The same sources of information which led to the detection of the conspiracy enabled the magistrates to trace the hiding-place of Thistlewood. Instead of returning to his own lodgings in Stanhope-street, Clare-market, it was discovered that he had proceeded to an obscure house, No. 8, White-street, Little Moorfields. Thither, at nine o’clock on Thursday morning, the 24th of February, Lavender, Bishop, Ruthven, Salmon, and six of the patrol, were despatched. On arriving at the house, three of the latter were placed at the front, and three at the back door, to prevent escape. Bishop observed a room on the ground-floor, the door of which he tried to open, but found it locked. He called to a woman in the opposite apartment, whose name is Harris, to fetch him the key. She hesitated, but at last brought it. He then opened the door softly. The light was partially excluded, from the shutters being shut; but he perceived a bed in the corner, and advanced. At that instant a head was gently raised from under the blankets, and the countenance of Thistlewood was presented to his view. Bishop drew a pistol, and presenting it at him, exclaimed, “Mr. Thistlewood, I am a Bow-street officer; you are my prisoner:” and then, “to make assurance doubly sure,” he threw himself upon him. Thistlewood said, he would make no resistance. Lavender, Ruthven, and Salmon, were then called, and the prisoner was permitted to rise. He had his breeches and stockings on, and seemed much agitated. On being dressed, he was handcuffed; in his pockets were found some ball-cartridges and flints, the black girdle, or belt, which he was seen to wear in Cato-street, and a sort of military silk sash. A hackney-coach was then sent for, and he was conveyed to Bow-street. In his way thither he was asked by Bishop, what he meant to do with the ball-cartridges; he declined answering any questions. He was followed by a crowd of persons, who repeatedly cried out, “Hang the villain! hang the assassin!” and used other exclamations of a similar nature. When he arrived at Bow-street, he was first taken into the public office, but subsequently into a private room, where he was heard, unguardedly, to say, that “he knew he had killed one man, and he only hoped it was Stafford;” meaning Mr. Stafford, the chief clerk of the office, to whose unremitting exertions in the detection of public delinquents too much praise cannot be given. Mr. Birnie, having taken a short examination of the prisoner, sent him to Whitehall to be examined by the Privy-Council. Here the crowd was as great as that which had been collected in Bow-street. Persons of the highest rank came pouring into the Home Office, to learn the particulars of what had transpired.