Wyeth had returned to the scene of the opening--so had the rest. And the crowd, combined with those who had gathered about the bank in the meantime, filled Audubon Avenue the entire length of the building, a block and a half on the side. All was uproar. Report followed report, and each flashed through the crowd with much comment. He had, so the news ran, been captured here, and everywhere. As it stood, he had not been captured at all. Opinions, expressions, conclusions and rejections were in order on all sides. One was to the effect that the big banks uptown, conducted by "whi' fo'kes," had conspired the deal on account of fear, "'cause nigga's 's a-gittin so rich 'n 'a-posit'n they money in the cullud bank, ontell dem whi' fo'kes done 'trigued' and got dat low down po' whi' man t' come and tri' t' frustrate us 'spectable cullud fo'kes." And again there came to the ears of Sidney another report, and this was one of graver concern. "Robbers 'roun' a-stealin' d' money, go'n be fus' one dare in d' mawnin' t' draw mine out!" "Gwan, you fool nigga! Yu' ain' got nothin' in dere; 'n' yu' aut a-be run outta town fo' talkin' lak dat!" "Who dat obber dare, da' whi' man dressed so 'maculete wi' du soft hat?" "Dat's Judson, d' 'porter on d' Jou'nal." "Who dat udder one wi' a big nose 'n' dark 'plection!" "Ain' you ebber been 'rested, nigga, 'n' up a-fo' Jedge Ly'l's, 'n' seen 'im a-hangin' 'roun'? Dat's Jempsy, d' putective." "Lis'n! lis'n! Wha' dat! Dey has captured 'im!" Forthwith, to another point they rushed, through a bunch collected around the barber, who was then telling and retelling "'Ow close ah come t' gittin' 'im." It was not a report this time, but the ambulance that was taking the wounded teller to his home. The sight of him, with bandaged head as a result of the attempt, served to renew the local race animosity. "Ah sho 's go'n kill me a whi' man, so 'elp me Jaysus!" muttered a dinge, as the carriage passed him by, while all about dark faces scowled ominously. Darkness was approaching, when an authentic report came at last, to the ears of the crowd. The would-be robber had really been captured, and it was the papers that gave forth the news. His name, so he said, was Rhynata, a "vaudevillian," who hailed from Denver. His capture had been thus: When he had eluded the mob, by holding up the old man for his horse and buggy, he followed that street for only a block, when he turned into another. After the crowd was lost, he left the buggy, and walked hurriedly up the street, turned a corner, and disappeared in the basement of a house.