The phone did not ring the next morning. Jake had breakfast sent up to the room. He read the Daily front to back. After that he stood at his living room window watching Chinese doing Tai Chi on the Bund near Garden Bridge. Then he played every Okeh and Black Swan jazz record in the apartment, some more than once. He thought about calling Claire as he sat in his big armchair watching the sampans cross the sun-speckled Whangpoo and decided against it. They understood each other a little better now and, in some ways, he felt they were closer. But he didn't know what he wanted to happen next.

Just before noon Jake gave up on Ermgard and called Lin at his antique shop. Even while he was waiting for the operator to put him through he knew it would not be good news. If Lin had something, he'd have called. Dumb, but at least it was activity.

"Ah, Jake," Lin said, "I feared your call."

"No progress on breaking that message?"

"None. Except little thing. Very little."

"What is it, Uncle?"

"The code is professional. Like used by intelligence service. One time pad, maybe book code, maybe something else. Hard to break."

"I have a question about Hopeh. What do you know about opium in Hopeh?" Jake asked thinking about his talk with the Grand Dragon of the Green Gang.

"Ah, opium, foreign mud. I know little, but I know one who can help. A cousin. Come by shop. I arrange."

* * *

Li pulled his ricksha up to the imposing main entrance of Shanghai's Victorian railroad station. Jake gave him a roll of small bills to bribe the warlord soldiers so that Li could wait at the curb under the fan-shaped glass awning. The soldiers of the latest warlord to control Chinese Shanghai guarded the entrance extorting money from Chinese who wanted to enter, beating those who displeased them.

"Don't start a fight with those soldiers," Jake said.

Li grunted and glanced over his shoulder at the handful of gray-green uniforms lounging in front of the open bronze doors. "Perhaps I paint face white. No trouble happen then."

"For you, feng-jen-yuan, the insane asylum."

Li grinned and picked a cigarette butt out of his pocket and struck a match. "Then, no need pull ricksha."

"I won't be long. The Blue leaves in an hour."

The guards at the entrance ignored him and Jake walked quickly across the scuffed concrete floor of the station to the passenger exit. He flashed the pass Lin had given him to the ticket taker and strode along the apron until he came to the sleek Blue Express on track 7. The Blue, the finest train in China, was being loaded for its twenty-four hour run to Peking. Jake worked his way past a small army of workers stowing away boxes of food and linen and baggage. He was looking for storage car number 5 and found it four cars behind the huge Baldwin locomotive. His watch said five minutes to three. Too early. Lin had said to enter the car from the locomotive end at three, exactly.

At three, Jake open the heavy steel door, stepped inside the darkened, windowless car, and slowly pulled the door closed behind him. A few weak bulbs screwed into the ceiling cast deep shadows over the boxes stacked high on both sides of the center passageway. While he waited, letting his eyes adjust to the low light, he considered easing his Colt out of its holster. No, he thought, not a good idea. He began walking down the car.

He was nearly at mid-car when a gruff voice said in Shanghai dialect, "Greetings, Valued Friend of My Relative."

Jake swung around to find a short fat man in an apron and chef's hat watching him from a gap between two large boxes. "I am Lin Pu, cook."

"Greetings to you, Esteemed Cook and Relative of My Friend." A shaft of weak light lay across the cook's chubby face.

"Come this way. I have place behind boxes."

The little man led Jake between high stacks of wooden cases barely wide enough for him to get through. After a few steps in the dark they came to an opening by the wall of the car. Lin Pu pointed to a wooden crate. "Sit please."

"Thank you for seeing me. Did your cousin tell you what I was interested in?"

Lin Pu was silent so long Jake wondered if he had gotten his Chinese tangled up. Finally the cook spoke: "I talk with you only because my relative ask. There are things I cannot tell. Do not feel insulted or feel respect for my relative is diminished."

"Tell me what you can."

"Opium, foreign mud, my elder relative call it, very important in Hopeh. Very difficult."

"I don't understand. Why is it difficult?"

"Since last year cheap opium start come in province. Far below price of...regular seller. Very cheap."

"Who is selling this opium?"

Lin Pu shrugged his shoulders. "People think it come from Shanghai, that foreigners bring in. Regular seller lose business."

The regular seller was the Green Gang, Jake was sure. "What about the opium business in Shanghai? Do you know who controls the new opium in Shanghai?"

"No talk about Shanghai," Lin Pu said sharply.

Jake couldn't tell if he didn't know about opium in Shanghai or just wouldn't talk about it. "Tell me more about opium in Hopeh Province."

Lin Pu went quiet again, then said, "Warlord control railroad. Most opium to north go on railroad. So, opium make warlord rich. General Xi become very rich, now dead; new warlord now General Nan."

"If the new opium is so cheap, how are the warlords getting rich?"

The cook shook his head.

"Did General Xi become rich selling the new opium?"

"He sell new and get money to let some other opium pass to North."

"He sold only the new opium?" Jake asked.

"Yes."

"And he got money from the regular seller to let their opium through?"

"Yes. Only he not let as much of regular seller opium in province and he charge them more."

So the Greens were getting squeezed by Xi and the new guys, Jake thought.

"Are there foreign soldiers in Hopeh? Japanese or perhaps Russians or British helping General Nan, this new warlord?"

"I not hear of any," the cook said. "Only soldiers of General Nan along railroad." He stood up. "I must go. Be warned, it dangerous to ask about opium. Regular sellers angry. New people very strong. Many people killed because of new mud."

"Your help has been most valuable. I'll thank your esteemed elder relative when I see him again."

Lin Pu smiled and bowed his head slightly. "Please go first. That way." The cook pointed toward the back of the train. "Leave through passenger car. I stay here until you away. Important that we not seen together."

* * *

Aly, his left arm in a sling, was polishing the door brass when Li pulled up in front of the Wheel. "Good afternoon, sir," he said with a big grin.

"Welcome back." Jake shook his hand warmly, pleased that the big Sikh was back on his feet even though his brown face was ashen and his grip none too firm. "How do you feel?"

"Oh, very good, sir and happy to be out of hospital." Aly's English had the intonation of Indian English with a slight Scottish accent, having done most of his 20 years service in the Indian Army under a Sergeant from Glasgow.

"Don't over do it your first day back. Did they treat you right in the hospital?"

"First class, sir. There is a gentleman from the police to see you. Student wanted me to tell you."

Jake found Mallory in the office sitting in the visitor's chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Jake gave him a two-fingered salute. "Is this a professional visit?"

"In the neighborhood, Jake. Thought I'd stop in and see how your amateur detective work was coming."

"I'm not winning any prizes. Wouldn't be interested in taking over, would you?"

"No, no...too many other things to do. Your timing was excellent last night, by the way. Just after you left Colby's party, I heard he came down with a bad belly and took to his bed. Put a bit of a damper on things."

Jake stopped pouring coffee into a mug and looked at him thoughtfully. "So?"

"Just thought I'd mention it. Changing the subject, I could do some odd checking for you if you get any leads on your murders. Let me know. I might be able to squeak a little credit out of it with the Super if anything develops."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. Nothing on the horizon."

"Trail getting a little cold?"

"I'm afraid so."

Mallory drained his drink and stood up. "Good whiskey, old boy. Keep me in mind."

After Student closed the door behind the policeman, Jake signaled him upstairs.

"Any phone calls?"

"Nothing, Boss."

Jake's hopes for a call from Ermgard were fading fast. He studied the phone for several minutes before he asked the operator to ring Claire's number at the Daily. It rang only once before she picked it up.

"Hello pretty lady," Jake said. "How are you doing?"

"Better, thanks. Our talk helped. It was important to me that you understood."

"That I do, but I'm not happy about it." Without giving Claire a chance to comment, Jake continued: "You didn't call me at the hotel last night, did you?"

"No, do you think it could be..."

"I may have a certain rough charm, but not many ladies call me at three in the morning. It's been twelve hours and no more calls, so I'm not too hopeful."

"Something will break, I know it."

"Well, maybe, another angle has come up. I don't want to talk about it on the phone. Could you look through your back issues for something about opium and railroads in Hopeh, say in the last year or so?"

"Certainly," she said, brightening.

"Don't sound so hopeful. It depresses me. In the meantime, I'm going to go back to the Daisy Bar and poke around. Maybe somebody saw Wu-chi that night."

"Is Kuan going with you?"

"No. I'll have Li run me down."

"Please be careful."

"I will."

"Call me."

Jake said he would, hung up the receiver, and stared at the phone for a long moment. Maybe he was reading things into their conversation and the tone of her voice that weren't there. Yet he had the feeling that their relationship was somehow starting over, but this time, at a higher level.

Jake called Hsiang up to the office. Since the Xi affair began he had not been around much and he wanted to get a reading on security. Jake's territory at the Wheel was the gambling room and security, while Kuan handled the business end, the bar, and the kitchen. Lately Kuan had been picking up the slack on security, but that was spreading him too thin.

"The only good," Hsiang said, "that has come with smaller crowds since General Xi's murder is that evil doers are easier to see."

Jake smiled to himself. Evil doers, indeed, Jake thought. Hsiang's missionary education was showing. At least he didn't call the customers sinners. The Chinese loved to gamble too much for that.

Hsiang reported only one recent incident of bet moving at the roulette table and no one had been caught trying to switch dice shooting craps, or nick cards with a fingernail at blackjack to mark them.

"Good," Jake said, relieved that he didn't have a problem on that front.

Hsiang diplomatically pressed Jake on hiring another croupier. Jake agreed with Hsiang that they needed one and he said he'd think about Hsiang's candidate, a young Cantonese man with experience in the big gambling halls of Macao. Hiring gambling room staff was tricky. While the cons were always a problem, the real concern in any casino was collusion between a player and a croupier.

"We'll need the extra help soon. The volume will be up again when the Xi murder is put to rest," Jake said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

"I'm sure it will, sir," Hsiang replied. "I will use the time to re-check the boy's background." Hsiang would, Jake knew. The only Chinese floor boss in the city, he was a meticulous man who knew the gambling business top to bottom. The fact that he had a small piece of the action at the Wheel made him especially watchful.

* * *

In daylight Dock Road teemed with coolies, pushcarts, and trucks. Groups of sailors from a half dozen countries meandered about the narrow street, peering into dimly lit shops or bars or chatting with whores. The heavy traffic forced Li to nearly a walk.

On the water side of the street, barges and work boats were tied up at the jetties, and lines of scrawny coolies formed human chains loading barges to the beat of the foreman's chant. It was that dogged human power of the Chinese that fueled Shanghai's prosperity. How long would the treaty ports with their foreign courts and laws last in a strong China? Not long, Jake thought. Shanghai, Amoy, Canton, Tientsin. Some day they would be Chinese and most of the foreigners, including Jake Greenberg, would be gone. Where to then? The local expression "more far" ran through his head. It meant somewhere off in the distance. But that was in the future. For now he and Kuan were riding the horse called Shanghai as far it would take them.

A coolie's shout near the river caught Jake's attention. A line of coolies bent under heavy carrying poles were running up a little road on a small peninsula that stuck out into the Whangpoo behind Dock Road. There were a half dozen godowns tucked away back there. Jake hadn't noticed that road the foggy night he and Kuan had gone to the Daisy. He twisted in the ricksha's seat to study it as Li jogged on.

A half a block further down Dock Road they came to the Daisy. The bar was worse than he remembered. The building seemed to be leaning against an equally bad structure housing a medical shop advertising cures for venereal disease. Move one, Jake thought, and the other falls over.

Li put down the traces of his ricksha and looked at Jake with a quizzical expression.

"Not up to your standards?" Jake said as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

"Bad, Big Nose Boss. This called Bloody Lane."

Jake looked up and down the street wondering where to begin. With the bartender, he decided. Then he'd show Wu-chi's picture to some of the shop keepers.

A hand-lettered sign in the Daisy's frnt window hawked drinks in English, French, and German. Spelling was not the Daisy's strong point. "Wait here. I'll won't be long."

There were only three men standing at the bar nursing their beers when Jake stepped into the Daisy. LeRoy, the bartender, was leaning up against the back wall paying such close attention to a girlie magazine that he did not look up when Jake walked across the room.

LeRoy's head jerked up when Jake called his name and a sour look came over his face.

Jake waved him over. "Let's take a walk over the table where my friend sat."

"I toll you everthing I knew the last time you were here."

"I just have a couple more questions for you." Jake slipped a ten dollar bill into LeRoy's hand.

At the table Jake peered through the filthy window. "You said my friend sat here and drank his beer."

"That's right."

"Did he look around? Did he look out the window? What did he do while he was at the table?"

"Noth'in much. Kept looking out the window. I figured he didn't want to start any trouble by staring at the guys at the bar. So he looked out the window and drank his beer. Can't see anything out there 'cept lights at night."

Jake didn't answer. He just shook his head. Of course! That's what he was doing sitting at the window. The night Wu-chi was here it was clear. From the front window of the Daisy, he could have watched the lights of the godowns on the peninsula behind Dock Road. He wasn't trying to watch someone. He was waiting for something to happen to the lights at one of those godowns.

Jake laughed and slapped the startled LeRoy on the shoulder. "You've been a big help." "Change of plan, Old Man," Jake said to Li as he closed the door of the Daisy behind him. I want to look at the godowns up that small road. Then I have a special job for you."



* * *

After three phone calls, Jake caught up with Johnny Ho at the Sportif. Borrowing a line from Claire, Jake said: "We need to talk, Johnny."

"Can't it wait?"

"No. You call it. I'm in Frenchtown near Green Park." Jake knew that Ho wouldn't agree to meet unless he picked the spot.

"Make it the Billiard Club on Rue Joffre in an hour? It better be important."

"See you there."

The Billiard Club was a high-priced bar in the middle of Frenchtown, taking its name from a billiard parlor that had once stood on the site. A favored mid-day watering hole for Frenchtown businessmen, the Club served large drinks and light meals and had a collection of five antique billiard tables at the back of the room that Jake had hardly ever seen used.

It was almost empty when Jake walked in. A Chinese hostess in a sleek red cheongsam flashed a smile and directed him to Johnny Ho. A lanky, mustachioed bartender nodded to Jake as he walked by, then returned to his conversation with two white men in business suits. Ho was waiting at the end of the long mahogany bar nursing a Manhattan. His bodyguards, Ang and Park, stood nearby.

"What'll it be?" Ho asked as the bartender moved toward them.

"Pass," Jake said to the bartender.

"What's up, Jake?"

"Let's take a walk back to a table."

"A couple of beers for my boys," Ho said to the bartender and led the way to the last billiard table. "Pa doesn't go for me drinking hard liquor. Isn't that a gasser? We push all this stuff...booze, drugs, you name it, and the Old Man doesn't touch it. Never has. Girls are okay, that's all." Ho put down his drink on the edge of the last billiard table and chalked a cue. Now what's so important?"

"I've been picking up some information on opium and Hopeh. Cheap, maybe foreign, stuff."

"And?" Ho broke the triangle of balls and sank the number one ball and straightened up.

"It's about time you cut the bullshit, Johnny."

Ho smiled. "What are you talking about?"

"You and your old man didn't sell any dope to Xi and he doesn't owe you any money. You guys wanted me as your stalking horse."

Ho sank balls two and three, then laid the cue aside and picked up his drink. He brushed a microscopic bit of lint from his suit. "You've been out here too long, Jake. You're getting one of those devious Oriental minds. Isn't that what they say in the newspapers stateside...devious Oriental mind?"

"You're looking for your competition, aren't you? Where that cheap dope is coming into Shanghai. That's what all that turtle shit was about." Jake paused. "Talk to me, Johnny. Or you get nothing from me. I have a pretty good fix on where it is. Not exactly, but getting there."

Johnny Ho swirled the cherry in his Manhattan with a wooden swizzle-stick. "You going to tell me something?"

Jake shook his head. "Not yet. Here's the deal. Straight talk from you now and you get to know where this stuff is coming in when I find it. I want Wu-chi's killer and whoever is behind him. The dope can rot in hell for all I care."

Ho's eyes never left Jake's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"Who's behind the cheap opium up in Hopeh?"

"We don't know."

"You guys are the biggest outfit here and you don't know?"

Ho shook his head. "We know the stuff comes from Manchuria. We don't know who's behind it. The street guys we rough up don't know." He looked hard at Jake. "That's the truth. I know what you're thinking. Russians or Japs. But there are Chinese outfits that could be shipping it in from there. The Hakka clans around Amoy have been trying to get into the opium game for years, and I know the Canton Syndicate would like to move up north. Usually, we know who's doing what. With this business, we don't have a clue except that it goes north from here."

"Was Wu-chi trying to find out?"

"If he was, I didn't know about it. He knew about the problem. The Old Man talked to him once in a while about all kinds of problems. He was kind of a senior advisor. Never got involved in...direct action."

"What about you guys and Xi? How did that work?"

"Xi didn't sell. We paid him off to keep him out of our hair. To let our stuff through Hopeh."

"The railroad?"

"That's how we shipped it."

"So why were he and Patell killed?"

"No idea. We paid Xi. Our stuff went through. Not as much as before. Enough to keep us operating. It was a funny deal. The cheap smoke guys must have been paying Xi big money."

You don't know how big, Jake said to himself, thinking of Xi's bankbook.

Ho continued: "In the last year, Xi bought all kinds of new rifles, a bunch of artillery, even a couple of airplanes. On top of that, he was paying his troops regularly so they didn't have to loot so much. So he was getting a load of money from the other guys, yet he didn't shut us out. Why? You'd think that would be the first thing the competition would want from him was to cut us off."

"What about Helga Patell? Where does she fit in?"

Ho drained off almost all of his remaining Manhattan. "Just a babe I knew who hooked up with Xi."

"You're a modern guy. Maybe you should ease back on the dope game and find something else."

Smiling, Ho said: "You're a do-gooder at heart, Jake. There's too much money to back away from it. Anyway, we just do the supply. The demand's there. You round-eyes started it here in my grandfather's time and it's never quit. Hell, most of the old white families here got their first money running dope."

"One more thing. What about Lao-tang? What does your inside man say about him?" Ho's face darkened. "My inside man is gone...dead...a floater. Washed up on Soochow Creek two days ago. The only way one of our people could identify him was his uniform and some stuff in his pocket. The rest was pretty much mush."

"Was he one of Lao-tang's officers? A nasty young guy with a scar on his forehead?"

Ho nodded. "How did you know?"

"Guessed. We had a little encounter at Xi's mansion the night he was killed. I can't say I'm sorry that he's gone. You think Lao-tang was involved any of the murders?"

"Could be."

"How?"

Ho shrugged. "Don't sell that big coolie short."

* * *

It was just after 10 pm when Ermgard finally telephoned the Wheel.

"Mr. Greenberg?"

"Speaking."

"We spoke last night. You remember?" She spoke softly and the line crackled with static. Jake had to strain to hear her.

"Yes, I remember very well. Our meeting was too short, though. Can I see you tonight?"

Kuan, sitting across the partners desk, looked up quickly and closed the ledger he had been working on.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "In a...safe place."

"There are lots of safe places in the city. Where are you now?"

"I don't want to say."

"Okay. You name the place. We'll talk. Then I'll get you out of the country. Anywhere you want to go."

Jake listened hard, trying to pick up background sounds that would give him some clue to her location. But the line seemed to go dead for several seconds and all he could hear was static.

"Meet me tonight. In the Walled City at the entrance to the tea house. You know it?"

"Yes. When?"

"Midnight."

"I'll be there."

"Come alone," she said and hung up.

Jake slowly replaced the receiver and looked over at Kuan. "Midnight at the Walled City. The tea house. I'm to come alone."

"Are you crazy? Kuan said. "You'll need a backup."

"Damned right," Jake said as he picked up the phone and waited for the operator. "I'll see if Claire's willing to have Ermgard stay with her tonight."

Sung answered the phone, shouting as usual. "Missy not here. She at work."

Jake just missed Claire at the Daily. "Left ten minutes ago," the voice on the wire said. Jake looked at his watch. An hour and a half until he had to meet Ermgard.

The phone rang. It was Claire.

"Of course," Claire said without hesitation when Jake asked her. "Where are you going to meet her?"

"The Walled City."

Jake could hear her suck in her breath. "Don't do it, Jake! It's not worth it."

"I have to. Kuan's going to back me up."

"Why there? Why would a white woman go there at night? Can't you meet her somewhere else?."

"No. It's set for the City. There isn't any way to contact her again. Look, we missed her once. I don't want to again."

Jake could hear her breathing, but she didn't speak for a moment. Finally, she said quietly: "I'll be waiting. Good luck." Then she hung up.

"Claire thinks the deal stinks?"

"Yes."

"She's right, you know," Kuan said. "The City is a set up, especially the tea house. You're right out in the open waiting to get popped. And, why would any white woman try to hide in a Chinese slum? Especially that one."

"Christ, I know all that," Jake snapped. "So what do I do?"

"We. What do we do?"

"Go, that's what. Expecting trouble."

* * *

The Walled City, where Shanghai began as a tiny fishing village, was a maze of twisting, rabbit-warren alleys. It was still called the Walled City even though the walls that had kept the village safe from river pirates had been pulled down in 1912. The only open area in the City was a plaza with a large pond. In the middle of the pond, built on stone pillars, was the famous Willow Pattern Tea House. The small two-story structure, thought to be the model for "Willow Pattern" chinaware, had a steep red roof with upswept corners and a comfortable veranda extending over the pond. Since devils travel over water in a straight line, the tea house was connected to the shore by a zigzag stone bridge.

During the day activity around the pool was a kaleidoscope of Chinese life. Dentists, doctors, barbers, toy vendors, food sellers, bird merchants, and jugglers all carried on their trade in the open, often with shouted advice from crowds of spectators. At night the plaza was almost deserted. The fear of young thugs kept the Chinese locked in their tenement apartments. Even during the day white faces were rare in the City. At night they were unknown.

As Student drove the Wheel's Buick along the Bund and into Frenchtown, Jake re-checked his .45 in the light of passing street lamps, then resumed his watch out the back window. Kuan opened a box of soft-nosed bullets and loaded six into a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver, snapped the cylinder into place, and eased the revolver carefully under his waistband. Beside him on the seat was a Bergmann submachine gun, the best light automatic weapon to come out of the Great War.

Several minutes later Student pulled the car up to the curb next to a narrow alley. Most of the shops which lined the empty street were closed with heavy metal screens. Only a pawn shop and an dingy little Chinese restaurant at the far end of the block showed any signs of life.

Jake and Kuan got out and closed the doors carefully without making a sound. The Buick glided away leaving a small cloud of exhaust hanging in the humid air. It was ten minutes short of midnight. They walked carefully down the unpaved alley--a smelly, narrow passageway without lights--to the next street, the border between the Walled City and Frenchtown. Jake checked to the right, Kuan to the left, then they crossed quickly and disappeared into the shadows on the other side.

"Stay low, buddy," Kuan whispered.

"You too."

They shook hands and Kuan disappeared in the inky blackness of a tiny lane.

Keeping to the buildings that ringed the open area, Jake circled the plaza until he came to a point close to the zigzag bridge. In the middle of the pond, lighted by a three-quarters moon, the tea house seemed dark and foreboding. Jake studied it for a moment, looking for a sign that a gunman was waiting there. He saw nothing. His eyes slowly swept the deserted plaza lighted by the moon and a few scattered street lamps. Crooked little side streets, dark as caves, opened onto the plaza. He glanced at one side street halfway around the plaza. If all went well, Kuan would be there in five minutes. Jake twisted his wrist to see his watch. He kept it on the underside of his wrist, a habit that started in the war. Everyone on the line did it. A radium dial's glow was like a match in the dark. It had almost gotten him killed on a night patrol in no-mans-land, a lesson he never forgot.

Five minutes passed slowly. A bead of sweat made its way down his rib cage. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and dried his gun hand on his pants. Five more minutes went by and no Ermgard. Had she changed her mind? He edged forward, away from the wall, to a concrete column plastered with posters and handbills. He heard birds flapping somewhere in the dark above the tea house and the faint wailing of a child somewhere deep in the tenements.

Then he heard the click of her high heels coming down one of the side streets near where Kuan should be. He looked over his shoulder and behind him. Don't focus in on the sound until you check around you, he thought. Ermgard might be a decoy. It was another hard lesson of the war. Suddenly, the sound stopped.

"Mr. Greenberg." Ermgard's voice quivered. "I have fear. Please come here...to me." She paused and stepped out of the darkness, peering around the patio. "I know you are here."

"Walk toward my voice, Ermgard." Then Jake sprinted to another column and flattened himself behind it. When he looked around the column, she was gone. Damn! He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. God, this was like house-to-house in France. Jake studied the side street where he had last seen her. Either I go in now or forget it, he said to himself. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. His shirt stuck to his back. He took another breath. What the hell!

Jake sprinted away from the column, expecting gunfire, but nothing happened. He caught his breath, crouching in the shadows of one of the buildings and then began working his way toward the little street where he had last seen Ermgard.

He edged sideways along the steel shutters of the closed shops, his Colt held high, by his ear, until he came to the corner. A finger snap once, then again came from the other side of the street. Kuan was there. Jake answered with two snaps.

One, two, on three Jake ducked around the corner, crouched low, his .45 straight out.

Ermgard screamed a warning an instant before guns flashed and boomed.

Jake felt a burning sear across his right shoulder as he double squeezed his automatic at the gun flash ahead of him. A second round sparked above his head as it ricocheted off the brick wall. At almost the same time, Kuan stepped into the street and fired a long burst from his Bergmann. Jake fired five more times in a pattern across the lane until his clip was empty. The tiny street vibrated with the sound ofgunfire. There was an single answering shot, then silence. Jake slammed a fresh clip into the Colt. Slowly standing up, he kept close to the wall, straining to hear over the ringing in his ears. He could feel some blood seeping down his shirt sleeve, and his shoulder burned, but hurting was good and he could stand. Bad was when you got knocked down or so shocked you didn't know you were hit. As Jake moved forward he could dimly make out Kuan moving parallel to him up the other side of the narrow street.

"Don't shoot please, please," Ermgard whimpered from a doorway on his side of the street.

Jake said nothing until he got to her. Bending down he touched her and whispered: "Are you hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Stay there. How many were they?"

"Three men."

Jake listened. His ears were better now, but he heard nothing. No footsteps, no one shouted, no one looked out a window. The heavy smell of garbage, urine, cooking oil and soy sauce was now mixed with gun smoke. It was if the entire City was holding its breath, waiting.

"I'm going to use a light," Jake whispered to Kuan.

"Go ahead." Kuan replied from across the narrow lane.

Jake edged into the doorway with Ermgard and aimed his flashlight up the street. Two men lay crumpled in front of a small automobile. A moment later Kuan turned on his light, playing it further up the street, then back to the two men.

"Cover me," Jake whispered and ran, bent low, to the car, keeping his gun on the two men. Neither moved. In the flashlight's beam, he could see a pool of blood. "Kuan, watch these guys, I'm going to move forward." Jake checked out the car, a four-seat Morris. Empty. Probably stolen, Jake thought, but he committed the license number to memory. At the rear of the Morris he dropped to one knee and used his flashlight. His small tunnel of light was worse than useless. He switched it off. Almost no moonlight penetrated into the winding little street. Every doorway, each tiny lane--some hardly wider than a man--that twisted off from the street, were perfect ambush sites. No, Jake thought, the odds are wrong. He stayed where he was, perfectly still, peering into the dark and listening. But it was absolutely quiet.

After a minute or two, he returned to the two men in front of the car. His arm throbbed, and time was running out. He had to assume that someone had called the cops. Kneeling down, Jake put his gun on the ground next to a pool of blood and flashed the light in the first man's face, then checked for a pulse.

"The guy is an Oriental...dead," Jake said over his shoulder to Kuan. "I've never seen him before. I--"

"What?" Kuan hissed.

"This guy has an exit wound in his chest." Jake rolled the man over. "Entrance wound and tattooing. Somebody shot him from behind at very short range." Jake quickly went through his pockets. "No identification."

Jake moved to the second man lying on his stomach a few feet away. He rolled the man over on his back and played the light on his face. "It's Lao-tang."

* * *

Kuan pushed open the door of a tiny pawnshop in Frenchtown. He gave the owner, a fat, hard-eyed Chinese woman, a dollar to use his phone and another dollar to go into the back room. Kuan waited until the woman had gone, then he stepped behind the counter and whispered Claire's number to the operator.

She picked up the phone on the first ring.

"Claire, this is Kuan."

"Is Jake hurt?" Claire asked sharply.

"Just a nick. His shoulder got grazed."

"Kuan, tell me the truth!"

"I am. He's okay...doesn't even need a doctor. Just got a little meat singed."

"Are you sure?"

"He'd call himself, but we figured I'd be a little less conspicuous than a white guy in this part of town." He didn't want to say a white guy with blood dripping down his arm.

"What can I do?"

"Some bandages and a little brandy...and Jake said some more of those spring rolls Sung makes."

He could feel her calming down.

"God, the man's an eating machine."

Ah, Kuan thought, maybe older brother has something going here after all.

"What about Ermgard?" Claire asked.

"She has some scratches and a bad case of the shakes. Other than that she's fine. We're coming over right now. Ah, some interesting things happened that I can't talk about on the phone. Jake wants you to keep an eye out for people watching your place. If you see anything strange, hang a towel on your balcony and we'll keep on going. Jake says not to let anyone in. Absolutely no one. And if somebody calls, you don't know anything."

* * *

After Claire gathered what medical supplies she had in the apartment and got Sung working in the kitchen, she turned out the lights in the living room and stepped out on the ornate wooden balcony. From the front of the balcony she could see almost the entire length of Shantung Road, from Ningpo Road to her right to Soochow Creek just beyond always busy Peking Road. Street lamps made islands of light along Shantung Road. Although nothing looked out of the ordinary, she felt terribly inadequate and amateurish. The only experience she could draw upon was from the movies...sinister looking men in trench coats lurking in doorways came to mind. What would someone watching her apartment do? She smiled despite her misgivings. Nothing in college or Shaker Heights had prepared her for this. How sheltered she had been, she mused, even in Africa and India.

A automobile came around the corner from Ningpo Road, its headlights lighting up the road. Her heart skipped a beat. She studied the car, chewing on her lip. A Ford, she thought, wishing she knew more about cars. It continued on to Peking Road and turned left. She would watch for it again. The automobile was followed by three ricksha coolies, one behind the other, padding up the street in the same direction. She tried to memorize their clothing.

After the coolies turned on to Peking Road the street became quiet and her thoughts drifted to Jake. Had she been too hasty, too fearful? The thought had gnawed at her ever since their talk at the Majestic. Perhaps I'm getting better. Perhaps the guilty feeling wasn't that bad, only I was afraid it might get worse? She was attracted to Jake, that was clear. She was comfortable with him and respected him. She thought of Peter less these days. Was that only temporary or had she really turned a corner? A lone ricksha coolie, a skinny old man slowly pulling his vehicle along the street, interrupted her thoughts. She watched him walk the length of Shantung Road to the Creek and put down his traces. He's probably going to sleep by the Creek, she thought, then annoyed with herself for being distracted, quickly turned to watch the other direction.

A few minutes later a car turned from Peking Road. Claire looked hard trying to see past its lights, but it was not until it was pulling up along side her building that she saw it was the Wheel's Buick. Its doors opened and Jake, Kuan, and Ermgard got out and the Buick pulled away heading toward Peking Road. No other cars came around the corner. Claire delayed a moment more, then hurried to the door to let them in.

* * *

Jake's shirt had stuck to the wound. While Kuan tried to calm Ermgard, Claire soaked his shoulder to remove the shirt. With the dried blood removed, the wound started to seep again. Although the nasty little red furrow hurt, it looked worse than it was. Claire seemed more pained than Jake as she carefully slid his shirt off and passed it to Sung.

"Sung's a master at cleaning and repairing," Claire said as she picked up a bowl of hot water and began to gingerly wash the wound. "Sit still. I'm not very good at this."

"You're doing fine."

"Wait till I pour the iodine on it. See what you think then."

"I'll be brave."

Claire grimaced as she unscrewed the top of the iodine bottle. "It's going to really hurt."

"I thought you were a tough guy," Jake said.

She looked at him for a moment, then said: "I try to be. Sometimes it doesn't work."

Jake grinned at her. "Same here."

As soon as he got his shoulder bandaged, Jake made arrangements to get Ermgard out of the city. At first light they would leave for the airport. The clock on the living room mantel said two thirty and he felt every minute of it, but it was time to get some answers. The adrenalin high of the Walled City had faded and he was fighting exhaustion and pain. Two hours to get her story, Jake thought. Neither he nor Kuan had asked her anything in the car. She had been far too hysterical for that.

Ermgard had showered and was in one of Claire's robes, sitting in a corner of the sofa sipping brandy from a large goblet that she held with both hands. Without makeup, her blonde hair hanging loose and damp, and dark smudges under her eyes, she looked defenseless and absolutely spent.

Jake took a sip from his mug of coffee, then said: "Ermgard, tell us what happened. From the time you left the dance hall."

"Those two men, the ones you killed. They saw us talking at the Majestic and followed me home."

"Were you alone?" Claire asked.

"No, my friend was with me. The one who left the Majestic with me. They told him to go away or they would kill both of us." She shrugged her shoulders. "There was nothing he could do. Those two had guns and my friend is not a strong man, a fighter."

"Where--"

"They took me to a building. I was tied and had something, a...on my eyes."

"A blindfold."

"Yes, a blindfold."

"What did it seem like? Any sounds or smells?" Jake asked. "Did you hear people talking?"

"Only the big one talked to me."

Lao-tang, Jake thought. "What was the building like?"

Ermgard took a drink and looked out into space. "The building. They put me in a room. I could hardly breath. The air was full of something...something heavy."

"Do you have any idea what it could be?"

Ermgard shook her head. "Just something heavy. I don't know what it was."

"Then what happened?"

"They kept me there until they took me to a telephone to call you."

"In the same building?"

She nodded. "Same building, but my eyes were covered. Will you really get me out of Shanghai?"

"I said I would," Jake said. "We got you back from those men, we'll get you out of town." He paused. "You help us and we'll take care of you." He decided not to tell her yet she was leaving Shanghai by airplane. He wasn't sure she could cope with that.

Ermgard glanced at Claire as if looking for reassurance.

"You'll be all right," Claire said.

Jake asked again about the building.

"It felt like a big building. A godown, something like that."

"Was there any sound of water or ships?" Kuan asked.

"Oh...yes. I forgot. There was water...and boat sounds. They will be watching the steamships. How will I get past them?"

"I have a plan. We'll talk about it later." Now's the time, Jake thought. "Tell me, Ermgard, when we were in the Walled City you said there were three men. Who was the third man?"

Jake almost held his breath waiting for her response.

"There was a third man. I did not see him. He met us at the Walled City and then he stayed back in the shadows by the car."

"Was he in charge?"

"I don't understand."

"Was the third man the boss?"

"Yes, I think so. I do not know what happened to him. When the shooting started I fell to the ground and crawled away. I do know he was a Westerner."

"How do you know that?" Jake said more sharply than he meant to.

"I heard him whisper to the big one in English."

Borodin, Joffe, John Ho, Colby, all came to mind immediately. Any of them could have motive. No, if it was Ho he would have spoken to Lao-tang in Chinese. "What did the man say?"

Ermgard shook her head. "I could only understand a few words. Then the shooting began."

Her words were coming slower and she was blinking her eyes to stay awake. Jake glanced at the clock. Three thirty. Claire and Kuan looked as tired as he felt.

"Where do you want to go?"

Ermgard lifted her head and brightened. "To Macao. My friend lives there. He wants to marry me," she said with a world-weary smile. "He is a good man...poor, but I think I can be happy with him. Life is too cheap here, and hard."

"You can be there in a few days. Tell me about Helga."

Ermgard sighed. "I know nothing about any blackmail."

"Did you deliver any messages to Helga?"

"No. Never. She was secretive about certain things in her life, but a good friend. I know nothing about her murder or the Chinaman Xi except that she did not like him much."

"What about other men in her life?"

"The gangster, John Ho, was her special man a year ago. They had many fights and make-ups. He beat her sometimes."

"Did she know a man named Borodin?"

"I don't know. I have heard of Borodin. I don't know if she knew him. He's a hard man, much feared by the good Russians here. He has spies everywhere."

"Did Helga have any other special men?"

"She knew many men, rich men, government men. Helga was very...popular. I don't know much. She kept that side of her life to herself." She closed her eyes for a moment, then smiled a sad smile. "Perhaps I didn't know very much about her. Mostly we talked of clothes, motion picture shows. Almost never about what we did to make money." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said: "Suddenly Helga had a lot of money and new clothes and I didn't see her much. Only sometimes did she come to my room to visit."

Jake could see she was fading fast. He also longed to put his head down. His eyes were gritty with the need for sleep. Not for a while, he thought, and mentally shook himself awake. More to do before they left for the airport.

"I can not talk any more," Ermgard said, looking at Jake through half open eyes.

"Did Helga know a Japanese man named Yamamoto?"

Ermgard shook her head. "I don't think so."

Claire glanced over at Jake with a look that said: that's enough.

He nodded.

"Use my bed, " Claire said.

"We'll wake you at dawn," Jake added.

When Claire closed the bedroom door behind her, Jake looked up from filling his coffee mug and asked: "Think she's leveling with us?"

"I don't know. She's scared to death you'll not keep your promise."

"I said I'd get her out of town and I will."

"I told her you kept your promises."

Kuan, who was watching them from across the room, said: "When this is done, Claire, you're going to have a hell of a story."

"If it has an ending," she replied.

"It will," Jake said grimly. "We're getting there. The circle's getting smaller around our man."

"You really think it's one man doing all that?" Claire asked.

"Yes, I do. I don't know if he's part of an organization or if he's been hired, but it's one man at the center of all the murders."