"How would he know our number?"
"How would he know to find us where he found us in the first place?" Chiun retorted. "Ghosts know all manner of dark secrets. That is one privilege of being a ghost. They lurk invisible. They spy unsuspected. There is no defense against their vaporous wiles."
"Seems to me a ghost smart enough to use telephones and cars wouldn't take a zillion years to walk across the Atlantic."
"Ronin are inconsistent. No doubt he is crazed from harboring centuries of grief and shame."
Remo's eyes were on the monotonously blinking light.
"Maybe Smith called us before the wreck."
"From a train? Do not be ridiculous, Remo."
"They have rail phones now. Just like on airplanes."
"It is the ronin, " Chiun hissed. "He is very clever."
"For a guy who walked the wrong way to America," Remo said dryly.
Chiun eyed Remo thoughtfully. "You cannot let go of your emperor. That is your problem."
"I still can't believe Smitty's dead."
"He will never die in our hearts. Even if his noble bones have been consigned to the cold clay, we will remember him always. Now, cast him out of your mind. We must pack."
And because he knew the Master of Sinanju was right, Remo allowed Chiun to chase him from the room.
THE SUN WAS COMING UP as Chiun was going through his steamer trunks some twenty minutes later.
Upstairs the telephone rang and rang.
Standing up, Chiun raised his voice. "Do not dare climb the tower stairs, Remo. I know what you are thinking."
Remo's voice came from down the hall. "I'm in the bathroom, Chiun."
"Stay there. I am still about my packing. Answer no telephones."
"Who would be calling us at this hour?" Remo called back.
"A houseless ghost knows no rest. We will ignore the fingerless fiend."
But the phone rang and rang and rang. It stopped after nearly fifty rings. Almost at once it rang again. And kept ringing.
Remo came out of the bathroom dripping from a cold shower. He wore a towel around his waist. Except for his freakishly thick wrists, he looked as ordinary as soap.
He poked his head into the room where Chiun was busy packing.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.
Chiun did not look up from folding kimonos. "You are thinking wrong."
"Harold Smith is the only guy I know who would flog a telephone line like that. Then hang up and go round all over again."
"It is the ronin. In the days of Kang, they would knock on any door for hours until given food."
Remo cocked an ear ceilingward. "Sound's like Smith's ring to me."
"You are imagining things."
"Maybe the ronin's leaving a message. Think I'll mosey upstairs and eavesdrop."
Chiun leaped to his feet. "You will do nothing of the sort!" he said, pointing with a threatening finger. Realizing it was his blunted index finger, Chiun hastily made a fist and shook it at Remo.
Remo said, "I won't pick up the phone, I promise."
"The ronin will hear you eavesdropping. They are like that."
"Oh, get off it, Chiun."
"Remo!"
But Remo had floated up the stairs.
In the bell tower the phone kept ringing. And ringing. Oddly the message machine wasn't picking up.
Remo saw why when he looked more closely. The tape was used up.
Rewinding, Remo set it at the beginning and hit Playback.
A weak voice croaked, "Remo. Smith. Call me. Urgent."
Beep.
"Remo. This is Harold Smith. As soon as you are back, contact me the usual way."
The voice was stronger now.
Six messages later the voice of Harold Smith was quite strong. And very annoyed.
The Master of Sinanju had entered by this point.
"Sounds like Smith to me," Remo told him.
"Yes, it does sound like Smith," Chiun admitted.
"Sounds like he's still with us."