Noble House

"Open the plastic bag," Phillip said.
"No. I might mess up any fingerprints that're on it," Dunross said, feeling stupid but saying it anyway.
"Oh—I'd forgotten about that. Damn. Of course, fingerprints! Mine are … I opened it of course. Mine must be all over it—all over everything."
"What's in it?"
"It's—" Phillip Chen came over and before Dunross could stop him pulled the cloth out of the plastic, without touching the plastic again. "You can't have fingerprints on cloth, can you? Look!" The cloth contained most of a severed human ear, the cut clean and sharp and not jagged.
Dunross cursed softly. "How did the box arrive?" he asked.
"It was hand delivered." Phillip Chen shakily rewrapped the ear and put it back in the box. "I just … I just opened the parcel as anyone would. It was hand delivered half an hour or so ago."
"By whom?"
"We don't know. He was just a youth, the servant said. A youth on a motor scooter. She didn't recognize him or take any number. We get lots of parcels delivered. It was nothing out of the ordinary —except the 'Mr. Phillip Chen, a matter of great importance, to open personally,' on the outside of the package, which she didn't notice at once. By the time I'd opened it and read the letter … it was just a youth who said, 'Parcel for Mr. Phillip Chen,' and went away."
"Have you called the police?"
"No, tai-pan, you said to do nothing."
Dunross went to the phone. "Have you got hold of John's wife yet?"
Dianne said at once, "Why should Phillip bear bad tidings to her? She'll throw a temperament that will raise the roof tiles never mind. Call Barbara? Oh dear no, tai-pan, not… not until we've informed the police. They should tell her. They know how to do these things."
Dunross's disgust increased. "You'd better get her here quickly." He dialed police headquarters and asked for Armstrong. He was not available. Dunross left his name then asked for Brian Kwok.
"Yes tai-pan?"
"Brian, can you come over here right away? I'm at Phillip Chen's house up on Struan's Lookout. John Chen's been kidnapped." He told him about the contents of the box. There was a shocked silence, then Brian Kwok said, "I'll be there right away. Don't touch anything and don't let him talk to anyone."
"All right."
Dunross put the phone down. "Now give me the letter, Phillip." He handled it carefully, holding it by the edges. The Chinese characters were clearly written but not by a well-educated person. He read it slowly, knowing most of the characters:
Mr. Phillip Chen, I beg to inform you that I am badly in need of 500,000 Hong Kong currency and I hereby consult you about it. You are so wealthy that this is like plucking one hair from nine oxen. Being afraid that you might refuse I therefore have no alternative but to hold your son hostage. By doing so there is not a fear of your refusal. I hope you will think it over carefully thrice and take it into serious consideration. It is up to you whether you report to the police or not, I send herewith some articles which your son uses every day as proof of the situation your son is in. Also sent is a little bit of your son's ear. You should realize the mercilessness and cruelty of my actions. If you smoothly pay the money the safety of your son will be ensured. Written by the Werewolf.
Dunross motioned at the box. "Sorry, but do you recognize the, er . . . that?"
Phillip Chen laughed nervously and so did his wife. "Do you, Ian? You've known John all your life. That's . . . how does one recognize something like that, heya?"
"Does anyone else know about this?"
"No, except the servants of course, and Shitee T'Chung and some friends who were lunching with me here. They . . . they were here when the parcel arrived. They, yes, they were here. They left just before you arrived."
Dianne Chen shifted in her chair and said what Dunross was thinking. "So of course it will be all over Hong Kong by evening!"
"Yes. And banner headlines by dawn." Dunross tried to collate the multitude of questions and answers flooding his mind. "The press'll pick up about the, er, ear and the 'Werewolf and make it a field day."
"Yes. Yes they will." Phillip Chen remembered what Shitee T'Chung had said the moment they had all read the letter. "Don't pay the ransom for at least a week, Phillip old friend, and you'll be world famous! Ayeeyah, fancy, a piece of his ear and Werewolf! Eeeee, you'll be world famous!"
"Perhaps it's not his ear at all and a trick," Phillip Chen said hopefully.
"Yes." If it is John's ear, Dunross thought, greatly perturbed, and if they've sent it on the first day before any negotiation or anything, I'll bet the poor sod's already dead. "No point in hurting him like that," he said. "Of course you'll pay."
"Of course. It's lucky we're not in Singapore, isn't it?"
"Yes." By law in Singapore now, the moment anyone was kidnapped all bank accounts of the family were frozen to prevent payment to the kidnappers. Kidnapping had become endemic there with almost no arrests, Chinese preferring to pay quickly and quietly and say nothing to the police. "What a bastard! Poor old John."
Phillip said, "Would you like some tea—or a drink? Are you hungry?"
"No thanks. I'll wait until Brian Kwok gets here then I'll be off." Dunross looked at the box and at the keys. He had seen the key ring many times. "The safety deposit key's missing," he said.
"What key?" Dianne Chen asked.
"John always had a deposit box key on his ring."
She did not move from her chair. "And it's not there now?"
"No."
"Perhaps you're mistaken. That he always had it on the ring."
Dunross looked at her and then at Phillip Chen. They both stared back at him. Well, he thought, if the crooks didn't take it, now Phillip or Dianne have, and if I were them I'd do the same. God knows what might be in such a box. "Perhaps I'm mistaken," he said levelly.
"Tea, tai-pan?" Dianne asked, and he saw the shadow of a smile in the back of her eyes.
"Yes, I think I will," he said, knowing they had taken the key.
She got up and ordered tea loudly and sat down again. "Eeee, I wish they'd hurry up … the police."
Phillip was looking out of the window at the parched garden. "I wish it would rain."
"I wonder how much it'll cost to get John back," she muttered.
After a pause, Dunross said, "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters," Dianne said at once. "Really, tai-pan!"
"Oh yes," Phillip Chen echoed. "$500,000! Ayeeyah, $500,000— that's a fortune. Damn triads! Well, if they ask five I can settle for $150,000. Thank God they didn't ask a million!" His eyebrows soared and his face became more ashen. "Dew neh loh moh on all kidnappers. They should get the chop—all of them."
"Yes," Dianne said. "Filthy triads. The police should be more clever! More sharp and more clever and protect us better."
"Now that's not fair," Dunross said sharply. "There hasn't been a major kidnapping in Hong Kong for years and it happens every month in Singapore! Crime's fantastically low here—our police do a grand job—grand."
"Huh," Dianne sniffed. "They're all corrupt. Why else be a policeman if it's not to get rich? I don't trust any of them. … We know, oh yes we know. As to kidnapping, huh, the last one was six years ago. It was my third cousin, Fu San Sung—the family had to pay $600,000 to get him back safely. … It nearly bankrupted them."
"Ha!" Phillip Chen scoffed. "Bankrupt Hummingbird Sung? Impossible!" Hummingbird Sung was a very wealthy Shanghainese shipowner in his fifties with a sharp nose—long for a Chinese. He was nicknamed Hummingbird Sung because he was always darting from dance hall to dance hall, from flower to flower, in Singapore, Bangkok and Taipei, Hong Kong, dipping his manhood into a myriad of ladies' honey pots, the rumor being it wasn't his manhood because he enjoyed cunnilingus.