The Japanese shook his head.
“Forget him, too,” ordered Paget. “He was just a friend of mine, who stopped in to tell me some news. The clock’s all right now, isn’t it?”
Kama nodded.
“Well, since it’s all right, forget it. The clock struck half past eight when I came in, didn’t it? Just remember that part. Maybe your watch was wrong. Half past eight. Remember?”
“You come in at halfee past eight,” repeated Kama.
RODNEY PAGET finished breakfast in his usual leisurely fashion. He took a bath and dressed. It was afternoon when he prepared to leave the apartment. Burnham was still sleeping.
Paget handed Kama a ten-dollar bill before he left.
“What time did the clock say when I came in?” he asked.
“Clockee strike halfee past eight,” came the parrotlike reply.
Paget rode along Eighty-first Street in a taxicab. He gazed curiously from the window as he passed the brownstone house where Doctor Lukens had died. He noticed a policeman standing by the front steps.