"Sorry, can't, glad to take you to the door and to call for you but that's Brock and Sons, he's the head of it and this's the Noble House."

"You should be friends, you could still be competitors.

He really was my husband's friend, and mine, and Jamie's."

"Sorry, it's my problem not yours." He smiled again. "Come on." He took her arm, not bothering about a coat and they went into the cold. The wind tugged at her hat but did not displace it.

She had secured it with a chiffon scarf.

"Evening, Ma'am." The guard on Brock's door bowed.

"Evening. Thank you, Albert, no need to come and fetch me, one of the others will see me home, off you go or you'll catch cold." He laughed and was gone. In the same moment Gornt was there to greet her.

"'evening Ma'am, my but you look smashing."

Now, as he accepted her wrap, her worries began to well up again. What trumps? A burst of laughter came from an inner room. She recognized Marlowe, saw that the guard had gone and there were no servants about and they were alone for the moment. "Edward," she whispered, her concern overcoming her caution, "why are you so sure I'll be all right?"

"Tess invited me back. Don't worry, it's in control. Better we talk during your promenade tomorrow--tonight is only for good conversation amongst friends, gentle pleasure. I'm truly honored you accepted my invitation--it's due to you I'm head here." Gornt took her arm and in a normal voice said, "Welcome to Brock and Sons, Angelique. Shall we go in?"

The dining room was as big as the one in Struan's, as lush, the silver as good, the wine superior, the linen richer. Liveried Chinese servants. Marlowe, Pallidar and Dmitri stood in front of a roaring fire, waiting to greet her. They kissed her hand, admired her hat that she kept on as was custom, Marlowe and Pallidar in their informal uniforms. And while she greeted them and listened with her quiet charm, her inner motor was sifting Gornt, what he had said and what was missing.

"Shall we sit now that our honored guest is gracing us?" Gornt settled her at one end of the table. He took the other. The table was small enough to be intimate, large enough to be impressive.

"Suhs, a toast!" he said, lifting his glass of champagne, "To the Lady!" They drank and his eyes never left hers. An invitation, discreetly given. She smiled back, neither yes nor no.

Plenty of time, he thought, delighted to be the host and even more delighted with himself. So much left to tell. Perhaps the best part. But not to her.

On the last day in Hong Kong, Tess Struan had again sent for him, secretly.

"I've been through all the papers, Mr.Gornt. It's not absolutely certain the support the papers give your scheme will bring about the Brock crash."

"I think they will, Ma'am," he said, impressed that she knew so much about business.

"I truly believe you have everything needed to unlock Pandora's Box"--this was the code name they had agreed on. "There's one last piece of the jigsaw that would complete the picture and guarantee success."

"And that is?"' "Norbert's official chop. It's in his safe at Yokohama."

She had sighed and leaned back in the carved chair. No need for either of them to articulate that this chop on almost any Brock letterheaded document, correctly couched and dated validated it, committing Brock's of Yokohama through him to whatever was on the paper.

No need to say aloud that all kinds of incriminating information could be written now, backdated, and found or slid surreptitiously into the pile. Who could challenge such a letter with Greyforth dead?

Both of them knew its value.

Morgan and Tyler Brock had speculated heavily on this complicated but incredibly ingenious scheme to corner the Hawaiian sugar market-- in principle already accomplished--bartering the sugar crop forward for Southern cotton which they had presold legally to guaranteed French interests-- historic U.s. allies and not subject to Northern blockade in this instance through certain congressional help and safeguards-- then to be shipped legally from France to Geneva, to be sent on legally to Lancashire cotton mills that were almost destitute and desperate for the raw material.

A tiny hazard: If the Union government discovered for certain the ultimate destination-- Britain was formally neutral, most of the British were actively pro-Confederate--and this was made public knowledge, they would inhibit the export by interception. This was a minor risk because of high-level agreement to the French connection which was, for the first time, proven by Gornt's papers to be a Brock company shell, and governmental noninterference more certain because a goodly proportion of the sugar, also desperately needed, was to be bartered for diverted Union armaments which Brocks would promptly import to Asia. Projected profits were immense. Brock's standing in the Asia-America entente would become preeminent, whoever won the civil war. In Asia they would be supreme. And no possible way the plan could fail because the Victoria Bank of Hong Kong was the underwriter.

The bank, biggest in the Colony, had eagerly underpinned the venture, approved by the Board of twelve of whom Tyler Brock was one, with Brock and Sons shares and liquidity as nominal collateral. For all intents and purposes the Victoria was a Brock preserve. Old Man Brock had been a founder in '43, he had chosen the other members-- excluding any director of Struan's perpetually from the Board--had retained a forty percent interest and had permanent voting control of at least nine to three. And while backing Brock's on the international scene, the Board had meanwhile agreed to crush Struan's through repossession of all Struan's debt paper, due by January 30th--the timetable and questionable methods of the clandestine, long-term acquisition was also tabled in Gornt's evidence.

Gornt had excitedly pointed out that, for the first time Brock and Sons were vulnerable--never before had they put up the control of their company as collateral. The Victoria was the key to the Pandora's Box. The key to the bank was the Board. It had to be subverted, turned around, and financial support withdrawn suddenly from Tyler and Morgan on the correct day leaving them destitute without the necessary funds to oil the wheels. Meanwhile evidence of the scheme from Gornt's papers, and notice that the Victoria would not be supporting the deal any longer, had to be rushed by clipper to Washington to the right hands which would make interception probable--without the Bank's backing there was no sugar to barter for cotton or for armaments. But this had to be done now, before rearranging the Bank's voting control.

How to turn the Board was the pivot of Gornt's plan.

The papers revealed highly embarrassing facts on the background of two pro-Tyler Brock Board members, so serious that their votes would go to whoever had the documentation. Seven to five. More facts about one other man, less damaging and questionable were also there. A possible six to six.

Gornt's idea was that Tess should approach the chairman privately, give him the facts, tell him that details of the scheme were already en route to Washington, and propose, "That they pull the plug on Brock's and swing to you and Struan's, granting an extension of six months on Struan debts, two seats on the Board, take immediate control of Brock's and sell off the assets at bargain prices, enough to cover debts, leaving Tyler and Morgan Brock to drown in sugar they can't pay for. And last the Bank agrees to split Brock's forfeited forty percent bank holdings into four parts: one to the chairman, one to two Board members of his choice, one to the Noble House."

"In return for what? Why should the Bank cross Tyler?"' Tess had asked.

"Double-cross, isn't that the American word?"' "Yes, Ma'am, but this would be a triple-cross. Why should the Board gorge on the deal? Because they'll be huge winners, the chairman and all of them, because they hate Tyler privately and fear him, like everyone else. They don't hate you, you're the Noble House and no threat to them. Hate, not money alone, is the grease that oils the world."