"I'm already on top of it, Smitty."
Smith gulped. He was so relieved that his normally ashen face flushed with perspiration. "You are?"
"Look out your window," Remo suggested.
Smith hesitated. Carrying the briefcase awkwardly, he moved over to the window. It faced the house next door. Smith peered through the chintz curtains.
Framed in the opposite window, Smith saw a blond man with a full golden beard. He was holding a telephone receiver to his face. His lips moved. The words they mouthed were reproduced in Smith's unbelieving ear.
"Hi, neighbor," Remo's voice chirped. "Come on over."
"Stay right there," Smith hissed. He slipped out the back door and crept to the rear of the other house. He knocked gingerly. The door opened.
"Don't mind the place," Remo said casually. "Chiun and I are still working on it."
Smith walked in on leaden feet. His face drained of color. Remo led him to the living room, which was bare except for a projection TV and two reed sitting mats. In the middle of the room stood a huge cardboard container.
"Grab a piece of floor, Smitty. I'll be just a minute. This arrived today. It was the first thing I bought after I closed on the house. I never thought I'd have an urgent use for it." Smith's eyes focused slowly.
"Your hair," he croaked. "That beard."
Remo touched his blond head. "One of Chiun's little schemes gone wrong," he said as he attacked the cardboard box with curved talonlike fingers.
"Your nails."
"Exhibit B," Remo said. The box lay in strips, exposing a tractor lawn mower. Remo pushed it over on its side, revealing sharp rotary steel blades. He began filing his nails on the sharpest blade. It sounded like two steel files rasping one another. Remo talked as he worked.
"I have to admit Chiun fooled me this time. I thought the soup was a special treat. You know, a celebration because we'd finally bought a house."
"This is your house," Smith said hoarsely.
"Yup. We answered an ad. Hey, imagine our surprise when we found out it was next door to yours." A fingernail dropped to the floor. Remo started to work on the next one.
"Imagine . . ." Smith's eyes were sick. He looked away, and through an open door he saw stacks of brass-bound lacquered boxes in the next room. They were festooned with old-fashioned padlocks. Chiun's steamer trunks. They fit Brunt's description perfectly. Smith didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So he swallowed uncomfortably.
"Naturally," Remo was saying, "I objected at first. But Chiun convinced me. He said the emperor's assassin should dwell no more than twenty cubits from his emperor. I didn't measure, but I guess we've got twenty cubits between us. Besides, we'd been living at Folcroft for over a year now, so I figured security wouldn't suffer."
"No. But I have. Do you have any idea what I've been going through for the last two weeks?"
"No," Remo said as he went to work on his other hand, "but I can guarantee you it's nothing compared to what Chiun and I have experienced. So do me the favor of not telling me your story and I'll return it. Okay?"
"Who is James Churchward?" Smith wanted to know. His hands hung limply.
"That's me. Sorta. It's one of the aliases you gave me. I used it when I bought this place. Don't tell me you forgot?"
"Oh, my God," said Smith. "No wonder I recognized the name. No wonder the computers couldn't access those files. I was fighting my own rebuff programs." He sank to the floor and took his head in his hands. He pulled at his gray hair. "I never thought to check your alias file. I never dreamed you were connected to this."
"Join the human race," Remo said when the last dead fingernail clipping clicked to the floor. "Now you know you're not perfect."
"Where is Chiun?" Smith asked hollowly.
"Next door. Paying a courtesy call on Mrs. Smith." Smith's head shot up.
"My wife?"
"Yeah, she recognized us from that time we met at Folcroft. She invited us over to tea, but I had my manicure to do. To tell you the truth, I think the only reason Chiun accepted was that he knows I'm still pissed at him over the egg-lemon trick."
"Egg-lemon?" Smith's voice was drained of emotion.
"Yeah, he's been feeding me egg-lemon soup for two weeks now. It's mostly lemon, but it's got eggshell bits in it. I've been drinking it by the gallon, little dreaming that the eggshells were making my nails grow faster and harder. You know how Chiun's always on my case to grow mine like his. But the joke turned out to be on him. The stuff turned my hair yellow. It freaked Chiun out. He says a true Master of Sinanju should not go around looking like a fuzzy lemon. And all the time I was on Moo, I thought the soft bone knives were the problem. These nails are ridiculous. They couldn't have been cut with anything less than tempered steel."
"Moo?"
Remo's hands shot up. "Forget I mentioned it. I'm just happy to be home. My roots are coming up brown again, so I figure I'll be completely normal in a week or two. Oh, well, live and learn. It could have been worse."
"How so?"
"It could have been egg-lime soup." Remo grinned, brushing at his hair.
When Smith didn't join in his laughter, Remo remarked, "You're aging just like vinegar, Smitty."
"I feel as if I've aged a year since I saw you last."
"Better let me help you to your feet," Remo said solicitously.
Dr. Harold W. Smith allowed himself to be helped to his feet. He winced at the pain in his arthritic knee.
The Master of Sinanju came in through the front door, and at the sight of Smith, he bowed formally.
"Greetings of the day, O tolerant Harold. I have been conversing with the Empress Maude. She is a sterling woman, truly worthy of one such as you."
"You don't have to lay it on too thick," Remo said. "He's not as upset as you expected."
"I am laying nothing on, thick or thin," Chiun protested. "I am merely offering up my thanks now that we will be neighbors with Emperor Smith. I trust while Remo and I were taking our much-overdue and thankfully received vacation, no villains troubled your kingdom?"
"You are supposed to check in every day, if you are not in a prearranged location," Smith pointed out sternly.
"Exactly what I told that innkeeper," Chiun said quickly. "And you should have been there to witness the tonguelashing I gave him. Do you know that scoundrel did not have a single working telephone?"
"I'm going home now," Smith said, shaking his head. "I do not feel well."
"A wise decision," Chiun said. "You look pale-but at least you are not a sickly yellow." Chiun shot Remo a distasteful glance. Remo stuck his tongue out at him.
After Smith had gone, Remo showed his spread fingers. "Notice anything?"
"Yes," Chiun said. "You have maimed yourself. Tonight I will lie awake, deprived of sleep, wondering what will be next. A ring in your nose? Tattoos?"
"Actually, my next goal in life is duck in orange sauce. I never thought I'd say this, but after all that soup, I'm really looking forward to duck. "
"You may look forward to it, but we have unfinished business. "
"Billiken?"
"He has the treasure of Moo. Including Sinanju's rightful share. He must not be allowed to go unpunished or word will get out that Sinanju has lost its mighty vigilance. Then the vultures will circle my village and the treasure of Sinanju will be prey to any fool who covets it. For it is our reputation that does most of our work for us. Otherwise we could not enjoy this splendid home, but instead be forced to dwell forever in the village of Sinanju, safeguarding our property. Such a day will never dawn while I am reigning Master. If it happens on your watch, it will be on your head, but as long as I live-"