Phil plunged into the crowd and the expert spoke quickly to the servant, who was staring after him. "Better keep him in sight," he said. "You can come when he does."
Bersonin was sauntering on, when a turmoil behind him made him turn. A woman's cry and an angry oath in English rang out, startlingly clear above the low murmur of the multitude. He caught a glimpse of a Japanese form leaping like a tiger—of Phil lying in the dust of the road—of a girl vanishing swiftly into the shadows.
As the expert hurried forward, Phil stumbled to his feet. Lights were dancing before his eyes and his neck felt as if he had been garroted. With his first breath he turned on Ishida, incoherent with rage and curses. The big man caught his arm.
"The honorable sir make mistake," said the Japanese smoothly. "Man have done that who have ranned away."
"He lies!" said Phil fiercely. "There was no one else near me but the girl. He did it himself! He tried to ju-jits' me!"
The fingers of the Japanese were clenched, but his face was impassive as he added: "I think he have been snik-thief."
"That's no doubt the way it was, Phil," said Bersonin. "Why on earth would Ishida touch you? That's an old thieves' trick. The fellow tried to get your watch, I suppose. But we must move on. The police will be here presently, and we don't want our names in the papers."
They went rapidly through the close ranks that had been watching with the decorous, inquisitive silence so typically oriental.
"I suppose you're right," said Phil sulkily. "I—I beg your pardon, Ishida."
The Japanese bowed gravely.