the pupils gleam like black buttons in the yellow light.
“Alec,” said Sally Jordan, “this is my old friend, Charlie Chan. Charlie—Mr. Eden.”
Chan bowed low. “Honors crowd close on this mainland,” he said. “First I am Miss Sally’s old friend, and now I meet Mr. Eden.”
Eden rose. “How do you do,” he said.
“Have a good crossing, Charlie?” Victor asked.
Chan shrugged. “All time big Pacific Ocean suffer sharp pain down below, and toss about to prove it. Maybe from sympathy, I am in same fix.”
Eden came forward. “Pardon me if I’m a little abrupt—but my son—he was to meet your ship—”
“So sorry,” Chan said, regarding him gravely. “The fault must indubitably be mine. Kindly overlook my stupidity, but there was no meeting at dock.”
“I can’t understand it,” Eden complained again.
“For some few minutes I linger round gang-board,” Chan continued. “No one ventures to approach out of rainy night. Therefore I engage taxi and hurry to this spot.”
“You’ve got the necklace?” Victor demanded.
“Beyond any question,” Chan replied. “Already I have procured room in this hotel, partly disrobing to remove same from money-belt about waist.” He tossed an innocent-looking string of beads down upon the table. “Regard the Phillimore pearls at journey’s end,” he grinned. “And now a great burden drops from my shoulders with a most delectable thud.”
Eden, the jeweler, stepped forward and lifted the string in his hands. “Beautiful,” he murmured, “beautiful.
