete the finishing stroke.