Margaret craned forward to see what was happening. They had been in the act of turning through an arched gateway into a sprawling compound and had collided with a cyclist. Margaret heard the shrill voice of their driver berating the cyclist, who was getting back to his feet, apparently unhurt. As he stood, she saw that he was a police officer, in his early thirties, his neatly pressed uniform crumpled and dusty. A trickle of blood ran down his forearm from a nasty graze on his elbow. He pulled himself up to his full height and glared down at the little driver, who suddenly stopped shrieking and wilted under his gaze. She bent down timidly to retrieve his cap and held it out like a peace offering. He snatched it from her, but peace was the last thing on his mind. He unleashed, it appeared to Margaret, a mouthful of abusive language at the shrinking waif. Lily, in the front seat, emitted a strange grunting noise and hurriedly climbed out of the car. Margaret, too, thought it was time to interface, and opened the back door.

As she got out, Lily was picking up the bicycle and making apologetic noises. The policeman appeared to turn his wrath on her. More venom issued forth. Margaret approached. “What’s the problem here, Lily? This guy got something against women drivers?” All three stopped and looked at her in amazement.

The young policeman regarded her coldly. “American?”

“Sure.”

And in perfect English, “Then why don’t you mind your own business?” He was almost shaking with anger. “You were in the back seat and couldn’t possibly have seen what happened.”

From somewhere deep inside, Margaret felt the first stirrings of her fiery Celtic temper. “Oh yeah? Well, maybe if you hadn’t been so busy looking at me in the back seat, you would have been watching where you were going.”

Lily was horrified. “Doctah Cambo!”

The young policeman stood for a moment glaring at Margaret. Then he snatched his bicycle from Lily, dusted down his cap and replaced it firmly on his close-cropped head before turning and wheeling his bike away in the direction of a European-style redbrick building just inside the compound.

Lily shook her head, clearly distraught. “That’s terrible thing to say, Doctah Cambo.”

“What?” Margaret was at a loss.

“You make him lose mianzi.”

“Lose what?”

“Face. You make him lose face.”

Margaret was incredulous. “Face?”

“Chinese have problem with face.”

“With a face like his, I’m not surprised! And what about you? Your . . . mianzi? You didn’t have to stand there and take all that. I mean, you outrank him, for heaven’s sake!”

“Outrank him?” Lily looked astonished. “No.”

“Well, he only had two stars . . .” She patted her shoulder. “. . . and you’ve got three.”

Lily shook her head. “Three star, one stripe. He got three stripe. He is Supervisor Li, senior detective Section One, Beijing Municipal Police.”