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incongruous he was. He was undoubtedly Chinese, but his clothes were Western. He was probably in his early thirties. His black, three-button suit wasn’t well-tailored, but still a good quality and definitely Western. Blood trickled from his split lip and stained the white of his collar.
    “Can you stand?” Simon said as he held out his hand. The man looked at him in confusion. “Stand?” Simon repeated in the time-honored tradition of English speakers everywhere that any words enunciated clearly and loudly enough would be understood.
    The man eyed him warily but accepted Simon’s help and managed to get to his feet. He stood for a moment on unsteady legs then stumbled forward and gripped the wall for balance. Simon reached out to steady him.
    The man gestured that he could stand on his own and stared intently at Simon. His voice was quiet, but words hit Simon like a cartoon anvil. “Thank you.”
    Simon’s hand tightened around the man’s arm. “You…you speak English?”
    “Is it so surprising?” he said, reaching into his pocket for a white handkerchief and dabbing at the blood on his chin.
    “Bloody hell. Of course it is.”
    “Not every Chinese immigrant is content to be a Coolie,” he said in perfect English as he refolded his handkerchief and pushed it back into his pocket. He seemed to mistake Simon’s stunned expression for disapproval and quickly amended, “And that was ungracious. Forgive me.”
    Simon ignored the insult and the apology. “Immigrant? Where are we?”
    The man arched an eyebrow. “San Francisco.” He looked Simon up and down. “Perhaps I should be the one helping you?”
    “Chinatown,” Simon said. Any embarrassment he felt over his misconception was lost in the realization that Elizabeth couldn’t be far away. “Thank God. Which direction is downtown?”
    “This way,” the man said as he stepped out into the street.
    Simon hesitated. He had no reason to trust him, and, Elizabeth’s voice whispered in his mind, no reason not to.
    “We should leave this place. Ling Tan and his men will be back soon and I’m afraid they won’t be unarmed this time. Unless you have a Gatling gun hidden in your trousers, I suggest we leave here as soon as possible. The tong is not forgiving.”
    Simon didn’t know much about San Francisco history, but he knew enough about Chinese gangs to know they needed to leave. Now. “Agreed.”
    They made their way up the narrow alley until they emerged onto a larger thoroughfare. The cramped confines of Chinatown gave way to the broad elegance of the city.
    A cable car bumped its way up the street, the wheels grinding out a shrill symphony on the metal tracks. It paused and people clambered onto the crowded fringe.
    “This is our car,” the man said, climbing on board.
    Simon stepped onto the small platform and reached for his money, but the man had already paid their fare. “It’s the least I can do.”
    Simon nodded his thanks and didn’t argue the point.
    ***
     
    “More sherry, dear?” Mrs. Eldridge asked Elizabeth as she took the crystal top from the decanter on the coffee table.
    Elizabeth shook her head declining politely and shifted uncomfortably on the settee. Even though Mrs. Eldridge had done everything she could to make her feel at home, as Elizabeth looked around the salon, she felt anything but that.
    The room was tastefully posh, although, between the wallpaper, the wainscoting, the rugs and the upholstery there were enough patterns to make her feel slightly nauseous. Other than that, it was the very image of elegant wealth. A little gilt here, a little velvet there, a little bit of lots of money everywhere.
    “You’re sure?” Mrs. Eldridge asked holding up the decanter. A large bay window let in the last rays of the setting sun and they danced in the facets of the crystal.
    “No, thank you.” Aside from the fact that her corset had gone all anaconda on her once she’d sat down, the sherry was making her head spin. No