A COFFIN FROM HONG KONG

“You remember me . . I’ll remember you,” I said. “We must think up some music to go with that one, but watch your step, Lieutenant. Old man Jefferson will want this kept quiet. He won’t let it be known his son was a drug pedlar if he can help it. If you want him to remember you in a nice way, you’ll go awfully slow on any publicity. You’re lucky Wayde is dead.”

I left him staring moodily down at the floor. The only person of the whole sorry lot I felt sorry about was the little Chinese, Leila.

I was still thinking about her as I walked across to Sparrow’s quick snack bar for another lonely supper.

THE END