I tried to keep the revolver poised as we crossed the alley. But Akira's arm was around my neck, and I was having to support so much of his weight, that I imagine our gait as we staggered together into the house was far from authoritative. I was vaguely aware of an ornamental vase standing in the entrance way, and I believe the decoration I had seen dangling from the door frame gave a little chiming sound as we brushed past it. Then I heard the girl's voice speaking and looked about us.

Although the front of the house had remained virtually untouched, the whole of the back half of the room we were in lay in ruin. Thinking about it today, I would suppose a shell had come through the roof, bringing down the upper storey, and destroying the rear of the house, together with the property adjoining it behind. But at that moment I was looking first and foremost for my parents, and I am not sure what exactly I registered. My first giddy thought was that the kidnappers had fled. Then, when I saw the bodies, my terrible fear was that they were those of my mother and father – that the kidnappers had slaughtered them on account of our approach. I have to confess that my next emotion was one of great relief when I saw that the three corpses thrown about the room were all Chinese.

Near the back, over by a wall, was the body of a woman who might have been the young girl's mother. Possibly the blast had thrown her there and she was lying where she had landed. There was a shocked expression on her face. One arm had been torn off at the elbow, and she was now pointing the stump up to the sky, perhaps to indicate the direction from which the shell had come. A few yards away in the debris, an old lady was also gaping up at the hole in the ceiling. One side of her face was charred, but I could see no blood or any obvious mutilation. Finally, closest to where we were standing – he had been obscured at first by a fallen shelf – lay a boy slightly older than the little girl we had followed in. One of his legs had been blown off at the hip, from where surprisingly long entrails, like the decorative tails of a kite, had unfurled over the matting.

‘Dog,’ Akira said beside me.

I stared at him, then followed his gaze. In the centre of the wreckage, not far from the dead boy, the little girl had knelt down beside an injured dog lying on its side and was gently caressing its fur. The dog's tail moved weakly in response. As we stood watching her, she glanced up and said something, her voice remaining quite calm and steady.

‘What's she saying, Akira?’

‘I think she say we help dog,’ said Akira. ‘Yes, she say we help dog.’ Then suddenly, he began to giggle helplessly.

The young girl spoke again, this time addressing only me, perhaps having dismissed Akira as a lunatic. Then she brought her face down close to the dog's and continued to pass her hand gently over its fur.

I took a step towards her, untangling myself from my friend's arm, and as I did so, Akira crashed over into some broken furniture. I looked back at him in alarm, but he had continued to giggle, and besides, the girl's pleading had gone on unbroken. Laying my revolver down on something, I went over to her and touched her shoulder.

‘Look here … All of this’– I gestured at the carnage, of which she seemed completely oblivious – ‘it's awfully bad luck. But look, you've survived, and really, you'll see, you'll make a pretty decent show of it if you just … if you just keep up your courage …’ I turned to Akira in irritation and shouted: ‘Akira! Stop that noise! For God's sake, there's nothing to laugh about! This poor girl …’

But the girl had now grasped my sleeve. She spoke again, carefully and slowly, looking into my eyes.

‘Look, really,’ I said, ‘you're being awfully brave. I swear to you, whoever did all this, whoever did this ghastly thing, they won't escape justice. You may not know who I am, but as it happens, I'm … well, I'm just the person you want. I'll see to it they don't get away. Don't you worry, I'll … I'll …’ I had been fumbling about in my jacket, but I now found my magnifying glass and showed it to her. ‘Look, you see?’

I kicked aside a bird-cage in my path and went over to the mother. Then, perhaps out of habit as much as anything else, I bent down and began to examine her through the glass. Her stump looked peculiarly clean; the bone protruding out of the flesh was a shiny white, almost as though someone had been polishing it.

My memory of these moments is no longer very clear. But I have a feeling it was at this point, just after I stared through the glass at the woman's stump, that I suddenly straightened and began to search for my parents. I can only say, by way of partial explanation for what ensued, that Akira was still giggling where he had fallen, and that the girl was continuing to make her pleas in the same even, persistent tones. In other words, the atmosphere had become fairly overwrought, and this might account to some extent for the manner in which I went about turning what was left of that little house upside down.

There was a tiny room at the back, completely destroyed by the shelling, and it was here I began my search, pulling up broken floorboards, smashing open with a table leg the doors of an upturned cupboard. I then returned to the main room and began to heave aside the piles of wreckage, smashing with my table leg at anything that failed readily to yield to my kicks and manoeuvres. Eventually, I became aware that Akira had stopped his giggling and was following me about, pulling at my shoulder and saying something in my ear. I ignored him and carried on with my search, not pausing even when I accidentally threw over one of the bodies. Akira continued to pull at my shoulder, and after a time, unable to comprehend why the very person I had counted on to assist me was instead bent on hindering me, I turned to him, shouting something like:

‘Get off me! Get off! If you won't help, then just go away! Go off into your corner and giggle!’

‘Soldiers!’ he was hissing at me. ‘Soldiers coming!’

‘Get off me! My mother, my father! Where are they? They're not here! Where are they? Where are they?’

‘Soldiers! Christopher, stop, you must calm! You must calm or we killed! Christopher!’

He was shaking me, his face close to mine. I then realised that indeed there were voices coming from somewhere close by.

I allowed Akira to pull me to the back of the room. The little girl, I noticed, had now fallen silent, and was gently cradling the dog's head. The animal's tail was still making the occasional faint movement.

‘Christopher,’ Akira said in an urgent whisper. ‘If soldier Chinese, I must hide.’ He pointed to the corner. ‘Chinese soldier must not find. But if Japanese, you must say word I teach.’

‘I can't say anything. Look, old fellow, if you're not willing to help me …’

‘Christopher! Soldier coming!’

He tottered across the room and disappeared into a cupboard standing at an angle in the corner. The door was sufficiently damaged so that the whole of his shin and a boot were clearly visible through the panel. It was such a pathetic attempt to hide that I began to laugh, and was about to call out that I could still see him, when the soldiers appeared in the doorway.

The first soldier to come in fired his rifle at me, but the bullet hit the wall behind me. He then noticed my raised hands, and the fact that I was a foreign civilian, and shouted something to his comrades, who crowded in behind him. They were Japanese, and the next thing I remember, three or four of them began to argue about me, all the time covering me with their rifles. More soldiers came in and began to search the place. I heard Akira call out from his hiding place something in Japanese, then as soldiers crowded around his cupboard, I saw him emerge. I noticed he did not seem particularly pleased to see them, nor they him. Other men had gathered around the little girl, also arguing what to do. Then an officer entered, the men all stood to attention, and a silence fell over the room.

The officer – a young captain – glanced about the room. His gaze fell on the child, then on me, then settled on Akira, now supported by two soldiers. A conversation ensued in Japanese, in which Akira himself took no part. A resigned expression, with elements of fear, had come into his eyes. He once tried to say something to the captain, but the latter immediately cut him off. There was another quick exchange, then the soldiers began to lead Akira away. The fear was now very evident in his face, but he did not resist.

‘Akira!’ I called after him. ‘Akira, where are they taking you? What's wrong?’

Akira glanced back and gave me a quick, affectionate smile. Then he was gone, out into the alley, crowded from my view by the soldiers accompanying him.

The young captain was looking at the child. Then he turned to me and said:

‘You Englishman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pray, sir, what do you do here?’

‘I was …’ I looked around. ‘I was looking for my parents. My name is Banks, Christopher Banks. I'm a well-known detective. Perhaps you've …’

I did not quite know how to continue, and besides, I realised I had been sobbing for some time, and that this was making a poor impression on the captain. I wiped my face and continued: ‘I came here to find my parents. But they're not here any more. I'm too late.’

The captain looked around once more at the debris, the corpses, the little girl with the dying dog. Then he said something to the soldier nearest him, never taking his eyes from me. Finally he said to me: ‘Pray, sir, you come with me.’

He made a polite but firm gesture that I should precede him out into the alley. He had not holstered his pistol, but then nor was it aimed at me.

‘This little girl,’ I said. ‘Will you take her somewhere safe?’

He gazed back at me in silence. Then he said: ‘Pray, sir. You leave now.’

I was on the whole looked after decently by the Japanese. They kept me in a little back room within their headquarters – a former fire station – where I was fed and a doctor treated me for several injuries I had barely noticed receiving. My foot was bandaged and I was even provided with a large boot to accommodate it. The soldiers in charge of me spoke no English, and appeared uncertain whether I was a prisoner or a guest, but I was too exhausted to care; I lay on the camp bed they had put up in my back room, and for several hours, drifted in and out of sleep. I was not locked in; in fact, the door to the adjoining office would not close properly, so that whenever I came back to consciousness, I could hear Japanese voices arguing, or else shouting down a telephone, presumably about me. I now suspect I was suffering from a mild fever for much of that period; whatever, as I went in and out of sleep, the events not only of the past few hours, but of the last several weeks, circled around my head. Then gradually, one by one, the cobwebs began to clear, so that by the time I was awoken, towards the late afternoon, by the arrival of Colonel Hasegawa, I found I had an entirely fresh view on all that had been troubling me about the case.

Colonel Hasegawa – a dapper man in his forties – introduced himself politely, saying: ‘I am glad to see you are feeling so much better, Mr Banks. I trust these men here have looked after you well. I am pleased to tell you I have come with instructions to escort you to the British consulate. May I suggest we set off at once?’

‘Actually, Colonel,’ I said, rising gingerly to my feet, ‘I would prefer it if you could take me somewhere else. You see, it's rather urgent. I'm not sure of the exact address, but it's not so far from Nanking Road. Perhaps you know it. It's a shop selling gramophone records.’

‘You are so eager to purchase gramophone records?’

I could not be bothered to explain, so just said: ‘It's important I get there as quickly as possible.’

‘Unfortunately, sir, I have instructions to deliver you to the British consulate. I fear we shall cause great inconvenience if I do otherwise.’

I gave a sigh. ‘I suppose you're right, Colonel. In any case, now I think about it, I fancy I shall be too late.’

The colonel looked at his wristwatch. ‘Yes, I fear you might. But if I may suggest. If we set off straight away, then you will be enjoying your music again with minimum delay.’

We travelled in an open military vehicle driven by the colonel's batman. It was a fine afternoon and the sun was beating down on the ruins of Chapei. We moved slowly, for though much of the debris had been cleared out of our path – there were huge piles of it on the roadside – the road was pitted with craters. Occasionally we would pass down a street with almost no sign of damage; but then we would turn the corner and the houses would be little more than piles of rubble, and every surviving telegraph pole would be standing at an odd angle between tangled cables. Once, as we moved through such an area, I found I could see a fair distance across the flattened ruins, and caught sight of the chimneys from the two furnaces.

‘England is a splendid country,’ Colonel Hasegawa was saying. ‘Calm, dignified. Beautiful green fields. I still dream of it. And your literature. Dickens, Thackeray. Wuthering Heights. I am especially fond of your Dickens.’

‘Colonel, excuse me for bringing this up. But when your men found me yesterday, I was with someone. A Japanese soldier. Do you happen to know what became of him?’

‘That soldier. I am not certain what became of him.’

‘I do wonder where I might find him again.’

‘You wish to find him again?’ The colonel's face became serious. ‘Mr Banks, I would advise you not to concern yourself any more with that soldier.’

‘Colonel, has he in your eyes committed some offence?’

‘Offence?’ He looked at the passing ruins with a gentle smile. ‘Almost certainly that soldier gave information to the enemy. It is likely that is how he negotiated his release from captivity. I understand you yourself said in your statement you found him near the Kuomintang lines. That is most suggestive of cowardice and betrayal.’

I was about to protest, but realised it was in neither Akira's nor my interests to fall out with the colonel. After I had been silent for a time, he said:

‘It is wise not to become too sentimental.’

His accent, which was otherwise impressive, faltered on this last word, so that it came out as ‘sen-chee-men-tol’. It rather grated on me and I turned away without responding. But a moment later he asked in a sympathetic tone:

‘This soldier. You had met him somewhere previously?’

‘I thought I had. I thought he was a friend of mine from my childhood. But now, I'm not so certain. I'm beginning to see now, many things aren't as I supposed.’

The colonel nodded. ‘Our childhood seems so far away now. All this’ – he gestured out of the vehicle – ‘so much suffering. One of our Japanese poets, a court lady many years ago, wrote of how sad this was. She wrote of how our childhood becomes like a foreign land once we have grown.’

‘Well, Colonel, it's hardly a foreign land to me. In many ways, it's where I've continued to live all my life. It's only now I've started to make my journey from it.’

We passed through Japanese checkpoints into Hongkew, the northern district of the Settlement. In this region too there were signs of war damage, as well as those of anxious military preparation. I saw many piles of sandbags, and trucks filled with soldiers. As we approached the canal, the colonel said:

‘Like yourself, Mr Banks, I am very fond of music. In particular, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Brahms. Chopin also. The third sonata is marvellous.’

‘A cultured man like you, Colonel,’ I remarked, ‘must regret all this. I mean all this carnage caused by your country's invasion of China.’

I feared he would become angry, but he smiled calmly and said:

‘It is regrettable, I agree. But if Japan is to become a great nation, like yours, Mr Banks, it is necessary. Just as it once was for England.’

We were silent for a few moments. Then he asked:

‘I am sure, yesterday, in Chapei, you saw unpleasant things?’

‘Yes. I certainly did.’

Suddenly he let out a strange laugh, which made me start. ‘Mr Banks,’ he said, ‘do you realise, do you have any idea, of the unpleasantness yet to come?’

‘If you continue to invade China, I am sure …’

‘Excuse me, sir’ – he was now quite animated – ‘I am not talking merely of China. The entire globe, Mr Banks, the entire globe will before long be engaged in war. What you just saw in Chapei, it is but a small speck of dust compared to what the world must soon witness!’ He said this in a triumphant tone, but then he shook his head sadly. ‘It will be terrible,’ he said quietly. ‘Terrible. You have no idea, sir.’

I do not remember clearly those first hours following my return. But I would suppose my arrival in the grounds of the British consulate, conveyed by a Japanese military vehicle, and looking more or less like a tramp, did little for the morale of an anxious community. I remember vaguely the officials rushing out to meet us, and then, as I was taken into the building, the look on the face of the consul-general as he came hurrying down the stairs. I do not know what his first words to me were, but I do recall my saying to him, perhaps even before any greeting had passed my lips:

‘Mr George, I must ask you to let me see your man MacDonald without delay.’

‘MacDonald? John MacDonald? But why do you wish to talk to him, old fellow? Look, what you need is to rest up. We'll have a doctor look you over …’

‘I accept I'm looking a little the worse for wear. Don't worry, I'll go and freshen up a bit. But please, have MacDonald ready for me. It's very important.’

I was shown to a guest room in the consulate building, where I managed a shave and a hot bath despite a whole series of people knocking on my door. One of these was a dour Scottish surgeon who examined me for a good half-hour, convinced I was concealing some serious injury from him. Others came to ask after one or another aspect of my welfare, and I sent at least three of them back with an impatient query concerning MacDonald. I received only vague replies about his not yet having been located; and then, as the evening drew on, exhaustion – or perhaps something the surgeon had given me – sent me off into a deep sleep.

I did not awake until well into the following morning. I had breakfast brought to my room, and changed into some fresh clothes delivered from the Cathay while I had been asleep. I then felt a lot better, and decided I would go and seek out MacDonald then and there.

I thought I could remember the way to MacDonald's office from our last meeting, but the consulate building was rather deceptive and I was obliged to ask directions from a number of people I encountered. I was still a little lost, making my way down a flight of stairs, when I spotted the figure of Sir Cecil Medhurst standing on the landing below me.

The morning sun was streaming through the tall landing windows, lighting up a large area of grey stone around him. There was no one else on the landing, and Sir Cecil was stooping forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down on to the consulate grounds below. I was tempted to retreat back up the stairs, but it was a quiet part of the building, and there was a chance my footsteps would make him look up at any moment. I thus continued my descent, and as I came up to him, he turned as though he had been aware all along of my approach.

‘Hello, old fellow,’ he said. ‘Heard you were back. A bit of a panic when you went missing, I'll tell you. Feeling better?’

‘Yes. I'm fine, thanks. Just this foot's a little awkward. Won't quite fit into my shoe.’

The sun in his face made him look old and tired. He turned back to the window again and peered out; moving alongside him, I too looked out. Below us, three Sikh policemen were hurrying back and forth across the lawn, stacking sandbags into piles.

‘You heard she's gone?’ Sir Cecil asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Of course, when you went missing at the same time, I jumped to conclusions. So did a few other people, I fancy. That's why I came along this morning. To offer you my apologies. But they told me you were sleeping. So I was just … well, just kicking my heels here.’

‘There's hardly any need for apologies, Sir Cecil.’

‘Oh yes there is. I fancy I went around saying a few things the other evening. You know. Jumping to conclusions. Of course, everyone knows now I was making a fool of myself. But all the same, thought I'd better come along and explain myself.’

Down on the lawn, a Chinese coolie arrived with a wheelbarrow containing more sandbags. The Sikh policemen began unloading them.

‘Did she leave a letter?’ I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘No. But I did receive a cable this morning. She's in Macao, you know. Says she's safe and well. Says she's by herself, and that she'll be writing soon.’ Then he turned to me and grasped my elbow. ‘Banks, I know you'll miss her too. In some ways, you know, I'd have preferred it if she'd gone off with you. I know she … she thought jolly well of you.’

‘It must have come as a big shock,’ I remarked, for want of something to say.

Sir Cecil turned away and for a time went on gazing down at the policemen. Then he said: ‘Wasn't really, to tell you the truth. No shock at all.’ Then he went on: ‘I always told her she should go, told her she should go and find love, you know, true love. She deserves it, don't you think? That's where she's gone now. Off to find true love. Perhaps she'll find it too. Out there, on the South China Sea, who knows? Perhaps she'll meet a traveller, in a port, in a hotel, who knows? She's become a romantic, you see? I had to let her go.’ There were now tears welling in his eyes.

‘What will you do now, sir?’ I asked gently.

‘What will I do? Who knows? Ought to go home, I expect. I suppose that's what I'll do. Go home. Just as soon as I've paid off a few debts here, that is.’

I had been conscious of footsteps coming down the stairs behind us, but now they slowed to a halt and we both of us turned. I was rather dismayed to see Grayson, the official from the Municipal Council.

‘Good morning, Mr Banks. Good morning, Sir Cecil. Mr Banks, we're all so pleased to see you back and safe.’

‘Thank you, Mr Grayson.’ And when he continued simply to stand there on the bottom stair smiling foolishly, I added: ‘I trust all the arrangements for the Jessfield Park ceremony are progressing to your satisfaction.’

‘Oh yes, yes.’ He gave a vague laugh. ‘But just now, Mr Banks, I came to find you because I heard you were wishing to speak with Mr MacDonald.’

‘Yes, that's right. In fact, I was just on my way to find him.’

‘Ah. Well, he won't be in his usual office. If you'd follow me, sir, I'll take you to him now.’

I gave Sir Cecil a gentle squeeze on the shoulder – he had turned back to the window to hide his tears – then followed Grayson with an eager step.

He led me through a deserted section of the building, and then we came to a corridor containing a row of offices. I could hear someone talking on the telephone, and a man who emerged from one of the doors nodded to Grayson. Grayson opened another door and waved for me to go in ahead of him.

I stepped into a small but well-appointed office dominated by a large desk. I stopped at the threshold because there was no one in the room, but Grayson nudged me further in and closed the door. He then walked around the desk, sat down, and gestured towards the empty seat.

‘Mr Grayson,’ I said, ‘I have no time for these foolish pranks.’

‘I'm sorry,’ Grayson said, ‘I know you wished to see MacDonald. But you see, MacDonald's domain is protocol. He discharges his duties very well, but his territory doesn't really extend much further.’

I sighed with impatience, but before I could speak, Grayson went on:

‘You see, old chap, when you said you wanted MacDonald, I assumed you wanted me. I'm the fellow you need to speak to.’

I then noticed there was something different about Grayson. His ingratiating air had vanished, and he was watching me steadily over the desk. When he saw understanding dawn in my face, he gestured once more at the chair.

‘Please make yourself comfortable, old chap. And I do apologise for having rather dogged you since your arrival here. But you see, I had to make sure you didn't do anything to cause a big stink with the other Powers. Now, let me see, I take it you want a meeting with the Yellow Snake.’

‘Yes, Mr Grayson. I wonder if you can arrange such a thing.’

‘As it happens, we finally got word while you were away. All parties seem happy now to grant your request.’ Then leaning forward, he said to me: ‘So, Mr Banks. Do you feel you're closing in?’

‘Yes, Mr Grayson. At last, I believe I am.’

So it was that just after eleven o'clock last night, I found myself travelling by car through the elegant residential areas of the French Concession in the company of two officers from the Chinese secret police. We went down avenues lined with trees, past large houses, some entirely hidden behind high walls and hedges. Then we came through gates heavily guarded by men in gowns and hats, and halted in a gravelled courtyard. A dark house, four or five storeys high, stood before us.

Inside, the lights were low, and more guards lurked everywhere in the shadows. As I followed my escorts up the central staircase, I gained the impression the house had until recently belonged to a wealthy European, but had now, for some reason, fallen into the hands of the Chinese authorities; I could see crude notices and schedules pinned up on the walls right alongside exquisite works of Western and Chinese art.

To judge from its decor, the room I was shown into up on the second floor had until recently contained a billiard table. There was now a yawning space in the middle of the room, around which I paced while I waited. After twenty minutes or so, I heard the sound of more cars arriving down in the courtyard, but when I tried to see out of the windows, I found these gave on to the gardens to the side of the house, and I could see nothing at all of the front.

It was perhaps another half-hour before I was finally fetched. I was escorted up another flight of stairs, then along a corridor past more guards. Then my escorts stopped, and one of them pointed to a door several yards before us. I went the last lap alone, and entered what appeared to be a large study. There was thick carpet beneath my feet, and the walls were almost entirely lined with books. At the far end, where heavy drapes had been drawn across the bay windows, was a desk with a chair on either side of it. A reading lamp on the desk created a warm pool of light, but otherwise much of the room was in shadow. As I stood surveying my surroundings, a figure rose from behind the desk and, stepping carefully around it, gestured back to the chair he had vacated.

‘Why don't you take this seat, Puffin?’ Uncle Philip said to me. ‘You remember, don't you? You always loved to sit in my chair behind my desk.’