later by Deacon Brodie, who, learning that Smith was within, but that Brown had not yet put in an appearance, went back up the court to look for him. They met in the entry and returned together, Brown explaining that, on his arrival, he had seen the old man who usually locked up the office leaving the court, and had dogged him home as a precautionary measure. Brown then inquired of Ainslie “whether or not he had ‘Great Samuel’?”—by which playful appellation he referred to the coulter—and Ainslie handed it to him through the railings. The Deacon and Brown then entered the office, leaving the outer door on the latch, behind which the former ensconced himself.
Smith had meanwhile opened the spring catch of the inner door with a pair of curling irons or “toupee tongs” which he had prepared for that purpose, and was awaiting Brown in the hall. By means of the coulter and an iron crow—“Little Samuel,” in Brown’s humorous phraseology—the two burglars at length succeeded in forcing the door of the cashier’s room, and by the light of the Deacon’s lantern they proceeded to prize open every desk and press which it contained. In the cashier’s desk they found and appropriated two five-pound notes, six guinea notes, and some odd silver; but after half-an-hour’s diligent searching their utmost efforts failed to discover the accumulated riches which they had confidently expected to secure.
In the hurry of the search, by a curious chance, a secret drawer, concealed beneath the cashier’s desk, containing no less than £600 sterling, escaped their notice.
Unwilling to accept their defeat, the two men were ransacking the desks afresh when they heard the front door open, but, supposing Brodie to be at his post, paid no attention. They were about to leave the room to prosecute their investigation of the premises when they heard some one come hastily down the stairs, “which made them stop or they must have met him.” Upon this Brown whispered, “Here must be treachery; get out your pistols and cock them!” They then heard the front door close with a crash. Perceiving that something was wrong, they now hastened into the hall, when, to their amazement, they found that the Deacon had vanished, and, on opening the door, that Ainslie also had disappeared. Cursing their ill luck and the defection of their companions, the puzzled burglars hurried through the court into the Canongate; and, quite at sea as to what had happened, made the best of their way to Smith’s house, leaving behind them in the office the heavy coulter and the spur which was designed to mislead the discoverers of the robbery.
We must now return to Ainslie, whom we left on the watch behind the railings. A servant girl, returning from a message to her master’s house in the court, saw him looking over the wall, and, “judging him to be a light or suspicious person”—in which diagnosis she was not far wrong—sought safety within doors. He had not been long at his post when the silence of the court was broken by the sound of a man running into it from the street, and Ainslie, peering through the railings, was alarmed to see him go in at the open door of the Excise Office. At the very moment of his entrance another man rushed from the doorway and fled at full speed up the court; and before Ainslie could recover from his surprise at this unlooked-for situation, a third man, as he supposed, came immediately out of the office and also disappeared towards the Canongate after the other.
The scanty oil lamps with which in those days the city was “illuminated” after nightfall served but as feeble foils to the surrounding darkness, and to Ainslie, in the dimly-lighted court, friend and foe were equally indistinguishable. These mysterious and unlooked-for doings proved too much for the watcher’s nerve; so, having hastily given the agreed-on signal of retreat by three blasts upon his whistle, he, too, made for the entry, and, turning down St. John’s Street, came through the gardens of the Canongate to the back of the Excise Office. Finding no trace of his associates there, Ainslie in his turn repaired to Smith’s.
The explanation of these occurrences, which had dispersed the gang in bewilderment and consternation, was singularly simple, but the issue might have been very different. Mr. James Bonar, Deputy Solicitor of Excise, had returned to the office about half-past eight o’clock to get certain papers which he had left in his room. Finding the outer door on the latch, he assumed that some of the clerks were still in the building, and was entering the office when the Deacon, who appears to have lost his usual presence of mind, bounced out from behind the door, and, brushing past him, fled hastily from the court. Mr. Bonar attached no importance to this incident, thinking the person belonged to the office, and, being pressed for time, ran upstairs to his own room, got what he wanted, and hastened from the building, slamming the outer door after him.
If Ainslie had not lost his head at the sudden entrance and exit of the Solicitor and the Deacon, but had blown his whistle, as he should have done, whenever the former appeared, Smith and Brown, rushing out with their pistols cocked, would have encountered Mr. Bonar in the lobby, and murder would doubtless have been done. As it was, that gentleman probably owed his life to the pusillanimity of Ainslie and Brodie, the latter of whom could, from his ambush, easily have closed with him as he entered the hall.
After his undignified flight from the Excise Office, Deacon Brodie reached his own house about nine o’clock, where he once more changed his attire, putting on the fine white suit he usually wore. He then hurried to the house of his mistress, Jean Watt, in Libberton’s Wynd, where he remained till the following morning. Meanwhile, at Smith’s house the other three were discussing the disappointing result of the night’s expedition and indulging in mutual recriminations. The non-appearance of Brodie added to their uncertainty, and they parted for the night in no amiable mood, Ainslie and Brown going over to the New Town, where, in a tavern kept by one Fraser, they sought consolation in a bowl of punch. The next day—Thursday—the Deacon came to Brown and Ainslie’s lodging in Burnet’s Close and laughingly told them that Smith had accused him of deserting his post the previous night. He was received but sourly by Brown, who made no secret of sharing Smith’s opinion. These, however, were minor matters, the vital question being whether or not suspicion would be directed to themselves. It was arranged that they should all meet at Smith’s the following night, when the sixteen pounds—miserable recompense of so much risk and labour!—was to be equally divided among them.
Accordingly, upon the Friday evening, in the upper room of Smith’s house, each man received his share, amounting to a little over four pounds. Ainslie, to whom Brodie owed a “debt of honour,” took occasion to require payment, and got one of the five-pound notes and some gold from him. The Deacon, who had staked infinitely more, thus made less than any of them by the adventure. Brown, so soon as he had received his share, went out, like Judas, and for a similar purpose.
The reader may remember the two trunks in which the silks stolen from Inglis & Horner’s shop were packed with a view to transmission to John Tasker at Chesterfield. One of these had been despatched some time before by the Berwick carrier, the other had been forwarded that week by the Newcastle waggoner, and Smith’s wife was to leave for England on the Saturday in order to treat personally with the proprietor of the “Bird in Hand,” who was probably a difficult customer to deal with. Smith and Ainslie therefore proceeded to the New Town, where, at the inn kept by William Drysdale, they purchased a ticket for Mrs. Smith by the mail-coach to Newcastle on the following day. The five-pound note was tendered in payment, and they received the change, less the price of the ticket.
Let us now see how prudent Mr. Brown had been improving his time. Daily since the 25th of January there had appeared in each of the three Edinburgh newspapers advertisements offering £150 reward and a free pardon to whoever should disclose the robbers of Inglis & Horner’s shop. The excitement occasioned by that crime had been revived and increased tenfold by the discovery of the attack upon the Excise Office, which was made by ten o’clock on the night of its occurrence, and the vigilance of the authorities was proportionally augmented.
Brown stood in a more ticklish situation towards the outraged majesty of the law than any of his companions, for over him hung the sentence of transportation, which he had hitherto successfully evaded; and it would go hard with him if he fell into the hands of justice in connection with any of his later villainies, which might happen at any moment. He was,
