"
I looked at him and burst out laughing: then he looked at me and
laughed louder than I. Our clothes were in rags; our faces were red
and black with blood and grime; every bone and sinew and muscle in our
bodies ached and ached from the strain of strife.
"It is not time to laugh yet," said my brother; and we ran on down the
alley, out into a small by-street, and straight into the arms of a
policeman, who promptly arrested us.
* * * * *
The rest of the story was in the newspapers next day, although there
was no mention of our names. When the police reached the battlefield
they found one dead man--the opium-eating and smoking bar-tender. He
had died--so said the doctor--of heart failure. Few whites can smoke
the "pipe" with impunity, and he was not of their number. The wounded
had been carried away, and, despite the strenuous endeavours of the
police, not one was arrested, which proves that there is honour
amongst these yellow-faced thieves, for a handful of gold-pieces and
"no questions asked" was well known in Chinatown to be the price
offered for any information that would lead to the capture of one or
more of the gang.
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