When he set off, pretending to ignore the beggars and rickshaw coolies who besieged him as he walked down the broad stone steps, he saw a rickshaw being pulled away, a girl leaning back under the canopy. She glanced round at him with heavy-lidded eyes, very like those of the girl he'd seen on Mason's veranda. But he looked away at once before he could be certain, although he felt sure she continued to stare at him with a frank, inquisitive gaze.
10
ON THURSDAY AT TEN he knocked on Mr Brown's solid door and was summoned in. Mr Brown was sitting, as before, writing at his desk, and the punkah creaked regularly, as before, over his lowered head.
'Let us see how much you have learnt.' He closed his eyes and rested his bulging forehead between his hands, meditating for several long seconds, as if he were drawing the questions up from some solemn pool deep in his brain.
Denton licked his lips and waited.
At last Mr Brown opened his eyes, raising his massive head just enough to rest his chin on the steepled tips of his fingers. He exhaled slowly through pursed lips, stirring the limp grey fringes of his moustache, and cleared his throat portentously. 'Mr Denton, what tax is chargeable on goods exported via Chinese ports?'
'Five per cent ad valorem, sir.'
'And ad valorem means?'
'According to value.'
Mr Brown's faint grey eyebrows rose, giving him an implausibly perplexed expression. 'But who decides the value?'
'The assessor, sir.'
'Correct, Mr Denton, the assessor decides.' His brows slowly lowered, and his eyes closed for a second. 'Now tell me, what do you understand by the term likin ?'
'Er, it's a tax on anything that crosses the boundaries of a province.'
'Anything, Mr Denton? A donkey wandering in search of grass, for instance?'
'Oh.' Denton stirred on his chair. 'On specified goods only, sir.'
'Exactly,' Mr Brown nodded deliberately, then rested his chin on his fingertips again. 'On specified goods only, Mr Denton. We must be precise.'
'Yes sir.'
'That is why we are here - to be precise. The Imperial Chinese government has had a Customs Service for hundred of years, Mr Denton, but it was not precise. It is our duty to inject precision into a loose and apathetic organization that has not known it before and generally does not welcome it now.'
'Yes sir.'
'Precision, Mr Denton.' Again his brows rose in mock perplexity. 'But who decides the amount of likin in cases where the value of those specified goods is contested between the Customs officer and the owner?'
'The assessor, sir?'
'Precisely, Mr Denton.' His eyes gleamed with pride, as if he had led a dull pupil to appreciate at last a sparkling intellectual truth. 'There you have it, the assessor again!' He surveyed Denton satisfiedly for a moment and then narrowed his eyes gravely. 'Now we come to the question of opium, a question which, together with the question of salt, may be regarded as providing the raison d'être of the Imperial Chinese Maritime Customs Service.' He paused significantly and moistened his lips. 'Under what circumstances is it now legal to import opium into China?'
'When it is handled by a Chinese importer, sir.'
'And?'
Denton looked at him, nonplussed.
'Is it legal to import opium into China through a Chinese importer without payment of tax and, if need be, likin?'
'Oh I see, sir. No sir.'
'No it is not.' Mr Brown smiled. He unsteepled his hands to toy with his watch chain, glancing up at the clock on the wall. 'And in what ways are tax and likin payable?'
'Well, sir, it can be paid on entry into the country, in which case it is specially packed and stamped with the Customs seal....'
'With the Imperial Chinese Maritime Customs seal,' Mr Brown chided him.
'The Imperial Chinese Maritime Customs seal, sir,' Denton nodded.
Mr Brown was easing a gold watch out of his pocket. 'Precision, Mr Denton,' he murmured. 'Precision, even about titles.'
'Yes sir.'
He opened the case and frowned down at the dial, tilting his head to one side. 'And the other method?'
'To put it in bond, sir.'
Mr Brown glanced from his watch to the clock on the wall, then closed the case and slid the watch back into his pocket, nodding gravely. 'What is the regulation governing the importation of opium and when was it made effective?'
'Er, I think nineteen hundred and two, sir. I can't remember the number.'
'Notification number two hundred and sixty one.' Mr Brown smiled again, self-gratulatingly. 'And it became effective in nineteen hundred and three - this very year of grace.'
'I see, sir.'
'Is there any other method of paying tax and likin on opium imported into the Chinese empire?'
'Er, no sir. Opium from abroad is illegal to be imported,' he stumbled and went on, 'unless tax and likin have been paid like that.'
'It is illegal to import opium otherwise, Mr Denton. Not Opium from abroad is illegal to be imported. '
'Yes sir.'
'Precision in grammar as well as in other things. Always express yourself precisely.'
'Yes sir.'
'And finally,' Mr Brown stirred in his seat, 'to whom must all reports of searches, inspections and confiscations be made in the first instance?'
'To the assessor, sir?'
'There you have it again Mr Denton! The assessor once more! Always the assessor. Remember that, remember it well.' His lids drooped slowly down in satisfaction. 'Very well, Mr Denton, that will do for now. I shall arrange for you to accompany Mr Mason on his rounds in Upper Section and Mr Johnson later, down at the Woosung forts.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'And have you found a suitable Chinese teacher yet?'
'I'm going to start next week, sir.'
'I recommend you to apply yourself to it.' He glanced sharply up at the punkah, which seemed to be slowing, and struck the bell on his desk three smart blows, still gazing upwards.
The blade began to swing more quickly again. Mr Brown breathed out through his moustache. 'Precision, you see, Mr Denton. Precision in everything. Our watchword must be precision.'
'Yes sir. Oh, and thank you for the invitation. It arrived this morning.'
'No doubt you will be sending Mrs Brown a note of acceptance in due course,' Mr Brown hinted discreetly as Denton rose to leave.
11
THEY MOVED FROM QUAY TO QUAY through the Upper Section of the wharves, Mason swaggering ahead, Denton following a pace behind, self-conscious in his new uniform. The docks, open to the sloping evening sun, stank of rotting refuse, coal dust, oil, and all the casual effluents of the city that the sluggish muddy waters of the river washed lazily along. Burly Sikh watchmen lounged by the gangways, swinging long wooden clubs, while coolies watched from the shade of the godowns, silent and lethargic, squatting on their heels and smoking cigarettes through wide brown bamboo pipes.
At each vessel the Chinese agent greeted them respectfully and handed Mason the cargo manifest, waiting alertly - often, it seemed, nervously - while Mason lounged in the saloon, assessing duty and demanding in his abrupt, domineering tones to inspect some case or other in the hold. Each agent offered them drinks, cigarettes and cigars with ingratiating politeness. Mason invariably accepted, sticking the unsmoked cigar in his tunic pocket.
'What's