Ever since Colonel Noma’s cruel parade of Chinese women with Japanese babies more than three weeks ago, Cheung had been stewing. He’d been yelling at his wife, Yim-Fong. He’d been slamming doors. He’d been spitting in the soup. He’d been speaking of murder to anyone who would listen. Today, it was Captain Lee, who came with a load of crab for stuffed crab night.

“The least we can do is get rid of the babies. Prevent a Japanese colony from being born in the ruin of the British one,” said Cheung. “When will we be free? If my line is cut off, theirs will not be perpetuated.”

“That is what Noma is banking on, you fool,” Lee said. “If you murder the babies, you become no better than him. And then he has every reason to say Hong Kong is in just as good hands with the Japanese. If the Chinese are baby killers anyway.”

“Emily’s baby was supposed to be my first grandson.”

“He might indeed be,” said Lee. “Perhaps Noma was bluffing when he taunted you about Raymond being his. Maybe he is setting you up to lose your mind over it.”

“But all those Chinese women with Japanese babies. The message is clear as day.”

“Message and truth are not necessarily the same thing,” Lee said.

“I can’t bear it, Brother.”

“Then we have to fight those bastards and hit them where it counts.”

“But this is ground zero.”

“So you would gamble on killing your own grandson for the possibility of getting revenge on a monster?”

“I would, yes.”

“You would murder an innocent child to make a point.”

“Yes. To allow the humiliation to stand is unbearable.”

“I’d advise you to sleep on it, Brother. Truly. Cool your head. It’s a terrible idea. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

There was a knock at the door. It was one of Noma’s men. “Have you seen that devil bastard Morgan Horace?”

“Who?” said Cheung.

“Noma wants him to do some interrogation work today.”

“I don’t know who you are talking about.”

“Don’t be coy,” said the gendarme. “I’ll take you too.”

“I’m not afraid. And I don’t care.”

The policeman laughed.

“Take me. Kill me and save me the trouble.”

“Nah. Not today anyway. My orders are to find Morgan Horace.”

“Take me instead. I’m planning to kill Noma’s baby.”

The policeman laughed harder.

“I’m planning to kill Noma himself.”

The policeman cackled with pure, twisted glee. Stupid fool Chinaman. And he took off up the stairs to look for Horace.

“What were you doing, inviting your own death? Your poor mother would not like that at all,” Lee said.

“Well, she’s dead,” said Cheung, rudely. “And her spirit lives in an English soup tureen.”

Lee’s sympathetic look made Cheung want to punch him.