"Possibly." The woman swings her violin case up above the glass counter then gently lowers it. "Our client has asked us to obtain a preliminary valuation, and also to inquire about the cost of certain necessary restoration work for an instrument of similar manufacture that is currently in storage in a degraded condition—it's too fragile to move." She reaches into her handbag again and when she takes her hand out, she's holding an envelope. "Before examining the instrument, I would like you to sign this non-disclosure agreement." She removes a thin document from the envelope.

Mr. Dower is surprised. "But it's just a violin! Even if it's a rarity—" He does a double take. "Isn't it?"

The woman shakes her head silently, then hands him the papers.

Mr. Dower scans the first page briefly then glances up at her. "This isn't from Sotheby's—"

"If anybody asks you who I am and why I'm here, you will tell them I'm Cassie May, from Sotheby's auction house, inquiring about a valuation." She doesn't smile. "You will now read the document and sign it."

Almost as if he can't help himself, Mr. Dower's eyes return to the document. He scans it rapidly, mumbling under his breath as he turns the three pages. Wordlessly, he produces a pen from his inside jacket pocket.

"Not like that." The woman offers him a disposable sterile needle: "First, you must draw blood. Then sign using this pen." She waits patiently while he presses a digit against the needle, winces, and rubs the nib of the pen across the ball of his thumb. He makes no complaint about the unusual request, and doesn't seem to notice the way she produces a small sharps container for the office supplies and carefully folds the document back into its envelope. "Good. By the authority vested in me I bind you to silence, under pain of the penalties specified in this document. Do you understand?"

Mr. Dower stares at the violin case as if stunned. "Yes," he mutters.

The woman who calls herself Cassie May unclips the lid of the violin case and lays it open before him.

Mr. Dower stares into the case for ten long seconds, barely breathing. Then he shudders. "Excuse me," he says, hastily covering his mouth. He turns and stumbles through the bead curtain. A few seconds later she hears the sound of retching.

The woman waits patiently until Mr. Dower reappears, looking pale. "You can shut that," he tells her.

"If you want." She shrugs. "I take it you've seen one before."

"Yes." He shudders again, his gaze unfocused. He seems to be staring down inner demons. "What do I have to do to get you to take it away?"