"And why do you wish to look into them?" with agitation.

"Smugglers sometimes fill them with cigars."

"Ah!" The Englishman selected two loaded shells, drew a gun from
the case, threw up the breech and rammed in the shells. Then he
extended the weapon to within an inch of the terrified
inspector's nose. "Now, Monsieur the Spectacles, look in there
and tell me what you see."

The fellow sank half-fainting into a chair. "Mon Dieu, Monsieur,
would you kill me who have a family?"

"What's a customs inspector, more or less?" asked the terrible
islander, laughing. "I advise you not to ask me to let you look
into the other gun, out of consideration for your family. It has
hair triggers, and my fingers tremble."

"Monsieur, Monsieur, you do wrong to trifle with the law. I
shall be obliged to report you. You will be arrested."

"Nothing of the kind," was the retort. "I have only to inform
the British minister how remiss you were in your obligations. I
should go free, whereas you would be discharged. But what I
demand to know is, what the devil is the meaning of this farce."

"I am simply obeying orders," answered the inspector, wiping his
forehead. "It is not a farce, as Monsieur will find." Then, as
if to excuse this implied threat: "Will Monsieur please point
the gun the other way?"