‘Strictly speaking, I have told you all I am permitted to do,’ was the courteous answer. ‘But it will not be a very grave breach of duty if I say that my prisoner is known to have reached England in the Balbriggan Castle, to have exchanged gold for notes at Southampton, and to be in possession of a quantity of luggage marked P. R., some of which has been found upon examination to contain clothes, books, and letters bearing the name Percival Royston, Alliance Bank, Cape Town; while in other boxes were found similar articles with the name Peter Rodd, showing the adoption of the alias.’
‘Would it be within your province to release your prisoner upon undoubted proof that he is not the person wanted?’
The officer thought for a moment, and replied: ‘If such proof could be confirmed by a magistrate—and after communicating with headquarters—yes.’
‘Then,’ said my cousin, ‘will you be good enough to bring your prisoner to the manor-house, and ask the squire—who is a magistrate—three simple questions?—The name of your prisoner—How long it is since they last met—What is to his knowledge the total duration of the prisoner’s recent absence from England?’
This my captor readily consented to do; and after the three questions had been answered by the squire—at whose house I had dined just a year before—telegraphed to Scotland Yard, asking whether it was known how long Royston had been continuously in the service of the bank. The answer came speedily: ‘Five or six years;’ followed half an hour later by a second message: ‘A mistake has occurred. Do not arrest Rodd. If already done, express regret, and return at once.’ There was just time for him to catch an up-train; and after carrying out his last instructions with great politeness, the detective drove off, stopping, as I observed, at the end of the drive to pick up a man who was leaning against the gate-post, his hands buried deep in the pockets of a gray dustcoat.
The next post from London brought a very ample explanation and apology for ‘the painful position in which I had been placed through an exceedingly regrettable mistake. This had arisen through the imperfect information furnished to the authorities in the first instance as to the movements of the real culprit, who, they had unfortunately no room whatever to doubt, was the passenger going under the name of Paul Raynor. This person, it was now ascertained, had taken passage on board a sailing-ship for South America. The similarity of initials, with other facts of which I was aware, had combined to mislead those engaged in the case; while the discovery of Royston’s luggage in my possession had of course confirmed their suspicions.
‘They were directed to add that the alias under which I knew him had of course been assumed only after the Balbriggan Castle had actually sailed, as the message brought by the next homeward-bound steamer to Madeira, and thence telegraphed to England, did not contain this important item of information.’
Opening the newspaper two or three days later, I read at the head of a column, in conspicuous type: ‘Arrival of the Cape Mail. Audacious Robbery from a Cape Town Bank’—then in smaller print: ‘A considerable sensation has been caused at Cape Town by the discovery of a robbery planned and carried out with an audacity which it is not too much to describe as unique in the annals of crime. The circumstances are briefly these. On the morning of Wednesday the 16th June, the mail-steamer Turcoman arrived in Table Bay from England, having on board some five thousand pounds in gold for the Alliance Bank, to whose care it was duly delivered on the same day. A portion of this amount, namely, fifteen hundred pounds, was destined for the use of the bank’s Diamond Fields branch at De Vriespan, where it was required with all expedition. The overland service between Cape Town and the Diamond Fields is a bi-weekly one, leaving the former place at six A.M. on Monday and Thursday, and covering the whole distance of seven hundred miles in about five days nine hours. In order, therefore, to insure the despatch of the case containing the specie by the mail-cart on the following day, Mr Percival Royston, the assistant-cashier, was requested to undertake, in conjunction with the senior clerk, Mr Albertus Jager, the duty of counting and repacking the gold, after the completion of their ordinary work at six or seven o’clock. According to the latter gentleman’s statement, the task was not commenced till after dinner at about eight o’clock. They had made some considerable progress when Royston remarked how pale and tired his companion was looking. Upon Mr Jager’s admitting that he was feeling far from well, the other asked him if he would not give up the work and go home to bed, saying that he (Royston) would finish the counting himself and have everything ready in plenty of time for to-morrow. Knowing how thoroughly the assistant-cashier was trusted by the bank, Mr Jager allowed himself to be persuaded, and left at once for his own quarters. The case was duly despatched in the morning, in charge of a clerk proceeding to the De Vriespan office on promotion, the fact being reported by Royston to the head-cashier.
‘Nothing further appears to have transpired until Tuesday the 21st June, when the head-cashier addressing Royston, asked: “By the way, when is that gold due at De Vriespan? To-day?”
“Yes, sir,” was the answer; “we ought to get the telegram announcing its arrival in half an hour or so.”