We were arrested again at the door. That night we were indicted by the grand jury; I for bringing stolen property into the state of California, and Spokane for receiving it from me. The police saw we were framing and using money, so they, rather than be beaten, began framing us. Our cases were transferred into another court where they could do some fixing, and we couldn’t. The indictments meant that we would have to wait for trial. I began to get uneasy about the stones I had in the safety box. The police were tearing the town open for them, not knowing that nearly all of them had been sold. I told our lawyer where to get the key to the box, gave him a password, and told him to take the junk out and put it in some safe place. The police “tailed” every visitor we had and even the lawyer in hopes of locating the stones, and he had to be careful. Making another application for a writ of habeas corpus, which he knew would not avail us, he had the hearing set for ten o’clock in the morning. This alarmed the coppers and every one of them was at the courtroom when the case was called. Everybody was there but our attorney. The hearing was held up for fifteen minutes. During this fifteen minutes he was at the safety vault lifting the plant, while every detective on the case was waiting in court. He came in, nodded to us, apologized to the court, and went on with the case with the parcel of loot in his pocket. The writ was denied, of course. I told him to put the stuff away, and he did. When I asked him about it later, he looked me straight in the eye and said: “Did you think I was damn fool enough to keep that stuff around me? Say, when court adjourned that day I went straight down to the foot of Powell Street and threw it in the bay.” This didn’t look just right to me, but what could I do? I was only a poor, honest burglar in the hands of a highway lawyer. He got us a copy of the testimony given the grand jury, and from it I learned what had caused our arrest—Spokane’s passion for gambling. After lifting the watches and rings in the little Northern town, he tried his luck at the faro table and lost his expense money. This forced him to open the parcel and sell a couple of the watches to a gambler for enough money to buy his return ticket. The next day the gambler took them to the town where I stole them, fifteen miles away, across the line, and tried to pawn them. He was arrested and told where he got them. In an hour the police learned about the express package of “sample ore” Spokane shipped. It was seized en route to San Francisco. There was a big reward for the burglar, and the Northern police, wanting it, decided to capture him. Instead of wiring to have him arrested the first time he went to the express office, they hurried here and got him themselves. Spokane was repentant, but it was too late. I did not reproach him.