The Chinese Parrot (Charlie Chan Detective Series) — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

———_ .- o- on paid, his house scoured and scrubbed, the new year auspiciously begun. At Washington Street Chan turned up the hill. Across the way loomed an impressive building—four gaudy stories of light and cheer. Gilt letters in the transom over the door proclaimed it the home of the Chan Family Society. For a moment the detective stood, family pride uppermost in his thoughts. A moment later he was walking down the dim, almost deserted pavement of Waverly Place. A bright-eyed boy of his own race offered him a copy of the Chinese Daily Times. He bought it and moved on, his gaze intent on dim house numbers above darkened doorways. Presently he found the number he sought, and climbed a shadowy stair. At a landing where crimson and gold- lettered strips of paper served as a warning to evil spirits, he paused and knocked loudly at a door. It was opened, and against the light from within stood the figure of a Chinese, tall, with a gray meager beard and a loose-fitting, embroidered blouse of black satin. For a moment neither spoke. Then Chan smiled. "Good evening, illustrious Chan Kee Lim,” he said in pure Cantonese. "Is it that you do not know your unworthy cousin from the islands?" A light shone in the narrow eyes of Kee Lim. "For a moment, no," he replied. "Since you come in the garb of a foreign devil, and knock on my door with the knuckles, 43 comiicboeoe S CO