James Ch'ien via television
pickups hidden in the walls of his prison apartment in the basement.

Candron had listened to recordings of one man's voice for hours, getting
the exact inflection, accent, and usage. Now, he made use of that
practice.

"This is General Soong," he said sharply. "We are sending a Dr. Wan down
to persuade the guest. We will want recordings of all that takes place."

"Yes, sir," said the voice at the other end.

"Dr. Wan will be there within ten minutes, so be alert."

"Yes, sir. All will be done to your satisfaction."

"Excellent," said Candron. He smiled as he hung up. Then he punched
another secret number. This one connected him with the guards outside
Ch'ien's apartment. As General Soong, he warned them of the coming of
Dr. Wan. Then he went to the window, stepped out, and headed for the
roof again.

* * * * *

There was no danger that the calls would be suspected. Those two phones
could not be contacted except from inside the Palace, and not even then
unless the number was known.

Again he dropped down Elevator Shaft Three. Only Number One was
operating this late in the evening, so there was no fear of meeting it
coming up. He dropped lightly to the roof of the car, where it stood
empty in the basement, opened the escape hatch in the roof, dropped
inside, opened the door, and emerged into the first basement. Then he
started down the stairs to the subbasement.

The guards were not the least suspicious, apparently. Candron wished he
were an honest-to-God telepath, so he could be absolutely sure. The
officer at the end of the corridor that led to Ch'ien's apartment was a
full captain, a tough-looking, swarthy Mongol with dark, hard eyes. "You
are Dr. Wan?" he asked in a guttural baritone.

"I am," Candron said. This was no place for traditional politeness. "Did
not General Soong call you?"

"He did, indeed, doctor. But I assumed you would be carrying--" He
gestured, as though not quite sure what to say.

Candron smiled blandly. "Ah. You were expecting the little black bag, is
it not so? No, my good captain; I am a psychologist, not a medical
doctor."

The captain's face cleared. "So. The persuasion is to be of the more
subtle type."

"Indeed. Only thus can we be assured of his co-operation. One cannot
force the creative mind to create; it must be cajoled. Could one have
forced the great K'ung Fu-tse to become a philosopher at the point of a