He remained standing just inside the door of his library, feeling utterly confused. His vision was blurred, he did not dare walk to his desk. Leaning his back against the doorjamb for support he closed his eyes and, slowly raising his hands to his head, pressed his temples. The splitting headache was now changing into a dull, throbbing pain. His ears ceased ringing. He now could hear in the distant backyard of his residence the familiar sounds of the servants, starting again upon their household tasks after the siesta. Soon his steward would come with the afternoon tea.

With a tremendous effort he took hold of himself. He noticed with relief that his eyes were getting better. He quickly raised his hands and scrutinized them intently. He did not see any bloodstains. He looked up, at his large writing-desk of massive blackwood. Its polished top mirrored the flowers in the green jade vase. They were wilting; he idly reflected that his wife would have to replace them, she always chose them herself from the garden. Suddenly there was an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He frantically stumbled into the room and succeeded in reaching his desk. Panting heavily he made his way round it, supporting himself on its smooth edge. Then he let himself down into his armchair.

He gripped the armrests, steadying himself against a new attack of dizziness. When it had passed he opened his eyes. He saw the high lacquer screen standing against the wall opposite. Quickly he averted his gaze, but the screen seemed to move round with his eyes. A violent shiver shook his tall, spare frame. Instinctively he pulled his loose houserobe closer. Was this the end, was he becoming mad? Cold sweat pearled on his brow, he thought he was going to be sick. He bent his head and looked fixedly at the document his counsellor had placed on the desk, trying desperately to collect his thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his steward enter, carrying the tea-tray. He wanted to answer his obsequious greetings, but his parched tongue was thick and swollen. When the elderly man, sedately dressed in a long grey robe and wearing a black skull-cap, respectfully handed him a cup of tea, the magistrate quickly took it in his trembling hand and tasted it. If he drank more, he would feel better. Why didn't the doddering old fool go away? What was he waiting for? He moved his lips to make an angry remark. Then he noticed the large envelope on the tray.

'This letter, Your Honour,' the old steward said, 'was brought just now by a visitor, a Mr Shen.'

He stared at the letter, not yet trusting himself to raise his shaking hand and take it. The address, written in a bold, official-looking handwriting, read: 'To Teng Kan, Magistrate of the District Wei-ping. Personal.' In the lower left corner was the large red seal of the Prefecture.

'Since it is marked personal,' the steward said in his dry, precise voice, 'I thought I'd better bring it to Your Honour directly.'

The magistrate took the envelope and reached mechanically for his bamboo paper knife. As one of the hundreds of district magistrates, he was but a small cog in the colossal administrative machinery of the mighty Chinese Tang Empire. And although in his own district of Wei-ping he was the highest government authority, he was only one of the dozen or so district magistrates under the Prefect in Pien-foo. The steward was right, a visitor carrying a personal letter from the Prefect must not be kept waiting. Thank Heaven, he could think straight again!

He slit the letter open. It contained a sheet of official notepaper, inscribed with only a few lines.

'Confidential. The bearer of the present, Dee Jen-djieh, magistrate of the district Peng-lai, having attended a conference in the Prefecture and now returning to his post, has been granted one week's leave to be spent in Wei-ping, strictly incognito. Extend to the said Dee all possible assistance.'

-The Prefect.

Slowly Magistrate Teng folded the letter. His colleague from Peng-lai couldn't have arrived at a more awkward moment. And why did the fellow come incognito? Was there trouble brewing? The Prefect was known for his unconventional methods, he might well have sent this man Dee on a secret investigation. Should he put him off, saying he was ill? No, that would excite the suspicion of his household, for he had been perfectly well in the morning. He quickly gulped down the rest of the tea.

Now he felt better. He thought his voice sounded nearly normal when he addressed the steward:

'Pour out another cup, then give me my formal dress.'

The old man helped his master to don a long robe of brown brocade, and handed him a square cap of black gauze. The magistrate tied the sash round his waist. 'You can now bring Mr Shen,' he said. 'I'll receive him here in my library.'

As soon as the steward had left, Magistrate Teng walked over to the broad ebony bench reserved for receiving visitors. It stood against the side wall, under a scroll-painting of a landscape. He sat down on the left corner and verified that only half of the lacquer screen was visible from there. He went back to his desk. Thank Heaven that he could walk steadily again. But would his mind remain clear? As he was standing there, lost in thought, the door opened and the steward came in. He handed his master a red visiting-card inscribed with two large characters giving the name Shen Mo. In the lower left corner was added in smaller writing Commission Agent.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a flowing black beard and long side-whiskers came in and made a bow, his arms folded in the capacious sleeves of his faded blue gown. His well-worn black cap showed no insignia of rank. Magistrate Teng answered his bow, and spoke a few words of welcome. Then he motioned his guest to sit down on the bench, on the left of the low tea-table. He seated himself on the other side and gave the steward who stood hovering by the door a peremptory sign to leave them alone.

When the door had closed, the bearded man gave his host a keen glance from his quick, alert eyes. He spoke in a deep, pleasant voice:

'I have long been looking forward to meeting you, Teng. Even when I was still posted in the capital, I heard you praised everywhere as one of our great poets. And also, of course, as an exceptionally able administrator.'

Magistrate Teng bowed.

'You are too kind, Dee,' he said. 'Now and then I scribble a few verses, just to while away an hour of leisure. I had hardly dared to hope that a busy colleague, well known as a connoisseur of letters and, moreover, as a zealous detector of crimes, would deign to glance at my poor work.' He paused. The dizziness was coming back, he found it difficult to continue the usual courteous exchanges. He hesitated, then resumed: 'His Excellency the Prefect stated that you are here strictly incognito. Does that mean that your visit is connected with some criminal investigation? Excuse my abruptness, but ...'

'Not at all!' Judge Dee said with an apologetic smile. 'I didn't know that the Prefect's letter of introduction was so tersely phrased. I do hope it didn't cause you undue worry! The fact is that I found my duties in Peng-lai quite strenuous—doubtless owing to my lack of experience. Peng-lai is my first post as district magistrate, you know. I was just thinking of taking a brief holiday, when I was summoned to the conference on coastal defence in the Prefecture....