be his maximum, if everything went well.

"It pains me to ask for money in advance from so honorable a gentleman
as yourself," said the clerk, "but such are the rules. It will be seven
and a half yuan per day, or fifty yuan per week."

Candron put five ten-yuan notes on the counter. Since the readjustment
of the Chinese monetary system, the yuan had regained a great deal of
its value.

* * * * *

A young man who doubled as bellhop and elevator operator took Candron up
to the third floor. Candron tipped him generously, but not
extravagantly, and then proceeded to unpack his suitcase. He hung the
suits in the closet and put the shirts in the clothes chest. By the time
he was through, it looked as though Ying Lee was prepared to stay for a
considerable length of time.

Then he checked his escape routes, and found two that were satisfactory.
Neither led downward to the ground floor, but upward, to the roof. The
hotel was eight stories high, higher than any of the nearby buildings.
No one would expect him to go up.

Then he gave his attention to the room itself. He went over it
carefully, running his fingers gently over the walls and the furniture,
noticing every detail with his eyes. He examined the chairs, the low
bed, the floor--everything.

He was not searching for spy devices. He didn't care whether there were
any there or not. He wanted to know that room. To know it, become
familiar with it, make it a part of him.

Had there been any spy devices, they would have noticed nothing unusual.
There was only an old man there, walking slowly around the room,
muttering to himself as though he were thinking over something important
or, perhaps, merely reminiscing on the past, mentally chewing over his
memories.

He did not peer, or poke, or prod. He did not appear to be looking for
anything. He picked up a small, cheap vase and looked at it as though it
were an old friend; he rubbed his hand over the small writing desk, as
though he had written many things in that familiar place; he sat down in
a chair and leaned back in it and caressed the armrests with his palms
as though it were an honored seat in his own home. And, finally, he
undressed, put on his nightclothes, and lay down on the bed, staring at
the ceiling with a soft smile on his face. After ten minutes or so, his
eyes closed and remained that way for three-quarters of an hour.

Unusual? No. An old man must have his rest. There