He was the man I had robbed; he was an Attorney; he was a smart man. I was in a bad hole. If I objected to search it would look bad, and they would do it anyway. “Certainly. Go ahead and search me,” I said, making the best of a bad position. When the officers had finished searching me, they counted the money.

“Lock him up,” ordered the lawyer. “He has the exact amount of money I lost. The paper corresponds, and so does the silver.”

They handcuffed me. “You’re arrested in the name of the Crown, and anything you say will be used against you.”

I was taken to the city prison where I gave the booking officer a very brief and misleading biographical sketch. The jail I had fled from with the China boy loomed before me and my only thought was to cover up. I put in the balance of the night going over my case. It looked hopeless. The next morning my cell was not unlocked when the other prisoners were let out to wash. Later a jailer opened it, and a Siwash Indian boy handed me a bucket of water and a towel.