The Chinese Parrot (Charlie Chan Detective Series) — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

J as rude foreign devils do. A thousand welcomes. Deign to enter my contemptible house." Still smiling, the little detective went inside. The room was anything but contemptible, as he saw at once. It was rich with tapestries of Hang-chiu silk, the furniture was of teakwood, elaborately carved. Fresh flowers bloomed before the ancestral shrine, and everywhere were Chinese lilies, the pale, pungent sui-sin-fah, a symbol of the dawning year. On the mantel, beside a tiny Buddha of Ningpo wood, an American alarm clock ticked noisily. "Please sit in this wretched chair," Kee Lim said. "You arrive unexpectedly as August rain. But I am happy to see you.’ He clapped his hands and a woman entered. "My wife, Chan So,” the host explained. "Bring rice cakes, and my Dew of Roses wine,” he ordered. He sat down opposite Charlie Chan, and regarded him across a teakwood table on which were sprays of fresh almond blossoms. "There was no news of your coming,” he remarked. Chan shrugged. "No. It was better so. I come on a mission. On business,” he added, in his best Rotary Club manner. Kee Lim's eyes narrowed. "Yes—I have heard of your business," he said. The detective was slightly uncomfortable. "You do not approve?" he ventured. 44 comiicboeoe S CO