My cheeks grew hot. “I’m trying to solve a murder.” Which didn’t mean he was wrong, but I ignored that. “The book I read said the Shanghai Moon disappeared in the last days of the civil war. I asked them-Mr. Chen and Mr. Zhang-about that, but they wouldn’t talk about it. Can you tell me anything?”

“The gem’s disappearance?” He shook his head. “My father and I didn’t return to Shanghai until a Communist victory was clearly inevitable. Even then we were there just hours, racing for a ship for Taipei. My final memories of Shanghai are dark ones: dodging down alleys and lanes, running to meet my father on the Taipei Pearl, ahead of the slow, silent march of Mao’s soldiers toward the Bund.”

“How old were you?”

“By then, eighteen. Ms. Chin, let me ask you: Where was Rosalie Gilder’s jewelry found?”

“In a construction excavation.”

“In Hongkew?”

“No, in the area that used to be the International Settlement. On Jiangming Street. Mr. Zhang? What is it?”

C. D. Zhang had gone still. “If I’m correct, what is now Jiangming Street was once Thibet Road. The Chen family villa was at Number 12.”

“You mean…”

A long pause. “The story, the romantic one the wives whispered, was that Rosalie Gilder was never without the Shanghai Moon, wearing it always hidden on a chain around her neck. But there was another rumor, counter to that and equally persistent, that she didn’t take it to Hongkew. She was said to never lock her door, to underscore the fact that the brooch wasn’t there.”

I thought about this. “If she’d buried her jewelry before she went to Hongkew, why wouldn’t she dig it up once the war was over? The Jews didn’t have to stay in Hongkew after that, did they? Couldn’t she go back to the villa?”

“She could, and she did. But after the Japanese surrendered and left China in 1945, tyranny was replaced by anarchy as Nationalists and Communists tore at each other’s throats. Treasure of any kind was better buried, denied, declared already stolen. And after 1949, with the revolution blazing a glorious path into China’s future, it was both vulgar and perilous to admit to wealth.”

“So do you think it could be true?”

“I think, Ms. Chin, that each tale of the Shanghai Moon’s re appearance is credible to those who want to believe.” Then, slowly, came a different smile: indulgent, almost conspiratorial. “I will admit, however, this tale is more compelling than most. What will you do now?”

“I’m not sure. Your brother may yet talk to me: He said he would, though that may have been just to get me to leave. But I don’t know how much use he’d be. Any memories either of them have that could help in the search, they’d have followed already. As you say, childhood memories are unreliable, and they were both very young.”

“Yes.” C. D. Zhang nodded. “They were young. And I suppose Dr. Gilder is too old?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dr. Gilder. He and I are nearly of an age, though we barely know each other. I understand his mind has been slipping for some time now. So I suppose he’s of no help?”

“Who’s Dr. Gilder?”

“Paul Gilder,” said C. D. Zhang, surprised. “Rosalie’s younger brother.”

“You still have that car?” I asked Bill the second he answered the phone.

“What car?”

“Any car.”

“Sure. Why?”

“Pick me up. We’re going to New Jersey.”

Teaneck, specifically, our goal was. Where Dr. Paul Gilder, eighty-four, lived with his granddaughter’s family.

“It never crossed my mind he might still be alive,” I said as I snapped my seat belt. “Much less near here. He’s like a fairy tale character. I didn’t expect him to be real.”

“I wonder if he’ll be happy to know that.” Bill pulled the car into traffic.

“According to C. D. Zhang he doesn’t know much. His granddaughter said the same thing: He’s in and out. Why are you stopping here?”

“So you can get a cup of tea for the drive. I’m well trained.”

“Very. But please, no. I’ve spent the whole day with old Chinese men. You have no idea how much tea that involves.”

As we drove I told Bill about my phone conversation with Paul Gilder’s granddaugher, Anita Horowitz. “I came clean with her: told her I’d spoken to Mr. Chen, Mr. Zhang, and C. D. Zhang, told her about the Chinese cop and Joel, and about Wong Pan and Alice. The whole thing worried her, but she’s willing to let us speak to Paul. Though she doesn’t see how he can help. He’s only lucid sometimes, for one thing, and anything he ever knew, Mr. Chen and Mr. Zhang would know.”

“Maybe not, if they were just kids when the Shanghai Moon disappeared.”

“No, but since they came here in ’sixty-six they’ve been in touch with him. They’ll have pumped him long since.”

Bill’s GPS led us to a neat raised ranch with bright plastic toys dotting the lawn. A dark-haired woman answered the doorbell.

“You’re the detectives? I’m Anita Horowitz. Paul Gilder’s granddaughter.” As she stood aside to let us in, a toddler clomped up. She looked from one of us to the other and offered Bill half a cracker.

“Thank you.” He accepted it gravely.

“This is Lily,” Anita Horowitz said. “Lily, these people are here to see Zayde. Can you show them where he is?”

Lily ran off. As we followed, Anita Horowitz smiled at me. “You’ll be pleased to know you have a sterling reputation.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“After we talked, it occurred to me I should find out more about you. I called our lawyer and asked him to check around. I was prepared to send you packing, but he called back with a glowing report.”

“Well,” I said, straightening. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

“Now you, on the other hand…” She turned to Bill, but still with a smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll keep him in line.”

We came to a glassed-in porch, where Lily leaned against the knee of an old man in a wheelchair. He was smiling at her, smoothing her hair.

“He’s usually not sure who she is,” Anita Horowitz whispered. “He’s always asking her if anyone’s taking care of her. He’s relieved to see me with her, though half the time he doesn’t know who I am either. Wait here a minute.” She crossed the room and crouched next to him. “Zayde, some people are here to see you.” He looked up with interest, and she gestured us in.

“Dr. Gilder,” I said, pulling over a chair, “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

He peered through thick glasses. I tried to match his crumpled face to the photo of the young boy grinning next to Rosalie, but I had trouble. He looked up at Bill, then back to me, frowned, and leaned forward. A slow, marveling smile lit his face. “Mei-lin!”

I glanced at Anita, then back as Paul Gilder’s stiff fingers grasped my hand. “I’m so glad to see you, Mei-lin! Oh, my goodness, so glad! Why has it been so long?” His voice was weak, his English German-accented: “gled” and “vhy.” “And who is this? Ah, I know. An American, a soldier.”

“Navy, sir,” said Bill.

Paul Gilder shrugged. “Soldier, sailor. You’re very welcome in Shanghai, my friend. Mei-lin.” He searched my face. “You’re all right?”

“I-I’m fine.”

“When we didn’t hear, we feared… It was said the general… but enough! Rumors, all rumors. Such a relief! Where is Rosalie? Does she know you’re back? Have you seen your little Li? What a handful he is! Oh, he’ll be so happy to see you!”

“I…”

“Zayde,” Anita said, leaning toward him, “this is Lydia Chin. From New York. She wants to ask you some questions.”

Paul smiled. “Anita, my dear. Have you met…” Confusion seeped into his face. He looked from her to me. “Mei-lin? How is it… Anita…” He trailed off.

“This is Lydia Chin,” Anita patiently repeated. “She wants you to tell her about Shanghai.”

“Shanghai, yes, Mei-lin has come back to Shanghai.” But his voice was uncertain, and his gaze wandered into the garden.