"Close the door," you say in a quiet voice. He pulls the door shut. "Now spill it," you say sharply. "Who's Xu Huang? Why are you in Shanghai?" He shakes his head. You smile wickedly. "Oh, you'll talk," you say, as you pull a tiny blowtorch out of your pocket. You see a trickle of sweat running down the side of Jean-Claude's handsome face.
Suddenly, he seems to gag and choke. His face turns purple and he falls to the ground. You drop your blowtorch and kneel beside him. He's already dead. You pull his mouth open and a piece of what looks like a tooth falls out. A cyanide tooth, you think. You should have foreseen it.
Impatiently, you yank the briefcase from Jean-Claude's death grip. Using your blowtorch, you destroy the lock and open the case. Inside is white laundry.
Did Jean-Claude travel all the way from France with a briefcase full of laundry? It doesn't seem likely. He must have met with one of his Shanghai contacts and made an exchange. Unless you want to go home in disgrace, you'd better try to find Xu Huang.
