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long wispy white mustache drooped at the corners of his mouth. He was not wearing a skullcap and his head appeared at first to be bald, until I saw that he had hair at the back of his head, falling in a long dark queue. Although he was surrounded by these exotic objects, he was dressed in a smart Western business suit, with an immaculate white shirt and ascot. He held a cigar in one slim bony hand and puffed on it as we entered the room.
    “I bring you Miss Molly Murphy, as you requested,” Frederick said, bowing slightly before retreating behind the screen again.
    Lee Sing Tai waved the hand bearing the cigar at me. “Excellent. Excellent. I knew you would come, Miss Molly Murphy. I knew you would not let me down. Very well. Sit. Sit.”
    He pointed at a long bench, piled with brocade pillows. I perched on it cautiously because it looked extremely slippery. Also I was feeling ridiculously nervous and at the same time angry with myself for being intimidated.
    “I understand you have a commission for me to carry out?” I said. “I asked your employee about its nature but he was not very forthcoming.”
    Lee Sing Tai tapped ash into an exquisite blue-and-white dish. “You will take tea with me,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer but clapped his hands. The boy came into the room and bowed low. An order was given. The boy disappeared.
    “Chinese tea is very fine,” he said.
    “I know. I’ve drunk it. It tasted almost perfumed.”
    “That was Lapsang Souchong,” he said. “In my household I prefer to drink Keemun. The king of teas, they call it. I am only one who imports it to this country.” He spoke English with a heavy accent, snapping out individual words rather than delivering a fluid sentence. “But important families in New York City come to me for their tea. Rockerfellers. Astors. You have heard of them?”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “I supply them tea and silk and many other things.” There was a quizzical smile on his face as he said this. “You would be surprised which distinguished people come to Lee Sing Tai to be supplied with what they need.”
    He didn’t even glance up as the boy came in, carrying a red lacquer tray. I noticed that the servant moved silently and was wearing black cotton slippers. He put the tray on a side table and poured tea into two little round cups. Clearly Frederick was not to be included and indeed he had made himself scarce. Then the boy placed one of the cups on a smaller tray and carried it to me, presenting it with a bow. I took it and savored the smoky aroma. It was scalding hot and I hoped I wasn’t expected to drink it yet. Luckily the boy served his master, then came to me with a bowl of little almond cakes. I took one and nibbled politely.
    “Delicious,” I said. Lee Sing Tai watched me eat and waited for me to take a sip of the tea. It was still very hot and I was used to having milk and sugar in my tea, but I sipped dutifully.
    “This assignment you have for me, Mr. Lee. What is the nature of it?” I asked.
    A spasm of annoyance crossed his face. “The tea is not to your liking?”
    “It’s very nice,” I said. “Only rather too hot for me at the moment.”
    “Tea is good for hot days,” he said. “You drink tea. You cool down. Better than water.”
    “Yes, I’m sure it is.”
    “The Chinese know better how to remain cool in this heat. We have known it for thousands of years.”
    He went back to sipping from his own teacup. I was growing impatient. “Perhaps we might discuss our business while we wait for the tea to cool?”
    I sensed from his expression that I might have committed some kind of faux pas, but frankly I didn’t care. I wasn’t the one who was looking for a job; in fact I really didn’t need one at the moment. “I need to know what sort of assignment you are offering,” I went on, my confidence returning, “as I am busy preparing for my upcoming wedding at this moment and actually I am planning to give up my