He turned upon me, calling wildly to the guards, 'Search him!'
Into my nearest pocket went a gloved hand, and when it came out, there, sure enough, was a brown leather wallet.
'Here it is!' cried one.
'Lord-a-massy!'
'I told you so!'
'Run him in!'
I was the centre of a small bedlam, and I shut my lips tightly and inwardly cursed my interest in all rustics, and particularly the Camps. I was fairly trapped. I saw my position, and held my peace, while the two rascals told their tale, making sure by their volubility that the Camps did not tell theirs. Only as the two guards, one on either side, turned to lead me away, I said to Smug, 'We shall meet again, my fine decoy;' and to the sham agent as I passed him, 'Better stick to your matches, my friend.'
Inwardly chafing, I marched through the crowd between my two captors, bringing them to a momentary halt as we came abreast of the place where the souvenir matches were hawked, and seeing there, as I had anticipated, a new face beneath the red fez.
Then I spoke to my captors: