The clothing he had used to fashion his outfit became heavier as it absorbed water but his great invention—his invisibility paint—began to expand and to form bubbles which began filling up with water. It was swelling, becoming cumbersome. He felt the growing size of it pressing against his arms and legs, making movements difficult.
He opened his mouth to call for help but his
only in his mind.
He tried to
Get rid of the clothes. Get them off.
He tried, but the garments seemed to cling to him like glue. His arms refused to move, to follow his commands to rip at his buttons and free themselves.
He felt as if he were wearing a suit of armor.
He felt numb.
He felt sleepy.
Then he didn't feel anything, anymore.
Remo hoisted himself up over the side of the larger boat.
"What are you doing?" Chiun demanded as he climbed back aboard.
"He crashed, Chiun. He rammed right into you. He probably sank like a stone."
"I know he sank like a stone, you white buffoon," Chiun said. "I threw him overboard. But his uniform. Do you realize we could make a fortune with that?" "What?"
"Can't you see the possibilities?" "I don't give a rat's ass about the possibilities," Remo said. "You're just money hungry."
"You do not want me to be rich. You want my people to forever starve, to be forever oppressed, to . . ."
Anything was better than listening to the whole spiel. Remo looked out at the calm sea. There was a faint, little whirlpool of ripples about fifteen feet from the boat. Remo wondered how deep the water was.
"Well, since I'm wet already," he said. Chiun patted him on the back in encouragement. Remo dove over the railing into the water. When he reached the spot of the ripples, he dove straight down. He could not gauge how deep he had gone, but he could feel the pressure of the surrounding water compressing the air in his lungs. And then before him, he saw Elmo Wimpler. The little man's eyes were open in the horror of death. No more bubbles came from his open mouth. His hair floated around his face like a gang of anarchistic snakes. He had reached the point in the water where the weight of his body matched the weight of the water surrounding him, and he hovered there, neither going up nor down. Some day, when the gases of death had formed inside his body, the specific density of the corpse would change, would lighten, and he would pop to the surface like a cork.
158
Remo reached out to touch the body and realized that the suit Wimpler was wearing had swollen like a balloon. His arms and legs looked as if they were welded together. The clothing was covered with great bubbles and even as Remo watched they broke open and disintegrated and slipped away into the water, tiny black slicks of paint breaking down.
He grabbed Wimpler by the neck and swam to the surface with Wimpler's body in tow. When he got to the boat he pushed the body up and over, onto the deck.
He followed.
"I can see him," Chiun complained.
"Not much of a looker, was he?" Remo said.
"The water has destroyed his secret," Chiun said. "Or the salt."
"Yeah," said Remo. "Something's ruining his cover."
"Throw him back," Chiun said.
"I beg your pardon," Remo said.
"I said throw him back. The suit is useless and he is dead so he is useless."
"Throw him back, like a fish?" Remo said.
"Just throw him back, like anything you want to throw him back as," Chiun said. "A fish, a stone, a pound of marbles. Throw him back and let us return to the island."
"Sheesh," Remo said. He hefted the body up, over the rail and dropped it.
It made a bigger splash striking the water than any too-small fish that had ever been thrown back.
The big boat lurched. Then Remo could feel it drop a few inches. He went to the other side and looked down. There was a gash in the wooden side.
159
The invisible paint had been ripped off and beneath it, Remo could see the torn wood, caused when Wimpler's small boat had slammed the side. The big boat was sinking. Let it, Remo thought.
grotesque parody of death. But this was no parody because there was no life left in the monarch's body. There was a smile on his face.
Princess Sarra was seated by the bed, her head in her arms. She was crying. Next to her on the mat-
"Let's go," he called. "Time to go home." Chiun j tress was the revolver with which she was to protect
followed him into their small boat. They cut loose ¡ her brother. The candles still burned in the room,
and turned back to shore, back to New Jersey, back ! She looked up as Remo and Chiun entered,
to the Emir and Princess Sarra. | "Remo . . ."
When they returned to the mansion, Remo called Smith from the first floor hall telephone.
"It's over," he said.
"Wimpler?"
"Dead. Bottom of the ocean."
"His invisible outfit?" Smith asked.
"You're getting just like Chiun," Remo said. "The salt water destroyed it."
"And the Emir?"