The Inspectors from the Yard pt. 2

So the police never show up. I decided to go to bed around 1, figuring that the hostel would be too afraid that the cops would discover all their undocumented workers if they came searching.
3 am: Pounding on the door, and in comes the manager, the victim, and three of HM E II R's finest. They ask us a bunch of questions, take down my passport info and home address (note to parents: if you get a call from the police looking for me, it probably doesn't mean I am a fugative. They just need to get in touch with me about this case. Probably.) I had been asleep at the time of the incident, and hadn't seen anything. So they all leave, and we try to go back to sleep.
4 am: Pounding on the door, and they all come back in.
'This gentelman has asked if we could search your bags. We have no power to do so, it would be completely voluntary'
After a few seconds of getting my bearings, and trying to think if I had anything overly embarassing or illegal in my bags, I agreed.
There were three cops: An older boss, a grumpy veteran, and a young rookie. The grump started searching the bags of the old British guy, while the rookie searched the other Brazilian's bag, pulling out about 7 pairs of jeans.
'Blimey' (he really said it!), 'how many pairs of jeans have you got?'
He then patted down the Brazilian, checking all his pockets.
Then he started searching my bag. He was shocked by all my pills ('You must rattle when you walk'). He did pull out the piece of chalk I'd taken from Dover- not from the National Trust, of course. He looked at it, maybe trying to figure out if it was a hunk of crack or something. After he'd finished, I asked 'Umm, would you mind getting a picture with me?' They all laughed, and I got a shot of me and the cop who searched my bags.





Anyway, they didn't find the money. The poor victim packed up his stuff and left.

But the best part of the story is yet to come! Keep reading to find out the stunning conclusion....