“Don’t worry,” said Holley. “I give you my word. I’ll tell no one.”
Chan made no reply, in his mind, perhaps, the memory of other white men who had given their word.
“It doesn’t matter, anyhow,” Eden remarked. “Charlie, I’ve come to the decision that we’re chasing ghosts. I’ve talked things over with Mr. Holley, and from what he says, I see that there’s really nothing wrong out at the ranch. When we go back this evening we’ll hand over those pearls and head for home.” Chan’s face fell. “Cheer up,” added the boy. “You, yourself, must admit that we’ve been acting like a couple of old women.”
An expression of deeply offended dignity appeared on the little round face. “Just one moment. Permit this old woman more nonsense. Some hours ago parrot drops from perch into vast eternity. Dead, like Caesar.”
“What of it?” said Eden wearily. “He died of old age. Don’t let’s argue about it, Charlie—”
“Who argues?” asked Chan. “I myself enjoy keen distaste for that pastime. Old woman though I am, I now deal with facts—undubitable facts.” He spread a white sheet of paper on Holley’s desk, and removing an envelope from his pocket, poured its contents on to the paper. “Examine,” he directed. “What you see here are partial contents of food basin beside the perch of Tony. Kindly tell me what you look at.”
“Hemp seed,” said Eden. “A parrot’s natural food.”
“Ah, yes,” agreed Chan. “Seed of the hemp. But that other—the fine, grayish-white powder that seem so plentiful.”
“By gad,” cried Holley.
“No argument here,” continued Chan. “Before seeking
