"Not as such. Not physical ailments, anyway. And I have never practiced psychology. Do you see?"

Chiun nodded. "But of course," he said, his tone perfectly even. "You are a physician who is not a physician who does not practice the healing arts. How very wise."

This man is a lunatic, the Master of Sinanju thought to himself. He smiled and nodded at Smith. "I don't think he understands," Smith said to MacCleary.

"But of course I do, Your Highness," Chiun told Smith.

"Chiun understands enough," Conn promised Smith.

"I am not a highness, either," Smith insisted, ignoring MacCleary. "Master Chiun, this is a delicate situation. I cannot give you the details of our mission here. I can only say that it will attract unwanted attention if you address me as Highness. And since I was not duly elected by the voters of this nation, nor do I have any desire to become president, it is wholly inappropriate for you to address me by that title, as well."

"Elected?" Chiun asked, arching a suspicious brow.

"Yes," Smith said. "America votes for its president-our king, if you will. It is the people here who choose the man who leads the country."

"So it is true," Chiun said, stroking his thread of beard wisely. "One hears rumors, of course. They tried a thing like that in Rome once. It didn't take."

"Yes," Smith said cautiously. "In any event, I would appreciate it if you call me Doctor."

But the Master of Sinanju shook his head firmly. "Would that I could obey, but I can see that title is neither appropriate nor adequate, for any quacksalver with a jar of leeches considers himself a doctor. And your regal bearing, handsome visage and piercing eyes tell me you are much more than a common bloodletter." Before Smith could argue more, the old man held up a staying hand. "However, since I am but a humble servant, I will honor your request, though it drives a dagger deep in my crude heart to do so."