I then looked at the measurements of the two boxes. The one at Molesworth Cox and again at Cherished Treasures House in Beijing would fit into the box that George owned, as Dory had predicted that it would. However, because of the tight fit, only the smaller box could have contained something. Burton had called the box a coffret a bijoux, or jewelry box, but I didn’t think that was right, or if it was, then there was some very special piece of jewelry in the smallest box. It wasn’t big enough to contain a great deal of anything.
Dory had said there was a bigger box that she remembered. She had not hesitated at all on the subject. Now, I think relative size is a difficult thing to remember over many years, particularly given how close in size the two I’d seen were, so despite what she said, the missing third box could have been either larger or smaller than the ones I had seen. I wondered how long there had been between the auction at which George Matthews had bought the silver box he had, and the second one coming up in New York. Dory had implied that George had had his box in his collection for many years. Could I safely assume that was true? I wasn’t sure the answer to that was relevant in any way, but I had so little information that it seemed to me I just had to go on a data search and see what came up. I could simply phone up George and ask him, I supposed. I wasn’t sure yet whether or not I wanted to do that.
Dory had also said there would probably have been an external wooden box, although it was long gone. How did she know that? Was there something about these nesting boxes that required such a thing? Were there other nesting sets like this I might learn from? I wasn’t going to find that out in my hotel room.
I wished I could hold Dory’s box again, or the one that was stolen, to study more carefully the tableaux carved on the outsides. Having concluded that one of the women depicted there—women I’d once just glanced at, being more interested in the workmanship than the content—had been Lingfei, I suddenly wanted to find the missing box even more than I had before. Somehow this had gotten very personal, not just because of Dory, but because of the mysterious Lingfei herself. I suppose, like Burton, I was hooked.
As I contemplated all this, the telephone rang, a sound that jangled right through me, and caused me to jump up in dismay. I stared at the ringing phone, willing it to tell me who was calling, and finally picked it up. I said nothing, however.
“Lara? Are you there?” Dr. Xie said.
“Yes, Dr. Xie,” I replied.
“I woke you up, didn’t I?” he said. “That’s why you’re having difficulty speaking to me. I am truly sorry.”
“No, I’m awake,” I said. “I can’t sleep.”
“I was afraid of that. I am in the lobby. May I come up, or would you like to come down?”
“I’ll come down,” I said. There were two reasons for that decision: I wasn’t going to be in my room alone with anybody, even the lovely Dr. Xie, and I suddenly realized I was really, really hungry. I thought maybe food would settle me down a little.
I met Dr. Xie in the bar. He had a scotch, I had a hamburger and a glass of wine. I’m a firm believer in eating what the locals do, and have been known to make fun of tourists who insist upon eating their own food no matter where they go, but right now what I needed was a hamburger and fries—lots and lots of fries. Having said that, when the food came, I couldn’t eat it.
“Have you slept at all?” Dr. Xie asked in a disapproving tone.
“Not really, no.”
“Then I have a plan, one I hope you will agree to. First of all, let me tell you that Mira thinks she will have your passport by tomorrow evening, or the following morning at the latest. They are holding it only until the preliminary autopsy results are known, and we believe that should be late tomorrow. Of course, it will show death by some sort of misadventure, and you will be able to go. But I can see you are in some distress. First, you must get some sleep. I have brought you,” he said, pulling a small plastic bag out of his pocket, “some of Xie Homeopathic’s finest. You have a kettle and a mug in your room, no?” I nodded.
“Good. There are five or six teabags here. One teabag per cup, please, and one cup should do it. It will help you sleep. It smells a little strong when the boiling water first hits it, but let it steep for three minutes. It is all natural, no narcotics. You will find it tastes quite pleasant, and it will help you sleep. As for tomorrow, while we wait, I don’t want you sitting around thinking about Burton. I repeat my earlier offer. Jackie will pick you up tomorrow morning at, say, nine-thirty after the traffic settles down a little, and take you west of the city to see Famen Si, a quite extraordinary Buddhist temple, and some of the T’ang and Ming tombs.”
Tombs, I thought. There might be some merit in this excursion. Burton had found this trip educational. Perhaps I would as well. I’d be safe with Jackie. He’d already shown himself to be a good man in a crisis. “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the tea, and the offer of your car and driver. I accept both.”
“Good,” he said. “Now eat. I may not approve of your choice from the menu, but you need to eat something.” I did the best I could.
Later, door barred, I took out a teabag and did as I was directed. Dr. Xie was right. I drifted off to sleep fairly quickly and slept much of the night. It was a disturbed sleep to be sure. Inevitably, I kept dreaming about Burton. He was dead in my dream, dark blue of face, but he was still wearing gloves and making himself cups of tea.
Jackie was waiting for me at nine-thirty the next morning. He handed me a copy of China Daily, the English-language newspaper. One of my questions was answered right on the front page where, in addition to a story about a peasant demonstration not far from Xi’an where poor farmers were protesting corruption in government, and a mining disaster that had killed hundreds of workers, it was reported that a man had been murdered in Xi’an. This man, who had been identified as Song Liang, was an employee of the Cultural Relics Bureau. It was not known whether Song was in Xi’an on official business or vacation. Some vacation! The police believed he had been murdered by two men on motorcycles. The police had a good description of the perpetrators, and the investigation into this brutal crime continued and was expected to be brought to a speedy conclusion.
I was glad the article didn’t mention they were looking for a female foreigner. At least the people who had talked to the police about the crime knew who the culprits were. If Song Liang really was an employee of the Cultural Relics Bureau, then his presence in New York could be explained. He was attempting to purchase the silver box for the people of China. Governments indeed do such things. It certainly did not explain why he’d steal it, unless he’d been given a limit on how much he could spend and despaired of being able to purchase it at the price it might fetch, and just grabbed it on impulse, thinking he was doing his country a favor. Then what would he do? Take it to his employer and beg forgiveness? I didn’t know enough about how this all worked to say. If he had the silver box with him in Xi’an, then he had certainly not ‘fessed up in an expeditious fashion. The other possibility was that he was basically corrupt, had been in New York just to see who purchased it, and then planned to rob the purchaser. If you think that sort of thing never happens, you kid yourself. He’d certainly been unhappy when the object was withdrawn from sale, as unhappy as Burton and I had been.