"Number one p'lice chop,
lo! Sin Sin Wa! Sin Sin Wa!"
There came a fierce exclamation, the sound of something being hastily
overturned, of a scuffle, and:
"Sin--Sin--Wa!" croaked the raven feebly.
The words ended in a screeching cry, which was followed by a sound of
wildly beating wings. Sin Sin Wa, hands tucked in sleeves, turned and
walked from the inner room, closing the sliding door behind him with a
movement of his shoulder.
Resting against the empty shelves, he stood and surveyed the scene in
the vault.
Mrs. Sin, who had been kneeling beside the wicker cage, which was
upset, was in the act of standing upright. At her feet, and not far
from the motionless form of old Sam Tuk who sat like a dummy figure in
his chair before the stove, lay a palpitating mass of black feathers.
Other detached feathers were sprinkled about the floor. Feebly the
raven's wings beat the ground once, twice--and were still.
Sin Sin Wa uttered one sibilant word, withdrew his hands from his
sleeves, and, stepping around the end of the counter, dropped upon his
knees beside the raven. He touched it with long yellow fingers, then
raised it and stared into the solitary eye, now glazed and sightless
as its fellow. The smile had gone from the face of Sin Sin Wa.
Pages:
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385