The Chinese Parrot

I

The Phillimore Pearls

Alexander Eden stepped from the misty street into the great marble-pillared room where the firm of Meek and Eden offered its wares. Immediately, behind showcases gorgeous with precious stones or bright with silver, platinum, and gold, forty resplendent clerks stood at attention. Their morning coats were impeccable, lacking the slightest suspicion of a wrinkle, and in the left lapel of each was a pink carnation, as fresh and perfect as though it had grown there.

Eden nodded affably to right and left and went on his way, his heels clicking cheerily on the spotless tile floor. He was a small man, grey-haired and immaculate, with a quick, keen eye and the imperious manner that so well became his position. For the clan of Meek, having duly inherited the earth, had relinquished that inheritance and passed to the great beyond, leaving Alexander Eden the sole owner of the best-known jewellery store west of the Rockies.

Arriving at the rear of the shop, he ascended a brief stairway to the luxurious suite of offices on the mezzanine floor where he spent his days. In the anteroom of the suite he encountered his secretary.

“Ah, good morning, Miss Chase,” he said.

The girl answered with a smile. Eden’s eye for beauty, developed by long experience in the jewel trade, had not failed him when he picked Miss Chase. She was an ash blonde with violet eyes; her manners were exquisite; so was her gown. Bob Eden, reluctant heir to the business, had been heard to remark that entering his father’s office was like arriving for tea in a very exclusive drawing-room.

Alexander Eden glanced at his watch. “In about ten minutes,” he announced, “I expect a caller—an old friend of mine—Madame Jordan, of Honolulu. When she arrives show her in at once.”

“Yes, Mr. Eden,” replied the girl.

He passed on into his own room, where he hung up his hat, coat, and stick. On his broad, gleaming desk lay the morning mail; he glanced at it idly, but his mind was elsewhere. In a moment he strolled to one of the windows and stood there gazing at the façade of the building across the way.

The day was not far advanced, and the fog that had blanketed San Francisco the night before still lingered in the streets. Staring into that dull grey mist, Eden saw a picture, a picture that was incongruously all colour and light and life. His thoughts had travelled back down the long corridor of the years, and in that imagined scene outside the window he himself moved, a slim, dark boy of seventeen.

Forty years ago—a night in Honolulu, the gay, happy Honolulu of the monarchy. Behind a bank of ferns in one corner of the great Phillimore living-room Berger’s band was playing, and over the polished floor young Alec Eden and Sally Phillimore danced together. The boy stumbled now and then, for the dance was a newfangled one called the two-step, lately introduced into Hawaii by a young ensign from the Nipsic. But perhaps it was not entirely his unfamiliarity with the two-step that muddled him, for he knew that in his arms he held the darling of the islands.

Some few are favoured by fortune out of all reason, and Sally Phillimore was one of these. Above and beyond her beauty, which would have been sufficient in itself, she seemed, in that simple Honolulu society, the heiress of all the ages. The Phillimore fortunes were at their peak, Phillimore ships sailed the seven seas, on thousands of Phillimore acres the sugarcane ripened toward a sweet, golden harvest. Looking down, Alec Eden saw hanging about the girl’s white throat, a symbol of her place and wealth, the famous pearl necklace Marc Phillimore had brought home from London, and for which he had paid a price that made all Honolulu gasp.

Eden, of Meek and Eden, continued to stare into the fog. It was pleasant to relive that night in Hawaii, a night filled with magic and the scent of exotic blossoms, to hear again the giddy laughter, the distant murmur of the surf, the soft croon of island music. Dimly he recalled Sally’s blue eyes shining up at him. More vividly—for he was nearly sixty now, and a business man—he saw again the big lustrous pearls that lay on her breast, reflecting the light with a warm glow. …

Oh, well—he shrugged his shoulders. All that was forty years ago, and much had happened since. Sally’s marriage to Fred Jordan, for example, and then, a few years later, the birth of her only child, Victor. Eden smiled grimly. How ill-advised she had been when she named that foolish, wayward boy!

He went over to his desk and sat down. No doubt it was some escapade of Victor, he reflected, that was responsible for the scene shortly to be enacted here in this office in Post Street. Yes, of course, that was it. Victor, lurking in the wings, was about to ring down the final curtain on the drama of the Phillimore pearls.

He was deep in his mail when, a few moments later, his secretary opened the door and announced: “Madame Jordan is calling.”

Eden rose. Sally Jordan was coming toward him over the Chinese rug. Gay and sprightly as ever—how valiantly she had battled with the years! “Alec—my dear old friend—”

He took both her fragile hands in his. “Sally! I’m mighty glad to see you. Here.” He drew a big leather chair close to his desk. “The post of honour for you. Always.”

Smiling, she sat down. Eden went to his accustomed place behind his desk. He took up a paper-knife and balanced it; for a man of his poise he appeared rather ill at ease. “Ah—er—how long have you been in town?”

“Two weeks—I think—yes, two weeks last Monday.”

“You’re not living up to your promise, Sally. You didn’t let me know.”

“But I’ve had such a gay round,” she protested. “Victor is always so good to me.”

“Ah, yes—Victor—he’s well, I hope.” Eden looked away, out the window. “Fog’s lifting, isn’t it? A fine day, after all—”

“Dear old Alec.” She shook her head. “No good beating round the bush. Never did believe in it. Get down to business—that’s my motto. It’s as I told you the other day over the telephone. I’ve made up my mind to sell the Phillimore pearls.”

He nodded. “And why not? What good are they, anyhow?”

“No, no,” she objected. “It’s perfectly true—they’re no good to me. I’m a great believer in what’s fitting—and those gorgeous pearls were meant for youth. However, that’s not the reason I’m selling. I’d hang on to them if I could. But I can’t. I—I’m broke, Alec.”

He looked out the window again.

“Sounds absurd, doesn’t it?” she went on. “All the Phillimore ships—the Phillimore acres—vanished into thin air. The big house on the beach—mortgaged to the hilt. You see—Victor—he’s made some unfortunate investments—”

“I see,” said Eden softly.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Alec. Victor’s a bad, bad boy. Foolish and careless and—worse, perhaps. But he’s all I’ve got, since Fred went. And I’m sticking by him.”

“Like the good sport you are,” he smiled. “No, I wasn’t thinking unkindly of Victor, Sally. I—I have a son myself.”

“Forgive me,” she said. “I should have asked before. How’s Bob?”

“Why, he’s all right, I guess. He may come in before you leave—if he happens to have had an early breakfast.”

“Is he with you in the business?”

Eden shrugged. “Not precisely. Bob’s been out of college three years now. One of those years was spent in the South Seas, another in Europe, and the third—from what I can gather—in the cardroom of his club. However, his career does seem to be worrying him a bit. The last I heard he was thinking of the newspaper game. He has friends on the papers.” The jeweller waved his hand about the office. “This sort of thing, Sally—this thing I’ve given my life to—it’s a great bore to Bob.”

“Poor Alec,” said Sally Jordan softly. “The new generation is so hard to understand. But—it’s my own troubles I came to talk about. Broke, as I told you. Those pearls are all I have in the world.”

“Well—they’re a good deal,” Eden told her.

“Enough to help Victor out of the hole he’s in. Enough for the few years left me, perhaps. Father paid ninety thousand for them. It was a fortune at that time—but today—”

“Today,” Eden repeated. “You don’t seem to realize, Sally. Like everything else, pearls have greatly appreciated since the eighties. Today that string is worth three hundred thousand if it’s worth a cent.”

She gasped. “Why, it can’t be. Are you sure? You’ve never seen the necklace—”

“Ah—I was wondering if you’d remember,” he chided. “I see you don’t. Just before you came in I was thinking back—back to a night forty years ago, when I was visiting my uncle in the Islands. Seventeen—that’s all I was—but I came to your dance, and you taught me the two-step. The pearls were about your throat. One of the memorable nights of my life.”

“And of mine,” she nodded. “I remember now. Father had just brought the necklace from London, and it was the first time I’d worn it. Forty years ago—ah, Alec, let’s hurry back to the present. Memories—sometimes they hurt.” She was silent for a moment. “Three hundred thousand, you say.”

“I don’t guarantee I can get that much,” he told her. “I said the necklace was worth it. But it isn’t always easy to find a buyer who will meet your terms. The man I have in mind—”

“Oh—you’ve found someone—”

“Well—yes—I have. But he refuses to go above two hundred and twenty thousand. Of course, if you’re in a hurry to sell—”

“I am,” she answered. “Who is this Midas?”

“Madden,” he said. “P. J. Madden.”

“Not the big Wall Street man? The Plunger?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“Only through the newspapers. He’s famous, of course, but I’ve never seen him.”

Eden frowned. “That’s curious,” he said. “He appeared to know you. I had heard he was in town, and when you telephoned me the other day I went at once to his hotel. He admitted he was on the lookout for a string as a present for his daughter, but he was pretty cold at first. However, when I mentioned the Phillimore pearls he laughed. ‘Sally Phillimore’s pearls,’ he said. ‘I’ll take them.’ ‘Three hundred thousand,’ I said. ‘Two hundred and twenty and not a penny more,’ he answered. And looked at me with those eyes of his—as well try to bargain with this fellow here.” He indicated a small bronze Buddha on his desk.

Sally Jordan seemed puzzled. “But Alec—he couldn’t know me. I don’t understand. However, he’s offering a fortune, and I want it badly. Please hurry and close with him before he leaves town.”

Again the door opened at the secretary’s touch. “Mr. Madden, of New York,” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Eden. “We’ll see him at once.” He turned to his old friend. “I asked him to come here this morning and meet you. Now take my advice and don’t be too eager. We may be able to boost him a bit, though I doubt it. He’s a hard man, Sally, a hard man. The newspaper stories about him are only too true.”

He broke off suddenly, for the hard man he spoke of stood upon his rug. P. J. himself, the great Madden, the hero of a thousand Wall Street battles, six feet and over and looming like a tower of granite in the grey clothes he always affected. His cold blue eyes swept the room like an Arctic blast.

“Ah, Mr. Madden, come in,” said Eden, rising. Madden advanced farther into the room, and after him came a tall, languid girl in expensive furs and a lean, precise-looking man in a dark blue suit.

“Madame Jordan, this is Mr. Madden, of whom we have just been speaking,” Eden said.

“Madame Jordan,” repeated Madden, bowing slightly. He had dealt so much in steel that it had got somehow into his voice. “I’ve brought along my daughter Evelyn, and my secretary, Martin Thorn.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Eden answered. He stood for a moment gazing at this interesting group that had invaded his quiet office—the famous financier, cool, competent, conscious of his power, the slender, haughty girl upon whom, it was reported, Madden lavished all the affection of his later years, the thin, intense secretary, subserviently in the background, but for some reason not so negligible as he might have been. “Won’t you all sit down, please?” the jeweller continued. He arranged chairs. Madden drew his close to the desk; the air seemed charged with his presence; he dwarfed them all.

“No need of any preamble,” said the millionaire. “We’ve come to see those pearls.”

Eden started. “My dear sir—I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression. The pearls are not in San Francisco at present.”

Madden stared at him. “But when you told me to come here and meet the owner—”

“I’m so sorry—I meant just that.”

Sally Jordan helped him out. “You see, Mr. Madden, I had no intention of selling the necklace when I came here from Honolulu. I was moved to that decision by events after I reached here. But I have sent for it—”

The girl spoke. She had thrown back the fur about her neck, and she was beautiful in her way, but cold and hard like her father—and just now, evidently, unutterably bored. “I thought, of course, the pearls were here,” she said, “or I should not have come.”

“Well, it isn’t going to hurt you,” her father snapped. “Mrs. Jordan, you say you’ve sent for the necklace?”

“Yes. It will leave Honolulu tonight, if all goes well. It should be here in six days.”

“No good,” said Madden. “My daughter’s starting tonight for Denver. I go South in the morning, and in a week I expect to join her in Eldorado and we’ll travel East together. No good, you see.”

“I will agree to deliver the necklace anywhere you say,” suggested Eden.

“Yes—I guess you will.” Madden considered. He turned to Madame Jordan. “This is the identical string of pearls you were wearing at the old Palace Hotel in 1889?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “The same string,” she answered.

“And even more beautiful than it was then, I’ll wager,” Eden smiled. “You know, Mr. Madden, there is an old superstition in the jewellery trade that pearls assume the personality of their wearer and become sombre or bright, according to the mood of the one they adorn. If that is true, this string has grown more lovely through the years.”

“Bunk,” said Madden rudely. “Oh, excuse me—I don’t mean that the lady isn’t charming. But I have no sympathy with the silly superstitions of your trade—or of any other trade. Well, I’m a busy man. I’ll take the string—at the price I named.”

Eden shook his head. “It’s worth at least three hundred thousand, as I told you.”

“Not to me. Two hundred and twenty—twenty now to bind it and the balance within thirty days after the delivery of the string. Take it or leave it.”

He rose and stared down at the jeweller. Eden was an adept at bargaining, but somehow all his cunning left him as he faced this Gibraltar of a man. He looked helplessly toward his old friend.

“It’s all right, Alec,” Madame Jordan said. “I accept.”

“Very good,” Eden sighed. “But you are getting a great bargain, Mr. Madden.”

“I always get a great bargain,” replied Madden. “Or I don’t buy.” He took out his chequebook. “Twenty thousand now, as I agreed.”

For the first time the secretary spoke; his voice was thin and cold and disturbingly polite. “You say the pearls will arrive in six days?”

“Six days or thereabouts,” Madame Jordan answered.

“Ah, yes.” An ingratiating note crept in. “They are coming by—”

“By a private messenger,” said Eden sharply. He was taking a belated survey of Martin Thorn. A pale, high forehead, pale green eyes that now and then stared disconcertingly, long, pale, grasping hands. Not the jolliest sort of playmate to have around, he reflected. “A private messenger,” he repeated firmly.

“Of course,” said Thorn. Madden had written the cheque and laid it on the jeweller’s desk. “I was thinking, chief—just a suggestion,” Thorn went on. “If Miss Evelyn is to return and spend the balance of the winter in Pasadena she will want to wear the necklace there. We’ll still be in that neighbourhood six days from now, and it seems to me—”

“Who’s buying this necklace?” cut in Madden. “I’m not going to have the thing carried back and forth across the country. It’s too risky in these days when every other man is a crook.”

“But, Father,” said the girl, “it’s quite true that I’d like to wear it this winter—”

She stopped. P. J. Madden’s crimson face had gone purple, and he was tossing his great head. It was a quaint habit he had when opposed, the newspapers said. “The necklace will be delivered to me in New York,” he remarked to Eden, ignoring his daughter and Thorn. “I’ll be in the South for some time—got a place in Pasadena and a ranch on the desert, four miles from Eldorado. Haven’t been down there for quite a while, and unless you look in on these caretakers occasionally they get slack. As soon as I’m back in New York I’ll wire you, and you can deliver the necklace at my office. You’ll have my cheque for the balance within thirty days.”

“That’s perfectly agreeable to me,” Eden said. “If you’ll wait just a moment I’ll have a bill of sale drawn, outlining the terms. Business is business—as you of all men understand.”

“Of course,” nodded Madden. The jeweller went out.

Evelyn Madden rose. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Father. I want to look over their stock of jade.” She turned to Madame Jordan. “You know, one finds better jade in San Francisco than anywhere else.”

“Yes, indeed,” smiled the older woman. She rose and took the girl’s hands. “Such a lovely throat, my dear—I was saying just before you came—the Phillimore pearls need youth. Well, they’re to have it at last. I hope you will wear them through many happy years.”

“Why—why, thank you,” said the girl, and went.

Madden glanced at his secretary. “Wait for me in the car,” he ordered. Alone with Madame Jordan, he looked at her grimly. “You never saw me before, did you?” he inquired.

“I’m so sorry. Have I?”

“No—I suppose not. But I saw you. Oh, we’re well along in years now, and it does no harm to speak of these things. I want you to know it will be a great satisfaction to me to own that necklace. A deep wound and an old one is healed this morning.”

She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“No, of course you don’t. But in the eighties you used to come from the Islands with your family and stop at the Palace Hotel. And I—I was a bellhop at that same hotel. I often saw you there—I saw you once when you were wearing that famous necklace. I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world—oh, why not—we’re both—er—”

“We’re both old now,” she said softly.

“Yes—that’s what I mean. I worshipped you, but I—I was a bellhop—you looked through me—you never saw me. A bit of furniture, that’s all I was to you. Oh, I tell you, it hurt my pride—a deep wound, as I said. I swore I’d get on—I knew it, even then. I’d marry you. We can both smile at that now. It didn’t work out—even some of my schemes never worked out. But today I own your pearls—they’ll hang about my daughter’s neck. It’s the next best thing. I’ve bought you out. A deep wound in my pride, but healed at last.”

She looked at him, and shook her head. Once she might have resented this, but not now. “You’re a strange man,” she said.

“I am what I am,” he answered. “I had to tell you. Otherwise the triumph would not have been complete.”

Eden came in. “Here you are, Mr. Madden. If you’ll sign this—thank you.”

“You’ll get a wire,” said Madden. “In New York, remember, and nowhere else. Good day.” He turned to Madame Jordan and held out his hand.

She took it, smiling. “Goodbye. I’m not looking through you now. I see you at last.”

“And what do you see?”

“A terribly vain man. But a likable one.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that. Goodbye.”

He left them. Eden sank wearily into a chair. “Well, that’s that. He rather wears one out. I wanted to stick for a higher figure, but it looked hopeless. Somehow I knew he always wins.”

“Yes,” said Madame Jordan, “he always wins.”

“By the way, Sally, I didn’t want you to tell that secretary who was bringing the pearls. But you’d better tell me.”

“Why, of course. Charlie’s bringing them.”

“Charlie?”

“Detective-Sergeant Chan, of the Honolulu police. Long ago, in the big house on the beach, he was our number one boy.”

“Chan. A Chinese?”

“Yes. Charlie left us to join the police force, and he’s made a fine record there. He’s always wanted to come to the mainland, so I’ve had it all arranged—his leave of absence, his status as a citizen, everything. And he’s coming with the pearls. Where could I have found a better messenger? Why—I’d trust Charlie with my life—no, that isn’t very precious any more. I’d trust him with the life of the one I loved dearest in the world.”

“He’s leaving tonight, you said.”

“Yes—on the President Pierce. It’s due late next Thursday afternoon.”

The door opened, and a good-looking young man stood on the threshold. His face was lean and tanned, his manner poised and confident, and his smile had just left Miss Chase daydreaming in the outer office. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dad—if you’re busy. Why—look who’s here!”

“Bob,” cried Madame Jordan. “You rascal—I was hoping to see you. How are you?”

“Just waking into glorious life,” he told her. “How are you, and all the other young folks out your way?”

“Fine, thanks. By the way, you dawdled too long over breakfast. Just missed meeting a very pretty girl.”

“No, I didn’t. Not if you mean Evelyn Madden. Saw her downstairs as I came in—she was talking to one of those exiled Grand Dukes we employ to wait on the customers. I didn’t linger—she’s an old story now. Been seeing her everywhere I went for the past week.”

“I thought her very charming,” Madame Jordan said.

“But an iceberg,” objected the boy. “B-r-r—how the wintry winds do blow in her vicinity! However, I guess she comes by it honestly. I passed the great P. J. himself on the stairs.”

“Nonsense. Have you ever tried that smile of yours on her?”

“In a way. Nothing special—just the old trade smile. But look here—I’m on to you. You want to interest me in the obsolete institution of marriage.”

“It’s what you need. It’s what all young men need.”

“What for?”

“As an incentive. Something to spur you on to get the most out of life.”

Bob Eden laughed. “Listen, my dear. When the fog begins to drift in through the Gate, and the lights begin to twinkle on O’Farrell Street—well, I don’t want to be hampered by no incentive, lady. Besides, the girls aren’t what they were when you were breaking hearts.”

“Rot,” she answered. “They’re very much nicer. The young men are growing silly. Alec, I’ll go along.”

“I’ll get in touch with you next Thursday,” the elder Eden said. “By the way—I’m sorry it wasn’t more, for your sake.”

“It was an amazing lot,” she replied. “I’m very happy.” Her eyes filled. “Dear Dad—he’s taking care of me still,” she added, and went quickly out.

Eden turned to his son. “I judge you haven’t taken a newspaper job yet?”

“Not yet.” The boy lighted a cigarette. “Of course, the editors are all after me. But I’ve been fighting them off.”

“Well, fight them off a little longer. I want you to be free for the next two or three weeks. I’ve a little job for you myself.”

“Why, of course, Dad.” He tossed a match into a priceless K’ang-Hsi vase. “What sort of job? What do I do?”

“First of all, you meet the President Pierce late next Thursday afternoon.”

“Sounds promising. I presume a young woman, heavily veiled, comes ashore—”

“No. A Chinese comes ashore.”

“A what?”

“A Chinese detective from Honolulu, carrying in his pocket a pearl necklace worth over a quarter of a million dollars.”

Bob Eden nodded. “Yes. And after that—”

“After that,” said Alexander Eden thoughtfully, “who can say! That may be only the beginning.”