“You’re arrested in the queen’s name,” said the officer in charge, “and anything you say will be used against you. You had better submit quietly. If you want force you can have it.” He waved his big, serviceable-looking gun in my direction.

I submitted. They took me forward to a baggage car, removed my shoes and nearly all my clothes, and went through them slowly and thoroughly, but found nothing incriminating. When the train was dug clear it pulled out, carrying my roll of bills with it in the seat cushion, and I congratulated myself on getting rid of it. I was taken back to the town I left so suspiciously the night before, and thrown into the jail wondering what they had on me. They hadn’t asked me any questions; that looked bad. They seemed too well satisfied with the thing.

All my speculations were put to rest the next morning when I was brought before the magistrate.