Alexander Meyrick Broadley

[3] The colonial administrator and explorer Sir Harry H. Johnston noted that Broadley was "very orthodox on account of his father" and "was led into rude interruptions of any speech which traversed the belief that the Earth was only six or seven thousand years old".

His remarks on educational policy and on the Criminal Procedure Code, which were reported in newspapers and created angry discussions, were objected to by the Lieutenant-Governor of Bengal, Sir George Campbell and officially denied.

[9] The following month he was reported to have been posted to Noynabad, and ordered to remain there, having been invested with the power to try cases arising from riots of the Muslim Ferazi sect.

[18] Given Broadley's knowledge of Muslim law, and the fact he was "abnormally clever",[17] that same year Wilfrid Blunt engaged him as counsel for Ahmed ʻUrabi, otherwise known as Aribi Pasha, an Egyptian nationalist who was put on trial in Cairo for insurrection.

[17] His social skills also saw him appointed de facto editor of Edmund Yates' periodical World, and despite his previous disgrace, for a few years he achieved an exceptionally high profile in London Society.

[23] An Indian official suggested that Broadley had not been compelled to return to India to answer the charges against him, as such a threat hanging over the head of the editor of an important society newspaper guaranteed that he would not publish anything of embarrassment to those in high places.

[17] Broadley also became connected with the management of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,[15] acting as a financial and business adviser to Augustus Harris.

Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, whose sons' portraits had also appeared in the magazine, and who had knowledge of Broadley's reputation in India, took offence at his inclusion.

[31] On the witness stand the rentboy John Saul stated that he had briefly secured employment in the 1889 production The Royal Oak at Drury Lane, which was during Broadley's time there.

[12] Broadley's ability to reinvent himself provoked a mockingly Wildean paragraph in a British syndicated newspaper column in 1892, which stated that in Brussels he had "renewed his youth" and was: ...in the widest sense "a new man".

He in fact insists that he is a disconnected and different Mr Broadley altogether from the gentleman whose adventures while in the service of the Indian Prison department finally excited so much curiosity in London; denies that there was ever such a person as himself, that his portrait ever appeared in Vanity Fair, or that an exalted personage ever intervened fiercely in his affairs.

The other protests that their Mr Broadley, who it appears enjoys the friendship and esteem of the King of the Belgians, is fitted to grace any society in which he may find himself.

"[36]It was subsequently reported that to confirm his identity, the English Club of Brussels went to the trouble of procuring the back number of Vanity Fair which had featured the infamous portrait.

[37] In 1894, Broadley quietly returned to England to manage the estates and general affairs of Viscount Cantelupe,[38] who succeeded in 1896 as 8th Earl de la Warr.

In April 1896 Broadley met the serial financial fraudster Ernest Terah Hooley,[39] and subsequently worked to promote his investment schemes.

[46] Broadley was denounced by Robert Wright, Justice of the Court of the Queen's Bench, as the real author and organiser of Hooley's deceitful schemes, but escaped bankruptcy and fashioned himself as a country gentleman.

It drew at least one scathing review under the headline 'Scissors and Snobbery' which stated: "this stitching together of stale tattle from the Royal nursery may be 'good business': it is not an undertaking which enlists our sympathy.

This prompted novelist and U.S. newspaper columnist Marguerite Cunliffe-Owen to restate them with the observation: "Of course all this is old and forgotten, and if I recall it, it is merely in order to show how very unreliable obituaries are apt to be, and the facility with which even such men as Broadley, if possessed of sufficient cleverness, and of impudence, are able to blind their citizens to their past infamies and to die in the odor of respectability, if not of sanctity"[17] In his will, Broadley left the sum of £8,506, the majority bequeathed to his nephew Lieutenant R.A.L.

Broadley,[56] who put his collection up for sale; the Napoleana was purchased en bloc by Lord Curzon, who bequeathed it to Oxford University.