It occurred to him belatedly that he had spent far more time playing children's games than was justifiable for an investigator of crimes, particularly since he also hoped to look in on Michiko. Although his grumbling stomach reminded him that it was time for his evening rice, he ignored the hunger pangs and his aching legs and walked briskly to the sixth ward where he asked directions to the house of the umbrella maker Hishiya. The light was fading, but he found the street easily. The poorer sort of artisans lived and worked here. Small, narrow houses were crammed together, eaves touching eaves. Tora knew such places well. Behind this block of houses would be a bit of open ground, sometimes made into a tiny garden, but most often just an alley collecting debris and starving dogs. He saw the umbrella maker's sign, but walked past the house, getting a general impression of the neighborhood and hoping for a bit of gossip with one of the neighbors. He had reached the end of the block without seeing a soul— most people would be eating— when he heard a door opening and then the angry voice of a woman and a cry of pain.
