Every few hours Bahram would wake to the din of gongs and cymbals and lie still, watching ghostly shadows and listening to voices. Sometimes, the sounds seemed very close: he would hear footsteps in the corridors and whispers around his bed: there were moments when he found it hard not to reach for the bell-rope. But Vico was away now – he had gone to the Anahita, to arrange the transfer of her cargo to the Bogue, where the collection depot had been set up – and other than him there was no one that he could have talked to.

Even laudanum didn’t help: if anything it made the sounds seem louder and the dreams more vivid. One night, after a copious dose, he dreamt that Chi-mei had come to the Achha Hong to see him. This was something she had often threatened to do: it happened all the time, she said, flower-girls were often smuggled into factories. They dressed up in men’s gowns and braided their hair and no one was any the wiser.

In Bahram’s dream, it was a day like any other in Fanqui-town: he was dressing to go the Club, in the evening, when Vico came into his bedroom.

Patrão, a Chinese gentleman has come to see you. One Li Sin-saang.

Who is he? Do I know him?

I don’t know, patrão. I don’t think he’s been here before. But he said it was important.

All right then, show him into the daftar.

The daftar was empty, of course, at that time of day: the munshi was down in his cubicle and the khidmatgars had finished cleaning up. Bahram went to one of the big armchairs and sat down. Soon the door opened and a short, slight figure in a round cap and panelled gown came in.

The light in the daftar wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the face, so Bahram did not recognize her immediately. With a formal bow, he said: ‘Chin-chin Li Sin-saang.’

She said nothing until she was sure Vico was gone. Then she burst into peals of laughter. ‘Mister Barry too muchi foolo.’

He was thunderstruck. ‘Chi-mei? What for come this-place? Chi-mei have done too muchi bad thing.’

Chi-mei paid no attention: picking up a lamp, she went around the daftar examining the objects that had accumulated in it. It was clear from her expression that not many of them met with her approval.

‘Allo olo thing. What-for Mister Barry puttee here?’

The tone was comforting in its familiarity: she often spoke to him like this, in a register that was at once querulous and indulgent, as though she were trying to correct a child. He laughed.

The only object that seemed to please her was his desk, with its many locked drawers. She looked it over carefully, then tapped one of the drawers. ‘What thing have got inside?’

Bahram pulled out a bunch of keys and opened the drawer. Inside was a large lacquered box.

‘That box Chi-mei give Mister Barry, no?’