He moaned and groaned as if in deep pain, and there is but little doubt as to his sufferings at this time.
He was conducted downstairs to the same floor as the baths; he made no observation, but was evidently in a state of prostration, but he did manage with assistance to reach that part of the City prison where another painful ceremony had to be gone through.
The garments he had on he was no longer permitted to wear.
They had to be exchanged for those of a convict. Never again was he destined to wear the clothes of a free man.
He had been previously told that whatever clothes he wore would be forfeited.
They were not of much value, it is true, for, at the time of his capture, he was encased in his shabby long-tailed coat, as represented in the illustration on the front page of the preceding number.
This valuable garment, together with his low-crowned hat and other articles that completed his suit, were forfeited to the Crown—doubtlessly have been preserved as relics of the most daring burglar of modern times.
He heaved a profound sigh, which seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, when he was arrayed in the convict garb, with which, however, he was but too familiar.
After he had shuffled into his new attire, he was told to select from a bundle of dirty, greasy-looking things what was supposed to be a woollen cap of the Scotch-bound type; he chose one which appeared to fit him the best, and then the painful ceremony was over.
“I’ve been cruelly used,” he ejaculated. “The sentence was a most unjust one. I never intended to hurt the bobby. I’ll take my solemn oath that nothing was further from my thoughts. But my friends will not see me thus wronged without making an effort on my behalf. They will send a petition to the Home Office.”