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turned away, smiling beneath the mask of grief. It had been so easy. Fu and Chai – what simpletons they’d been! He thought back, remembering how he had drugged them and taped them murdering the copy of the T’ang. But they knew nothing of that, only that they were being sought for a crime they had no memory of committing.
    Trust. It was a fragile thing. Break it and the world broke with it. And Wang Hsien had broken his trust in him some years ago.
    He glanced across and saw himself in the wall-length mirror opposite. Do I look any different? he wondered. Does my face betray the change that’s taken place in me? No. For I was different that very day, after he’d spurned me. It was then I first stuck the knife in him. Then. For the rest was only the fulfilment of that first imagining.
    He turned and saw Fischer standing there, watching him from the doorway.
    ‘Well, Captain, have you found the murderers?’
    ‘Not yet, Master Sun, but we shall, I promise you.’
    Fischer let his eyes rest on Sun a moment longer, then looked away. It was as DeVore said: Sun Li Hua was the murderer. While Sun had been in his office Fischer had had his lieutenant take a sample of his blood under the pretext of giving him a sedative. That sample had shown what DeVore had said it would show: traces of CT-7, a drug that created the symptoms of acute distress.
    His shock, his overwhelming grief – both had been chemically faked. And why fake such things unless there was a reason? And then there was the camera. There was no way of proving it had been tampered with, but it made sense. Apart from himself, only Sun Li Hua knew the combination; only Sun had the opportunity. It was possible, of course, that they had simply not seen Fu and Chai go into the room, but his lieutenant was a good man – alert, attentive. He would not have missed something so obvious. Which meant that the tape of the murder had been superimposed.
    But whose hand lay behind all this? Hung Mien-lo? It was possible. After all, he had most to gain from Wang Hsien’s death. Yet he had seen with his own eyes how fair, how scrupulous, Hung had been in dealing with the matter. He had let nothing be rushed or overlooked – as if he, too, was anxious to know who had ordered the T’ang’s death.
    As he would need to. For he would know that whoever killed a T’ang might kill again.
    No. Would kill again.
    ‘Captain Fischer...’
    He turned. It was Wang Ta-hung. Fischer bowed low, wondering at the same time where Hung Mien-lo had got to.
    ‘Yes, Chieh Hsia ?’
    ‘Have you found them yet?’
    He hesitated. It had been almost thirty minutes since they had begun searching for Sun’s two assistants and still there was no trace of them.
    ‘No, Chieh Hsia. I’m afraid...’
    He stopped, astonished. A man had appeared in the doorway at Wang Ta-hung’s back, his hair untidy, his clothing torn. In his hand he held a bloodied knife.
    ‘Wang Sau-leyan!’
    Ta-hung spun round and cried out, then took two faltering steps backward, as if he feared an attack. But Wang Sau-leyan merely laughed and threw the knife down.
    ‘The bastards were hiding in my rooms. One cut me, here.’ He pulled down his pau at the neck, revealing a thin line of red. ‘I stuck him for that. The other tried to take my knife from me, but he knew better after a while.’
    ‘Gods!’ said Fischer, starting forward. ‘Where are they?’
    Wang Sau-leyan straightened up, touching the wound gingerly. ‘Where I left them. I don’t think they’ll be going far.’
    Fischer turned and looked across at the doctors. ‘Quick now! Come with me, ch’un tzu ! I must save those men.’
    Wang Sau-leyan laughed and shook his head. He was staring at his brother strangely. ‘Do what you must, Captain. You’ll find them where I left them.’
    Fischer turned, facing the new T’ang. ‘ Chieh Hsia , will you come?’
    Wang Ta-hung swallowed, then nodded. ‘Of course.’
    They met Hung Mien-lo in the corridor