Mai was standing at the door that led into the bedroom. She was looking at me with a sad, lonely look in her eyes. I had not heard the door open. Beyond her, I could see Bettina stirring in the bed, sleeping restlessly.
I said: “All right, Mai?”
She nodded, not taking her eyes off me, and I left her standing there and went out through the fan-tan rooms and down through the main door of the house and into the cold early-morning light.
It was five-thirty, and the sky was red in the east. The sounds of the town were muted, the streets deserted. I went down the avenida and turned onto the esplanade, and ran fast all the way to Penha Point, filling my lungs with the fine scent of the sea and watching the fishermen coming in with the sampans of seafood, dragging their nets behind them with the night’s catch.
The house was an armed fortress. There were three men at the big iron gates, three more patrolling the grounds in the front, another pair at the front door, and I counted no less than seven in the house itself before I ever reached the big lounge where, on that first day, I’d met Markle Hyde.
Nobody tried to stop me. They shepherded me all the way through, and there, at last, was Alexander Ming.
He was a big, big man (from the North, I remembered), looking not at all Chinese, except for a certain flatness to the nose. In spite of it—or perhaps because of the touch of alien blood—he was a handsome man, with silvery white hair and good, solid features. You’d have said he was a successful businessman, perhaps the head of a giant corporation back in the States; he was well dressed with a great deal of conservative care in a Brooks Brothers suit of fine blue wool, with a blue-striped white shirt and a dark silk tie; the polish on his alligator shoes shone with a remarkable lucidity, and he wore a single diamond ring on the little finger of his right hand.
He stood up as I was ushered in, and offered his hand with a genial smile, the kind of man you instinctively like; it was hard to realize that this was one of the ten most dangerous men in the world today, perhaps the most dangerous of all of them. His smile was reserved, courteous, just a little patronizing. He stood about six feet four, and he looked at me as we shook hands and said genially:
“Are you sure you’ve no Kirin blood, Mr. Cain? We’re all big men in Kirin. How do you do.”
“Mr. Ming.”
“When we spoke on the phone you called me Sin-san.”
“Yes but...” I couldn’t resist it. I said: “No lookee Chinese. If you’ll forgive me.”
He laughed. “Sit down, and let’s have a comfortable chat, shall we?” He clapped his hands—and now he was an Oriental—and the silent old servant was there, looking not nearly as inscrutable as he was supposed to be; there was an expression of tight fury on his face. Ming said: “Tea? Coffee? A drink? I hear you’re a hard drinker.”
I said politely: “Nothing, thank you. Just tell me first where Markle Hyde is.”
“Markle Hyde? In his bed, fuming. Two men standing guard on him to make sure he stays there. Next question?”
“All right. Tell me why you came to this house?”
He shrugged. “Surely it’s obvious. I could not resist the opportunity of telling Markle Hyde just how useless all his very expensive plans were. I was sitting there thinking about Ben Stirani, and I thought to myself: He’s here now, Markle Hyde in person. Why don’t I go and say hello? So, I came to this house to—how shall I put it?—to wave his helplessness in front of his miserable face, to tell him how badly things are going for him. And, I must admit, I derived a certain pleasure from the encounter.”
He said piously: “There’s so little of joy in life, we should seize all that we can find. Next question.”
“I’d like to be sure he’s alive.”
“You have my word for it.” His tone was deprecatory, shrugging it off as though it didn’t matter very much whether or not I believed him. He added: “I have other plans for Markle Hyde. We were partners once, and partners make the best enemies, did you know that?”
“I know. Where’s Sally Hyde?”
“Ah, Sally Hyde! I was hoping that perhaps you could tell me that. I’d like to know where she is too.”
“Then suppose you tell me why?”
He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers, resting them on his heavy stomach. He said carefully: “She came here to kill me, didn’t she? Under normal circumstances, of course, that would not cause me very much concern. It’s too frequent an attitude, I’m afraid. But she knew where to find me, knew that I was here. And in my organization, Mr. Cain, there are only two men who are constantly aware of my movements, so it’s essential that I find out just where she got her information. I run a very tight little company, and if my secrets are being bandied abroad to anyone who asks for them, I must know exactly who to silence.”
I said: “It was Mori Patachiaow. Does that surprise you?”
Surprise is hardly the word. He stared at me with his mouth open for a moment, and then his face was suddenly taut with anger. He held my look and blinked at me, and was about to speak, but closed his mouth instead. And then the fury was gone and he said gently: “Wentworth could not possibly have told you that.”
“Wentworth? He didn’t even mention Patachiaow’s name. Though he told me a lot of other things.”
“I see.” He pulled a white cambric handkerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose loudly, and said at last: “Well, I suppose that establishes a basis for our talk, was that your intention?”
“It was my intention to let you know a little of what I know.”
“Add a little to it. Why should Patachiaow betray me?”
I shrugged. “A man in your position—betrayal must be a constant worry. Ambition, greed, money—who knows? Who’ll even care?”
“I care. I care very much, Mr. Cain. I wish I could take your word without question.”
“You expect me to take yours that you don’t know where Sally Hyde is.”
“And you don’t know either?”
“No, I don’t. Why did you choose to meet me here?”
He laughed shortly: “I was here, in situ, and why should I look for another meeting place? And where? I certainly don’t want you poking around my own quarters, and I’m not prepared to meet you in, say, the lobby of your hotel. Too many people would like to get their hands on me, Mr. Cain. I have a great many enemies. Most of them are small men, but then, death at the hands of a small man is a very miserable affair, isn’t it? If I am to be killed, I’d rather my assassin were a man of comparable stature. Someone like yourself, perhaps?”
“And talking of assassination, I wasn’t very pleased with the reception you had waiting for me when I arrived in Macao.”
“No. I hardly expected you would be.” He had recovered from the shock that Patachiaow’s name had given him, though I could sense that his mind was turning the possibilities over and over. It showed itself in little inattentions, hardly sharp enough to be noticeable, but there none the less. Something was puzzling him, and he came straight to the point: “And you had no qualms about meeting me here tonight? With fifty men on the street after your blood?”
I mustered all the calm I could manage. I even shrugged. “I was fairly sure nothing would happen to me here.”
He leaned forward, genuinely interested. “I know why, of course.”
