Noble House

Phillip Chen remembered how, panic-stricken, he had searched frantically for the further documentation, his mind shrieking that it was impossible for his son to have so much secret knowledge, impossible for him to have Struan's balance sheets of the prepublic days, impossible to know about Four Finger Wu and those secret things.
Oh gods that's almost everything I know—even Dianne doesn't know half of that! What else does John know—what else has he told the American?
Beside himself with anxiety he had searched every envelope but there was nothing more.
"He must have another box somewhere—or safe," he had muttered aloud, hardly able to think.
Furiously he had scooped everything into his briefcase, hoping that a more careful examination would answer his questions—and slammed the box shut and locked it. At a sudden thought, he had reopened it. He had pulled the slim tray out and turned it upside down. Taped to the underside were two keys. One was a safety deposit box key with the number carefully filed off. He stared at the other, paralyzed. He recognized it at once. It was the key to his own safe in his house on the crest. He would have bet his life that the only key in existence was the one that he always wore around his neck, that had never been out of his possession—ever since his father had given it to him on his deathbed sixteen years ago.
"Oh ko," he said aloud, once more consumed with rage.
Dunross said, "You all right? How about a brandy?"
"No, no thank you," Phillip Chen said shakily, back in the present now. With an effort he pulled his mind together and stared at the tai-pan, knowing he should tell him everything. But he dare not. He dare not until he knew the extent of the secrets stolen. Even then he dare not. Apart from many transactions the authorities could easily misconstrue, and others that could be highly embarrassing and lead to all sorts of court cases, civil if not criminal—stupid English law, he thought furiously, stupid to have one law for everyone, stupid not to have one law for the rich and another for the poor, why else work and slave and gamble and scheme to be rich—apart from all this he would still have had to admit to Dunross that he had been documenting Struan secrets for years, that his father had done so before him—balance sheets, stockholdings and other secret, very very private personal family things, smugglings and payoffs— and he knew it would be no good saying I did it just for protection, to protect the House, because the tai-pan would rightly say, yes but it was to protect the House of Chen and not the Noble House, and he would rightly turn on him, turn his full wrath on him and his brood, and in the holocaust of a fight against Struan's he was bound to lose—Dirk Struan's will had provided for that—and everything that almost a century and a half had built up would vanish.
Thank all gods that everything was not in the safe, he thought fervently. Thank all gods the other things are buried deep.
Then, suddenly, some words from his son's first letter ripped to the forefront of his mind, ". . . Add to these photocopies the other thing I told you about . . ."
He paled and staggered to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, tai-pan … I, er, I'll say good night. I'll just fetch Dianne and I … I'll .. . thank you, good night." He hurried off toward the house.
Dunross stared after him, shocked.
"Oh, Casey," Penelope was saying, "may I introduce Kathren Gavallan—Kathren's lan's sister."
"Hi!" Casey smiled at her, liking her at once. They were in one of the antechambers on the ground floor among other ladies who were talking or fixing their makeup or standing in line, waiting their turn to visit the adjoining powder room. The room was large, comfortable and mirrored. "You both have the same eyes—I'd recognize the resemblance anywhere," she said. "He's quite a man, isn't he?"
"We think so," Kathren replied with a ready smile. She was thirty-eight, attractive, her Scots accent pleasing, her flowered silk dress long and cool. "This water shortage's a bore, isn't it?"
"Yes. Must be very difficult with children."
"No, cherie, the children, they just love it," Susanne deVille called out. She was in her late forties, chic, her French accent slight. "How can you insist they bathe every night?"
"My two are the same." Kathren smiled. "It bothers us parents, but it doesn't seem to bother them. It's a bore though, trying to run a house."
Penelope said, "God, I hate it! This summer's been ghastly. You're lucky tonight, usually we'd be dripping!" She was checking her makeup in the mirror. "I can't wait till next month. Kathren, did I tell you we're going home for a couple of weeks leave—at least I am. lan's promised to come too but you never know with him."
"He needs a holiday," Kathren said and Casey noticed shadows in her eyes and care rings under her makeup. "Are you going to Ayr?"
"Yes, and London for a week."
"Lucky you. How long are you staying in Hong Kong, Casey?"
"I don't know. It all depends on what Par-Con does."
"Yes. Andrew said you had a meeting all day with them."
"I don't think they went much for having to talk business with a woman."
"That is the understatement," Susanne deVille said with a laugh, lifting her skirts to pull down her blouse. "Of course my Jacques is half French so he understands that women are in the business. But the English …" Her eyebrows soared.
"The tai-pan didn't seem to mind," Casey said, "but then I haven't had any real dealings with him yet."
"But you have with Quillan Gornt," Kathren said, and Casey, very much on guard even in the privacy of the ladies' room, heard the undercurrent in her voice.
"No," she replied. "I haven't—not before tonight—but my boss has."
Just before dinner she had had time to tell Bartlett the story of Gornt's father and Colin Dunross.
"Jesus! No wonder Adryon went cross-eyed!" Bartlett had said. "And in the billiard room too." He had thought a moment then he had shrugged. "But all that means is that this puts more pressure on Dunross."
"Maybe. But their enmity goes deeper than anything I've experienced, Line. It could easily backfire."
"I don't see how—yet. Gornt was just opening up a flank like a good general should. If we hadn't had John Chen's advance information, what Gornt said could've been vital to us. Gornt's got no way of knowing we're ahead of him. So he's stepping up the tempo. We haven't even got our big guns out yet and they're both wooing us already."
"Have you decided yet which one to go with?"
"No. What's your hunch?"
"I haven't got one. Yet. They're both formidable. Line, do you think John Chen was kidnapped because he was feeding us information?"
"I don't know. Why?" "Before Gornt arrived I was intercepted by Superintendent Armstrong. He questioned me about what John Chen had said last night, what we'd talked about, exactly what was said. I told him everything I could remember—except I never mentioned I was to take delivery of 'it.' Since I still don't know what 'it' is."
"It's nothing illegal, Casey."
"I don't like not knowing. Not now. It's getting . . . I'm getting out of my depth, the guns, this brutal kidnapping and the police so insistent."
"It's nothing illegal. Leave it at that. Did Armstrong say there was a connection?"
"He volunteered nothing. He's a strong, silent English gentleman police officer and as smart and well trained as anything I've seen in the movies. I'm sure he was sure I was hiding something." She hesitated. "Line, what's John Chen got that's so important to us?"
She remembered how he had studied her, his eyes deep and blue and quizzical and laughing.
"A coin," he had said calmly.
"What?" she had asked, astounded.
"Yes. Actually half a coin."