“So—so. Yet she, so bloodless and nerveless, unmasked the secret of Kazmah, and she, so bloodless and nerveless, struck down—”
Mrs. Sin ground her teeth together audibly.
“Yes, yes!” she said in sibilant Chinese. “She is a robber, a thief, a murderess.” She bent over the unconscious woman, her jewel-laden fingers crooked and menacing. “With my bare hands I would strangle her, but—”
“There must be no marks of violence when she is found in the river. Tchée, chée—it is a pity.”
“Number one p’lice chop, lo!” croaked the raven, following this remark with the police-whistle imitation.
Mrs. Sin turned and stared fiercely at the one-eyed bird.
“Why do you bring that evil, croaking thing here?” she demanded. “Have we not enough risks?”
Sin Sin Wa smiled patiently.
“Too many,” he murmured. “For failure is nothing but the taking of seven risks when six were enough. Come—let us settle our affairs. The ‘Jacobs’ account is closed, but it is only a question of hours or days before the police learn that the wharf as well as the house belongs to someone of that name. We have drawn our last dollar from the traffic, my wife. Our stock we are resigned to lose. So let us settle our affairs.”
“Smartest—smartest,” croaked Tling-a-Ling, and rattled ghostly castanets.