Page 49

In a teahouse, Mr. Du’s office on Nanjing Road, Anyu told his men that she had come to report a crime.

They led her and Esther, who had insisted on coming, to Mr. Du on the second floor.

Slowly, Anyu described the crime in the jewelry shop.

Four dead. The shop ransacked. Isaac’s death happened outside the shop, so the gangster refused to hear the story.

The protection fees only covered them for the shop, not any of the owners or staff beyond the storefront.

The man looked at her and Esther. “The Russian shop on Julu Road. I remember. It is very unfortunate. My condolences.”

“We were wondering if you have any suspects.” Anyu watched him.

The gangster leader, who had his minions collect the protection fees, had not stepped inside the shop since his pilferage of the necklace.

He had grown older, his ears like wings, and he was meaner.

It was said he had formed an alliance with Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, who desired the gangster’s clout to fight the encroaching Japanese armies in the city.

“Suspects? Not yet.”

She was tempted to ask whether he had directed his men to commit the crime himself. “Will you keep investigating?”

“Of course we will.”

“We have lost much of our jewelry,” Esther said, giving him an inventory of what was missing and the damages in the shop. They had been nearly cleaned out; all the jewelry in the showroom and the contents in the safe and gold wires and silver tubing and gemstones were taken.

“I shall inspect your shop to verify your account. I can’t promise the items will be recovered, miss. Robberies like this are all over Shanghai, and we only have so many men.”

“And an egg,” Anyu said.

“An egg! Now that’s curious. Why do you care about an egg?”

Anyu took Esther’s arm and turned to leave. Mr. Du didn’t appear to know anything about Fabergé eggs. It wasn’t him.

On the street, Anyu felt faint. She had barely eaten anything for the past few days, and her head hurt.

“I’m going home,” Esther said and walked away.

Anyu dug out a cigarette packet from her pocket. It was empty. She tossed it away in frustration. There was yet one more person who could help investigate, and Anyu was counting on her.

By the time she turned onto the street where Mrs. Brown’s mansion was located, the daylight was fading, and the streetlights had been turned on.

In the distance, Anyu could see the majestic neoclassical English building shielded by towering trees.

She had no appointment, and she wondered if she would be turned away.

But she hoped Mrs. Brown’s bodyguards would recognize her and let her in.

As she drew nearer to the mansion, she could see a dark cloud mixed with sparks of flame surging above the trees.

It came from Mrs. Brown’s mansion or somewhere near it.

Surprised, she picked up her pace. Many people crowded on the street, watching, pointing, and she could smell the acrid odor and hear the sputter of wood and the crashing of glass.

When she reached the mansion, her knees grew weak.

The garden gate was open, and a throng of men in long robes was rushing through holding wooden buckets filled with water.

Under the mantle of darkness, spirals of smoke exploded through the windows with red frames, the fire crackled, and the entire balcony collapsed.

“What happened?” she asked a man rushing out, his face covered with soot.

“Biggest fire I’ve ever seen.” He shoved her aside.

Anyu heard a shout—a fleet of men emerged from the sickening cloud, rushing toward the lawn near the entrance, carrying a stretcher. They were followed by a doctor with a medical kit, the British consul she had met at banquets, and his staff in double-breasted suits.

“Oh my God,” a voice said.

Anyu shivered. The woman’s blond hair had been incinerated, and her face was terribly burned. But Anyu could still make out who she was.

“There are more bodies inside the building,” someone said.

Anyu looked at Mrs. Brown’s fingers—they were bare. Fear gripping her heart, Anyu ran to the Vault of Gems and Treasures.

When Anyu finally reached the cutlery shop, she was exhausted and feeling sick.

But just as she feared, the door was open, and the Sikh guard was nowhere to be seen.

In the garden with the Goddess of Peace statue, the secret panel to the underground door was agape.

She gasped for breath, then slipped through.

The air underground smelled stale. Her legs trembling, she forged ahead. There was a beam of light coming from the distance. She shielded her eyes with her hand. “Who’s there?”

No one answered.

When she was closer, she could see a flashlight lying on the ground. She stood in front of it, afraid to pick it up.

She forced herself to walk into the vault, her heart hurting too much.

On the ground lay the guards, Mr. Petrov, and Mr. Tang.

The shelves that contained the crown worn by the wife of Mughal emperor Shah Jahān, the diamond necklace that belonged to Catherine the Great, the antique Tiffany necklace made in 1870, and the splendid Alexander III Commemorative Egg were empty.