“No.” The “Prince” smiled a strange smile. “I have not had the honor.”
“Just one of my bum guesses,” Johnny thought to himself. He was thinking of the story told to him by that air pilot.
“And now,” said the Colonel, springing to his feet, “I call you all to a banquet.”
The banquet was all that anyone could ask, but, as for Johnny Thompson, his mind was on other things. As he was hurrying to this meeting, Chief Gallagher had called to him: “Come in and see me as soon as you can. I’ve got something big to tell you.”
“It has to do with the little Chinaman Tao Sing and the thought-camera,” Johnny assured himself more than once. As soon as he could, he was away to the Chief’s office.
“You’re right the very first time, Johnny,” the Chief laughed when Johnny hazarded a guess. “We caught up with that little Chink this afternoon. He and two others were tryin’ to make a getaway in an airplane. Guess they didn’t savvy that plane. Anyway, that plane didn’t get far. Those Chinamen had parachutes. They landed safely. Our men picked them up. Plane came down in flames.
“Queer part—” he rumbled, “that little fellow wanted to jump right into the flaming wreck. Said he wanted to save something—only one in the world. Man that made it was dead—all that stuff.
“Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “my men wouldn’t let him commit suicide that way. He’ll go back to China with those other fellows. The tong war is over.”
“That thing he wanted to save,” said Johnny soberly, “must have been the thought-camera. And I—you know I’m sort of glad it’s gone and that there are no more in the world. For you know—it’s no fun at all to take pictures of other people’s thoughts. And to have other people taking pictures of yours—why that would be simply terrible!”
“Yes,” the Captain said with a laugh. “It sure would be!”