“We’ll see about that later,” replied the policeman decidedly.
Orme tried to carry the affair off boldly. Every moment of delay now threatened defeat for him. “There is nothing serious,” he said. “They have done me no real harm. But the young lady and I shall be obliged to you, if you will keep these Japanese here until we can get away. They attacked us, but I don’t wish to make a complaint against them.”
The policeman showed new interest. He glanced at Arima. “Japanese!” he exclaimed. “There was one slugged on the campus last night. I guess you’ll all have to come along with me.”
“Nonsense!” protested Orme. “Just because somebody hit a Japanese over the head last night——”
“Ah, you know about that, do you? No”—as Orme made a movement—“stand where you are.” He drew his revolver.
During this colloquy, Arima had edged nearer and nearer to the papers. Orme’s sudden step was involuntary; it was due to the fact that he had seen Arima stoop swiftly and pick up the papers and thrust them into his pocket.
“Keep quiet,” continued the policeman. “And you, there”—he nodded toward Arima—“come here.”
Arima hesitated, but the muzzle of the revolver turned toward him, and he came and stood a few feet away.
“There’s somethin’ mighty funny about this,” continued the policeman. “We’ll just get into one of these cars and go to the station.”
“This man and me?” asked Orme. He had visions of no great difficulty in satisfying the questions of the local justice, but he knew that an arrest would mean delay, perhaps of hours. And Arima had the papers.