14. DINNER ON PUNCHBOWL HILL
A Chinese does not, as a rule, register surprise, and a good detective learns early in his career the wisdom of keeping his emotions to himself. When you get the two in one package, as in the case of Charlie Chan, you are likely to have something pretty unperturbable. Yet now his eyes widened amazingly, and for a moment his mouth stood open. One would have said that he was, at the least, slightly taken aback.
In another moment he had leaped nimbly to his feet, and was moving swiftly toward the door. “My celebrated friend,” he cried, “for an instant I question the reliability of my sight.”
Smiling, Duff held out his hand. “Inspector Chan!”
Charlie took it. “Inspector Duff!”
The Britisher tossed a brief-case down on the desk. “Here I am at last, Charlie. Did
