“Can I get her anything?” she heard Lotus say, but it was in Chinese, and she couldn’t understand why the sounds formed no words.

Li shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ve got plenty of water. You’d better go.”

Yongli pulled her gently away. “Come on.”

“I hate to leave her like this.”

“She’s in capable hands,” Yongli said. And to Li, “We’ll be back at first light. If not, you’ll know we’ve been picked up.”

Li nodded grimly. “Thanks,” he said. He turned and the two men made a brief eye contact that forestalled the need for more words.

“I’ll bring her some clean clothes,” Lotus said, and let Yongli lead her by the hand away through the outer room and out into the courtyard.

When he heard the door close behind them, Li turned back to Margaret, but her eyes were shut and she was sleeping.

When she emerged from the strange, dark, dreamless chasm into which she had drifted, she was curled up on the cot bed and Li was sitting on the end of it smoking another cigarette. A candle still burned in the corner. He turned as she raised herself on to one elbow. “How long was I sleeping?”

He shrugged. “An hour maybe. I don’t know what time it is.”

She peered at her watch in the dancing half-light. “It’s just after one.” She swung her legs off the bed and sat up, rubbing her eyes. He moved alongside her and put an arm around her, and she let her head fall against his shoulder. The familiar musky-sweet smell of him was reassuring. “Why are we here?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

She felt him tense and he drew a deep, tremulous breath. “They stitched me up, Margaret,” he said. “I walked right into it. Never even saw it coming.” She lifted her head and pulled away so she could look at him. His eyes were moist and wouldn’t meet hers. “They killed Lily and murdered my uncle . . .”

Margaret uttered a tiny, involuntary cry. “Oh God, no . . . !” Not that lovely, harmless old man. “Why? Why would they kill him?”

Silent tears rolled down Li’s cheeks. “To make it look like I had done it.” He gasped in frustration. “As if I ever would.” He turned towards her, the futility of it etched in the pain on his face. “I don’t know why, Margaret. But I feel like it’s my fault, that I got something wrong, that if I’d done something differently my uncle would still be alive. I don’t know what it is that would make them want to kill an old man, just to discredit me and stop my investigation. If only I knew what it was we’d got too close to, maybe I’d understand.” His despair was heartbreaking.