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"Well," the old man said. He clamped his lips shut as if that constituted a full answer.
'Willy, it's important that you tell us," Remo
"What's in it for me?" Willy said.
"Let me discuss this with Mister Willy," Chiun whispered. "You don't know how to talk to old people." His green satin kimono flowed around him as he walked to the old man.
His hand darted out of his sleeve and he caught Willy's right ear between two fingers.
"Now answer questions," Chiun said.
"Owwwww. Yes sir."
"Willy will help now," Chiun said.
"I'm really glad you understand the mature mind," Remo said.
"All minds are alike where pain is concerned," Chiun said.
Once started talking, there seemed to be no way to quiet Willy the janitor.
"I didn't want anyone to think I was senile, but I heard it. I heard a voice. And it wasn't one of the voices of the partners 'cause I knew them voices 'cause they all sound like Long Island, but this voice wasn't like that, but when I went inside I didn't see nothing, but I know I heard it. And I ain't senile either. And I heard him say, 'This is the last one I do for free.' But I didn't see anybody. And then I had to call the police, and then I cleaned up that mess. It was awful, somebody left me this bloody, stinking mess and you don't know how long it took me to get that room clean again."
"But you saw nobody."
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"Just them bodies. Awful it was, brains and all, all over."
"The voice you heard. What did it sound like?"
"Just a voice. Soft like. But a man's voice. A soft, man's voice, like he was a whisperer, like you know how some people are."
Willy was still rubbing his ear. "Can I go now?"
"I'm done with you," Remo said.
"I am not," Chiun said. Willy clapped his hands over his ears in self-defense.
"Unhand your ears, you idiot," Chiun said. "When you came into this office last night, were the lights on or off?"
Remo shook his head. Chain's lights again.
"The switch was on," said Willy. "But all the lights was off. Nine of them. Count them. Nine of those bulbs. They was all burned out. And they was new bulbs, 'cause I only changed them like a month ago. I change all the bulbs at once 'cause I read a story once that it's more efficient to do it that way than to let them burn out and change them one at a time."
"So the bulbs were extinguished and you replaced them?" Chiun repeated.
'That's right, sir. Yes, sir. That's right."
"You may go," Chiun said, dismissing Willy with a wave of his long-nailed hands.
"That's handling those old folks, Chiun," said Remo after Willy left. "You call that respect?"
"Respect, unlike water, runs from low place to high place. This means that you should respect everyone you meet. I, on the other hand, am to be treated with respect by everyone. You may not like it, Remo, but it is the way of things."
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"Make your next lecture on modesty," Remo growled. "You do it so well. Why are you so interested in the light bulbs?"
"Because our invisible man," Chiun said, "can only be effective in the darkness. These last killings and the one of that man with the wife who varnished her hair were done in darkness. Darkness created by the killer. He may have a way, Remo, to turn out lights."
Remo nodded. The old Korean made sense.
"Then I guess we better turn out his lights and fast," Remo said.
The secretary in the outer office had overestimated the difficulty of compiling the names, addresses, and inventions of all the clients the firm had seen in the last six months. There were only twenty of them and she finished the job in twenty-eight minutes.
Remo sat at the conference table looking at the sheet of yellow paper on which she had printed in large block letters the client list.
He did not know what, if anything, he was looking for. But without leads, he would settle for anything. A clue. A hint. A hunch. Anything.
And it was there. The third name on the list.
"Chiun. Look at this." The Korean came over and stood behind Remo's shoulder.
"Invisible paint," Remo read. "Elmo Wimpler. And look at the address. Right next door to the guy with the varnished wife."
"The little man who did not like his neighbors," Chiun said.
"You're right," Remo said. Somehow he had failed to associate the name and address with the
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man they had met earlier. "The little nerd with the rented van."
"The little ones are often the most dangerous," Chiun said.
Remo looked at Chiun, who stood less than five feet tall, but suppressed the smile he felt that remark deserved.
"I think we ought to go back to Wimpler's house and see what we see," Remo said. "Or cannot see," Chiun said.
CHAPTER TEN
Elmo Wimpler had left his furniture behind when he left his ramshackle Brooklyn home. Looking around, Remo could understand why. His couch