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and set it on my lap, then moved back and humbly knelt again. I stared perplexed at the objects and was overcome with repugnance and a desire to push them away as soon as I realized what they were. As if in a dream, I saw Fernanda's hand rise up and head resolutely toward the opium pipe I had initially thought was nothing more than a stick. I couldn't resist the instinct to grab her wrist.
    “Don't touch a thing, Fernanda,” I said without averting my eyes.
    “As you can see, tai-tai, your husband had smoked several pipes that night. The box of opium balls is empty.”
    “Yes, quite right,” I said, opening it and examining the inside. “But how many were there?”
    “As many as are in the paper wrapper. Wu had gone to buy them that afternoon. Master only wanted the purest ‘foreign mud,’ the best quality, and only Wu knew where to get it.”
    “And he went out again that night?” I asked, astonished. I carefully unfolded the wrapper and saw three strange black balls inside.
    Mrs. Zhong seemed bothered by my question.
    “Your husband liked to have a supply of opium in the bishachu in case he felt like smoking several pipes.”
    “The bishachu ?” I repeated with difficulty. Everything in that strange language seemed to consist of sibilant s 's and explosive ch 's.
    She pointed to the secret cupboard.
    “That is a bishachu, ” she explained. “It means ‘green silk cupboard,’ and it can be as small as this one or as big as a room. The name is very old. Master Rémy didn't like his opium pipe out in view. He said it was vulgar, and since these items called for discretion, he had the bishachu built.”
    “And that night he had smoked so much he couldn't say a word, isn't that right, Mrs. Zhong?”
    She leaned forward until her forehead touched the floor and remained there in silence. A pair of narrow sticks crossed through her black ponytail.
    “So he was completely drugged when the Green Gang thugs arrived,” I reflected out loud as I held the tray in both hands and stood up to set it on the table. “And so, even though they beat and tortured him, they didn't get the information they were looking for, because Rémy couldn't speak. He was in no shape to confess. Perhaps that's why they were so brutal….” I instinctively walked toward the bishachu. According to Tichborne, the murderers had come looking for something of great importance but didn't find it. Also according to Tichborne, Mr. Jiang, the antiquarian, was convinced that the Green Gang was looking for a piece of art. Furthermore, Mrs. Zhong had said that the assassins had torn through everything in the office on the night of the murder, making a terrible mess. Whatever they were after was valuable enough to kill for. Rémy may have been many things—including foolish—but he wouldn't have left something like that out in plain sight.
    I leaned over the bookshelf to look inside the cupboard; the empty shelf that had held the tray was at eye level. When I tried to move it, I found that it was loose and lifted it very slowly. The light coming in from the room outlined a barely visible rectangular shape down below, in a deep, dark hollow. I reached in carefully until my fingertips brushed against it. It felt rough, and a soft aroma of sandalwood drifted up. I pulled my arm out and put the shelf back in its place. I turned toward my niece, who was watching me silently with a furrowed brow, and signaled that she was not to say a word.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Zhong,” I said kindly to the old servant, who remained with her forehead on the floor. “I need time to think about everything you've told us. This is all very difficult for me. You can go; please leave me alone with my niece.”
    “Do I still have work with you, tai-tai ?” she asked fearfully.
    I leaned over, smiling, and helped her up.
    “Don't worry, Mrs. Zhong. No one will be fired.” No, I wouldn't throw anyone out. I'd just sell the house and leave them to the mercy of the new owner.