I went to bed that night somewhat preoccupied, but awoke the next morning to find a kind of tranquillity had come over me. It was as though a heavy burden had been removed, and when, as I dressed, I thought again of my new situation, I realised I was rather excited.

Much of that morning has now become a haze to me. What I recall is that I became seized by the idea that I should complete, in the time remaining to me, as many as possible of the tasks I had planned for the next few days; that to do otherwise would be less than conscientious. The obvious illogic of this position somehow failed to trouble me, and after breakfast, I set about my work with much urgency, rushing up and down staircases, and urging my drivers on through the crowded city streets. And although today it makes little sense to me, I have to say I took considerable pride in being able to sit down to lunch a little after two o'clock having more or less fulfilled all I had set out to do.

And yet at the same time, when I look back on that day, I have the overwhelming impression I remained peculiarly detached from my activities. As I hurried around the International Settlement talking with many of the city's most prominent citizens, there was a part of me virtually laughing at the earnest way they tried to answer my questions, at the pathetic way they tried to be of help. For the truth is, the longer I had been in Shanghai, the more I had come to despise the so-called leaders of this community. Almost every day my investigations had revealed yet another piece of negligence, corruption or worse on their part down the years. And yet in all the days since my arrival, I had not come across one instance of honest shame, a single acknowledgement that were it not for the prevarications, the short-sightedness, often the downright dishonesty of those left in charge, the situation would never have reached its present level of crisis. At one point that morning, I found myself at the Shanghai Club, meeting with three eminent members of the ‘elite’. And faced anew with their hollow pomposity, their continued denial of their own culpability in the whole sorry affair, I felt an exhilaration at the prospect of ridding my life of such people once and for all. Indeed, at such moments, I felt an utter certainty that I had come to the right decision; that the assumption shared by virtually everyone here – that it was somehow my sole responsibility to resolve the crisis – was not only unfounded, but worthy of the highest contempt. I pictured the astonishment that would soon appear on these same faces at the news of my departure – the outrage and panic that would rapidly follow – and I will admit such thoughts brought me much satisfaction.

Then, as I continued my lunch, I found myself thinking of my last meeting with Jennifer that sunny afternoon at her school: of the two of us, in the prefects’ room, sitting awkwardly in our armchairs, the sun playing on the oak panelling, the grass leading down to the lake visible in the windows behind her. She had listened in silence as I had explained, to the best of my ability, the necessity of my going away, the overwhelming importance of the task awaiting me in Shanghai. I had paused at several points, expecting her to ask questions, or at least to make some comment. But each time, she had given a serious nod, and waited for me to continue. In the end, when I realised I had started to repeat myself, I had come to a halt and said to her:

‘So, Jenny. What do you have to say?’

I do not know what I had expected. But after gazing at me for another moment with a look devoid of any anger, she had replied:

‘Uncle Christopher, I realise I'm not very good at anything. But that's because I'm rather young still. Once I'm older, and it might not be so long now, I'll be able to help you. I'll be able to help you, I promise you I will. So while you're away, would you please remember? Remember that I'm here, in England, and that I'll help you when you come back?’

It was not quite what I had expected, and though often since arriving here I have thought over these words of hers, I am still not sure what she meant to convey to me that day. Was she implying that, for all I had just been saying to her, I was unlikely to succeed in my mission in Shanghai? That I would have to return to England and continue my work for yet many more years? Just as likely, these were simply the words of a confused child, trying hard not to display her upset, and it is pointless to subject them to any sort of scrutiny. For all that, I found myself yet again pondering our last meeting as I sat over my lunch that afternoon in the hotel conservatory.

It was while I was finishing my coffee that the concierge came to tell me I was wanted urgently on the telephone. I was directed to a booth on the landing just outside, and after a little confusion with the operator, heard a voice which was vaguely familiar to me.

‘Mr Banks? Mr Banks? Mr Banks, at last I have remembered.’

I remained silent, fearing if I said anything at all I would jeopardise our plans. But then the voice said:

‘Mr Banks? Can you hear me? I have remembered something important. About the house we could not search.’

I realised it was Inspector Kung; his voice, though croaky, sounded startlingly rejuvenated.

‘Inspector, excuse me. You took me by surprise. Please, tell me what you've remembered.’

‘Mr Banks. Sometimes, you know, when I indulge in a pipe, it helps me remember. Many things I have long forgotten drift before my eyes. So I thought very well, one last time, I shall go back to the pipe. And I remembered something the suspect told us. The house we could not search. It is directly opposite the house of a man called Yeh Chen.’

‘Yeh Chen? Who is that?’

‘I do not know. Many of the poorer people, they do not use street addresses. They talk of landmarks. The house we could not search. It is opposite Yeh Chen's house.’

‘Yeh Chen. Are you sure that was the name?’

‘Yes, I'm sure. It came back very clearly.’

‘Is that a common name? How many people in Shanghai are likely to have that name?’

‘Fortunately there is one further detail the suspect gave us. This Yeh Chen is a blind man. The house you seek is opposite that of Yeh Chen the blind man. Of course, he may have moved house, or passed away. But if you could discover where this man lived at the time of our investigation …’

‘Of course, Inspector. Why, this is immensely useful.’

‘I am glad. I thought you would find it so.’

‘Inspector, I cannot thank you enough.’

I had become aware of the time, and when I put down the phone, I did not return to my lunch, but went straight upstairs to my room to pack.

I recall a strange sense of unreality coming over me as I contemplated which items to take away. At one stage, I sat down on the bed and stared out at the sky visible through my window. It struck me as most curious how, only a day earlier, the piece of information I had just received would have constituted something utterly central to my life. But here I was, turning it over casually in my head, and already it felt like something consigned to a past era, something I need not remember if I did not wish to.

I must have completed my packing with time to spare, for when the knock came on my door at half past three precisely, I had been sitting in my chair waiting for a good while. I opened the door to a young Chinese man, perhaps not even twenty, dressed in a gown, his hat in his hand.

‘I am your driver, sir,’ he announced softly. ‘If you have suitcase, I will carry.’

As the young man steered the motor car away from the Cathay Hotel, I stared out at the busy crowds of Nanking Road in the afternoon sunshine, and felt I was watching them from a vast distance. I then settled myself in my seat, content to leave everything in the hands of my driver, who despite his youth appeared assured and competent. I was tempted to ask what his connection was with Sarah, but then remembered her caution about speaking any more than necessary. I thus remained silent, and soon found my thoughts turning to Macao and some photographs I had seen of the place many years ago in the British Museum.

Then after we had been travelling for perhaps ten minutes, I suddenly leant forward to the young man and said: ‘I say, excuse me. This is something of a long shot. But do you happen to know of anyone called Yeh Chen?’

The young man did not take his gaze from the traffic before him and I was about to repeat my question when he said:

‘Yeh Chen. Blind actor?’

‘Yes. Well, I know he's blind, though I didn't know he was an actor.’

‘Not famous actor. Yeh Chen. He was actor once, many years ago, when I was boy.’

‘Do you mean … you know him?’

‘Not know him. But I know who he is. You interest in Yeh Chen, sir?’

‘No, no. Not especially. Someone just happened to mention him to me. It really doesn't matter.’

I did not say anything else to the young man for the remainder of our journey. We travelled down a baffling series of little alleys and I had quite lost any sense of where we were by the time he pulled up in a quiet back street.

The young man opened my door and gave me my suitcase.

‘That shop,’ he said, pointing. ‘With phonograph.’

Across the street was a small shop with a grimy window, within which indeed a phonograph was displayed. I could see too a sign in English reading: ‘Gramophone Records. Piano Rolls. Manuscripts.’ Glancing up and down the street, I saw that apart from two rickshawmen squatting beside their vehicles and exchanging banter, the young man and I were alone. I picked up the suitcase and was about to cross the street, when something made me say to him:

‘I wonder, could you wait here a little?’

The young man looked puzzled. ‘Lady Medhurst say only to bring you here.’

‘Yes, yes. But I'm asking you now, you see. I'd like you to wait just a little longer, just in case I need your services further. Of course, I may not need you. But you know, just in case. Look here’ – I reached into my jacket and took out some bills – ‘look, I'll make it worth your while.’

The young man's face flushed with anger, and he spun away from the money as though I were proffering something quite repulsive. He sullenly got back into the car and slammed his door.

I saw I had made a miscalculation of some sort, but at that moment could not be bothered to worry about it. Besides, for all his anger, the young man had not started up the engine. I stuffed my money back into my jacket, picked up the suitcase again and crossed the street.

Inside, the shop was very cramped. The afternoon sun was streaming in, but somehow only a few dusty patches were lit by it. To one side was an upright piano with discoloured keys, and several gramophone records displayed without their sleeves along the music stand. I could see not only dust but cobwebs on the records. Elsewhere there were odd pieces of thick velvet – they appeared to be off-cuts from theatre curtains – nailed up on the walls, together with photographs of opera singers and dancers. I had perhaps expected Sarah to be standing there, but the only person present was a spindly European with a dark pointed beard sitting behind the counter.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said in a Germanic accent, glancing up from a ledgerbook spread before him. Then looking me up and down carefully, he asked: ‘You are English?’

‘Yes, I am. Good afternoon.’

‘We have some records from England. For example, we have a recording of Mimi Johnson singing “I Only Have Eyes for You”. Would you appreciate?’

Something in the cautious way he had spoken suggested this was the first part of an agreed code. But though I searched my memory for some password or phrase Sarah might have told me, I could remember nothing. In the end, I said:

‘I have no phonograph with me here in Shanghai. But I'm very fond of Mimi Johnson. In fact, I attended a recital of hers in London a few years ago.’

‘Really? Mimi Johnson, yes.’

I got the distinct impression I had puzzled him with the wrong response. So I said: ‘Look here, my name is Banks. Christopher Banks.’

‘Banks. Mr Banks.’ The man said my name neutrally, then said: ‘If you appreciate Mimi Johnson, “I Only Have Eyes for You”, I shall play it for you. Please.’

He ducked under the counter, and I took the opportunity to look out of the shop window back into the street. The two rickshawmen were still laughing and talking, and I was reassured to see my young man still there in the car. Then just as I was wondering if there had not been some huge misunderstanding, the warm languid sound of a jazz orchestra filled the room. Mimi Johnson began to sing and I remembered how the song had been all the rage in London clubs a few years before.

After a while, I became aware of the spindly man indicating a spot on the rear wall hung with heavy dark drapes. I had not noticed before that there was a doorway there, but when I pushed, I indeed found myself stepping through into an inner room.

Sarah was sitting on a wooden trunk wearing a light coat and hat. A cigarette was burning in her holder and the cupboard-like room was already thick with her smoke. All around us were piles of gramophone records and sheet music stored in an assortment of cardboard boxes and tea-chests. There was no window, but I could see a back door, at that moment slightly ajar, which led outside.

‘Well, here I am,’ I said. ‘I brought just the one suitcase as you insisted. But I see you've three yourself.’

‘This bag here's just for Ethelbert. My teddy bear. He's been with me since, well, for ever really. Silly, isn't it?’

‘Silly? No, not at all.’

‘When Cecil and I first came here, I made the mistake of putting Ethelbert in with a whole lot of other things. Then when I opened the case, his arm had fallen off. I found it right in a corner, stuck inside a slipper. So this time, give or take a few shawls, he's got a whole bag all to himself. It is silly.’

‘No, no. I understand perfectly. Ethelbert, yes.’

She carefully put down her cigarette holder and stood up. Then we were kissing – just like, I suppose, a couple on the cinema screen. It was almost exactly as I had always imagined it would be, except there was something oddly inelegant about our embrace, and I tried more than once to adjust my posture; but my right foot was hard against a heavy box and I could not quite negotiate the necessary turn without risking my balance. Then she had taken a step back, breathing deeply, all the time looking into my face.

‘Is everything ready?’ I asked her.

She did not at first reply, and I thought she was about to kiss me again. But in the end, she said simply:

‘Everything's fine. We just have several more minutes to wait. Then we'll go out there’ – she indicated the back door – ‘walk down to the jetty and a sampan will take us out to our steamer two miles down the river. After that it's Macao.’

‘And Cecil, does he have any idea at all?’

‘I didn't see him all day. He set off for one of his little places straight after breakfast, and I expect he's still there.’

‘It's a great shame. Really, someone should tell him to pull himself together.’

‘Well, it's no longer up to us to do so.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ I let out a sudden laugh. ‘I suppose it's not up to us to do anything other than what we choose.’

‘That's right. Christopher, is something wrong?’

‘No, no. I was just trying to … I just wished …’

I reached out to her, thinking to initiate another embrace, but she raised a hand, saying:

‘Christopher, I think you should sit down. Don't worry, there'll be time to do everything, everything, later.’

‘Yes, yes. I'm sorry.’

‘Once we're in Macao, we can have a good think about our future. A good think about where would be good for us. And where would be good for Jennifer. We'll spread all our maps out over the bed, look out of our room on to the sea and argue about it all. Oh, I'm sure we will argue. I'm looking forward even to our arguments. Are you going to sit down? Look, sit here.’

‘I say … Look, if we have to wait a few minutes, let me just go and do something.’

‘Do something? What exactly?’

‘Just … just something. Look really, I won't be gone long, just a few minutes. You see, I just have to ask someone something.’

‘Who? Christopher, I don't think we should talk to anyone at this point.’

‘That's not what I mean, exactly. I fully realise the need for caution and so on. No, no, don't worry. It's just that young man. The one who you sent, the one who drove me here. I just need to ask him something.’

‘But surely he's gone.’

‘No, he's not. He's still out there. Look, I'll be straight back.’

I hurried out through the curtain back into the shop, where the spindly man with the beard looked up at me in surprise.

‘You appreciated Mimi Johnson?’ he asked.

‘Yes, yes. Wonderful. I just have to pop out for a second.’

‘May I make it clear, sir, that I am Swiss. There is no impending hostility between your country and mine.’

‘Ah yes. Splendid. I'll be back in a moment.’

I hurried across the road towards the car. The young man, who had seen me, rolled down his window and smiled politely; there seemed no trace of his earlier temper. Stooping down to him, I said quietly:

‘Look here. This Yeh Chen. Do you have any idea where I might find him?’

‘Yeh Chen? He lives very near here.’

‘Yeh Chen. I'm talking about the blind Yeh Chen.’

‘Yes. Just over there.’

‘His house is over there?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Look here, you don't seem to understand. Are you saying Yeh Chen, the blind Yeh Chen, that his house is just over there?’

‘Yes, sir. You may walk there, but if you wish, I take in car.’

‘Listen to me, this is very important. Do you know how long Yeh Chen has lived in his present house?’

The young man thought, then said: ‘He always live there, sir. When I was boy, he live there.’

‘Are you sure? Now look, this is most important. Are you sure this is the blind Yeh Chen, and that he's been living there for a long time?’

‘I told you, sir. He there when I was small boy. My guess, he live there many, many years.’

I straightened, took a deep breath and thought about the full implications of what I had just heard. Then I leant down again and said: ‘I think you should take me there. In the car, I mean. We have to approach this carefully. I'd like you to take me there, but to stop the car a little way away. Somewhere where we can see clearly the house opposite Yeh Chen's house. Do you understand?’

I got into the car and the young man started the engine. He turned the vehicle a full circle, then we took another narrow side-street. As we did so, many thoughts crowded into my mind at once. I wondered if I should tell the young man the significance of the journey we were making, and even considered asking if he was carrying a gun in the car – though in the end I decided such an enquiry might only panic him.

We turned a corner into an alley even narrower than the one before. Then we turned again and came to a halt. I thought for a second we had reached our destination, but then realised what had made us stop. In the alleyway before us was a crowd of young boys trying to control a bewildered water-buffalo. There was some sort of altercation going on between the boys, and as I watched, one of them gave the buffalo a clout on the nose with his stick. I felt a wave of alarm, remembering my mother's warnings throughout my childhood that these animals were as dangerous as any bull when riled. The creature did nothing, however, and the boys continued to argue. The young man sounded the horn several times to no avail, and finally, with a sigh, he began to reverse the vehicle back the way we had come.

We took another alley nearby, but this diversion appeared to confuse my driver, for after a few more turns, he stopped and reversed again, though this time there was no obstruction. At one point, we came out on to a broader rutted mud track with dilapidated wooden shacks all along one side.

‘Please hurry,’ I said. ‘I have very little time.’

Just then a huge crashing sound shook the ground we were travelling along. The young man continued to drive steadily, but looked nervously into the distance.

‘Fighting,’ he said. ‘Fighting started again.’

‘It sounded awfully close,’ I said.

For the next few minutes, we steered around more narrow corners and little wooden houses, blasting the horn to scatter children and dogs. Then the car came to another abrupt halt, and I heard the young man let out an exasperated sound. Looking past him, I saw the way ahead was blocked by a barricade of sandbags and barbed wire.

‘We must go all the way round,’ he said. ‘No other way.’

‘But look, we must be very close now.’

‘Very close, yes. But road blocked, so we must go all the way round. Be patient, sir. We get there soon.’

But a distinct change had entered the young man's manner. His earlier assurance had faded, and now he struck me as ridiculously young to be driving a car, perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen. For some time, we travelled through muddy, stinking streets, down more alleys where I thought we would at any moment plunge into the open gutters – but somehow the young man always managed to keep our wheels just clear of the edges. All the while, we could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance, and see people hurrying back to the safety of their houses and shelters. But there were still the children and dogs, seemingly belonging to no one, running everywhere before us, oblivious to any sense of danger. At one point, as we bumped our way across the yard of some small factory, I said:

‘Now look, why don't you just stop and ask the way?’

‘Be patient, sir.’

‘Be patient? But you've no more idea where we're going than I have.’

‘We get there soon, sir.’

‘What nonsense. Why do you persist in this charade? It's typical of you Chinese. You're lost, but you won't admit it. We've been driving now for … well, it seems like an eternity.’

He said nothing, and brought us out on to a mud road that climbed steeply between large heaps of factory refuse. Then came another thunderous crash somewhere alarmingly near, and the young man dropped his speed to a crawl.

‘Sir. I think we go back now.’

‘Go back? Go back where?’

‘Fighting very near. Not safe here.’

‘What do you mean, the fighting's near?’ Then an idea dawned on me. ‘Are we anywhere near Chapei?’

‘Sir. We in Chapei. We in Chapei some time.’

‘What? You mean we've left the Settlement?’

‘We in Chapei now.’

‘But … Good God! We're actually outside the Settlement? In Chapei? Look here, you're a fool, you know that? A fool! You told me the house was very near. Now we're lost. We're possibly dangerously close to the war zone. And we've left the Settlement! You're what I call a proper fool. Do you know why? I'll tell you. You pretend to know far more than you do. You're too proud to admit to your shortcomings. That's my definition of a fool exactly. A right fool! Do you hear me? A right and proper fool!’

He stopped the car. Then he opened his door and without glancing back, walked off.

It took me a moment to calm myself and assess the situation. We were most of the way up a hill, and the car was now in an isolated spot on a mud track surrounded by mounds of broken masonry, twisted wire and what looked like the mangled remains of old bicycle wheels. I could see the young man's figure marching up a footpath over the rim of the hill.

I got out and ran after him. He must have heard me coming, but he neither quickened his pace nor looked back. I caught up and stopped him by grasping his shoulder.

‘Look, I'm sorry,’ I said, panting a little. ‘I apologise. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I apologise, I really do. No excuse for it. But you see, you've no idea what all this means. Now please’ – I indicated back to the car – ‘let's continue.’

The young man would not look at me. ‘No more driving,’ he said.

‘But look, I've said I'm sorry. Now please, be reasonable.’

‘No more driving. Too dangerous here. Fighting very near.’

‘But listen, it's very important I get to this house. Very important indeed. Now tell me truthfully, please. Are you lost or do you really know where the house is?’

‘I know. I know house. But too dangerous now. Fighting very near.’

As though to support his point, machine-gun fire suddenly echoed around us. It felt reasonably distant, but it was impossible to tell from which direction it was coming, and we both looked about us, feeling suddenly exposed on the hill.

‘I'll tell you what,’ I said, and took from my pocket my notebook and pencil. ‘I can see you want no further part in all this, and I can understand your viewpoint. And I'm sorry again I was rude to you earlier. But I'd like you to do two more things for me before you go home. First, I'd like you please to write down here the address of Yeh Chen's house.’

‘No address, sir. There is no address.’

‘Very well, then draw a map. Write down directions. Whatever. Please do it for me. Then after that, I'd like you to drive me to the nearest police station. Of course, that's what I should have done from the start. I'll need trained, armed men. Please.’

I gave him the notebook and pencil. Several pages were covered with notes from my enquiries earlier in the day. He turned the tiny pages until he came to a blank one. Then he said:

‘No English. Cannot write English, sir.’

‘Then write in whatever you can. Draw a map. Whatever. Please hurry.’

He appeared now to grasp the importance of what I was asking him to do. He thought carefully for a few seconds, then began to write rapidly. He filled one page, then another. After four or five pages he slotted the pencil back into the spine of the notebook and handed it to me. I glanced through what he had done, but could make no sense of the Chinese script. Nevertheless I said:

‘Thank you. Thank you very much indeed. Now please. Take me to a police station. Then you can go home.’

‘Police station this way, sir.’ He took several further steps in the direction he had been walking. Then from the crest of the hill, he pointed down to the bottom of the slope where, perhaps two hundred yards away, a mass of grey buildings began.

‘Police station there, sir.’

‘There? Which building?’

‘There. With flag.’

‘I see, yes. You're sure that's a police station?’

‘Sure, sir. Police station.’

From where we were standing, it certainly looked like a police station. I could see, moreover, that there was little point in trying to drive to it; the car had been left on the other side of the hill, and the track we had just come up was not wide enough for the vehicle; I could see we might easily get lost again trying to find a way around the hill. I put the notebook back into my pocket, and thought about presenting him with some banknotes, before remembering how offended he had been earlier. I therefore said simply:

‘Thank you. You've been of great help. I'll manage by myself from here.’

The young man gave a quick nod of the head – he seemed still to be angry with me – then, turning, went off back down the slope in the direction of the car.