When he looked back he saw the men slowly poling their boat away. And the garden was going with them, back to their own village. He paddled with all his strength. At the landing by the big bridge, Rhamon pulled the boat up on the shore. He must find his uncle, the Chief of Police. He hurried down one little street, turned a corner and ran up another. His foot was beginning to hurt, but he did not stop. When he finally reached the office he was almost out of breath. "Quick, Uncle, quick!" he panted. "Some men are stealing a garden!"
The big Chief of Police twirled his fierce black moustache, and rubbed his nose. Then he called loudly for two of his men. Rhamon shivered at the sound of his voice. It seemed to come rumbling up from the soles of his big red slippers. Settling his huge turban farther on his head, the Chief took Rhamon's hand and started off with long strides. Rhamon could hardly keep step with him, but he felt very proud. Was he not walking down the streets
