"Mah-Li?" Remo called. His voice bounced off the bare walls.
Chiun raised,his nose. His nostrils clenched. "Smell," he commanded.
"What is it?"
"Death," said Chiun. "Come."
In the next room, the bedroom, Mah-Li lay on her sleeping mat, still in wedding costume. She lay with her face turned to the ceiling, pale hands folded upon her breast. Her eyes were closed. The room was still. Too still.
Remo pushed past Chiun. He knelt and tapped on Mah-Li's shoulder.
"Mah-Li? It's me," he whispered.
There was no response. And Remo suddenly, shockingly, recognized why the room was too still. He could not hear Mah-Li's heartbeat.
"Mah-Li!" he cried, lifting her head in his hands. Mah-Li's head lolled to face him. Her cheek was cool to the touch, her face the flat color of antique ivory. From the corner of one closed eye a dried tear had streaked down her cheek and under her chin. The tear was red.
Although he knew what the tear meant, Remo touched her throat. His trembling fingertip detected no pulse. Remo looked up into the stern face of the Master of Sinanju. His expression was stricken.
"She's dead," he said hoarsely. Chiun knelt and felt her face.
"What could have happened?" Remo asked, his voice cracking. "She was fine at the ceremony. That was only an hour ago. Little Father, can you explain this?" And Remo's mouth drew into a thin line.
The Master of Sinanju undid the high collar at Mah-Li's throat, disclosing a purple braise no larger than a dime. "A blow," he said. "Look."
The bruise was over the larynx. Remo felt it. One touch told him that the windpipe had been collapsed. He looked up.
Chiun nodded. "A single finger stroke did that."
"Whoever did this knew what he was doing. If it wasn't for the blood, I would suspect Sinanju."
Remo looked down at the face of the woman he was to have married. Even in death, it was a peaceful face. "Little Father," Remo said in a faraway voice. "Did you do this?"
Chiun came to his feet, girding his kimono about, his waist.
"I will assume that your grief has caused you to ask that question, and not you," he said. "Therefore, I will answer it and not take offense. No, I did not slay this poor child of my village. Such a thing would be sacrilege."
"Well, if I didn't do it, and you didn't, who did?"
"The murderer may still be about. Come, let us hunt the dog."
Carefully Remo lifted Mah-Li's head off his lap and set it on the sleeping mat. Unable to tear his eyes from her face, he stood up.
"Whoever he was, he couldn't get far in an hour," he said.
"Your grief has blinded you, Remo. Did you not see how the blood has dried on her cheek? That poor girl was slain last night."
"But the wedding was only an hour ago. She was there."
"Not her. Someone who looked like her."
"Something's not right here," said Remo.
"Come." Chiun beckoned. "There are answers to be sought. "
The Master of Sinanju stormed out of the house of Mah-Li, his face grim. Remo started after him, stopped, and dropped to one knee beside the body of Mah-Li. He kissed her once, on her slightly parted lips. They were cold and tasteless.
"I wish-" Remo started to say, but his voice choked off and he hurried from the house.
The Master of Sinanju waited for him in the courtyard. "We will accomplish more if we go our separate ways," he said.
"After this is over," Remo said grimly, "we may go our separate ways in more ways than one." His eyes were the color of a beer bottle that had been left out in the elements, dull and devoid of sparkle.
"If that is your wish, then so be it," said Chiun proudly. "I am content that I have done only what is right for my people and my village."
"Yeah, I noticed," Remo muttered, starting off.
Chiun watched him go. Remo's hands were clenched into white fists of rage. His back was straight and defiant, but the Master of Sinanju saw that his pupil walked with his head bowed, like a man who did not care where he was going-or one who had no place to go.
Shaking his head sadly, he turned to the shore road. And saw the man standing on the rocks.
The man was short. He stood with his hands on his hips, defiantly. His face was swathed, like his body, in black folds of cloth. And from the patch of uncovered skin at his face, slanted black eyes laughed insolently.
"You are not content to be a thief, ninja," Chiun hissed under his breath. "Now you are a murderer as well."
And as if the ninja could hear him across the rocks, he laughed out loud. The laugh was a rattle of contempt. "Remo!" Chiun shouted. "Behold!"
Remo whirled, his eyes following Chiun's accusing finger.
The ninja jumped back and disappeared behind the tumbled rocks of the beach.
Without a word, Remo burst into motion. He flashed past Chiun like a wild wind. The Master of Sinanju leapt after him.
"It is he, the thief from America," said Chiun.
"He did this," Remo bit out. "And he's going to suffer for it."
Together they topped the rocks and swept the beach below with their eyes.
"He is not here," said Chiun in a puzzled voice.
"Must be hiding," Remo decided, jumping onto the sand. "He couldn't have gotten far."
"But where?" said Chiun, following. "There is no place to hide."
Remo didn't answer. He ran along the beach, looking for footprints. But there were none.