Very nice, says the Spanish policeman, having finished the pie.
Would you care for another? asks Simone.
No, gracias, I'll be going, says the policeman.
You're a good policeman, says Terence.
The policeman heads for the door.
How come you think that? asks Sweezus.
He ate the pie, says Terence.
Yes, says Simone. And he said it was delicious.
He said it was nice, says Sartre.
Who else would like one? asks Simone.
Federico takes one.
He takes a tentative bite.
Not bad, says Federico.
The Spanish policeman returns to the corner table.
Now what? says Sartre.
The parrot, says the policeman. Where is it?
Prong is perched on a low stool, out of sight.
She didn't do anything, says Terence.
I need to know where she came from, says the policeman.
Outside, says Terence.
Before that, says the policeman.
Before that, says Arthur, she came here on the train from Paris.
So she's a French parrot? says the policeman.
Why does this matter? asks Sartre.
I have reason to believe she's an Australian parrot, says the policeman.
Prong decides to make an appearance.
I am an Australian parrot, says Prong.
Do you have a parrot passport? asks the policeman.
She doesn't need one, says Arthur.
Oh yes she does, says the policeman. If she hasn't got one, she must come with me.
Don't worry, says Prong. I'll go with him.
You can't, says Terence. I need you.
Not now, says Prong. I've completed the mission.
Mission! says the policeman. What was it?
Nothing, says Prong.
Yikes! says Terence. We're busted!
Don't say anything else! says Sweezus.
I wasn't, says Terence.
But it may be too late.
The policeman intends to grill Prong.
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