In the midst of the crisis he remembered having heard about a benevolent clergyman of the name of Hamilton, who had a large fortune, which he was in the habit of sharing with the poor. Douglas decided that he would get a slice of it, and to achieve his purpose he became a clergyman again. This time he was supposed to be an elderly priest who had fallen upon evil times, and to play the part properly he took lodgings in a slum house owned by a friend and humble confederate. From there he wrote to Mr. Hamilton asking him to call upon a sick and poverty-stricken fellow-clergyman, who had no friends and no hope left in this world.
The appeal was cunningly worded, and the setting of the stage for the comedy was perfect. Douglas knew that if only Mr. Hamilton called he would be able to work upon his feelings to the extent of two hundred pounds at least. Anxiously he waited for a reply, and his joy was great when the owner of the house informed him that a clergyman was approaching.
The sham priest instantly returned to bed, and assuming a pained look prepared to receive the visitor. He heard the knock at the front door, and braced himself for the interview. Presently footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then the door opened and a clergyman entered, whose expression seemed to indicate a generous and credulous disposition.
Douglas was murmuring a prayer when the clergyman came to his side and looked down at him. Then he opened his eyes.
"You—you are the saintly Mr. Hamilton?" he asked in a quavering voice.
"No," was the startling answer. "I am Inspector Allen, and I hold a warrant for your arrest, Sir Richard."
It was a neat capture. The impostor was unable to extricate himself, and at the ensuing Sessions he and his sons were sentenced to imprisonment, and after that catastrophe nothing more was heard of the venerable swindler until a newspaper recorded his death in 1858.