“Now I will shoot you,” said the inspector, and he fired a shot over the smuggler. The smuggler poured some powder down his musket barrel. “Put down that gun!” ordered the inspector, and he fired another shot over the smuggler’s head. Now a piece of wadding clanged down under the smuggler’s ramrod. “I shall certainly shoot you now,” threatened the inspector, and another tiny bullet whistled harmlessly past the smuggler. This time a handful of slugs went rattling down the long barrel. “Can my master be bewitched?” thought the peon, who had the loaded shot-gun in his hands. “It must be so; but matters are getting too serious for further argument,” and levelling the gun at the smuggler he fired off both barrels at once, almost cutting the fellow in halves. A large quantity of opium was found in the smuggler’s bundle and the judicial officer who held the inquiry, a man who had risen from the bottom of the ladder, and whose experience was wide, while admiring the inspector’s humanity, considered that he had no right to expose himself and his party in the way he did. He wanted it to be widely known that smugglers who went armed with the idea of terrorising the executive did so at the risk of being shot at sight, and he undertook to see that officers who did this did not suffer. The peon was handsomely rewarded and promoted for his presence of mind and opportune action. Here is another story. I had received information that a certain smuggler of repute expected a big consignment of opium, and that it would reach his house sometime during the night and be concealed there. It was about nine o’clock in the evening when I set out, clad in an old grey suit, cap, and muffler, for the smuggler’s house, intending to conceal myself somewhere near, and watch proceedings. As I entered the quarter where the smuggler lived, I was accosted by two beat constables who suggested that I was a member of the crew of one of the tramp steamers then lying in the harbour. After apparently satisfying them of my identity, I continued on my way, and was soon ensconced under a large tree, with the smuggler’s house and compound in full view. I had not been there an hour, when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and looking round, was not a little annoyed to find the beat constables again on my track. They had spotted me in the gloom of the tree, and being suspicious, had come to see who I was. To me it seemed that there was nothing to be gained after this by continuing the watch, and so, roundly abusing the two inquisitive myrmidons of the law, I went home. I was later to regret my unkindness to my two preservers, for that, indeed, they proved to be. Next morning I was called upon by one of my spies, who handed me a wicked looking dagger with a blade at least five inches long. “What might this be?” I asked.