Death In Shanghai by M J Lee Page A

understand is why you are practising medicine in Shanghai. You may be registered, but you have not been licensed, has he, Stra-chan?’
    ‘No, sir, registered but not licensed. I checked with the Medical Council before we came.’
    ‘And if you are not licensed, then all this,’ Danilov waved his hands in the air indicating the elegant office, ‘just vanishes in the blink of an eye.’ He snapped his fingers.
    The doctor stared at the fingers. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead and ran down the oily skin.
    ‘So, what was that about doctor–patient confidentiality? I don’t think I understood it.’
    The doctor pulled a white handkerchief out from his pocket and began to dab his face, pulling at his collar as he did so. The loosening of the collar also seemed to loosen his tongue. ‘Everything I say will be confidential?’
    ‘Naturally, it’s just between these four walls and six ears. A fool’s tongue runs before his feet.’
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
    ‘It’s a saying from Minsk. In Russia,’ said Strachan.
    ‘Thank you, Stra-chan. Please continue, Doctor.’
    The doctor picked up the fountain pen and began to spin it nervously using the tips of his fingers. He glanced down at the photo once again. ‘This is one of my patients. Henry Sellars. He also goes under the name Harriet Sole.’
    ‘I don’t understand, please explain,’ said Danilov.
    The doctor ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. ‘Henry Sellars came to me about six months ago. He had some worries…’
    ‘He used to dress as a woman?’
    ‘More than that. He thought he was a woman. And in his mind, he was. It’s an interesting condition. He was an androgyne.’
    ‘An androgyne?’
    ‘A man who believes he is a woman. Not as rare as you would think. Kraft-Ebbing estimates that one in every three hundred men has this belief. According to him, their psyches, tastes, and manners are more or less conspicuously feminine. On the sexual side of life, the ultra-androgyne desires as far as possible to pass for a woman. The ultra-androgyne feels himself to be a female and is attracted only toward the ultra-virile or tremendously virile, males.’
    The doctor stopped speaking and the pen started to spin in his fingers again.
    ‘And how were you treating him, Doctor?’ asked Danilov.
    ‘A few injections. The permanent removal of hair. He wanted me to remove his sexual organs.’
    Out of the corner of his eye, Danilov could see Strachan cross his legs. ‘Is that common?’ he asked.
    ‘Not common but possible. Hirschfeld in Germany has perfected a technique for the operation.’
    ‘Chinese history is full of examples. The Imperial Eunuchs are rumoured to have kept their severed members in a jar beside their bed, looking at them every night before they went to sleep. The Empress Ci Xi…’
    Inspector Danilov held up his hand. ‘Thank you, Stra-chan. Please continue, Doctor.’
    ‘Of course, I have never performed the operation in Shanghai. I’m not licensed.’ The smile had returned.
    ‘But you have performed it in America.’
    ‘Yes, on three occasions.
    ‘And the patients?’
    ‘For them, it’s life-changing. Literally.’
    ‘How did he come to you?’
    ‘I’m well known in the community. Most of my patients get to hear of me through word of mouth.’
    ‘Oh, and where would one hear such words? Where would one see such mouths?’
    ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’ The smile had vanished again and more beads of sweat had formed on the doctor’s forehead.
    Danilov remained silent.
    The fountain pen was now revolving like a spinning top caught in a hurricane. After an age of spinning, the doctor spoke. ‘Most of my patients go to a particular club.’
    ‘Which “particular” club?’
    ‘The Paresis Hall on Foochow Road. Most of the androgynes go there. There’s a small number of gynanders too. But I don’t treat those.’ A look of distaste crossed the doctor’s