A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY.
In pursuance of the intention mentioned at the close of a former paper
on "The Modern Science of Thief-taking," we now proceed to endeavor to
convey to our readers some faint idea of the extraordinary dexterity,
patience, and ingenuity, exercised by the Detective Police. That our
description may be as graphic as we can render it, and may be perfectly
reliable, we will make it, so far as in us lies, a piece of plain truth.
And first, we have to inform the reader how the anecdotes we are about
to communicate, came to our knowledge.
We are not by any means devout believers in the Old Bow-Street Police.
To say the truth, we think there was a vast amount of humbug about those
worthies. Apart from many of them being men of very indifferent
character, and far too much in the habit of consorting with thieves and
the like, they never lost a public occasion of jobbing and trading in
mystery and making the most of themselves. Continually puffed besides by
incompetent magistrates anxious to conceal their own deficiencies, and
hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, they became a sort
of superstition. Although as a Preventive Police they were utterly
ineffective, and as a Detective Police were very loose and uncertain in
their operations, they remain with some people, a superstition to the
present day.
On the other hand, the Detective Force organized since the establishment
of the existing Police, is so well chosen and trained, proceeds so
systematically and quietly, does its business in such a workman-like
manner, and is always so calmly and steadily engaged in the service of
the public, that the public really do not know enough of it, to know a
tithe of its usefulness. Impressed with this conviction, and interested
in the men themselves, we represented to the authorities at Scotland
Yard, that we should be glad, if there were no official objection, to
have some talk with the Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission
being given, a certain evening was appointed with a certain Inspector
for a social conference between ourselves and the Detectives, at our
Office in Wellington Street, Strand, London. In consequence of which
appointment the party "came off," which we are about to describe. And we
beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics as it might for obvious reasons
be injurious to the public, or disagreeable to respectable individuals
to touch upon in print, our description is as exact as we can make it.
Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced; but we do not
undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the names here mentioned.
Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector Wield is a
middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye,
a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of
a corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxta-position with his
eyes or nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman--in
appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained
school-master, from the Normal Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield
one might have known, perhaps, for what he is--Inspector Stalker, never.
The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker observe
that they have brought some sergeants with them. The sergeants are
presented--five in number, Sergeant Dornton, Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant
Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant Straw. We have the whole Detective
Force from Scotland Yard with one exception. They sit down in a
semicircle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance
from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a
glance, immediately takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate
sketch of the editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in
company could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest
hesitation, twenty years hence.
The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton, about fifty
years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sun-burnt forehead, has the
air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army--he might have sat to
Wilkie for the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is famous for
steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small beginnings,
working on from clue to clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem,
shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of
a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep
arithmetical calculations. He is renowned for his acquaintance with the
swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced man with a fresh bright
complexion, and a strange air of simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers.
Sergeant Fendall, a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a
prodigious hand at pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature.
Straw, a little wiry Sergeant of meek demeanor and strong sense, would
knock at a door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you
chose to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as
innocent as an infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking men;
of perfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing
lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen observation,
and quick perception when addressed; and generally presenting in their
faces, traces more or less marked of habitually leading lives of strong
mental excitement. They have all good eyes; and they all can, and they
all do, look full at whomsoever they speak to.
We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very
temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest
amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob. Inspector
Wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves his right hand,
and says, "Regarding the Swell Mob, Sir, I can't do better than call
upon Sergeant Witchem. Because the reason why? I'll tell you. Sergeant
Witchem is better acquainted with the Swell Mob than any officer in
London."
Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, we turn to
Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in well-chosen language, goes
into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of his brother officers
are closely interested in attending to what he says, and observing its
effect. Presently they begin to strike in, one or two together, when an
opportunity offers, and the conversation becomes general. But these
brother officers only come in to the assistance of each other--not to
the contradiction--and a more amicable brotherhood there could not be.
From the swell mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen,
fences, public-house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go
out "gonophing," and other "schools," to which our readers have already
been introduced. It is observable throughout these revelations, that
Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is always exact and statistical, and
that when any question of figures arises, everybody as by one consent
pauses, and looks to him.
When we have exhausted the various schools of Art--during which
discussion the whole body have remained profoundly attentive, except
when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the way, has induced some
gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in that direction,
behind his next neighbor's back--we burrow for information on such
points as the following. Whether there really are any highway robberies
in London, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be mentioned
by the aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies complained of,
under that head, which quite change their character? Certainly the
latter, almost always. Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where
servants are necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion
ever becomes so like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be
cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly. Nothing is so common or
deceptive as such appearances at first. Whether in a place of public
amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a
thief,--supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other--because
each recognizes in the other, under all disguise, an inattention to what
is going on, and a purpose that is not the purpose of being entertained?
Yes. That's the way exactly. Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to
trust to the alleged experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves,
in prisons, or penitentiaries, or anywhere? In general, nothing more
absurd. Lying is their habit and their trade; and they would rather
lie--even if they hadn't an interest in it, and didn't want to make
themselves agreeable--than tell the truth.
From these topics, we glide into a review of the most celebrated and
horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within the last
fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery of almost all
of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the murderers, are here,
down to the very last instance. One of our guests gave chase to and
boarded the Emigrant Ship, in which the murderess last hanged in London
was supposed to have embarked. We learn from him that his errand was not
announced to the passengers, who may have no idea of it to this hour.
That he went below, with the captain, lamp in hand--it being dark, and
the whole steerage abed and sea-sick--and engaged the Mrs. Manning who
_was_ on board, in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with
no small pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the
light. Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he quietly
re-embarked in the Government steamer alongside, and steamed home again
with the intelligence.
When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a considerable
time in the discussion, two or three leave their chairs, whisper
Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seats. Sergeant Witchem, leaning
forward a little, and placing a hand on each of his legs, then modestly
speaks as follows:
"My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my taking
Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn't to tell what he has done himself; but
still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as nobody but myself
can tell it, I'll do it in the best way I can, if it should meet your
approval."
We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we all
compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention.
"Tally-ho Thompson," says Sergeant Witchem, after merely wetting his
lips with his brandy and water, "Tally-ho Thompson was a famous
horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with a pal
that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good
round sum of money, under pretence of getting him a situation--the
regular old dodge--and was afterwards in the 'Hue and Cry' for a
horse--a horse that he stole, down in Hertfordshire. I had to look after
Thompson, and I applied myself, of course, in the first instance, to
discovering where he was. Now, Thompson's wife lived, along with a
little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that Thompson was somewhere in the
country, I watched the house--especially at post-time in the
morning--thinking Thompson was pretty likely to write to her. Sure
enough, one morning the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs.
Thompson's door. Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We're not
always sure of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always
very obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not,--just as it
happens. However, I go across the road, and I say to the postman, after
he has left the letter, 'Good morning! how are you?' 'How are you?' says
he. 'You've just delivered a letter for Mrs. Thompson.' 'Yes, I have.'
'You didn't happen to remark what the post-mark was, perhaps?' 'No,'
says he, 'I didn't.' 'Come,' says I, 'I'll be plain with you. I'm in a
small way of business, and I have given Thompson credit, and I can't
afford to lose what he owes me. I know he's got money, and I know he's
in the country, and if you could tell me what the post-mark was, I
should be very much obliged to you, and you'd do a service to a
tradesman in a small way of business that can't afford a loss.' 'Well,'
he said, 'I do assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was;
all I know is, that there was money in the letter--I should say a
sovereign.' This was enough for me, because of course I knew that
Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she'd write to
Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. So I said
'Thankee' to the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the afternoon I
saw the little girl come out. Of course I followed her. She went into a
stationer's shop, and I needn't say to you that I looked in at the
window. She bought some writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. I think
to myself, 'That'll do!'--watch her home again--and don't go away, you
may be sure, knowing that Mrs. Thompson was writing her letter to
Tally-ho, and that the letter would be posted presently. In about an
hour or so, out came the little girl again, with the letter in her hand.
I went up, and said something to the child, whatever it might have been;
but I couldn't see the direction of the letter, because she held it with
the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back of the letter
there was what we call a kiss--a drop of wax by the side of the
seal--and again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her post
the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and asked
to see the Master. When he came out, I told him, 'Now, I'm an Officer in
the Detective Force; there's a letter with a kiss been posted here just
now, for a man that I'm in search of; and what I have to ask of you is,
that you will let me look at the direction of that letter.' He was very
civil--took a lot of letters from the box in the window--shook 'em out
on the counter with the faces downwards--and there among 'em was the
identical letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon,
Post-Office, B----, to be left 'till called for. Down I went to B---- (a
hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I went to
the Post-Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that department; told
him who I was; and that my object was to see, and track, the party that
should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon. He was very polite,
and said, 'You shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait
inside the office; and we'll take care to let you know when anybody
comes for the letter.' Well, I waited there three days, and began to
think that nobody ever _would_ come. At last the clerk whispered to me,'
Here! Detective! Somebody's come for the letter!' 'Keep him a minute,'
said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw a
young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the
bridle--stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he waited at
the Post-Office Window for the letter. I began to pat the horse, and
that; and I said to the boy, 'Why, this is Mr. Jones's Mare!' 'No. It
an't.' 'No?' said I. 'She's very like Mr. Jones's Mare!' 'She an't Mr.
Jones's Mare, anyhow,' says he. 'It's Mr. So-and-So's, of the Warwick
Arms.' And up he jumped, and off he went--letter and all. I got a cab,
followed on the box, and was so quick after him that I came into the
stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by
another. I went into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and
called for a glass of brandy and water. He came in directly, and handed
her the letter. She casually looked at it, without saying anything, and
stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What was to be done
next?
"I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy and water (looking
pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn't see my way out of
it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but there had been a
horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full. I was obliged to
put up somewhere else, but I came backwards and forwards to the bar for
a couple of days, and there was the letter, always behind the glass. At
last I thought I 'd write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what
that would do. So I wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed
it, Mr. John Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what _that_
would do. In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the
postman down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached
the Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my letter. 'Is there a Mr.
John Pigeon staying here?' 'No!--stop a bit though,' says the bar-maid;
and she took down the letter behind the glass. 'No,' says she, 'it's
Thomas, and _he_ is not staying here. Would you do me a favor, and post
this for me, as it is so wet?' The postman said Yes; she folded it in
another envelop, directed it, and gave it him. He put it in his hat, and
away he went.
"I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. It was
addressed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post-Office, R----, Northamptonshire, to
be left till called for. Off I started directly for R----; I said the
same at the Post-Office there, as I had said at B----; and again I
waited three days before anybody came. At last another chap on horseback
came. 'Any letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon?' 'Where do you come from?'
'New Inn, near R----.' He got the letter, and away _he_ went--at a
canter.
"I made my enquiries about the New Inn, near R----, and hearing it was a
solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a couple of
miles from the station, I thought I'd go and have a look at it. I found
it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me. The
landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to get into conversation with
her; asked her how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so
on; when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a
sort of parlor, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the
description I had of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!
"I went and sat down among 'em, and tried to make things agreeable; but
they were very shy--wouldn't talk at all--looked at me, and at one
another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned 'em up, and
finding that they were all three bigger men than me, and considering
that their looks were ugly--that it was a lonely place--railroad station
two miles off--and night coming on--thought I couldn't do better than
have a drop of brandy and water to keep my courage up. So I called for
my brandy and water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire,
Thompson got up and went out.
"Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn't sure it _was_ Thompson,
because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted was to
be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it now, but to
follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him talking, outside in the
yard, with the landlady. It turned out afterwards, that he was wanted by
a Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer
to be pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have
observed, I found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand
upon his shoulder--this way--and said, 'Tally-ho Thompson, it's no use.
I know you. I'm an officer from London, and I take you into custody for
felony!' 'That be d--d!' says Tally-ho Thompson.
"We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up rough,
and their looks didn't please me at all, I assure you. 'Let the man go.
What are you going to do with him?' 'I'll tell you what I'm going to do
with him. I'm going to take him to London to-night, as sure as I'm
alive. I'm not alone here, whatever you may think. You mind your own
business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It'll be better for you,
for I know you both very well.' _I_'d never seen or heard of 'em in all
my life, but my bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while
Thompson was making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that
they might be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I
said to the landlady, 'What men have you got in the house, Missis?' 'We
haven't got no men here,' she says, sulkily. 'You have got an ostler, I
suppose?' 'Yes, we've got an ostler.' 'Let me see him.' Presently he
came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. 'Now attend to me, young
man,' says I; 'I'm a Detective Officer from London. This man's name is
Thompson. I have taken him into custody for felony. I'm going to take
him to the railroad station. I call upon you in the Queen's name to
assist me; and mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into more
trouble than you know of, if you don't!' You never saw a person open his
eyes so wide. 'Now, Thompson, come along!' says I. But when I took out
the handcuffs, Thompson cries, 'No! None of that! I won't stand _them_!
I'll go along with you quiet, but I won't bear none of that!' 'Tally-ho
Thompson,' I said, 'I'm willing to behave as a man to you, if you are
willing to behave as a man to me. Give me your word that you'll come
peaceably along, and I don't want to handcuff you.' 'I will,' says
Thompson, 'but I'll have a glass of brandy first.' 'I don't care if I've
another,' said I. 'We'll have two more, Missis,' said the friends, 'and
con-found you, Constable, you'll give your man a drop, won't you?' I was
agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I took
Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to London that
night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a defect in the
evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to the skies, and
says I'm one of the best of men."
This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, Inspector
Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his host, and thus
delivers himself:
"It wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of
forging the Sou' Western Railway debentures--it was only t'other
day--because the reason why? I'll tell you.
"I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over yonder
there," indicating any region on the Surrey side of the river, "where he
bought second-hand carriages; so after I'd tried in vain to get hold of
him by other means, I wrote him a letter in an assumed name, saying that
I'd got a horse and shay to dispose of, and would drive down next day,
that he might view the lot, and make an offer--very reasonable it was, I
said--a reg'lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine
that's in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day,
a precious smart turn-out, it was--quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove,
accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the Force himself); and leaving
my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of the horse, we
went to the factory, which was some little way off. In the factory,
there was a number of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning 'em
up, it was clear to me that it wouldn't do to try it on there. They were
too many for us. We must get our man out of doors. 'Mr. Fikey at home?'
' No, he ain't.' 'Expected home soon?' 'Why, no, not soon.' 'Ah! is his
brother here?' '_I_'m his brother.' ' Oh! well, this us an
ill-conwenience, this is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I'd got
a little turn-out to dispose of, and I've took the trouble to bring the
turn-out down, a' purpose, and now he ain't in the way.' ' No, he an't
in the way. You couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?' '
Why, no, I couldn't. I want to sell; that's the fact; and I can't put it
off. Could you find him anywheres?' At first he said no, he couldn't,
and then he wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and try. So, at last
he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft, and presently down
comes my man himself, in his shirt-sleeves.
"'Well,' he says, 'this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of yours.'
'Yes,' I says, 'it _is_ rayther a pressing matter, and you'll find it a
bargain--dirt-cheap.' 'I ain't in partickler want of a bargain just
now,' he says, 'but where is it?' 'Why,' I says, 'the turn-out's just
outside. Come and look at it.' He hasn't any suspicions, and away we go.
And the first thing that happens is, that the horse runs away with my
friend (who knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a
little trot along the road to show his paces. You never saw such a game
in your life!
"When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a stand-still
again, Fikey walks round and round it, as grave as a judge--me too.
'There, Sir!' I says. 'There's a neat thing!' 'It an't a bad style of
thing,' he says. 'I believe you,' says I. 'And there's a horse!'--for I
saw him looking at it. 'Rising eight!' I says, rubbing his fore-legs.
(Bless you, there an't a man in the world knows less of horses than I
do, but I'd heard my friend at the Livery Stables say he was eight years
old, so I says, as knowing as possible, 'Rising Eight.') 'Rising eight,
is he?' says he. 'Rising eight,' says I. 'Well,' he says, 'what do you
want for it?' 'Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is
five-and-twenty pound!' 'That's very cheap!' he says, looking at me.
'An't it?' I says. 'I told you it was a bargain! Now, without any
higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell, and that's my
price. Further, I'll make it easy to you, and take half the money down,
and you can do a bit of stiff[B] for the balance.' 'Well,' he says
again, 'that's very cheap.' 'I believe you,' says I; 'get in and try it,
and you'll buy it. Come! take a trial!'
[B] Give a bill
"Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to show
him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the public-house window
to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and didn't know whether it
was him, or wasn't--because the reason why? I'll tell you,--on account
of his having shaved his whiskers. 'It's a clever little horse,' he
says, 'and trots well; and the shay runs light.' 'Not a doubt about it,'
I says. 'And now, Mr. Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without
wasting any more of your time. The fact is, I'm Inspector Wield, and
you're my prisoner.' 'You don't mean that?' he says. 'I do, indeed.'
'Then burn my body,' says Fikey, 'if this ain't _too_ bad!'
"Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. 'I hope
you'll let me have my coat?' he says. 'By all means.' ' Well, then,
let's drive to the factory.' 'Why, not exactly that, I think,' said I;
'I've been there, once before, to-day. Suppose we send for it.' He saw
it was no go so he sent for it, and put it on, and we drove him up to
London, comfortable."
This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general
proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with
the strange air of simplicity, to tell the "Butcher's story."
BUTCHER'S STORY.
The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of
simplicity, began, with a rustic smile, and in a soft, wheedling tone of
voice, to relate the Butcher's Story, thus:--
"It's just about six years ago, now, since information was given at
Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks
going on, at some wholesale houses in the City. Directions were given
for the business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, and me, we
were all in it."
"When you received your instructions," said we, "you went away, and held
a sort of Cabinet Council together?"
The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, "Ye-es. Just so. We turned
it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we went into it,
that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily cheap--much
cheaper than they could have been if they had been honestly come by. The
receivers were in the trade, and kept capital shops--establishments of
the first respectability--one of 'em at the West End, one down in
Westminster. After a lot of watching and inquiry, and this and that
among ourselves, we found that the job was managed, and the purchases of
the stolen goods made, at a little public-house near Smithfield, down by
Saint Bartholomew's; where the Warehouse Porters, who were the thieves,
took 'em for that purpose, don't you see? and made appointments to meet
the people that went between themselves and the receivers. This
public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers from the
country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did we do,
but--ha, ha, ha!--we agreed that I should be dressed up like a butcher
myself, and go and live there!"
Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to bear upon
a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the part. Nothing
in all creation, could have suited him better. Even while he spoke, he
became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed,
unsuspicious, and confiding young butcher. His very hair seemed to have
suet in it, as he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion
to be lubricated by large quantities of animal food.
----"So I--ha, ha, ha!" (always with the confiding snigger of the
foolish young butcher) "so I dressed myself in the regular way, made up
a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house, and asked if I
could have a lodging there? They says, 'yes, you can have a lodging
here,' and I got a bed-room, and settled myself down in the tap. There
was a number of people about the place, and coming backwards and
forwards to the house; and first one says, and then another says, 'Are
you from the country, young man?' 'Yes,' I says, 'I am. I'm come out of
Northamptonshire, and I'm quite lonely here, for I don't know London at
all, and it's such a mighty big town?' 'It is a big town,' they says.
'Oh, it's a _very_ big town!' I says. 'Really and truly I never was in
such a town. It quite confuses of me!'--and all that, you know.
"When some of the Journeyman Butchers that used the house, found that I
wanted a place, they says, 'Oh, we'll get you a place!' And they
actually took me to a sight of places, in Newgate Market, Newport
Market, Clare, Carnaby--I don't know where all. But the wages was--ha,
ha, ha!--was not sufficient, and I never could suit myself, don't you
see? Some of the queer frequenters of the house, were a little
suspicious of me at first, and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed,
how I communicated with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went out,
pretending to stop and look into the shop-windows, and just casting my
eye round, I used to see some of 'em following me; but, being perhaps
better accustomed than they thought for, to that sort of thing, I used
to lead 'em on as far as I thought necessary or convenient--sometimes a
long way--and then turn sharp round, and meet 'em, and say, 'Oh, dear,
how glad I am to come upon you so fortunate! This London's such a place,
I'm blowed if I an't lost again!' And then we'd go back all together, to
the public-house, and--ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don't you see?
"They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was a common thing, while
I was living there, for some of 'em to take me out, and show me London.
They showed me the Prisons--showed me Newgate--and when they showed me
Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters pitch their loads, and
says, 'Oh dear,' 'is this where they hang the men! Oh Lor!' 'That!' they
says, 'what a simple cove he is! _That_ an't it!' And then they pointed
out which _was_ it, and I says, 'Lor!' and they says, 'Now you'll know
it agen, won't you?' And I said I thought I should if I tried hard--and
I assure you I kept a sharp look out for the City Police when we were
out in this way, for if any of 'em had happened to know me, and had
spoke to me, it would have been all up in a minute. However, by good
luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the
difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were quite
extraordinary.
"The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house, by the
Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back parlor. For a long
time, I never could get into this parlor, or see what was done there. As
I sat smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the tap-room
fire, I'd hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came in and
out, say softly to the landlord, 'Who's that?. What does _he_ do here?'
'Bless your soul,' says the landlord, 'He's only a'--ha, ha, ha!--'he's
only a green young fellow from the country, as is looking for a
butcher's sitiwation. Don't mind _him_!' So, in course of time, they
were so convinced of my being green, and got to be so accustomed to me,
that I was as free of the parlor as any of 'em, and I have seen as much
as Seventy Pounds worth of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was
stolen from a warehouse in Friday Street. After the sale, the buyers
always stood treat--hot supper, or dinner, or what not--and they'd say
on those occasions 'Come on, Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, young
'un, and walk into it!' Which I used to do--and hear, at table, all
manner of particulars that it was very important for us Detectives to
know.
"This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the public-house all the time,
and never was out of the Butcher's dress--except in bed. At last, when I
had followed seven of the thieves, and set 'em to rights--that's an
expression of ours, don't you see, by which I mean to say that I traced
'em, and found out where the robberies were done, and all about
'em--Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one another the office, and at a
time agreed upon, a descent was made upon the public-house, and the
apprehensions effected. One of the first things the officers did, was to
collar me--for the parties to the robbery weren't to suppose yet, that I
was anything but a Butcher--on which the landlord cries out, 'Don't take
_him_,' he says, 'whatever you do! He's only a poor young chap from the
country, and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!' However, they--ha, ha,
ha!--they took me, and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was
found but an old fiddle belonging to the landlord, that had got there
somehow or another. But, it entirely changed the landlord's opinion,
for when it was produced, he says, 'My fiddle! The Butcher's a
pur-loiner! I give him into custody for the robbery of a musical
instrument!'
"The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was not taken yet.
He had told me, in confidence, that he had his suspicions there was
something wrong (on account of the City Police having captured one of
the party), and that he was going to make himself scarce. I asked him,
'Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?' 'Why, Butcher,' says he,
'the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I shall
hang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to
me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you'll give us a look in,
Butcher?' 'Well,' says I, 'I think I _will_ give you a call'--which I
fully intended, don't you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! I
went over to the Setting Moon next day, with a brother officer, and
asked at the bar for Simpson. They pointed out his room up stairs. As we
were going up, he looks down over the banisters, and calls out, 'Halloa,
Butcher! is that you?' 'Yes, it's me.' 'How do you find yourself?'
'Bobbish,' he says; 'but who's that with you?' 'It's only a young man,
that's a friend of mine,' I says. 'Come along, then,' says he; 'any
friend of the Butcher's is as welcome as the Butcher!' So, I made my
friend acquainted with him, and we took him into custody.
"You have no idea, Sir, what a sight it was, in Court, when they first
knew that I wasn't a Butcher, after all! I wasn't produced at the first
examination, when there was a remand; but I was at the second. And when
I stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole party saw
how they had been done, actually a groan of horror and dismay proceeded
from 'em in the dock!
"At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. Clarkson was engaged
for the defence, and he _couldn't_ make out how it was, about the
Butcher. He thought, all along, it was a real Butcher. When the counsel
for the prosecution said, 'I will now call before you, gentlemen, the
Police-officer,' meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, 'Why Police-officer?
Why more Police-officers? I dont't want Police. We have had a great deal
too much of the Police. I want the Butcher! However, Sir, he had the
Butcher and the Police-officer, both in one. Out of seven prisoners
committed for trial, five were found guilty, and some of 'em were
transported. The respectable firm, at the West End got a term of
imprisonment; and that's the Butcher's Story!"
The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved himself into
the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so extremely tickled by their
having taken him about, when he was that Dragon in disguise, to show him
London, that he could not help reverting to that point in his narrative;
and gently repeating, with the Butcher's snigger, "'Oh, dear!' I says,
'is that where they hang the men? Oh, Lor!' '_That!_' says they. 'What a
simple cove he is!'"
It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of being too
diffuse, there were some tokens of separation; when Serjeant Dornton,
the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a smile:
"Before we break up, Sir, perhaps you might have some amusement in
hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. They are very short; and, I
think, curious."
We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr Shepherdson welcomed the
false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Serjeant Dornton proceeded:
"In 1847, I was dispatched to Chatham, in search of one Mesheck, a Jew.
He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the bill-stealing way,
getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in the army
chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same.
"Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I could learn about him
was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with him--a Carpet
Bag.
"I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, and made
inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with--a Carpet Bag.
"The office was shut up, it being the last train. There were only two or
three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a Carpet Bag, on the
Blackwall Railway, which was then the high road to a great Military
Depôt, was worse than looking after a needle in a hay-rick. But it
happened that one of these porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a
certain public-house, a certain--Carpet Bag.
"I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left his luggage there
for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, and taken it away. I
put such questions there, and to the porter, as I thought prudent, and
got at this description of--the Carpet Bag.
"It was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in worsted, a green
parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand was the means by which to
identify that--Carpet Bag.
"I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand to
Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic Ocean. At
Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone to the United States, and
I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, and likewise of his--Carpet Bag.
"Many months afterwards--near a year afterwards--there was a Bank in
Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a person of the name of
Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America; from which country some of the
stolen notes came home. He was supposed to have bought a farm in New
Jersey. Under proper management, that estate could be seized and sold,
for the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. I was sent off to
America for this purpose.
"I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. I found that he had lately
changed New York paper-money for New Jersey paper-money, and had banked
cash in New Brunswick. To take this Doctor Dundey, it was necessary to
entrap him into the State of New York, which required a deal of artifice
and trouble. At one time, he couldn't be drawn into an appointment. At
another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and a New York officer,
on a pretext I made; and then his children had the measles. At last, he
came, per steamboat, and I took him, and lodged him in a New York Prison
called the Tombs; which I dare say you know, Sir?"
Editorial acknowledgment to that effect.
"I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, to attend the
examination before the magistrate. I was passing through the
magistrate's private room, when, happening to look round me to take
notice of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, I clapped my
eyes, in one corner, on a--Carpet Bag.
"What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you'll believe me, but a green
parrot on a stand, as large as life!
"'That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a green parrot on a
stand,' said I, 'belongs to an English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, and to
no other man alive or dead!'
"I give you my word the New York Police officers were doubled up with
surprise.
"'How do you ever come to know that?' said they.
"'I think I ought to know that green parrot by this time,' said I, 'for
I have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at home, as ever I had, in
all my life!'"
"And _was_ it Mesheck's?" we submissively inquired.
"Was it, Sir? Of course it was! He was in custody for another offence,
in that very identical Tombs, at that very identical time. And, more
than that! Some memoranda, relating to the fraud for which I had vainly
endeavored to take him, were found to be, at that moment, lying in that
very same individual--Carpet Bag!"
Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar ability,
always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always adapting
itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself to every
new device that perverted ingenuity can invent, for which this important
social branch of the public service is remarkable! For ever on the
watch, with their wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have,
from day to day and year to year, to set themselves against every
novelty of trickery and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all
the lawless rascals in England can devise, and to keep pace with every
such invention that comes out. In the Courts of Justice, the materials
of thousands of such stories as we have narrated--often elevated into
the marvellous and romantic, by the circumstances of the case--are dryly
compressed into the set phrase, "in consequence of information I
received, I did so and so." Suspicion was to be directed, by careful
inference and deduction, upon the right person; the right person was to
be taken, wherever he had gone, or whatever he was doing to avoid
detection: he is taken; there he is at the bar; that is enough. From
information I, the officer, received, I did it; and, according to the
custom in these cases, I say no more.
These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played before small
audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The interest of the game supports
the player. Its results are enough for Justice. To compare great things
with small, suppose LEVERRIER or ADAMS informing the public that from
information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or COLUMBUS
informing the public of his day that from information he had received,
he had discovered a new continent; so the Detectives inform it that they
have discovered a new fraud or an old offender, and the process is
unknown.
Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and interesting
party. But one other circumstance finally wound up the evening, after
our Detective guests had left us. One of the sharpest among them, and
the officer best acquainted with the Swell Mob, had his pocket picked,
going home!