“My mother. Although she would have called in an expert. Yes, I see. However, it has been some years since I was inside that room.”

She took up the pencil and sketched the kitchen's outlines, locating the sink, scullery, cook-stove, and entrances. At his direction she indicated the lights and windows, as well as the locations of the small mirror, the water bowl, and the dead plant. Then she pushed it back across the table at him.

Soup arrived, and he moved the sketch to one side, keeping his hand on the edge of the paper. “As I remember, the kitchen faces the back of the house, its windows to the west, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

He picked up both sheets and laid them in front of her, next to each other. “The objects you name would have been intended to correct the chi, the energy patterns, within the room. And thus, of course, within the lives of the residents.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

He heard the irony. “I apologise, I know it is complex, and with little logic for the literalist Western mind.”

“Perhaps I should ask, is it possible to analyse how these . . . additions were intended? Can you tell what was wrong with the chi in the room?”

Long looked down at the two pieces of paper, his lips pursed in consideration. “That is an interesting question,” he said at last. “I am by no means an expert, but it looks to me as if there was a perceived external threat to the internal harmony. The items were placed to strengthen the internal harmony—the family.”

But “harmony” was not the word that caught Russell's attention. “A threat? Of what kind?”

“That I cannot know. Some force that threatened to pull the family off-centre into disharmony. Which, I agree, is so general as to be considered witchcraft, or mumbo-jumbo.” With an apologetic smile he turned to his soup; after a minute, the others did the same.

“Apart from the articles of feng shui,” he said when the bowls had been removed and fragrant plates were beginning to appear, “I hope you have found the house in satisfying condition?”

“I found it run-down, dreary, and most uninformative,” Russell replied.

“I am sorry.” Long scooped shreds of vegetables in some dark, piquant-smelling sauce on top of his rice, then ventured, “You had hoped to learn something from the building?”

“Oh, not really. But it would have been nice.” The bookseller's face wore a look of confusion, although he was too polite to persist with his questions. But to Holmes' surprise, Russell relented.