CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Paul Stoner, Vickie's father, was easy.

He lived in a quarter-million dollar townhouse in New York's east Sixties, and his scream of death was just another on a block so used to screams that no one paid any attention to them anymore.

But before he died, he wrote a suicide note for Remo, implicating the other companies and financiers who had been involved in the Russian grain swindle which had driven the price of bread in America up by fifty percent.

Remo arranged the suicide to look like a suicide, then with the note in his hand, dialed Dr. Smith at the 800-area-code free-from-anywhere number.

«All over, Smitty,» he said.

«Oh?»

«Yeah, Stoner's dead. He confessed everything in a suicide note. You want the note?»

«No. Leave it there. I'll make sure federal agents find the body. That way the note won't get lost.»

«It says here in fine Japanese braille,» Remo said sarcastically.

«Just leave the note,» Smith said. «Anything else?»

«I guess Vickie won't have to testify now.»

«No,» Smith said. «Not with the note. That should cover everything.»

He stopped and Remo waited, but neither spoke.

«Don't you think you owe Chiun an apology?» Remo finally asked.

«For what?»

«For not having any faith in his ability to handle the Nilssons?»

«Does he want the apology or do you?» Smith asked.

«Well, now that you mention it, I guess we both deserve it.»

«When your paychecks aren't on time, then I'll apologize,» Smith said.

«As ever, you're gracious to a fault. I hope your yogurt curdles,» Remo said and hung up.

Later, back in their hotel room, he asked Chiun:

«One thing I don't understand, Little Father. When we saw him in the theater lobby, how'd you know that the old guy was Gunner Nilsson?»

«It is a strange thing about Swedish people,» Chiun said.

«What is?» Remo asked.

«They all look alike.»

Remo grunted. «At Darlington, how come he was able to put a shoulder into you?»

«I allowed him to.»

«Why?» Remo asked.

«Because I promised his brother I would treat Mm with respect.»

Remo searched Chiun's face. «Good for you,» he said. «Toop, toop, toop.»

«What is this toop, toop, toop?» Chiun asked. «The sound of one hand clapping, of course.»