I had to do some swift thinking.
I could have flung the chemicals in their faces and escaped, but I
knew I could never get outside of the British Isles without being
caught--outside of Glasgow for that matter. Such resistance would
only incriminate matters still more, so I let my hand fall down to my
side. More for the fun of it than anything else, I guess, I got on my
horse and demanded to know what was the matter.
"You'll soon know," Inspector French declared.
It seems that a woman had just called me on the telephone and the
Inspector, hurrying to the wire, pretended that he was I and tried to
learn something.
He then ordered his men to search me and seemed amazed when they
couldn't find any six shooters, daggers or bombs. I was taken back to
my room and there he began going through my effects, and bundling them
up. I knew I was up against it; but I wasn't going to make it any
easier for them. I requested Mr. Morris, then manager of the hotel,
and another witness to be called into my room. These gentlemen were
kind enough to put down on paper a description of all my effects that
were being taken away by the police. I was extremely careful to see
that they noted and described all papers and written matters of any
kind. There are often produced in court documents that are not found
on a Secret Service agent at the time of his arrest. Inspector
French--I recall him as an uncouth, illiterate bungler who
subsequently tried to get a lot of publicity out of my arrest as if he
himself had detected the whole concern, instead of having it thrust
under his nose by the London chemical company--was preparing to ride
over me roughshod.
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