"Get back to the breathing," said Remo. "What does breathing have to do with these things?"

"That's how we discovered that human beings can produce these waves at will. It's a relaxed breathing process in which you slow down your breathing. You relax your way to power."

"And you can do these things?"

"Well, not exactly me. But I've seen others. You see, I'm not exactly a representative of the institute, anymore. They're very finicky."

"About what?"

"Commissions and things, and using this power for good, I say power is power and has no purpose other than itself."

"You stole money or something?"

"There was an accident. They blamed me for the girl's death, but I say what is the life of a child when I can help all mankind. I, Dr. Averill Charlese. And, with you, we could make a fortune."

"Breathing, you say, huh?"

"Breathing."

And Remo listened. About the institute. About the narrow-minded people running it and how Dr. Charlese was not actually a doctor exactly. He was a doctor in the broader sense. One person bestowed the title on another, therefore he was bestowing it on someone he knew was worthy of the title. Himself.

"You could call yourself doctor, too," said Charlese.

"Breathing you say," said Remo.

In the late afternoon, Remo heard the set in the lounge of the suite click off. He nodded for Dr. Charlese to follow.

When they entered the lounge, the old Oriental turned his head.

"Little Father," Remo said, "I would like to introduce you to someone very interesting. He is not privy to any secrets of Sinanju. Neither has he been taught by any master. He learned what he knows in an American City called Houston, Texas, from white men."

Chiun's placid eyes moved up and down the lacquer-haired visitor with the bubbling Rotarian smile. He turned away as if someone had pointed out an orange rind. He was not interested.