Her smile faded and her chin began to jut. "And if I prefer not to go?""It's just our custom, Ciranoush. In America it's custom to call someone you've just met by his first name, it's not here. Even so …" Dunross stared back calmly, but just as inflexibly. "There's no loss of face in it.""I think there is.""Sorry about that—I can assure you there isn't."The others had waited, watching him and watching her, enjoying the confrontation, at the same time appalled by her. Except Ed Langan who was totally embarrassed for her. "Hell, Casey," he said, trying to make a joke of it, "you can't fight City Hall.""I've been trying all my life," she had said sharply—clearly furious. Then, abruptly, she had smiled gloriously. Her fingers drummed momentarily on the tablecloth and she got up. "If you gentlemen will excuse me…" she had said sweetly and sailed away, an astonished silence in her wake."I hardly threw her out," Dunross said."It was bloody funny, even so," Barre said. "I wonder what changed her mind? Eh Phillip?""What?" Phillip Chen asked absently."For a moment I thought she was going to belt poor old Ian, didn't you? But something she thought of changed her mind. What?"Dunross smiled. "I'll bet it's no good. That one's as touchy as a pocketful of scorpions.""Great knockers, though," Barre said.They laughed. Phillip Chen didn't. Dunross's concern for him increased. He had tried to cheer him up all evening but nothing had drawn the curtain away. All through dinner Phillip had been dulled and monosyllabic. Barre got up with a belch. "Think I'll take a leak while there's space." He lurched off into the garden."Don't pee on the camellias," Ian called after him absently, then forced himself to concentrate. "Phillip, not to worry," he said, now that they were alone. "They'll find John soon.""Yes, I'm sure they will," Phillip Chen said dully, his mind not so much swamped by the kidnapping as appalled by what he had discovered in his son's safety deposit box this afternoon. He had opened it with the key that he had taken from the shoebox."Go on, Phillip, take it, don't be a fool," his wife Dianne had hissed. "Take it—if we don't the tai-pan will!""Yes, yes I know." Thank all gods I did, he thought, still in shock, remembering what he had found when he'd rifled through the contents. Manila envelopes of various sizes, mostly itemized, a diary and phone book. In the envelope marked "debts" betting slips for 97,000 HK for current debts to illegal, off-course gamblers in Hong Kong. A note in favor of Miser Sing, a notorious moneylender, for 30,000 HK at 3 percent per month interest; a long overdue sight demand note from the Ho-Pak Bank for $20,000 U.S. and a letter from Richard Kwang dated last week saying unless John Chen made some arrangements soon he would have to talk to his father. Then there were letters which documented a growing friendship between his son and an American gambler, Vincenzo Banastasio, who assured John Chen that his debts were not pressing: "… take your time, John, your credit's the best, anytime this year's fine . . ." and, attached, was the photocopy of a perfectly legal, notarized promissory note binding his son, his heirs or assignees, to pay Banastasio, on demand, $485,000 U.S., plus interest.Stupid, stupid, he had raged, knowing his son had not more than a fifth of those assets, so he himself would have to pay the debt eventually.Then a thick envelope marked "Par-Con" had caught his attention.This contained a Par-Con employment contract signed by K. C. Tcholok, three months ago, hiring John Chen as a private consultant to Par-Con for "… $100,000 down ($50,000 of which is hereby acknowledged as already paid) and, once a satisfactory deal is signed between Par-Con and Struan's, Rothwell-Gornt or any other Hong Kong company of Par-Con's choosing, a further one million dollars spread over a five-year period in equal installments; and within thirty days of the signing of the above said contract, a debt to Mr. Vincenzo Banastasio of 85 Orchard Road, Las Vegas, Nevada, of $485,000 paid off, the first year's installment of $200,-000, along with the balance of $50,000 . . ..""In return for what," Phillip Chen had gasped helplessly in the bank vault.But the long contract spelled out nothing further except that John Chen was to be a "private consultant in Asia." There were no notes or papers attached to it.Hastily he had rechecked the envelope in case he had missed anything but it was empty. A quick leafing through the other envelopes produced nothing. Then he happened to notice a thin airmail envelope half stuck to another. It was marked "Par-Con II." It contained photocopies of handwritten notes from his son to Line Bartlett.The first was dated six months ago and confirmed that he, John Chen, would and could supply Par-Con with the most intimate knowledge of the innermost workings of the whole Struan complex of companies, ". . . of course this has to be kept totally secret, but for example, Mr. Bartlett, you can see from the enclosed Struan balance sheets for 1954 through 1961 (when Struan's went public) what I advise is perfectly feasible. If you look at the chart of Struan's corporate structure, and the list of some of the important stockholders of Struan's and their secret holdings, including my father's, you should have no trouble in any takeover bid Par-Con cares to mount. Add to these photocopies the other thing I told you about—I swear to God that you can believe me—I guarantee success. I'm putting my life on the line, that should be collateral enough, but if you'll advance me fifty of the first hundred now, I'll agree to let you have possession on arrival—on your undertaking to return it to me once your deal's set—or for use against Struan's. I guarantee to use it against Struan's. In the end Dunross has to do anything you want. Please reply to the usual post box and destroy this as we have agreed.""Possession of what?" Phillip Chen had muttered, beside himself with anxiety. His hands were shaking now as he read the second letter. It was dated three weeks ago. "Dear Mr. Bartlett. This will confirm your arrival dates. Everything's prepared. I look forward to seeing you again and meeting Mr. K. C. Tcholok. Thanks for the fifty cash which arrived safely—all future monies are to go to a numbered account in Zurich—I'll give you the bank details when you arrive. Thank you also for agreeing to our unwritten understanding that if I can assist you in the way I've claimed I can, then I'm in for 3 percent of the action of the new Par-Con (Asia) Trading Company."I enclose a few more things of interest: note the date that Struan's demand notes (countersigned by my father) become due to pay Toda Shipping for their new super container ships—September 1, 11 and 15. There's not enough money in Struan's till to meet them."Next: to answer Mr. Tcholok's question about my father's position in any takeover or proxy fight. He can be neutralized. Enclosed photocopies are a sample of many that I have. These show a very close relationship with White Powder Lee and his cousin, Wu Sang Fang who's also known as Four Finger Wu, from the early fifties, and secret ownership with them—even today—of a property company, two shipping companies and Bangkok trading interests. Though outwardly, now, both pose as respectable businessmen, property developers and shipping millionaires, it's common knowledge they have been successful pirates and smugglers for years—and there's a very strong rumor in Chinese circles that they are the High Dragons of the opium trade. If my father's connection with them was made public it would take his face away forever, would sever the very close links he has with Struan's, and all the other hongs that exist today, and most important, would destroy forever his chance for a knighthood, the one thing he wants above all. Just the threat of doing this would be enough to neutralize him—even make him an ally. Of course I realize these papers and the others I have need further documentation to stick in a court of law but I have this already in abundance in a safe place. . . ."