Two men entered. “You are our prisoners,” cried the first comer. “If you resist the consequences will be on your heads.”
“We don’t resist. I’m glad you’ve come.”
They seized and held us both; the man who took me snatching the revolver which was still in my hand.
“Ah, a police weapon,” he said, significantly, and shewed it to his companion, who appeared to be in command.
“Search them both for any more weapons,” came the order, sharp and ringing.
“Wait a moment. There is a mistake here,” I said.
“You’ve made it then, in letting us net you here so easily;” and they both laughed.
“What is the charge against us?” I asked.
It was about as tight a corner as fate in an ill-natured mood could have devised for us.