"Just a hunch."

She aimed a luminous smile into my heart.

"Carliss has that effect on people," she breathed.

"I had to ride with him all the way here. Until I saw you, I wanted to step in front of a truck."

My throat went dry as her breath kissed my cheek. I swallowed hard.

"That's not it. It began before I met him."

Now she frowned.

"Don't you trust Mr. Nakahatchi?"

I shrugged helplessly.

She gave me a squeeze of her own.

"Let's see what happens."

I didn't have anything better to suggest. Hong could probably handle an entire roomful of thugs, if it came to that. And Nakahatchi had no discernible reason to turn this appraisal into a battlefield.

But that didn't reassure me. Whatever the danger was, it didn't come from Nakahatchi. Or from anyone at Essential Sho-tokan.

At the top of the stairs, we moved toward the meeting room. The door was open, and I noticed that Lacone hadn't yet installed any of the bolts I'd requested. The display was visible, but I couldn't see anyone inside until Komatori bowed us through the doorway. Then I spotted Nakahatchi.

Like his senior student, he baffled my expectations. Since Komatori was wearing a business suit, I'd assumed that Nakahatchi would do the same. Instead, however, he had on an elaborate Oriental outfit I could hardly describe. A brocade bathrobe a kimono with gold stitching and too many colors draped his torso, closed at the waist by a wide white sash fastened in a knot that must've taken him a week to tie. Below the bathrobe he wore voluminous black pantaloons like culottes on steroids. White socks and cotton sandals peeked out under his pant legs.

Apparently this ensemble was the Japanese equivalent of a morning suit, or maybe even a tux. By rights, he should've looked ridiculous, but he didn't. Instead he seemed to emanate grave dignity. His costume had a stately processional quality that made the rest of us look shallow, as if we'd joined a funeral cortege after way too many beers.

As an exercise in Oriental manners, it made my skin crawl. I felt sure that Hong wouldn't appreciate it.

Like Komatori downstairs, Nakahatchi began by concentrating exclusively on Hong and T'ang. With a bow as stylized as his garb, he said, "Sifu Hong, respected T'ang, please be welcome in my small home. Your presence does me great honor." The seams on either side of his mouth looked deeper than they had the last time I'd seen him, cut into his cheeks by care.

"It fulfills one of my most cherished desires."

Hong bowed in return, but he didn't fool me. I could feel anger fume off his skin, so hot it boiled the air. As unobtrusively as I could, I shifted Deborah out of the way, moved closer to him.

"Nakahatchi, you shame me," he replied stiffly.

"I was not invited to a formal occasion. I was asked to consider the authenticity of the chops. It is offensive " "Ah, forgive me,"

Nakahatchi put in. His air of unrelieved mourning robbed the interruption of rudeness.

"That was not my intent. I have been very clumsy."

He took a small step forward, lowered his voice.

"It is my wife, Sifu Hong. Mitsuku-san is entranced with pleasure at the thought of your visit. She instructs me to invite you to take tea with us when the matter of this appraisal is concluded. And nothing would satisfy her but that I must show my respect as such things are done in Japan, among the old families. I protested that surely you would wish to make your own preparations. But she would have none of it.

"Sifu Hong," she insisted, 'does quite enough by consenting to visit.

No further effort is required of him." At last it became clear to me that I must comply with her wishes.

"The fault is mine entirely if I have erred."

Again he bowed as if he were offering the back of his neck to a blade.

A small sigh of relief escaped me. Halfway through Nakahat-chi's speech, I felt Hong's emotional temperature drop. Some arcane issue of "face" had been resolved. When Nakahatchi bowed, Hong did the same.

Then he offered, "A good wife is a great treasure. They ask much of those who hold them, as all treasures do." He sounded almost genial.

"Put my protest from your mind. I spoke in ignorance. T'ang Wen and I will take tea with you."

T'ang's face wore a congested expression, but he kept his mouth shut.

Which was a good thing. If he'd started trouble now, I might've punched him.

Deborah gave me a tentative smile, like she didn't quite grasp what had just happened.

"You are very gracious," Nakahatchi murmured in response.

On cue, Komatori stepped forward.

"Sensei, let me introduce Ms. Deborah Messenger, who represents Watchdog Insurance. Also Mr. Carliss Swilley, who is widely considered an authority on Chinese antiques. Mr. Axbrewder you've met. It was he who persuaded Sifu Hong to join us.

"Ms. Messenger, Mr. Swilley, Mr. Axbrewder, this is my master, Sihan Nakahatchi."

I took a few deep breaths while Nakahatchi shook hands all around.

Swilley had surprised me by containing himself this long. He'd exhausted his patience, however. As he put his limp hand in Nakahatchi's, he said, "I am an authority, sir. I recognize Leung Len Kwai's work when I see it. And if your chops were carved by someone else, I should be able to date them quite accurately. That, as you know, is critical to determining their value. A more recent copy can't compare with an eighteenth-century reproduction, especially if the workmanship suggests an authorized reproduction.

"There are several crucial questions. First " Deborah rolled her eyes at me, then interposed herself smoothly between Swilley and Nakahatchi.

"The chops are here, Mr. Swilley." Tucking her hand under his arm, she drew him toward the case.

"Why don't you explain while we look at them? That will help the rest of us understand."

Apparently he didn't care who he talked to, as long as he got to talk.

Still lecturing, he approached the display. Komatori opened it for him, then withdrew in my direction.

For a moment Hong held back. Maybe he didn't want to encroach on Swilley's expertise. Or maybe he just couldn't stand Swilley's manner.

But Nakahatchi urged him to go ahead with his own examination. Followed by T'ang, they joined Deborah and Swilley at the case.

I stayed where I was. I wouldn't learn anything by watching other people peer at ivory carvings. And I didn't enjoy the unconscious insult of Swilley's pedantry, his implicit assumption that Hong and Nakahatchi knew nothing. He could expatiate on "the Qianlong emperor's eulogy" and "the application of pidiao techniques to ivory during the Qing dynasty" until his jaw broke, and it would still be rude.

Komatori approached me. The pale scar cutting across his eyebrow into his left cheek gave his smile an ironic cast.

"You've done us a considerable service, Brew-san," he stated softly.

"My master and Sifu Hong may finally be able to dispel some of their differences."

"Over tea?" I asked, just to keep him talking.