The girl must have been another of Granger’s women.
Field needed cash, but had to wait in a long queue in the central hall of the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank. The ceiling was made of elaborate colored glass.
He looked at the Roman figures surrounding the dome at the entrance, representing Sapienta, Fides, and Prudentia, among others.
To his left, small groups of men and women huddled together beneath two huge chalkboards. The one on the left listed the closing prices on Wall Street, headed by Reading and Baldwin Locomotive, a plus sign next to the final price showing that both had seen small rises on the day. The other listed Shanghai prices, and two men in long tunics stood in front of it, one of them reaching up to rub out and replace the figures as a colleague farther back shouted out instructions.
Field looked at his watch, thinking that he would probably be early for the meeting he’d arranged with Caprisi and Chen at the central library. It would give him time to get started.
He shuffled closer to the front of the line. A tiny Chinese, his head only just above the counter, was arguing with the teller. Field examined the boards behind the counter that listed currency rates in English and Chinese.
When he was the next in line and confident of not losing his place, Field filled out a slip for a withdrawal of thirty Shanghai dollars. He looked up through the brass grille to try to calculate what his salary was worth in pounds this month.
He finally stepped up to the counter and smiled at the young girl behind it as he pushed the form across. “An account balance also, please.”
The girl checked the slip he had filled out, then got up and walked back to the huge filing cabinets that stretched all the way from one end of the room to the other. She checked the number and disappeared around the corner.
She returned a few moments later with a buff-colored file and ran her finger down the page before taking a sheet of paper from the box in front of her, writing down an amount, and handing it to him. She began to count out the cash for the withdrawal he had requested. Field looked at it for a moment and frowned. He showed it to her. “Are you sure you have the right account?”
She looked at the file. “Mr. Field, yes?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Field frowned again. “Has there been a credit?”
She checked it once more. “Credit today, two hundred; credit today, two hundred.”
“Two credits?”
“Yes.”
“Both for two hundred?”
“Yes.”
“Four hundred in total?”
“Yes.” She was looking at him now as if he were the stupidest man she’d ever met.
“The first one for two hundred—my salary, the same source?”
“Police force.”
“Yes. What about the other? Who . . .”
“Cash.”
“Cash?”
“Yes, pay in cash.”
Field found it hard to control the excitement in his stomach as he walked out of the bank into the light drizzle and subdued bustle of the Bund. It seemed clear that the supplement Granger had talked of—which had to be the source of the extra money—was effectively doubling his salary, and, for the first time in his life, it would leave him with something to spare. It would mean a decent pair of shoes, nights out—he would be able to afford to drink at the Majestic. He could put some aside, send some home to his mother. This winter she’d be able to pay for coal.
His first thought had been that the supplement was generous and even of questionable honesty, but his qualms faded quickly. The fact was his salary was poor, even mean, and if Granger wanted to make sure his men got extra from department funds to reflect the nature of their work, then that made sense.
A few minutes later he sprinted up the wide stone steps of the public library on Nanking Road and entered a room that was almost as cavernous as the bank he’d just left.
The bookcases were two or three times his height. One of the librarians was retrieving a book from the top shelf with the aid of a small stepladder. The reference counter was directly ahead. A sign in English and Chinese hung from the ceiling above it.
Field took out his identification as a timid-looking Chinese girl approached him. “From the Special Branch.” She looked as if she might faint, so he smiled encouragingly. “I need the last six months of the following.” He smiled again. “Got a pen?” She scurried back to her desk to get a pen and a piece of paper. “The
Field took a seat at one of the long wooden tables and waited.
It was about twenty minutes before she wheeled them in on a trolley with the help of a porter dressed in a
