In my now-ravaged room, the officer strides past us. He traipses over my clothes, my undergarments among them, though I’m in no state for embarrassment. A few gadgets have rolled to the edges of the room: my cigarette filter and lipstick, both intact. He accepts a palm-size object from the taller of the policemen.

What is it? What have they found?

Suddenly I recall my pocket watch. I envision the American brand printed on its face. But if they uncovered that, they’d have everything—my papers and silk map, none of which I see.

Don’t panic.

The other policeman observes us keenly, clutching his rifle, trigger finger ready. Finally the officer pivots toward me, and the discovery sets my heart to thrashing.

Whether dropped or stepped on, my powder compact lies in pieces, exposing a secret compartment, made evident by its contents.

“Explain this.” More seething than an order.

The few scraps for notes inside are blank—thank heavens for that—but there’s no rationalizing the L-pill. Or doesn’t he have it? I don’t see it in the compact nor in his hand. Where did it go?

I exaggerate a sigh, stalling, improvising. “Goodness, that is awfully unfortunate. It was such a handy contraption.”

As he skulks toward me, I manage to trace the pill. It’s a single stride from me on the floor. Yet should the officer take only two more steps, he’s bound to crunch it under his boot. If he doesn’t find it otherwise.

A clanking breaks out upstairs: pots and pans, a search through the kitchen.

An opportunity to misdirect.

I gasp and send my attention toward the ceiling. Instinctively the group looks up, rifle barrels following. A discreet flick of my shoe sends the pill under my bed frame.

“I apologize.” I wince sheepishly. “Gunshots make me jittery.”

Aggravated, the officer shoves the damaged compact toward me. “What is this?”

With an abashed shrug, I weave an answer threaded with truth. “Surely it will sound silly to you, sir. But the fact is, it’s for magic.”

He blinks, not expecting that. “Magic?”

“Yes, sir. My cousin planned to visit and enjoys the little tricks I do.” I elaborate since the specifics can’t be disproven. “By slipping a coin or button inside—even her name written on notes—I make them disappear. I would have gladly shown you if, well, if it weren’t destroyed.”

He arches a brow, his mouth an instant line against the inference of blame.