But if you don't mind, the police must get a couple of names for witnesses in the warrant." It was the Philippine chauffeur.

But he was no longer attired as such.
He wore the uniform of an inspector of police, and there was the metal badge of the Detective Department now ostentatiously outside his coat.
And beside him, one on each side of him, there stood the deastralized forms of Yahi-Bahi and Ram Spudd.

They wore long overcoats, doubtless the contents of the magic parcels, and the Philippine chauffeur had a grip of iron on the neck of each as they stood.

Mr.Spudd had lost his Oriental hair, and the face of Mr.Yahi-Bahi, perhaps in the struggle which had taken place, had been scraped white in patches.
They were making no attempt to break away.

Indeed, Mr.Spudd, with that complete Bahee, or Submission to Fate, which is attained only by long services in state penitentiaries, was smiling and smoking a cigarette.
"We were waiting for them," explained a tall police officer to the two or three ladies who now gathered round him with a return of courage.
"They had the stuff in a hand-cart and were pushing it away.