"Nothing doing that way!" said the trooper. "My partner's coming along
behind you; you're corraled all right. I've a warrant for you, Louis
Shillito."

The North-West Police work in couples and the situation was plain. One
trooper had begun his search at the front of the train, the other at the
back, and Shillito, hearing the first turn the passengers out of their
berths, had tried to steal away and met the other. His face got
strangely white, but Lister thought it was rather with rage than fear.
His lips drew back in a snarl, and the veins swelled on his forehead. He
occupied the center of the illuminated circle thrown by the conductor's
lamp, and his savage gaze was fixed. Lister saw he was not looking at
the policeman but at him.

"Blast you!" Shillito shouted. "If you hadn't butted in--"

"Cut it out!" said the trooper. "Hands up; we've got you! Don't make
trouble."

Shillito's hand went behind him. It was possible he felt for the door
knob, but the trooper meant to run no risks. Although he had put down
his rifle and taken out his handcuffs, he jumped forward, across the
platform, and Shillito bent sideways to avoid his spring. The fellow was
athletic and his quick side-movement indicated he was something of a
boxer; the policeman was embarrassed by his handcuffs and young.
Shillito seized him and threw him against the rails, close to the gap
where the steps went down. The trooper gasped, his grasp got slack, and
his body slipped along the rails. It looked as if Shillito would throw
him down the steps, and Lister jumped.