"That Dr. Beers is a good fella," he told Elena Gladstone. "Always on the job."
"That's what we're paid for," Elena said, looking away from the old man with a smile. She finished buttoning her blouse.
There were guards at the beginning of the long private drive that led to Lippincott's sprawling West-chester estate and there were more guards at the big iron gates set into the twelve-foot high stone walls that bordered the grounds.
When they got close to the house, there were more guards prowling the perimeter of the main building, and inside the front door, there were two more guards.
One called by telephone to Elmer Lippincott's office and was told that Remo and Chiun were allowed to pass. The guard escorted them down the hallway, lined with original Picassos, Miros, and Seurats, with an occasional Cremonesi miniature gouache inserted for balance.
"These are ugly pictures," Chiun said.
"They're priceless works of art," the guard said.
Chiun tossed Remo a glance that said clearly that, at best, the guard was a person of no taste and discernment, and, at worst, might even be insane and therefore should be watched out for.
64
"They're fine," Remo said. "Especially if you like people with three noses."
"In my village, we had a painter," Chiun said. "Oh, could he paint. When he painted a picture of a wave, it looked just like a wave. And when he painted a picture of a tree, it looked just like the tree. That is art. He got much better when I convinced him to stop wasting his time painting pictures of waves and trees and to do important subjects."
"How many paintings did he do of you, Chiun?"
Remo asked.
"Ninety-seven," said Chiun. "But who counts?
Would you like one?"
"No," said Remo.
"Perhaps this Mr. Lippincott will want to buy them. What did he pay for this junk?" He looked to
the guard.
"That Picasso there cost four hundred fifty thousand dollars," the guard said.
"I do not appreciate your humor," Chiun said.
"Four hundred and fifty thou," the guard said. "That's what it cost."
"Is this true, Remo?"
"Probably."
"For a picture of someone with a head like a pyramid?" said Chiun.
Remo shrugged.
"What should I offer my paintings to this Mr. Lippincott for, Remo?" asked Chiun. "He whispered. "Because to tell the truth, I am running out of space for them."
"Try to get a hundred dollars for the lot," Remo
said.
"That is insane," said Chiun.
65
"Sure it is, but you know how these rich folks throw their money around," said Remo.
Elmer Lippincott was escorting Dr. Elena Gladstone to his office door, when the doorbell rang. "This'11 be the two security men from the government. I'll handle it." He leaned close to her ear, "And remember, you be careful." "I understand," she said. "Fine." He opened the door for her. Elena Gladstone stepped out into the hall. Her eyes met Remo's. His eyes were as dark as midnight caves and, involuntarily, she sipped in a puff of breath through open lips. She brushed up against him as she walked by and the smell of her hyacinth perfume filled his senses. She looked away and walked down the hall.
"Come on in," Lippincott told his visitors. Remo was looking down the hallway after Elena Gladstone. As she turned toward the front door, she glanced back at him and when she saw him watching her, she seemed embarrassed and turned her head resolutely away before walking off.
Remo followed Chiun into the office. The smell of the hyacinth perfume was still in his nostrils. "Nice looking lady," he told Lippincott. "She smells like a brewery," Chiun said. "My personal physician," Lippincott said. He nodded to the guard to return to his station and closed the office door.
"You haven't been sick, have you?" asked Remo. "No," Lippincott said with a small chuckle. "Just my regular checkup. Sit down. What can I do for you?"
66
"There are ninety-seven paintings for sale," Chiun said. "All beautiful representations of the visage of the kindest, gentlest, most noble . . ."
"Chiun," interrupted Remo sharply. He lounged in the blue suede sofa, facing Lippincott's desk. The sofa seemed permeated with the scent of the perfume. Chiun stood by one of the windows of the room, looking at Lippincott, who sat smoothly behind his desk. Remo asked:
"You know who we are?"
"I know that you've been sent here by people in very high places to see to our security. I don't know why. I don't know anything about it. I've bean asked to cooperate with you, even though we've been doing a pretty good job of protecting ourselves for as long as I've been alive."
"And your son who practiced swan diving into the street? Could he protect himself, too?" asked Remo.
Lippmcott's face reddened and his big hands clenched into tight fists.
"Lern was sick," he said. "He just cracked under the strain."
"Some people in Washington think maybe he was helped to crack," Remo said.
"Not a chance," said Lippincott.
"Enough trivia," said Chiun. "About those paintings . . ."
"Please, Chiun," said Remo. "Not now."
Chiun folded his arms and his hands disappeared into the open flowing sleeves of his blue kimono. He gazed impassively at the ceiling. ¦
"Who's taking over the Japanese deal?" Remo asked.