Mackoull approached him, courteously advising him to have a look at the strange “alternating star” to be seen that night in the sky. As soon as the baker was placed to view the phenomenon, Mackoull deftly relieved him of his pocket-book, which he knew to be well lined. Then, as the baker could not see the star properly and went home to use his telescope, Mackoull promptly decamped, returning to town in a postchaise.
Now Mackoull married a lodging-house keeper, and went into the business of “receiving.” At first he stored his stolen goods in his mother’s house, but as this became insecure he devised a receptacle in his own. He chose for the purpose a recess where had formerly been a window, but which had been blocked up to save the window-tax. It was on that account called “Pitt’s picture.” But the hiding-place was discovered, and as Mackoull was “wanted,” he escaped to the Continent, where he frequented the German gambling-tables and learnt the language. He visited Hamburg, Leipsic, Rotterdam, and is said to have often played billiards with the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, whom he relieved of all his superfluous cash.
Again he had to fly, but being afraid to return to London he travelled north, and landed at Leith in 1805. Thence he went to Edinburgh, and lodged in the Canongate, devoting himself to his old pursuits at taverns, “calling himself a Hamburg merchant and making many friends.” A theft at the theatre was nearly fatal to him. He was caught by a police officer in the act of picking a gentleman’s pocket, and, after running for his life, was at last overtaken. Having no assistance at hand, the “town officer” struck him on the head with his “batoon.” Mackoull fell with a deep groan, and the officer, fearing he had killed him, made off. As the result of this encounter Mackoull was long laid up, and he carried the scar on his forehead to his dying day.
As time passed he grew more daring and more truculent, and it is believed he was the author of the well-known murder of Begbie, the porter of the British Linen Company Bank—a crime never brought home to him, however, the murder remaining a mystery to the last. This victim, returning from Leith carrying a large parcel of bank-notes, was stabbed in the back at the entrance of Tweeddale’s Court. Several persons were suspected, apprehended, and discharged for want of evidence. Yet the most active measures were taken to detect the crime. “Hue-and-cry” bills were thrown off during the night, and despatched next morning by the mail-coaches to all parts of the country. It was stated in this notice that “the murder was committed with a force and dexterity more resembling that of a foreign assassin than an inhabitant of this country. The blow was directly to the heart, and the unfortunate man bled to death in a few minutes.” Through Mr. Denovan’s investigations many facts were obtained to implicate Mackoull, but the proof of his guilt was still insufficient.
One of the most suspicious facts against him was that later on he was often seen in the Belle Vue grounds, and here, in an old wall, many of the notes stolen from the murdered porter were presently discovered. They were those of large value, which the perpetrator of the crime would find it difficult to pass. Reports that they had been thus found, and in this particular wall, were in circulation some three weeks before they were actually unearthed, and it is believed the story was purposely put about to lead to their recovery. It is a curious fact that the stonemason who came upon the notes in pulling down the wall resided close to the spot where the murder had been committed. But for the good luck that he was able to prove clearly that he was not in Edinburgh at the time of the murder, he might have been added to the sufficiently long list of victims of circumstantial evidence.
Mackoull at this time passed to and fro between Edinburgh and Dublin, and was popular in both capitals, a pleasant companion, ever ready to drink and gamble and join in any debauchery. He became very corpulent, and it was said of him that he did not care how he was jostled in a crowd. This was necessary as a matter of business sometimes, but one night at the Edinburgh theatre he got into trouble. Incledon, the famous vocalist, was singing to full houses, and Mackoull in the crowded lobby picked a gentleman’s pocket. He was caught in the act, but escaped for a time; then was seized after a hot pursuit and searched, but with no result, for he had dropped his booty in the race. They cast him into the Tolbooth, but he was released for want of proof after nine months’ detention. As the story is told, the gentleman robbed was much displeased at Mackoull’s release and complained of this failure of justice. The judge before whom the thief had been arraigned admitted that he ought to have been hanged. “He went to the play-house to steal and not to hear music; and he gave a strong proof of this, Mr. P., when he preferred your notes to Mr. Incledon’s.”
Mackoull, retiring south after his liberation, lay low for a time, but he made one expedition to Scotland for the purpose of passing forged notes, when he was again arrested, but again evaded the law. Another enterprise in Chester failed; the luck was against him for the moment. But now, having sought out efficient confederates, he laid all his plans for the robbery of some one or other of the great Scottish banks. He was well equipped for the job, had secured the best men and the finest implements.
He was assisted by two confederates, French and Huffey White, the latter a convict at the hulks, whose escape Mackoull had compassed on purpose. They broke into the Paisley Bank at Glasgow on Sunday night, July 14, 1811, with keys carefully fitted long in advance, and soon ransacked the safe and drawers, securing in gold and notes something like £20,000. Of course, they left Glasgow at once, travelling full speed in a postchaise and four, first to Edinburgh and then viâ Haddington and Newcastle southward to London. In the division of the spoil which now took place Mackoull contrived to keep the lion’s share. White was apprehended, and to save his life a certain sum was surrendered to the bank; but some of the money, as I have said elsewhere,[18] seems to have stuck to the fingers of Sayer, the Bow Street officer who had negotiated between Mackoull and the bank. Mackoull himself had retained about £8,000.