The colonial black-and-white bungalow in the diplomatic enclave of Tanglin stood secluded behind ancient rain trees, bougainvillea trellises, and lush manicured lawns. Built in the nineteen-twenties for British civil administrators, the residence offered an oasis of serenity, its wide wrap-around verandas cooled by ceiling punkah fans and gentle tropical breezes. Arthur Mercer sat in a wide wicker armchair on the shaded veranda, dressed in a crisp linen shirt and light…
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