" "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. He held in his hands many threads. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Wood, bursting into tears, "God bless you!" Jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for Thames; but he was nowhere to be seen.
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