"Yes."

"There's no problem on a line of credit, new or old."

"I think there is."

"The Victoria's our bank we're big stockholders."

"How big?"

"We've alternate sources of credit if need be. But we'll get everything we want from the Vic. They're cash heavy too."

"Your Richard Kwang doesn't think so."

Dunross looked back from the portrait sharply. "Why?"

"He didn't say, Ian. He didn't say anything, but Casey knows bankers and she read the bottom line and that's what she thinks he thinks. I don't think she's much taken by Havergill either."

After a pause, Dunross said, "What else does she think?"

"That maybe we should go with Gornt."

"Be my guest."

"I may. What about Taipei?" Bartlett asked, wanting to keep Dunross off balance.

"What about it?"

"I'm still invited?"

"Yes, yes of course. That reminds me, you're released into my custody by kind permission of the assistant commissioner of police. Armstrong will be so informed tomorrow. You'll have to sign a piece of paper that you guarantee you'll return when I do."

"Thanks for arranging it. Casey is still not invited?"

"I thought we settled that this morning."

"Just asking. What about my airplane?"

Dunross frowned, off balance. "I suppose it's still impounded. Did you want to use it for the Taipei trip?"

"It'd be convenient, wouldn't it; then we could leave to suit ourselves."

"I'll see what I can do." Dunross watched him. "And your offer's firm until Tuesday?"

"Firm, just as Casey said. Until close of business Tuesday."

"Midnight Tuesday," Dunross countered.

"Do you always barter whatever the hell someone says?"

"Don't you?"

"Okay, midnight Tuesday. Then one minute into Wednesday all debts and friendships are canceled." Bartlett needed to keep the pressure on Dunross, needed the counteroffer now and not Tuesday so he could use it with or against Gornt. "The guy from Blacs, the chairman, what was his name?"

"Compton Southerby."

"Yes, Southerby. I was talking to him after dinner. He said they were all the way in back of Gornt. He implied Gornt also has a lot of Eurodollars on call if he ever needed them." Again Bartlett saw the piece of information slam home. "So I still don't know how you're going to pay Toda Shipping," he said.

Dunross didn't answer at once. He was still trying to find a way out of the maze. Each time he came back to the beginning: the.spy must be Gavallan, deVille, Linbar Struan, Phillip Chen, Alastair Struan, David MacStruan, or his father, Colin Dunross. Some of Bartlett's information the banks would know but not their corporate losses this year. That figure had been too accurate. That was the shocker. And the "a written-up paper profit."

He was looking at the American, wondering how much more inside knowledge the man had, feeling the trap closing on him with no way to maneuver, yet knowing he could not concede too much or he would lose everything.

What to do?

He glanced at Dirk Struan on the wall and saw the twisted half-smile and the look that said to him, Gamble laddie, where are thy balls?

Very well.

"Don't worry about Struan's. If you decide to join us, I want a two-year deal 20 million next year too," he said, going for broke. "I'd like 7 on signing the contract."

Bartlett kept the joy off his face. "Okay on the two-year deal. As to the cash flow, Casey offered 2 million down and then one and a half per month on the first of each month. Gavallan said that would be acceptable."

"It's not. I'd like 7 down, the rest spread monthly."

"If I agree to that I want title to your new Toda ships as a guarantee this year."

"What the hell do you want guarantees for?" Dunross snapped. "The whole point of the deal is that we'd be partners, partners in an immense expansion into Asia."

"Yes. But our 7 million cash covers your September payments to Toda Shipping, takes you off the Orlin hook and we get nothing in return."

"Why should I give you any concession? I can discount your contract immediately and get an advance of 18 of the 20 million you provide with no trouble at all."

Yes, you can, Bartlett thought once the contract's signed. But before that you've got nothing. "I'll agree to change the down payment, Ian. But in return for what?" Casually he glanced at a painting opposite him, but he did not see it, for all of his senses were concentrating on Dunross, knowing they were getting down to the short strokes. Title to the huge Toda bulk-cargo ships would cover all of Par-Con's risk whatever Dunross did.

"Don't forget," he added, "your 21 percent of the Victoria Bank stock is already in hock, signed over as collateral against your indebtedness to them. If you fail on the Toda payment or the Orlin, your old pal Havergill'll jerk the floor out. I would."

Dunross knew he was beaten. If Bartlett knew the exact amount of their secret bank holdings, Chen's secret holdings, together with their open holdings, there was no telling what other power the American had over him. "All right," he said. "I'll give you title to my ships for three months, providing first, you guarantee to keep it secret between the two of us; second, that our contracts are signed within seven days from today; third, that you agree to the cash flow I've suggested. Last, you guarantee not to leak one word of this until I make the announcement."

"When do you want to do that?"

"Sometime between Friday and Monday."

"I'd want to know in advance," Bartlett said.

"Of course. Twenty-four hours."

"I want title to the ships for six months, contracts within ten days."

"No."

"Then no deal," Bartlett said.

"Very well," Dunross said immediately. "Then let's return to the party." He turned at once and calmly headed for the stairs.

Bartlett was startled with the abrupt ending of the negotiations. "Wait," he said, his heart skipping a beat.

Dunross stopped at the balustrade and faced him, one hand casually on the bannister.

Grimly Bartlett tried to gauge Dunross, his stomach twisting uneasily. He read finality in the-eyes. "All right, title till January first, that's four months-odd, secret to you, me and Casey, contracts next Tuesday that gives me time to get my tax people here the cash flow as you laid it out subject toa when's our meeting tomorrow?"

"It was at ten. Can we make it eleven?"

"Sure. Then it's a deal, subject to confirmation tomorrow at eleven."

"No. You've no need for more time. I might have but you haven't." Again the thin smile. "Yes or no?"

Bartlett hesitated, all his instincts saying close now, stick out your hand and close, you've everything you wanted. Yes but what about Casey? "This's Casey's deal. She can commit up to 20 million. You mind shaking with her?"

"A tai-pan deals with a tai-pan on a closing, it's an old Chinese custom. Is she tai-pan of Par-Con?"

"No," Bartlett said evenly. "I am."

"Good." Dunross came back and put out his hand, calling him, playing with him, reading his mind. "Then it's a deal?"

Bartlett looked at the hand then into the cold blue eyes, his heart pounding heavily. "It's a deal but I want her to close it with you."

Dunross let his hand fall. "I repeat, who's tai-pan of Par-Con?"

Bartlett looked back levelly. "A promise is a promise, fan. It's important to her, and I promised she had the ball up to 20 million."

He saw Dunross begin to turn away, so he said firmly, "Ian, if I have to choose between the deal and Casey, my promise to Casey, then that's no contest. None. I'd consider it a fav " He stopped. Both their heads jerked around as there was a slight, involuntary noise from an eavesdropper in the shadows at the far end of the gallery where there was a group of high-backed settees and tall winged chairs. Instantly, Dunross spun on his heel and, catlike, hurtled silently to the attack. Bartlett's reactions were almost as fast. He, too, went quickly in support.

Dunross stopped at the green velvet settee. He sighed. It was no eavesdropper but his thirteen-year-old daughter, Glenna, fast asleep, curled up, all legs and arms like a young filly, angelic in her crumpled party dress, his wife's thin rope of pearls around her neck.

Bartlett's heart slowed and he whispered, "Jesus, for a momenta Hey, she's as cute as a button!"

"Do you have any children?"

"Boy and two girls. Brett's sixreen, Jenny's fourteen and Mary is thirteen. Unfortunately I don't see them very often." Bartlett, gaining his breath again, continued quietly, "They're on the East Coast now. Afraid I'm not very popular. Their mothera we, we were divorced seven years ago. She's remarried now buta" Bartlett shrugged, then looked down at the child. "She's a doll! You're lucky."

Dunross leaned over and gently picked up his child. She hardly stirred, just nestled closer to him, contentedly. He looked at the American thoughtfully. Then he said, "Bring Casey back here in ten minutes. I'll do what you askers much as I disapprove of it because you wish to honor your promise." He walked away, surefooted, and disappeared into the east wing where Glenna's bedroom was.

After a pause, Bartlett glanced up at the portrait of Dirk Stfuan. The smile mocked him. "Go screw yourself," he muttered, feeling that Dunross had outsmarted him somehow. Then he grinned. "Eh, what the hell! Your boy's doing all right, Dirk old buddy!"

He went for the stairs. Then he noticed an unlit portrait in a half-hiWen alcove. He stopped. The oil painting was of an old gray~bearded sea captain with one eye, hook-nosed and arrogant, his face scarred, a cutlass on the table beside him.

Bartlett gasped as he saw that the canvas was slashed and counterslashed, with a short knife buried in the man's heart, impaling the painting to the wall.

Casey was staring at the knife. She tried to hide her shock. She was alone in the gallery, waiting uneasily. Dance music wafted up from below rhythm and blues music. A short wind tugged the curtains and moved a strand of her hair. A mosquito droned.

"That's Tyler Brock."

Casey spun around, startled. Dunross was watching her. "Oh, I didn't hear you come back," she said.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make you jump."

"Oh that's all right."

She looked back at the painting. "Peter Marlowe was telling us about him."

"He knows a lot about Hong Kong, but not everything, and not all his information's accurate. Some of it's quite wrong."

After a moment she said, "It'sa it's a bit melodramatic, isn't it, leaving the knife like that?"

"Hag Struan did it. She ordered it left that way."

"Why?"

"It pleased her. She was tai-pan."

"Seriously, why?"

"I was serious." Dunross shrugged. "She hated her father and wanted us all to be reminded about our heritage."

Casey frowned, then motioned at a portrait on the opposite wall. "That's her?"

"Yes. It was done just after she was married." The girl in the painting was slim, about seventeen, pale blue eyes, fair hair. She wore a low-cut ball gown tiny waist, budding bosom an ornate green necklace encircling her throat.

They stood there looking at the picture for a moment. There was no name on the little brass plaque on the bottom of the ornate gilt frame, just the years, 1825-1917. Casey said, "It's an ordinary face, pretty but ordinary, except for the lips. They're thin and tight and disapproving and tough. The artist captured a lot of strength there. It's a Quance?"

"No. We don't know who painted it. It was supposed to be her favorite portrait. There's a Quance of her in the Struan penthouse, painted about the same time. It's quite different, yet very much the same."

"Did she ever have a portrait done in later life?"

"Three. She destroyed them all, the moment they were finished."

"Are there any photos of her?"

"Not to my knowledge. She hated cameras wouldn't have one in the house." Dunross laughed and she saw the tiredness in him. "Once a reporter for the China Guardian took her picture, just before the Great War. Within an hour she sent an armed crew from one of our merchantmen into their offices with orders to burn the place if she didn't get the negative and all copies back, and if the editor didn't promise to 'cease and desist from harassing her.' He promised."

"Surely you can't do that and get away with it?"

"No, you can't unless you're tai-pan of the Noble House. Be- sides, everyone knew that Hag Struan didn't want her picture taken and this cocky young bastard had broken the rule. She was like the Chinese. She believed every time your picture's taken you lose part of your soul."

Casey peered at the necklace. "Is that jade?" she asked.

"Emeralds."

She gasped. "That must have been worth a fortune."