“Presuming greatly—yes.”
“Why?”
Chan stared at him. “Why not? You yourself hear parrot scream out of the dark.’Murder. Help. Help. Put down gun.’”
Eden nodded. “I know. But that probably meant nothing.”
Charlie Chan shrugged. “You understand parrot does not invent talk. Merely repeats what others have remarked.”
“Of course,” Eden agreed. “And Tony was no doubt repeating something he heard in Australia, or on a boat. I happen to know that all Madden said of the bird’s past was the truth. And I may as well tell you, Charlie, that looking at things in the bright light of the morning, I feel we acted rather foolishly last night. I’m going to give those pearls to Madden before breakfast.”
Chan was silent for a moment. “If I might presume again, I would speak a few hearty words in praise of patience. Youth, pardon me, is too hot around the head. Take my advice, please, and wait.”
“Wait. Wait for what?”
“Wait until I have snatched more conversation out of Tony. Tony very smart bird—he speaks Chinese. I am not so smart—but so do I.”
“And what do you think Tony would tell you?”
“Tony might reveal just what is wrong on this ranch,” suggested Chan.
“I don’t believe anything’s wrong,” objected Eden.
Chan shook his head. “Not very happy position for me,” he said, “that I must argue with bright boy like you are.”
