No opportunity occurred during the evening for testing the contents of the unlocked drawer; but in anticipation of there being something in it worth carrying away, he arranged with his kind host that he should be allowed to leave the house very early in the morning.
The thought of that money-box kept him awake for three hours, by which time he guessed rightly that both the clergyman and his housekeeper would be fast asleep. He then slipped down to the parlour on his stocking-soles—the first use to which he put the gift of Mr Goodall—and took from the box about £50 in notes and coin. A gold pencil-case, a silver fruit knife, and a pair of spectacles, which were lying close by, he was mean enough also to appropriate. He then slipped upstairs, and lay down and slept the sleep of the unjust till about seven in the morning.
I don’t know what the man’s feelings had been when he found that Mr Goodall was up, and had caused the servant to prepare breakfast for him, and when that was hastily swallowed, insisted on accompanying the wanderer back part of the way to the nearest railway station, at which he paid his fare to Edinburgh, and pressed a few shillings into his hand, merely saying at parting—
“Go in peace, and sin no more.”
Surely his heart must have got a sore twinge at that moment.
Johnston soon reached Edinburgh, and the telegram announcing the robbery followed an hour or two later. This message contained a brief description of the man, who, however, was known to me by reputation, though I had never seen him. My only wonder was that he had given his real name and antecedents, which, I suppose, may be accounted for by the robbery being an after-thought. With such a sum of money in his possession Johnston was practically at the ends of the earth, and it might be thought foolish to look for him in Edinburgh; but I reasoned otherwise. Your very needy rascal, who has not fingered money for a long time, grudges to throw away much of it on railway fares, or anything, indeed, which does not minister immediately to his own gratification. Besides, Johnston had spoken of going to “friends” in Edinburgh, and I had no doubt but he had in his mind at the moment certain of my “bairns” hailing from Glasgow, and already known to him, who would be glad to profit by his superior education and planning power. By telegraphing to Johnny Farrel I had a list of these “friends” an hour after the receipt of the news, and immediately went out to seek some of them, sending McSweeny in another direction on the same errand. The brief description from the robbed clergyman was supplemented by a fuller one from Glasgow, and thus we were pretty certain of identifying our man, even if we had met him on the street. Now, behold how, when you are most certain, you may be most easily deceived. McSweeny went to a certain house in Potterrow, which he entered without ceremony, and then proceeded to question the inmates. This house had generally a stranger or two in it at every inspection, and the present occasion proved no exception. There were two strangers—one a hawker, and the other an evil-looking character with the hair of his head cropped close to the skull, and his face as smooth and hairless as the palm of his hand. Neither of these answering the description, McSweeny began to make inquiries for Johnston, and was even obliging enough to describe his character and general appearance to those present in that kitchen.
“I believe I saw him not an hour ago,” said the cropped-headed man sullenly, after a dead silence on the part of all present.
“Where?” eagerly demanded McSweeny.
“Where I could get him again in five minutes, I think, if it was worth my while,” suggestively returned the man.
“Will you take me to him now, then?” cried McSweeny.