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effective, and this will succeed
     only if the physician has access to the rarest and mightiest of all healing agents....” He
     paused and scratched his head. “The ancient ideograph for 'ginseng' is accompanied by an
     exceptionally elaborate construction that I would translate as 'Great Root of Power.' Has
     anyone ever heard of a ginseng Great Root of Power?”
    Nobody had. Li Kao went back to the text.
    “The Great Root must be distilled to the essence, and three drops must be applied to the
     tongue of the patient. The treatment must be repeated three times, and if it is truly the
     Great Root, the patient will recover almost immediately. Without such a root no cure is
     possible....” Master Li paused for emphasis. “And while the patient may remain in his
     stupor for months, he cannot be awakened, and death is inevitable.”
    “
    
    
     Ku
    
    
     poison!” the abbot exclaimed.
    Now the bonzes checked every reference to ginseng, which meant almost every page because
     at one time or another the plant had been prescribed for almost every ailment known to
     man, but nowhere was there a reference to a Great Root of Power. We had reached a dead end.
    Li Kao suddenly smacked the table and jumped to his feet.
    “Back to Pawnbroker Fang's office at the warehouse!” he commanded, and he started up the
     stairs at a trot, with the rest of us at his heels. “The Guild of Pawnbrokers represents
     the world's second-oldest profession, and their records are older than the oracle bones of
     An-yang. The Guild publishes lists of extremely rare and valuable items that might escape
     the untutored eye, and a Great Root of Power, if such a thing exists, will probably be
     worth ten times its weight in diamonds and will look like a dog turd,” he explained. “A
     fellow like Fang would undoubtedly subscribe to the entire list, in hopes of swindling an
     heir who does not know the value of his inheritance.”
    He trotted rapidly down the path and through the door of the warehouse, and then he
     trotted right over the spot where two bodies should have been lying.
    “Those fellows?” he said in answer to our stunned expressions. “Oh, they got up and took
     to their heels a long time ago.”
    I grabbed the abbot and held him, but Big Hong and a number of others were closing in on
     the ancient sage in a menacing manner.
    “Do you mean that you knew all along that those murderers were faking their suicides?” the
     abbot roared.
    “Of course, but one should be careful about charging them with murder. So far as I know,
     they haven't killed anyone yet, and they certainly never intended to,” Master Li said
     calmly. “Reverend Sir, have you considered the plight of Pawnbroker Fang's children? His
     daughter will probably die, but even if she recovers, what sort of a life could she look
     forward to when she discovered that her father had been torn to pieces by the people of
     her own village? Her little brother would be condemned to a life of shame at the age of
     five, which seems a trifle unfair. Surely there is a family that will care for innocent
     children, and explain that their father was only trying to improve the silk, but that he
     made a mistake and ran away, and all is forgiven.”
    I released the abbot, who bowed to the sage, and Big Hong cleared his throat.
    “My wife and I will take Fang's Flea,” he said huskily. “Fawn, too, if she lives. They
     will have a loving home.”
    “Good man,” said Master Li. “As for Pawnbroker Fang and Ma the Grub, why not let them
     punish themselves? Greed such as theirs gnaws at the vitals like packs of rats, day and
     night, never ceasing, and when they arrive in Hell they will have already experienced
     whatever torments the Yama Kings may decree. Now let's get to work.”
    Fang's files were so extensive that they filled two large cabinets and a trunk, and the
     abbot found the first reference to a Root of Power. We had no idea