He descended the stair and went along the passage; but ere he reached
the door of the room on the ground floor:
"Hello! hello! Sin Sin! Sin Sin Wa!" croaked the raven. "Number one
p'lice chop, lo!" The note of a police whistle followed, rendered with
uncanny fidelity.
Pyne entered the room. It presented the same aspect as when he had
left it. The ship's lantern stood upon the table, and Sin Sin Wa sat
upon the tea-chest, the great black bird perched on his shoulder. The
fire in the stove had burned lower, and its downcast glow revealed
less mercilessly the dirty condition of the floor. Otherwise no one,
nothing, seemed to have been disturbed. Pyne leaned against the
doorpost, taking out and lighting a cigarette. The eye of Sin Sin Wa
glanced sideways at him.
"Well, Sin Sin," said Sir Lucien, dropping a match and extinguishing
it under his foot, "you see I am not smoking tonight."
"No smokee," murmured the Chinaman. "Velly good stuff."
"Yes, the stuff is all right, Sin."
"Number one proper," crooned Sin Sin Wa, and relapsed into smiling
silence.
"Number one p'lice," croaked the raven sleepily. "Smartest--" He even
attempted the castanets imitation, but was overcome by drowsiness.
For a while Sir Lucien stood watching the singular pair and smiling in
his ironical fashion.
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