"A ronin, not a samurai, and who can fathom the mind of a cruel Japanese?" said Chiun, returning the katana to the desktop.
"We don't know this man is Japanese."
"He is a ronin. Of course he is Japanese."
"Did you see his face?"
"No, it was . . . masked."
"He could be anyone."
"Smith's right, Chiun. How many times have the police nabbed some dip dressed like a ninja breaking into a house? They aren't really ninja."
"Even ninja are not really ninja," spit Chiun. He paced the floor. "Smith, accept the word of your loyal assassin. The man is a ronin. Seek no one else."
"If he is Japanese, there is a way we might prove this."
"How?"
"To reach Texarkana from Connecticut in less than a day requires air travel. I will search the computerized airline-reservation files for Japanese travelers."
Chiun beamed. "Excellent thinking." His gaze grew sharp as it fell upon his pupil. Remo pretended to be interested in the katana.
Harold Smith went to work. He logged on and off several times, but when he was done, his face was glum.
"No Japanese nationals left any of the major Texas airports for Connecticut on the day in question."
"Any land in Connecticut?" asked Remo.
"A few. But from other locations. None trace back to Texas."
"We're back to square one," said Remo. "What do we do now?"
Smith was thinking. They could tell because his pinched nostrils were distending methodically. Otherwise, he looked as if he had fallen into a trance.
"The central question at the moment is not whom, but for how long?"
Remo and Chiun looked at him. Smith took up his rimless glasses and began polishing them.
"By that, I mean is this samurai-"
"Ronin," Chiun corrected testily.
"-responsible for the most-recent derailments, or could the last three years of incidents be laid at his doorstep?"
"No doubt he is newly arrived on these shores. Otherwise, we would have heard of his depredations before this," suggested Chiun.
Smith shook his gray head. "No, we can assume nothing."
Chiun turned on his pupil. "Remo, you witnessed a train derail only a year ago. Tell Emperor Smith that you saw nothing out of the ordinary."
Smith's gaze went to Remo.
Remo blinked. "That's right. Remember last summer, Smitty? Chiun had me running all over creation performing the Rite of Attainment?"
Smith nodded.
"I was in Oklahoma City when a cattle train derailed. I pitched in to help."
"Was there anything usual about the derailment?"
"As derailments go, it was a bloody mess. Dead cows everywhere. Other than that-" Remo's face suddenly went strange.
"What is it?"
"Yes. Remo, speak," urged Chiun.
"When I was walking the tracks, I saw something weird. The engineer's head was up a tree."
"Up a tree?"
"Yeah. I figured he'd been decapitated in the wreck, and his head just bounced upward."
Chiun made a low moan and glared at his pupil. Remo avoided his cold regard.
"Last summer, you said?" Smith murmured.
"Yeah. July."
Smith pulled up his Amtrak file, got the incident on the screen and read in silence.
"It was a Santa Fe train. The NTSB cited traumatic amputation as a result of drug use on the part of the deceased engineer."
"Drugs?" said Remo.
"Yes, it says drugs."
"That wouldn't be a Melvis Cupper report, would it."
"Yes, how did you know?"
"He was trying to blame the Texas mess on a drugged-out engineer, too."
Smith's bloodless lips thinned noticeably. "Perhaps we might talk with Cupper again."
"Shouldn't be hard. Last we heard he was on his way to Mystic to check out the mess up there."