At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers.
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