The only thing to do was to find securities--"bondsmen," as the Americans say. It was already nearly four o'clock (I was giving a so-called _matinée_ that afternoon), and at four the Sheriff's office closed. I insisted on the money being counted, and one of the Sheriff's officers who was employed in counting it proposed in the most obliging manner to do the work very slowly if I would give him 50 dollars. This generous offer I declined, though it would have had the effect of giving me more time to find bondsmen. I soon, however, discovered seated in the theatre two friends who I knew would stand security for me. But it was necessary to find a Judge who would in a formal manner accept the signatures. The performance was at an end, and fortunately there was at this moment a Judge on the stage in the act of making a presentation to Mdme. Patti, doing so, of course, in a set speech. I did not interrupt the oration; but as soon as it was over, and whilst Mdme. Patti was weeping out "Home, Sweet Home" as if her heart would break, I presented to the Judge my two bondsmen. I at the same time took from my waistcoat pocket and handed to him my ink pencil, and he at once signed a paper accepting the bondsmen, together with another ordering the release of the sequestrated funds. Armed with these documents, I drove post haste to the Sheriff's office, and got there at two minutes to four, just as the last bag of silver was going in. All the bags were now got out and heaped together in my carriage. The story was already known all over San Francisco. An immense crowd had assembled in front of the Sheriff's office, and as I drove off bearing away my rescued treasure I was saluted with enthusiastic cheers. When a year later I returned to San Francisco I thought the case would possibly be brought to trial; but the lawyer representing the "scalpers" told me that he had been unable to get any money out of them, and that if I would give him a season ticket he would let the thing drop. The thing accordingly dropped.