Dan started to swing the door closed, then saw a second man with a gun standing next to the one in the doorway, by the door that led back to the main room. Without his revolver, he couldn't fight or run from two armed men. He raised his hands and allowed the first man to turn him around and pat him down.

"Where's the Jap?" said the man.

"I don't know any Japs," Dan replied, wondering whether he could elbow the man in the gut and grab his gun before the other man could react.

"That little old guy you hang around with. The 'detective.'"

"I don't know where he is." Gone to get the police, if he had any sense, after Dan took so long searching the suite. "And he's from China, not Japan."

The man shoved his gun into Dan's back. "OK, I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to take a little walk over to the elevator, and we're going to ride down to the lobby, and then we're going to go for a little drive. I'm going to stay real close to you to make sure you don't get lost, and you're going to keep quiet and not tell anyone where we're going. You understand me?"

"I understand," Dan growled.

The other man opened the door of Doctor Fung's bedroom to let the three of them out, then raised his gun.

Dan heard a gasp from the corridor and shook his head. It was great that the Doctor showed so much concern for Dan's well-being, but did he have to show it every time Dan went somewhere dangerous?

"Come in," said the man behind Dan. "Close the door."

The Doctor complied, and the two men moved in front of him and Dan, giving Dan his first proper look at them. Both wore baggy trench coats over ill-fitting suits with muddy spats. A cheap fedora, pulled low, completed the outfit. The one who'd surprised him, the one who'd done all the talking so far, was small, pale and wiry, with a bad case of five o'clock shadow. The other was bigger and darker—​perhaps he had a Mexican parent or grandparent. Together they looked like Laurel and Hardy auditioning for a James Cagney movie. Dan reminded himself not to underestimate them. They might be dressed like kids pretending to be gangsters, but their pistols looked real enough, and they couldn't miss from this range.

"OK," said the small man, "seeing as you're both here, we can do this here. So here's the deal. You tell me what you were doing at Gold River this morning, and Jose here doesn't break your legs." He grinned. "Seems fair?"

Dan tried not to show any surprise. When these guys hadn't tried to kill him immediately, he'd assumed they were low-level thugs, sent to warn him and the Doctor away from the investigation. To do that, they didn't need to know anything about what he and the Doctor were doing. If they did know, they had to be more important than Dan had thought.

"It was a very small matter," the Doctor said. "Almost everyone who has a simple mystery that he cannot personally solve convinces himself that only the great Doctor Fung can find the answer. I decline to assist most of them, but occasionally one catches me in between more significant cases."

The little man brandished his pistol. "Get to the point."

The Doctor gave a nervous chuckle. "Your pardon, sir. My colleague Mr Barrister and I were asked to help determine the source of some defective anti-aircraft shells that had originated from the Gold River Munitions Factory. We identified a saboteur and informed the authorities. Our involvement in the case is now concluded."

"So who's this saboteur?" The man uttered the last word as though it tasted funny.

"We do not know his name, only his number."

"Which is what?"

The Doctor gave Dan an apologetic look. Dan shrugged. The saboteur had probably been arrested already, and if he hadn't, he surely knew he was under suspicion.

"4892," the Doctor said.

The little man nodded, as if that was exactly the number he'd expected to hear. Then he jabbed his pistol at the Doctor. "So if you're done with the case, how come you were at the courthouse this afternoon, looking for dirt on Mr Winterton?"

Before Doctor Fung could answer, there came a knock at the door. The little man started to turn towards the sound. Dan grabbed his chance and struck the man's wrist, knocking the pistol from his hand. Before it hit the floor, Dan followed up with a straight right to the jaw. The Doctor scooped up the pistol and aimed at the bigger man, who only now seemed to realise the tables had been turned.

"Room service!" shouted a man outside the door.

"Call the police!" the Doctor shouted back. "We have caught a pair of burglars!"

From the corridor came the sound of running feet, which faded rapidly. Dan easily took the bigger man's pistol and covered the little man, who was rubbing his chin and swaying slightly.

"Now would be a good time," Doctor Fung said, "for you to tell us anything you would rather the police did not know—​for example, the name of your informant at the courthouse."

The little man just glared at him. The effect would have been more intimidating if he'd been able to keep both eyes pointing in the same direction for more than a second.

Neither of the hoodlums spoke or moved until the sound of sirens came from the street. Then the little man said, "Buddy—​we can make it worth your while to tell the cops we got away. I'll even let you keep the Roscoes."

With a regretful smile, Doctor Fung replied, "Believe me, my friend, you could not make it worth my while."

Moments later, there was a knock on the door and a shout of, "Police! Open up!"

"The door is unlocked," the Doctor replied. "We have the suspects under guard."

The door burst open, and four police officers piled into the room, guns drawn. They quickly handcuffed the hoodlums, then their sergeant turned to Dan and the Doctor.

"Doctor Fung!" he exclaimed. "Boy, did you guys pick the wrong man to rob."

The Doctor made a little bow. "It seems my reputation precedes me, Sergeant, ah..."

"Coltrane. Jim Coltrane. It's an honour to meet you, sir." He offered his hand, which the Doctor shook. "So, why don't you tell us what happened?"

"While I do that," the Doctor said, "Dan, will you check whether anything has been taken, please?"

"They'd still have it, wouldn't they?" Dan replied.

"They may have had an accomplice who left before we arrived. And they may have caused damage while searching for valuables. We will be liable for it if we do not inform the manager before we check out."

Dan did as the Doctor asked, trying not to show any discomfort at how casually his friend was lying to the police. As Dan made a show of searching his room, through the open door he heard the Doctor recounting events from when they had entered the suite.

"Nothing's missing from here, and there's no damage," Dan called, as he went to check Doctor Fung's room. Of course nothing was missing from there either.

By the time Dan came back into the main room, the Doctor had finished telling Sergeant Coltrane how they got the better of the "burglars."

"Normally we don't recommend that members of the public tackle crooks," said Coltrane, "especially when they're armed. But I can tell you guys know what you're doing. Are you going to be in town for a few more days? We might need to ask you a few more questions."

"You are too kind, Sergeant," the Doctor replied. "I expect we will be here for the rest of the week, at least."

Once the police and the hoodlums had gone, the Doctor sank into an armchair and lowered his head into his hands.

"Pressure of fame getting to you, Doc?" Dan asked.

The Doctor leaned back and gazed at Dan. "Do not make light of such matters, my friend. In spite of my assurance to Sergeant Coltrane, we will have to find alternative accommodation tonight."

"Why? And why did you tell him those guys were burglars?"

"In answer to your first question, what I discovered at the courthouse this afternoon leads me to believe that when the minions fail to report to their master, the master may well decide to raise the stakes. And in answer to your second question, if the same criminal mastermind has saboteurs at the munitions factory and informants at the courthouse, I think it very likely that some of the local police are in his pay too. Lying about the minions' crime might confuse the informant or his master, or both, and buy us a little more time to enjoy the excellent dinner that is going cold in the corridor."