"Is Traditional Wing Chun a new school? Have you always been located here?"

"No, Mr. Axbrewder." Now T'ang sounded like the man I'd talked to at the tournament, accessible and at ease. He'd already taken Hong's attitude to heart.

"My master came to this country from Hong Kong twenty years ago. For a time he visited other Wing Chun masters in various cities, considering possibilities. When he had determined that Garner was suitable, he opened his doors to students."

Which must've been long before Lacone started dreaming about Martial America.

"As he prospered," T'ang went on, "he invited more and more of his family to join him from Hong Kong and China. My paternal grandfather was my master's uncle by marriage. My parents were among the first to accept my master's invitation, and I began study with him fifteen years ago."

Presumably Sternway was still fuming on the sidewalk, so I started toward the stairs. I wouldn't exactly grieve over it if he got fed up and left. On the other hand, he might have an answer for questions I didn't know how to ask T'ang. What he'd told me outside no longer seemed adequate.

As T'ang accompanied me, I observed, "After that many years, Sifu Hong must've been pretty well established. What made him decide to move into this buildine?"

That was as close as I could get to what I really wanted to know.

The subject didn't produce any discomfort.

"Sternway sensei is widely known," T'ang answered calmly.

"Association with him is beneficial. In addition, my master considers that the goals of the IAMA, and of Martial America, are worthy. He believes the time for exclusiveness in the martial arts has passed, and he favors open cooperation among the many styles for the benefit of all.

"Also" from the head of the stairs T'ang gestured toward the dojos below us "the facilities are excellent.

"When Sternway sensei asked the martial artists of Garner to consider this location, my master was the first to agree." Pride showed in his voice.

"I was given the honor of signing the first lease in his name."

Which sure didn't make it sound like T'ang or Hong distrusted Lacone.

Something must've changed relatively recently.

T'ang and I descended the stairs. To keep him talking while I tried to think of a different approach, I asked, "How long was Traditional Wing Chun alone here?"

An innocent question, I would've said. But apparently I'd plucked an unexpected nerve. T'ang stopped so abruptly that my momentum carried me a couple of steps past him before I could turn to find out what was wrong.

His eyes were almost level with mine. Their silver hinted at incandescence.

"We were not," he pronounced distinctly.

"When Nakahatchi sensei learned that my master had agreed, he signed a lease with an earlier date of occupation."

I blinked.

"Nakahatchi was already here when you moved in?"

"Yes," T'ang stated.

"He had been uncertain of his own decision. But when he learned of my master's, he made arrangements to place himself first."

"Why bother? What's the point?"

T'ang shrugged disdainfully.

"He is Japanese. The Japanese seek precedence over the Chinese in all things."

Oh, good. More racial stereotyping. Just what we needed.

I wanted to retort, Gosh, are you sure? Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Hong. Maybe Nakahatchi's previous lease just expired before yours and he had to move earlier.

Maybe you're just a narrow-minded little bigot, and everything you say is horse shit.

But I knew myself too well. Once I got started, I probably wouldn't stop until everyone in the damn building knew how I felt. I was supposed to be polite here. Martial America needed less hostility, not more.

Practically biting my tongue, I moved on down the stairs and headed for the front door. T'ang followed a few paces behind me.

Nevertheless I had no intention of letting good manners interfere with my other priorities. When we reached the door, I put my back to it and confronted T'ang. Without transition, I asked, "Did you know the man who was killed at the tournament? Bernie Appelwait?"

That touched no nerves at all. T'ang looked mildly surprised, but I didn't pick up the slightest vibration of unease as he replied, "His death is disturbing and shameful, Mr. Axbrewder. My master hopes that his killer will be apprehended quickly. We both knew him by name, and we saw him in the course of his duties during Sternway sensei's tournaments. But I have never spoken with him, and my master has made no mention of such a conversation."

"You don't have any students related to him? You didn't consult him about security at your former dojo?"

Perplexity tightened on T'ang's brows.

"Indeed no."

"Is it possible," I went on, "that Sifu Hong might've had dealings with him you wouldn't know about?" Trying to be polite, I didn't mention things like loan sharks.

T'ang shook his head.

"Mr. Axbrewder, Hong Fei-Tung is my sifu. I do not ask such questions. But I do not believe it is possible. My duties include all business transactions for Traditional Wing Chun. About my master's personal concerns I know nothing.

"However" he smiled delicately "we are Chinese. We need no assistance in matters of money."

Oh, well. I hadn't actually expected anything as far-fetched and simple as a direct connection between Bernie and this school or the chops. But I had to check.

That left Lacone. And Nakahatchi.

With visions of Sternway's indignation dancing like sugar plums in my head, I thanked T'ang Wen, told him that I'd get in touch if I needed anvthine else, and let mvs elf out.

I found HRH waiting right where I'd left him. His white shirt caught so much sunlight that it seemed to blur around him, enclosing him like flame. Expecting trouble, I braced myself for another flare of his exasperated condescension.

But he almost knocked me off stride with a lukewarm smile.

"How did it go?" he asked in a tone of polite disinterest. He didn't sound impatient and certainly not angry. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses.

What the hell ? I stared at him.

"Fine."