"See these badges," said Lovely Mead, pointing to their caps, around which were displayed white bandages inscribed "inspector."
"Sure."
"We're in the Customs House."
"And we have received information that you are systematically smuggling goods into this territory."
The Millionaire Baby looked as though a ghost had arisen.
"Aha!" said the Gutter Pup, perceiving the box. "Here's the evidence now. Officer, seize the goods and the prisoner."
"What are you going to do to me?" said the culprit in great alarm.
"Take you before the Customs Court."
The Customs Court was sitting, without absentees, in Stover's room—appraisers, weighers, adjusters and consulting experts, all legally ticketed and very solemn. The prisoner was stood in a corner and the contents of the box spread on the floor.