“Are you our dorm’s answer to Maigret, Sakuma-san?” Chrétien asked the photographer with a smile. “Forgive me if I mistook your photographic posture as one more interested in art than investigation. But why not both, eh? Chronicler of the beauty in life by day and intrepid investigative photojournalist by night, shining the light of justice on those who would hide in the shadows!
“If so, you will need your chronicler, as Poe gave to Dupin. Should you be in the need of such a one, do let me know and I will be happy to tag along and make a record of your work. It would be good practice for my Japanese composition, if nothing else.
“The fog, I must confess, it does intrigue me. There are stories in France of other worlds being entered through the mist,” he said with a glance toward the nearby water. “That one may pass into such a place and its denizens may pass out into our realm. Are there such stories here in Japan? My father and uncle are sufficiently prosaic to wish me to focus on mundane things, such a s circuitry and programing. My mother studies such tales. I would be curious to know if there are similar stories here.”