Part XI.
THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING.
If thieving be an Art (and who denies that its more subtle and delicatebranches deserve to be ranked as one of the Fine Arts?), thief-taking isa Science. All the thief's ingenuity, all his knowledge of human nature;all his courage; all his coolness; all his imperturbable powers of face;all his nice discrimination in reading the countenances of other people;all his manual and digital dexterity; all his fertility in expedients,and promptitude in acting upon them; all his Protean cleverness ofdisguise and capability of counterfeiting every sort and condition ofdistress; together with a great deal more patience, and the additionalqualification, integrity, are demanded for the higher branches ofthief-taking.
If an urchin picks your pocket, or a bungling "artist" steals your watchso that you find it out in an instant, it is easy enough for any privatein any of the seventeen divisions of London Police to obey your pantingdemand to "Stop thief!" But the tricks and contrivances of those whowheedle money out of your pocket rather than steal it; who cheat youwith your eyes open; who clear every vestige of plate out of your pantrywhile your servant is on the stairs; who set up imposing warehouses, andease respectable firms of large parcels of goods; who steal theacceptances of needy or dissipated young men;--for the detection andpunishment of such impostors a superior order of police is requisite.
To each division of the Force is attached two officers, who aredenominated "detectives." The staff, or head-quarters, consists of sixsergeants and two inspectors. Thus the Detective Police, of which wehear so much, consists of only forty-two individuals, whose duty it isto wear no uniform, and to perform the most difficult operations oftheir craft. They have not only to counteract the machinations of everysort of rascal whose only means of existence is avowed rascality, but toclear up family mysteries, the investigation of which demands the utmostdelicacy and tact.
One instance will show the difference between a regular and a detectivepoliceman. Your wife discovers on retiring for the night, that hertoilette has been plundered; her drawers are void; except the ornamentsshe now wears, her beauty is as unadorned as that of a quakeress: not athing is left; all the fond tokens you gave her when her pre-nuptiallover, are gone; your own miniature, with its setting of gold andbrilliants; her late mother's diamonds; the bracelets "dear papa"presented on her last birth-day; the top of every bottle in thedressing-case brought from Paris by Uncle John, at the risk of his life,in February 1848, are off--but the glasses remain. Every valuable isswept away with the most discriminating villainy; for no other thing inthe chamber has been touched; not a chair has been moved; the costlypendule on the chimney-piece still ticks; the entire apartment is asneat and trim as when it had received the last finishing sweep of thehousemaid's duster. The entire establishment runs frantically up stairsand down stairs; and finally congregates in my Lady's Chamber. Nobodyknows anything whatever about it; yet everybody offers a suggestion,although they have not an idea "who ever did it." The housemaid burstsinto tears; the cook declares she thinks she is going into hysterics;and at last you suggest sending for the Police; which is taken as asuspicion of, and insult on the whole assembled household, and theydescend into the lower regions of the house in the sulks.
X 49 arrives. His face betrays sheepishness, combined with mystery. Heturns his bull's-eye into every corner, and upon every countenance(including that of the cat), on the premises. He examines all the locks,bolts, and bars, bestowing extra diligence on those which enclosed thestolen treasures. These he declares have been "Wiolated;" by which hemeans that there has been more than one "Rape of the Lock." He thenmentions about the non-disturbance of other valuables; takes yousolemnly aside, darkens his lantern, and asks if you suspect any of yourservants, in a mysterious whisper, which implies that _he_ does. He thenexamines the upper bed-rooms, and in that of the female servants hediscovers the least valuable of the rings, and a cast-off silvertooth-pick between the mattresses. You have every confidence in yourmaids; but what _can_ you think? You suggest their safe custody; butyour wife intercedes, and the policeman would prefer speaking to hisinspector before he locks anybody up.
Had the whole matter remained in the hands of X 49, it is possible thatyour troubles would have lasted you till now. A train of legalproceedings--actions for defamation of character and suits fordamages--would have followed, which would have cost more than the valueof the jewels, find the entire execration of all your neighbors andevery private friend of your domestics. But, happily, the Inspectorpromptly sends a plain, earnest-looking man, who announces himself asone of the two Detectives of the X division. He settles the whole matterin ten minutes. His examination is ended in five. As a connoisseur candetermine the painter of a picture at the first glance, or awine-taster the precise vintage of a sherry by the merest sip; so theDetective at once pounces upon the authors of the work of art underconsideration, by the style of performance; if not upon the preciseexecutant, upon the "school" to which he belongs. Having finished thetoilette branch of the inquiry, he takes a short view of the parapet ofyour house, and makes an equally cursory investigation of theattic-window fastenings. His mind is made up, and most likely he willaddress you in these words:--
"All right, Sir. This is done by one of 'The Dancing School!'"
"Good Heavens!" exclaims your plundered partner. "Impossible, why _our_children go to Monsieur Pettitoes, of No. 81, and I assure you he is ahighly respectable professor. As to his pupils, I--"
The Detective smiles and interrupts. "Dancers," he tells her, "is a namegiven to the sort of burglar by whom she had been robbed; and everybranch of the thieving profession is divided into gangs, which aretermed 'Schools.' From No. 82 to the end of the street the houses areunfinished. The thief made his way to the top of one of these, andcrawled to your garrett"--
"But we are forty houses distant, and why did he not favor one of myneighbors with his visit?" you ask.
"Either their uppermost stories are not so practicable, or the ladieshave not such valuable jewels."
"But how do they know that?"
"By watching and inquiry. This affair may have been in action for morethan a month. Your house has been watched; your habits ascertained; theyhave found out when you dine--how long you remain in the dining-room. Aday is selected; while you are busy dining, and your servants busywaiting on you, the thing is done. Previously, many journeys have beenmade over the roofs, to find out the best means of entering your house.The attic is chosen; the robber gets in, and creeps noiselessly, or'dances' into the place to be robbed."
"Is there _any_ chance of recovering our property?" you ask anxiously,seeing the whole matter at a glance.
"I hope so. I have sent some brother officers to watch the Fences'houses."
"Fences?"
"Fences," explains the Detective, in reply to your innocent wife'sinquiry, "are purchasers of stolen goods. Your jewels will be forced outof their settings, and the gold melted."
The lady tries, ineffectually, to suppress a slight scream.
"We shall see, if, at this unusual hour of the night, there is anybustle in or near any of these places; if any smoke is coming out of anyone of their furnaces, where the melting takes place. _I_ shall go andseek out the precise 'garretter'--that's another name these plunderersgive themselves--whom I suspect. By his trying to 'sell' your domesticsby placing the ring and toothpick in their bed, I think I know the man.It is just in his style."
The next morning, you find all these suppositions verified. TheDetective calls, and obliges you at breakfast--after a sleeplessnight--with a complete list of the stolen articles, and produces some ofthem for identification. In three months, your wife gets nearly everyarticle back; her damsels' innocence is fully established; and the thiefis taken from his "school" to spend a long holiday in a penal colony.
This is a mere common-place transaction, compared with the achievementsof the staff of the little army of Detective policemen at head-quarters.Sometimes they are called upon to investigate robberies; s
o executed,that no human ingenuity appears to ordinary observers capable of findingthe thief. He leaves not a trail or a trace. Every clue seems cut off;but the experience of a Detective guides him into tracks quite invisibleto other eyes. Not long since, a trunk was rifled at a fashionablehotel. The theft was so managed, that no suspicion could rest on anyone. The Detective sergeant who had been sent for, fairly owned, aftermaking a minute examination of the case, that he could afford no hope ofelucidating the mystery. As he was leaving the bed-room, however, inwhich the plundered portmanteau stood, he picked up an ordinaryshirt-button from the carpet. He silently compared it with those on theshirts in the trunk. It did not match them. He said nothing, but hungabout the hotel for the rest of the day. Had he been narrowly watched,he would have been set down for an eccentric critic of linen. He waslooking out for a shirt-front or wristband without a button. His searchwas long and patient; but at length it was rewarded. One of the inmatesof the house showed a deficiency in his dress, which no one but aDetective would have noticed. He looked as narrowly as he dared at thepattern of the remaining fasteners. It corresponded with that of thelittle tell-tale he had picked up. He went deeper into the subject, gota trace of some of the stolen property, ascertained a connexion betweenit and the suspected person, confronted him with the owner of the trunk,and finally succeeded in convicting him of the theft.--At anotherhotel-robbery, the blade of a knife, broken in the lock of aportmanteau, formed the clue. The Detective employed in that case wasfor some time indefatigable in seeking out knives with broken blades. Atlength he found one belonging to an under-waiter, who proved to havebeen the thief.
The swell-mob--the London branch of which is said to consist of from onehundred and fifty to two hundred members--demand the greatest amount ofvigilance to detect. They hold the first place in the "profession."
Their cleverness consists in evading the law; the most expert are seldomtaken. One "swell," named Mo. Clark, had an iniquitous career of aquarter of a century, and never was captured during that time. He died a"prosperous gentleman" at Boulogne, whither he had retired to live onhis "savings," which he had invested in house property. An old handnamed White lived unharmed to the age of eighty; but he had not beenprudent, and existed on the contributions of the "mob," till his oldacquaintances were taken away, either by transportation or death, andthe new race did not recognize his claims to their bounty. Hence he diedin a workhouse. The average run of liberty which one of this classcounts upon is four years.
The gains of some of the swell mob are great. They can always commandcapital to execute any especial scheme. Their traveling expenses arelarge; for their harvests are great public occasions, whether in town orcountry. As an example of their profits, the exploits of four of them atthe Liverpool Cattle Show some seven years ago, may be mentioned. TheLondon Detective Police did not attend, but one of them waylaid therogues at the Euston Station. After an attendance of four days, thegentleman he was looking for appeared, handsomely attired, the occupantsof first-class carriages. The Detective, in the quietest mannerpossible, stopped their luggage; they entreated him to treat them like"gentlemen." He did so, and took them into a private room, where, theywere so good as to offer him fifty pounds to let them go. He declined,and over-hauled their booty; it consisted of several gold pins, watches,(some of great value,) chains and rings, silver snuff-boxes, andbank-notes of the value of one hundred pounds! Eventually, however, asowners could not be found for some of the property, and some otherswould not prosecute, they escaped with a light punishment.
In order to counteract the plans of the swell mob, two of the sergeantsof the Detective Police make it their business to know every one of thempersonally. The consequence is, that the appearance of either of theseofficers upon any scene of operations is a bar to anything or anybodybeing "done". This is an excellent characteristic of the Detectives, forthey thus become as well a Preventive Police. We will give anillustration:--
You are at the Oxford commemoration. As you descend the broad stairs ofthe Roebuck to dine, you overtake on the landing a gentleman of foreignaspect and elegant attire. The variegated pattern of his vest, the jettygloss of his boots, and the exceeding whiteness of his gloves--one ofwhich he crushes in his somewhat delicate hand--convince you that he isgoing to the grand ball, to be given that evening at Merton. The glancehe gives you while passing, is sharp, but comprehensive; and if his eyedoes rest upon any one part of your person and its accessories more thananother, it is upon the gold watch which you have just taken out to seeif dinner be "due." As you step aside to make room for him, heacknowledges the courtesy with "Par-r-r-don," in the richest Parisian_gros parle_, and a smile so full of intelligence and courtesy, that youhope he speaks English, for you set him down as an agreeable fellow,and mentally determine that if he dines in the Coffee-room, you willmake his acquaintance.
On the mat at the stair-foot there stands a man. A plain, honest-lookingfellow, with nothing formidable in his appearance, or dreadful in hiscountenance; but the effect his apparition takes on your friend inperspective, is remarkable. The poor little fellow raises himself on histoes, as if he had been suddenly overbalanced by a bullet; his cheekpales, and his lip quivers, as he endeavors ineffectually to suppressthe word "_coquin!_" He knows it is too late to turn back (he evidentlywould, if he could), for the man's eye is upon him. There is no help forit, and he speaks first; but in a whisper. He takes the new comer aside,and all you can overhear is spoken by the latter, who says he insists onMonsieur withdrawing his "School" by the seven o'clock train.
You imagine him to be some poor wretch of a school-master indifficulties; captured, alas, by a bailiff. They leave the inn together,perhaps for a sponging house. So acute is your pity, that you think ofrushing after them, and offering bail. You are, however, very hungry,and, at this moment, the waiter announces that dinner is on table.
In the opposite box there are covers for four, but only three convives.They seem quiet men--not gentleman, decidedly, but well enough behaved.
"What has become of Monsieur?" asks one. None of them can divine.
"Shall we wait any longer for him?"
"Oh, no--Waiter--Dinner!"
By their manner, you imagine that the style of the Roebuck is a "cutabove them." They have not been much used to plate. The silver forks areso curiously heavy, that one of the guests, in a dallying sort of way,balances a prong across his fingers, while the chasing of the castorsengages the attention of a second. This is all done while they talk.When the fish is brought, the third casts a careless glance or two atthe dish cover, and when the waiter has gone for the sauce, he taps itwith his nails, and says enquiringly to his friend across the table"Silver?"
The other shakes his head, and intimates a hint that it is _only_plated. The waiter brings the cold punch, and the party begin to enjoythemselves. They do not drink much, but they mix their drinks ratherinjudiciously. They take sherry upon cold punch, and champagne uponthat, dashing in a little port and bottled stout between. They aregetting merry, not to say jolly, but not at all inebriated. The amateurof silver dish-covers has told a capital story, and his friends arerevelling in the heartiest of laughs, when an apparition appears at theend of the table. You never saw such a change as his presence causes,when he places his knuckles on the edge of the table and looks at thediners _seriatim_; the courtiers of the sleeping beauty suddenly strucksomniferous were nothing to this change. As if by magic, the loud laughis turned to silent consternation. You now, most impressively,understand the meaning of the term "dumbfoundered." The mysteriousstranger makes some enquiry about "any cash?"
The answer is "Plenty."
"All square with the landlord, then?" asks the same inflexible voiceas--to my astonishment--that which put the French man to the torture.
"To a penny," the reply.
"_Quite_ square?" continues the querist, taking with his busy eye arapid inventory of the plate.
"S' help me----"
"Hush!" interrupts the dinner spoiler, holding up his hand in a
cautionary manner. "Have you done anything to-day?"
"Not a thing."
Then there is some more in a low tone; but you again distinguish theword "school," and "seven o'clock train." They are too old to be theFrenchman's pupils; perhaps they are his assistants. Surely they are notall the victims of the same _capias_ and the same officer!
By this time the landlord, looking very nervous, arrives with his bill:then comes the head waiter, who clears the table; carefully counting theforks. The reckoning is paid, and the trio steal out of the room withthe man of mystery behind them,--like sheep driven to the shambles.
You follow to the Railway station, and there you see the Frenchman, whocomplains bitterly of being "sold for noting" by his enemy. The otherthree utter a confirmative groan. In spite of the evident omnipotence oftheir persevering follower, your curiosity impels you to address him.You take a turn on the platform together, and he explains the wholemystery. "The fact is," he begins, "I am Sergeant Witchem, of theDetective police."
"And your four victims are?"--
"Members of a crack school of swell-mobsmen."
"What do you mean by 'school?'"
"Gang. There is a variety of gangs--that is to say, of men who 'work'together, who play into one another's hands. These gentlemen hold thefirst rank, both for skill and enterprise, and had they been allowed toremain would have brought back a considerable booty. Their chief is theFrenchman."
"Why do they obey your orders so passively?"
"Because they are sure that if I were to take them into custody, which Icould do, knowing what they are, and present them before a magistrate,they would all be committed to prison for a month, as rogues andvagabonds."
"They prefer then to have lost no inconsiderable capital in dress anddinner, to being laid up in jail."
"Exactly so."
The bell rings, and all five go off into the same carriage to London.
This is a circumstance that actually occurred; and a similar onehappened when the Queen went to Dublin. The mere appearance of one theDetective officers before a "school" which had transported itself in theRoyal train, spoilt their speculation; for they all found it moreadvantageous to return to England in the same steamer with the officer,than to remain with the certainty of being put in prison for fourteen ortwenty-eight days as rogues and vagabonds.
So thoroughly well acquainted with these men are the Detective officerswe speak of, that they frequently tell what they have been about by theexpression of their eyes and their general manner. This process is aptlytermed "reckoning them up." Some days ago, two skilful officers, whosepersonal acquaintance with the swell mob is complete, were walking alongthe Strand on other business, when they saw two of the best dressed andbest mannered of the gang enter a jeweller's shop. They waited till theycame out, and, on scrutinising them, were convinced, by a certainconscious look which they betrayed, that they had stolen something. Theyfollowed them, and in a few minutes something was passed from one to theother. The officers were convinced, challenged them with the theft, andsucceeded in eventually convicting them of stealing two goldeye-glasses, and several jeweled rings. "The eye," said our informant,"is the great detector. We can tell in a crowd what a swell-mobsman isabout by the expression of his eye."
It is supposed that the number of persons who make a trade of thievingin London is not more than six thousand; of these, nearly two hundredare first-class thieves or swell-mobsmen, six hundred "macemen," andtrade swindlers, bill-swindlers, dog-stealers, &c.; About fortyburglars, "dancers," "garretteers," and other adepts with theskeleton-keys. The rest are pickpockets, "gonophs--" mostly youngthieves who sneak into areas, and rob tills--and other pilferers.
To detect and circumvent this fraternity, is the science ofthief-taking. Here, it is, however, impossible to give even an imperfectnotion of the high amount of skill, intelligence, and knowledge,concentrated in the character of a clever Detective Policeman. We shalltherefore finish the sketch in another part.