they’re wonderful fellows, these foreign detectives. Up to all sorts of dodges,

I believe.”

 

“Pung,” said Miss Ganett, in a tone of quiet triumph. “And Mah Jong.”

 

The situation became more strained. It was annoyance at Miss Ganett’s going Mah

Jong for the third time running which prompted Caroline to say to me as we built

a fresh wall:—

 

“You are too tiresome, James. You sit there like a dead head, and say nothing at

all!”

 

“But, my dear,” I protested, “I have really nothing to say—that is, of the kind

you mean.”

 

“Nonsense,” said Caroline, as she sorted her hand. “You _must_ know something

interesting.”

 

I did not answer for a moment. I was overwhelmed and intoxicated. I had read of

there being such a thing as the Perfect Winning—going Mah Jong on one’s original

hand. I had never hoped to hold the hand myself.

 

With suppressed triumph I laid my hand face upwards on the table.

 

“As they say in the Shanghai Club,” I remarked, “Tin-ho—the Perfect Winning!”