The Chinese Parrot (Charlie Chan Detective Series) — page 85: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

———_ .: os on fire. He saw a plump little Chinese servant, with worn trousers and velvet slippers, and a loose jacket of Canton crepe. In his arms he carried a couple of logs. "Maybe you wantee catch 'um moah fiah, hey, boss?" he said in a dull voice. His face was quite expressionless. He threw the logs into the fireplace and as he fumed, gave Bob Eden a quick look. His eyes were momentarily sharp and bright—like black buttons in the yellow light. The eyes of Charlie Chan. The little servant went noiselessly out. "The pearls," insisted Madden quickly. "What about the pearls?" Martin Thorn came closer. "T haven't got them,” said Bob Eden slowly. "What! You didn't bring them?" "T did not." The huge red face of Madden purpled suddenly, and he tossed his great head—the old gesture of annoyance of which the newspapers often spoke. "In heaven's name, what's the matter with you fellows, anyhow?" he cried. "Those pearls are mine—I've bought them, haven't I? I've asked for them here—I want them." "Call your servant." The words were on the tip of Bob Eden's tongue. But something in that look Charlie Chan had given him moved him to hesitate. No, he must first have a word with the little detective. "Your final instructions to my father were that the pearls must be delivered in New York,” he reminded Madden. 85 comiicboeoe S CO