a parrot doesn’t live forever. A coincidence, yes—but I’m afraid your father won’t be pleased with you, my boy. First thing you know P.J. Madden, who is hot and impetuous, will kick you out and call the transaction off. And I can see you back home explaining that you didn’t close the deal because a parrot on the place dropped dead. My boy, my boy—I trust your father is a gentle soul. Otherwise he’s liable to annihilate you.”
Eden considered. “How about that missing gun?”
Holley shrugged. “You can find something queer almost anywhere, if you look for it. The gun was gone—yes. What of it? Madden may have sold it, given it away, taken it to his room.”
Bob Eden leaned back in his chair. “I guess you’re right, at that. Yes, the more I think about it, here in the bright light of afternoon, the more foolish I feel.” Through a side window he saw a flivver swing up before the grocery store next door, and Charlie Chan alight. He went out on to the porch.
“Ah Kim,” he called.
The plump little Chinese detective approached and, without a word, entered the office.
“Charlie,” said Bob Eden, “this is a friend of mine, Mr. Will Holley. Holley, meet Detective-Sergeant Chan, of the Honolulu Police.”
At mention of his name, Chan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you do,” he said coldly.
“It’s all right,” Eden assured him. “Mr. Holley can be trusted—absolutely. I’ve told him everything.”
“I am far away in strange land,” returned Chan. “Maybe I would choose to trust no one—but that, no doubt, are my heathen churlishness. Mr. Holley will pardon, I am sure.”
