of his. Come on over and I’ll teach you to call each one by name.”
Presently Madden and Thorn returned, and Ah Kim served a perfect lunch. At the table Thorn said nothing, but his employer, under the spell of the girl’s bright eyes, talked volubly and well. As they finished coffee, Bob Eden suddenly awoke to the fact that the big clock near the patio windows marked the hour as five minutes of two. At two o’clock! There was that arrangement with Chan regarding two o’clock. What were they to do? The impassive face of the Oriental as he served lunch had told the boy nothing.
Madden was in the midst of a long story about his early struggle toward wealth, when the Chinese came suddenly into the room. He stood there, and though he did not speak, his manner halted the millionaire as effectively as a pistol shot.
“Well, well, what is it?” Madden demanded.
“Death,” said Ah Kim solemnly in his high-pitched voice. “Death unevitable end. No wolly. No solly.”
“What in Sam Hill are you talking about?” Madden inquired. Thorn’s pale green eyes were popping.
“Poah litta Tony,” went on Ah Kim.
“What about Tony?”
“Poah litta Tony enjoy happly noo yeah in Hadesland,” finished Ah Kim.
Madden was instantly on his feet, and led the way to the patio. On the stone floor beneath his perch lay the lifeless body of the Chinese parrot.
The millionaire stooped and picked up the bird. “Why—poor old Tony,” he said. “He’s gone west. He’s dead.”
