"Listen," he said keeping his voice down but there was no mistaking the undercurrent, "if you bamboozle her, or play silly buggers or overcharge her I'll kick the shit out of you."

The little man came closer, his pebble glasses cracked and fogged. "I've never done that to a client in my life," he said, puffing up like a cobra. "A few big bills, yes, but never more than the market could stand. That woman needs help for God's sake. I can give it to her, you can't."

"I can and will, by God."

"I don't agree! Malcolm told me the other Mrs. Struan, the woman in Hong Kong fired you, true or false? And true or false that you as well as Malcolm have been getting angry, even threatening letters from her for weeks, paranoiac against my client and her engagement with all sorts of unfounded accusations?

True or false, for God's sake, that that girl needs friends."

"I agree she needs friends, I don't object to her having a solicitor, I just want to be sure you'll act correctly."

"God dammit I've never buggered a client in my life. Jamie, I may be a hungry lawyer but I'm a good one, and we're on the same side. She needs friends, Malcolm loved her, you were Malcolm's friend for God's sake-- he told me about the letters you would have risked hanging for."

"Never mind that wh--"

"I'm not arguing with you, Jamie, she's my client and I swear I'll do best for her. The death certificate, please."

Seething, Jamie opened the drawer and gave him a copy.

"Thanks... ah three, eh? One for your files, one to go with the body and one for her, quite correct though I'm surprised they bothered to think of her, original by special to Hong Kong." Heavenly scanned the paper.

"Christ Almighty!"

"What's the matter?"

"Hoag and Babcott," he said. "They may be good doctors but as defense witnesses they're a disaster! Shit, I should have been told before they issued this--any fool could have given them better wording!"

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"Murder, or at least a charge of murder."

"You're mad!"

"It wouldn't be the first for Tess Struan," the little man hissed. "Remember the Bosun?

Everyone in Hong Kong knew it was an accident but he was charged with murder, found guilty of manslaughter and given ten years!"

"The jury found him guilty not Tess by God an--"

"But she was the one who pressed for the charge!"

Skye slammed back at him, keeping his voice down. "And she'll press charges here. If this was read out in court in a criminal or civil case, our opposing barrister would claim he died fucking--please excuse my vulgarity--"and the other half of the act sits in the dock there, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, whose father is a felon on the run, whose uncle is in a French jail, who herself is a penniless adventuress, a Jezebel who knowingly seduced this poor young man, a minor, into marrying her and then, and then ladies and gentlemen of the jury, with malice aforethought seduced him into a early death--with malice aforethought--knowing only too well his wounds would do the job for her!" True or bloody false?"

Jamie sat down, paler than before. Hoag's words had jumped into his mind. "What're you going to do?"

"First I'll try to get this wording changed, don't think they will but I have to try. Do you have his will? Malcolm's?"

Jamie shook his head. "He never mentioned one to me."

"I told him it was important he should have one drawn up when he first came to see me--that's routine. You're sure?"

"I know I don't have one, not in our safe."

Jamie frowned. Would Malcolm have made one?

If I was getting married, I would. Wait a minute I was engaged to Maureen for years and never had one. My God, I wonder how she is, what she thought when she got my letter.

"He never mentioned a will to me. Did he to Angelique?" "No, that was my first question. Perhaps he made one without your knowledge. Did he have a safety box or a special place for his private papers?"

"No, not really, I suppose that would be in Hong Kong, except there's a small safe in his rooms."

"Let's go and look." Skye started out of the room.

"Wait a minute, I don't think we can do that."

The words came back sharp, and formal: "Mrs.Angelique Struan was his legal wife and is his widow therefore his immediate heir and inheritor of all his worldly goods unless his will states otherwise. If there's no will then she inherits, after probate and all legal fees and taxes are paid. Let's look in his safe."

"I don't think that we can presum--"

"Now, quietly, between the three of us as friends, or I'll get a formal court order through Sir William today to sequester all, I repeat all his papers, and all Struan papers in Yokohama and Hong Kong, for a will search to which my client is entitled." His look was inflexible. "Sorry, old boy. Well?"

"Let's go and ask Angelique." Unsure of himself and knowing he could never allow an outsider to go through Noble House papers and records, Jamie followed Skye back to the tai-pan's office. Dammit, why do I think of it as that, he thought irritably. I suppose because it is the tai-pan's office. Who's the new tai-pan?

Christ, what a mess!

Angelique was sitting where they had left her.

Impassively, she listened to Skye. "There's no need for you to accompany us, Mrs. Struan, rest assured I act for you."

"Thank you but I would like to be there."

They followed her up the grand staircase, the first time for Skye who tried not to be visibly awed by the wonderful chandelier and valuable oils.

Jamie opened the door of the tai-pan suite.

A coal fire burned pleasantly. The four-poster was made up and waiting. Desk tidy, no papers on it. In a near corner of the room Ah Tok squatted mumbling, in despair, somehow tiny now, ugly and ancient.

She paid no attention to them. Angelique shuddered then followed the two men and sat in Malcolm's high chair facing them. Watching them intently.

The little iron wall-safe was concealed behind an oil painting, another Aristotle Quance. Skye smiled thinly. The painting depicted a petty young Chinese girl carrying a fair-haired, fair-skinned child with a pigtail, a boy, against a Hong Kong landscape. He had heard about the painting but had never seen it. Quance was the dean of the artist-chroniclers of Macao and early Hong Kong, an Irishman who had lived there for many years, and died a few years ago in Macao and was buried there. He was also a voracious drunk, gambler, libertine but old friend and devotee of Dirk Struan. Rumor had it the girl was the fabled May-may, Dirk's Chinese mistress, the one who was killed with him in the typhoon of '42, in his arms, and the child their firstborn.

He glanced at Angelique who watched Jamie impassively searching through a bunch of keys and wondered if she knew about Malcolm's Eurasian cousins and his uncle, Compradore Gordon Chen--Dirk's son by another mistress--who, according to Hong Kong gossip, "knew more secrets and had more taels of gold than an ox had hairs." The mantelpiece clock chimed three.

"Who else has keys, Jamie?" Skye asked.

"Just me, me and the... the tai-pan."

"Where are his?"

"I don't know. I presume still with... still aboard."

The safe door swung open. A few letters, all in Tess Struan's writing, except one in Malcolm's apparently unfinished, a small chamois leather bag and a wallet. The wallet contained a faded daguerreotype of his father and mother peering self-consciously at the camera, Malcolm's personal chop, a few chits-- IOU'S and a list of debts and debtors.

Heavenly leafed through them. "Would these others be gambling debts he's owed, Jamie?"

"I've no idea."

"Two thousand four hundred and twenty guineas.

A tidy sum for a young man to lend or be owed. Do you recognize any of the names, by chance?"