A little before sunset I drove to a police-station about six miles away, and sent my dogcart back with instructions to return for me at six the following morning. I then told the sergeant in charge of the station that I was going to investigate the matter of the gang robbery, and that I should probably stay the night at the Towkay's (Chinese headman).
I visited the place, and, after spending an hour or so making inquiries—incidentally having to split a bottle of the vilest apology for champagne with the hospitable Towkay—I walked back to my house.
I suppose I must have been hiding at the side of the veranda for nearly an hour when a figure appeared at one of the dining-room doors. Being barefooted, I had not heard him approach the house, and I must confess that his sudden appearance was somewhat startling. He fumbled with the venetians for a couple of minutes; then the door opened silently and he entered the house. No sooner had he done so than the light of a bull's-eye lantern began to flash about the room; the man was evidently no ordinary thief.
"CREEPING ON TIP-TOE TO THE DOOR, I WAITED WITH WHAT PATIENCE I COULD MUSTER."
Creeping on tip-toe to the door he had entered by, I waited with what patience I could muster, intending to commence operations by knocking the thief down as soon as he appeared. Presently the light went out, and I had drawn my arm back to let him have my fist on the side of his head, when a voice said:—
"Tuan, here is the burglar."
It was Sergeant Cassim himself!
"What on earth does this mean?" I demanded. "Where is the man?"
"I am he. Did not the Tuan see me enter the house?"