"I'd be embarrassed to admit it too," Remo said casually. "And you're holding up my retirement with small talk. You people reported a Hong Kong stock sell-off fifteen minutes before it happened. Where did that report come from?"
" I must tell you, my dear fellow," Plum said, "that the SEC does not have jurisdiction here. This is Hong Kong, a crown colony. We are subject to British authority. And British authority only."
Remo leaned over and took the telephone receiver in one hand. He squeezed. The plastic creaked. When Remo replaced it on the cradle, it resembled a dog's chew bone.
Remo smiled without humor. "Right now," he said, "you're subject to American intimidation."
"I see," Plum said weakly. "Well, all reports such as this go through our computer room. Perhaps it was a computer malfunction."
"Perhaps you'd better show me," Remo said in the same too-polite tone. He gestured toward the door.
Plum stood up, adjusting the cut of his charcoal-gray Edwardian suit. "I really must protest-"
"Protest all you want-after we're done. Call the SEC. Call the President. Just don't waste my time. Got that?"
"I believe I do," Plum said, coming around the desk.
Remo followed him with his eyes, noticing for the first time that Chiun wasn't in the room. On the way out of the room Plum picked up a silver-headed cane from a wooden rack by the door.
Remo followed him into the hall, where Chiun was engaged in conversation with a pair of white-gloved Hong Kong police officers. They were speaking in Cantonese, so the trend of the conversation was lost on Remo.
"I say . . ." Plum began, lifting his stick in the direction of the police.
Plum broke into a relieved smile as the police surged toward him. The smile went south-along with the faces of the two officers. As they passed the Master of Sinanju, they inexplicably tripped over their own feet.
It was one of the oddest sights Plum ever recalled seeing. Not only did both men trip, but they tripped in perfect synchronization, without having encountered any impediment in their path.
Most remarkably, they did not rise again.
"Ready, Little Father?" Remo asked.
"I would watch this one," Chiun said, drawing near. He nodded in Plum's direction. "He signaled for police in some fashion. But they will not bother us for a while."
"Meet Chiun," Remo told Plum.
"Charmed," Plum said through a frozen polite smile. It stayed on his face like a 3-D tattoo all the way to the computer room, six floors above.
"Where is Ian?" Plum asked a white-coated technician.
"I believe Ian is in the loo, sir."
"What's a loo?" Remo asked Chiun.
"The lavatory."
"Now that I know what a loo is, what's a lavatory?"
"I believe Americans call it the bathroom," Chiun said.
"Tell you what," Plum offered. "As Ian's superior, why don't I fetch him?"
"Just make it snappy," Remo said sourly.
Plum did. He came out almost as quickly as he went in. "Summon the police," he said, aghast. "Ian has been murdered."
"What!" Remo went into the rest room like a rocket. He found a young man seated on the toilet, his pants down around his knees, his forearms clutching his stomach and his eyes staring into eternity.
Remo smelled the blood before he saw it. It was dripping from the man's crossed forearms. Remo separated the arms. There were a dozen puncture wounds in Ian's naked abdomen.
"Damn," Remo said, stepping back into the computer room. He accosted Plum. "Who do you think did it?"
"Obviously it is a plot of some kind," Plum said. Remo looked past Plum and noticed Chiun's nose wrinkle distastefully.
"I smell blood," Chiun squeaked.
"I'm not surprised," Remo told him. "The dead guy is bleeding like a stuck pig."
"The blood I detect is not coming from that room, but from this man."
"I believe I may have touched him," Plum said. "Possibly got a spot of blood on my hands. Nasty business, murder. It offends the sensibilities."
Plum shifted his walking stick to his other hand and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used it to give his hands a brisk rub, his stick tucked under his arm. Remo noticed a drop of blood spatter from the knob. Another drop joined the first on the immaculate floor.
"Your stick appears to be bleeding, sport," Remo said.
"Ah, so it is," Plum said. "Thank you for pointing it out to me. I shall have to give it a thorough cleaning."
"He must think we're both idiots," Remo told Chiun.
"He is half-right," Chiun said.
"I don't quite follow," Plum said looking about his person for a place to put his bloodied handkerchief.
"Follow this," Remo said. "You killed Ian."
"Preposterous!" Plum sputtered. He took the other end of his stick in hand, twisting it anxiously. Remo could tell by that, that his guess had struck home. So he was prepared for what happened next.
Plum was twisting the walking stick nervously. Suddenly the stick slid apart, revealing a rapierlike blade. It was red for a third of its gleaming length.
"Watch it, Chiun!" Remo warned. "He's got a sword."
The blade came up in Remo's face. He didn't flinch as Plum slashed the air menacingly. The fine blade made the distinctive flutter and swish sound only the best swords produce.
"Give it up, Plum," Remo warned. "Or I'll get rough."
"Stay back. I am a master swordsman, I will have you know. Sandhurst and all that."
"Hey," Remo said, lifting both hands as if to surrender. "I'm unarmed."
"Capital. Then I shall run you through."
Plum lunged. Remo let the blade slide between his arm and rib cage. He clamped the blade with his armpit and twisted at the waist.
The tempered steel snapped. Plum withdrew, staring at his maimed blade.
"I say," he said stupidly. "This is quite unsporting. This sword cane has been in my family for generations."
"Sorry," Remo said in a mock-contrite voice.
"I demand satisfaction."
"Demand all you want," Remo said, plucking the tip of the sword from under his arm and breaking it into bite-size shards with quick finger movements, "but you're going to volunteer answers."
"I think not," Plum said stiffly, his eyes darting all around the room. He started to retreat, his broken sword still raised defensively.
"Shut the door, Chiun," Remo said. The Master of Sinanju closed the computer-room door. He stood there, his hands disappearing into his sleeves.
Remo advanced on Plum, who edged back toward a bank of windows.
"You killed him to cover up something, didn't you?" Remo said evenly. "Whatever it is, you're part of it. Wince if I'm getting uncomfortably close."
"I have only one thing to say to you, rebel!"
"Rebel?" Remo asked.
"Rule Britannia!" Plum shrieked, and threw himself into the window glass.
"Damn!" Remo said, leaping for the man. He had been prepared for another attack, not suicide. Plum went through the window headfirst. His polished shoes were going over the windowsill when Remo grabbed one. The shoe came off in Remo's hand. He recovered and got the silk-stockinged ankle.
"Give me a hand, Chiun," Remo barked. "He's fighting me."
The Master of Sinanju was already sweeping across the room at full sail.
Remo stuck his head out of the shattered panel. Below, the ant-farm congestion of Hong Kong traffic blared and hummed.
"Come on, Plum," Remo said. "You don't want to go this way."
"Let go of me, you blighter!" Clive Plum was kicking at Remo's free hand. Remo transferred his grip to Plum's other ankle.
Plum started kicking with the other foot, his face turning red as the blood rushed to it. A vein on his forehead was swelling as if about to burst.
Chiun took hold of the other ankle.
"Okay, let's reel him in," Remo said.
Plum abruptly stopped struggling. He hung limp as Remo and Chiun pulled him up over the sill.