The assistant returned. Margaret snapped on the rubber gloves, soaked the cloth with fluid, and rubbed the lighter with it, slowly working off the carbon coating along its bottom face. “There’s some kind of engraved lettering here.” She found a pair of half-moon reading glasses in her purse and squinted at the lettering, disappointed to bring into focus the ZIPPO registered trademark, and beneath it, Bradford PA, Made in USA. “Well, that’s a bit of a let-down.” And as she said it, she wasn’t quite sure who she was saying it to. She glanced up self-consciously, then turned back to the lighter, working quickly with the cloth and fluid over its other surfaces. “Something else.” More, very faint, lettering appeared as the carbon lifted along the bottom edge of the flip-lid. She had to turn it to catch the light to read “Solid Brass.” She dropped the lighter with a clatter back on the table and lifted the ring. “Signet ring,” she said, and rubbed at it with the cloth. “It appears to be set with a flat, engraved, semi-precious stone of some kind.” But no matter how hard she rubbed at the stone it refused to come up anything other than black, even though its metal setting began revealing patches of tarnished silver. “Could be ebony.” She held it up and turned it to catch the light, screwing her eyes up behind her reading glasses. “There’s a symbol of some kind on it, and some lettering.” As she turned it through the light, and the engraving fell into relief, she suddenly realised what it was, and her heart skipped a beat. She examined the rest of the ring more closely. It had been deformed by the heat, but not entirely melted. Perhaps his ring hand had been resting on the ground, half protected from the upward-licking flames. She squinted at the inner surface of the ring, rubbed it for a few furious seconds with the cloth, and then squinted at it again. Now she removed her glasses. She glanced at her watch and made a quick mental calculation. “Damn.” And she looked up to find a row of curious faces watching her with affected patience. “Is there a phone I can use to call the States?”

Li looked at Professor Xie, who nodded. “In my office.”

While she made the call, Margaret could see, through a large window, the others waiting in an outer office. Professor Xie was a small man, almost effeminate, in his early forties, Margaret thought. He was dark-complexioned and his jet-black hair was swept back from a remarkable widow’s peak that seemed to begin halfway up his forehead. He was perched on the edge of a desk and appeared lost in his own gloomy thoughts.