How often have I walked through Edinburgh in the middle of the night, and far on in the morning—when all were asleep but those who turn night into day—accompanied by some silent man or woman, groaning inwardly over a loss sufficient to break their fortunes and affect them for life—threading dark, noisome wynds, entering dens where nothing was heard but cursing, and nothing seen but deeds without shame, endeavouring in the midst of all this sea to find the sighed-for property, or detect the cruel robber.
Wearied to the uttermost, I have often despaired, at the very moment when I was to pounce upon what I sought, redeem my spirits, and render happy my fellows.
In the present case I had a task of the same kind. We went through a great part of the Old Town, upstairs and downstairs; through long dark lobbies, and into all kinds of habitations, but the draper was not that night, at least, to be made happy.
We had entirely failed, and were all knocked up by disappointment and fatigue.
If the robbery at the Cowgate had scarcely taken hold of me when we set out, all interest had passed away, if not all recollection.
Some hope had taken us over to the far end of the Pleasance, and we were returning by that street. The hour was late—between twelve and one o’clock—and a dark night, every sound hushed.
We were worn out with fatigue, and were fit only for our beds. I think we had got as far as the foot of Adam-street, when up came three young fellows, so rapidly that they were within a yard of us before they saw us or we saw them.
I did not hesitate a moment. “Seize them!” I cried.
We sprang upon them on a sudden impulse. I seized Miller and Dunnett each with a hand while Reilly engaged Brodie.
A fierce struggle ensued, as you can readily imagine, during which I cried, “Search Brodie.”