THREE "DETECTIVE" ANECDOTES.
THE PAIR OF GLOVES.
"It's a singular story, Sir," said Inspector Wield, of the Detective
Police, who, in company with Sergeants Dornton and Mith, paid us another
twilight visit, one July evening; "and I've been thinking you might like
to know it.
"It's concerning the murder of the young woman, Eliza Grimwood, some
years ago, over in the Waterloo Road. She was commonly called The
Countess, because of her handsome appearance, and her proud way of
carrying of herself; and when I saw the poor Countess (I had known her
well to speak to), lying dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of her
bedroom, you'll believe me that a variety of reflections calculated to
make a man rather low in his spirits, came into my head.
"That's neither here nor there. I went to the house the morning after
the murder, and examined the body, and made a general observation of the
bedroom where it was. Turning down the pillow of the bed with my hand, I
found, underneath it, a pair of gloves. A pair of gentleman's dress
gloves, very dirty; and inside the lining, the letters TR, and a cross.
"Well, Sir, I took them gloves away, and I showed 'em to the magistrate,
over at Union Hall, before whom the case was. He says, 'Wield,' he says,
'there's no doubt this is a discovery that may lead to something very
important; and what you have got to do, Wield, is, to find out the owner
of these gloves.'
"I was of the same opinion, of course, and I went at it immediately. I
looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my opinion that they
had been cleaned. There was a smell of sulphur and rosin about 'em, you
know, which cleaned gloves usually have, more or less. I took 'em over
to a friend of mine at Kennington, who was in that line, and I put it to
him. 'What do you say now? Have these gloves been cleaned?' 'These
gloves have been cleaned,' says he. 'Have you any idea who cleaned
them?' says I. 'Not at all,' says he; 'I've a very distinct idea who
_didn't_ clean 'em, and that's myself. But I'll tell you what, Wield,
there ain't above eight or nine reg'lar glove cleaners in
London,'--there were not, at that time, it seems--'and I think I can
give you their addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did
clean 'em.' Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and
I went there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that man; but,
though they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, I couldn't find
the man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair of
gloves.
"What with this person not being at home, and that person being expected
home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me three days. On
the evening of the third day, coming over Waterloo Bridge from the
Surrey side of the river, quite beat, and very much vexed and
disappointed, I thought I'd have a shilling's worth of entertainment at
the Lyceum Theatre to freshen myself up. So I went into the Pit, at
half-price, and I sat myself down next to a very quiet, modest sort of
young man. Seeing I was a stranger (which I thought it just as well to
appear to be) he told me the names of the actors on the stage, and we
got into conversation. When the play was over, we came out together, and
I said, 'We've been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you
wouldn't object to a drain?' 'Well, you're very good,' says he; 'I
_shouldn't_ object to a drain.' Accordingly, we went to a public house,
near the Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room up stairs on the
first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half, a-piece, and a
pipe.
"Well, Sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-and-half, and
sat a talking, very sociably, when the young man says, 'You must excuse
me stopping very long,' he says, 'because I'm forced to go home in good
time. I must be at work all night.' 'At work all night?' says I. 'You
ain't a Baker?' 'No,' he says, laughing, 'I ain't a baker.' 'I thought
not,' says I, 'you haven't the looks of a baker.' 'No,' says he, 'I'm a
glove cleaner.'
"I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard them words
come out of his lips. 'You're a glove cleaner, are you?' says I. 'Yes,'
he says, 'I am.' 'Then, perhaps,' says I, taking the gloves out of my
pocket, 'you can tell me who cleaned this pair of gloves? It's a rum
story,' I says. 'I was dining over at Lambeth, the other day, at a
free-and-easy--quite promiscuous--with a public company--when some
gentleman, he left these gloves behind him! Another gentleman and me,
you see, we laid a wager of a sovereign, that I wouldn't find out who
they belonged to. I've spent as much as seven shillings already, in
trying to discover; but, if you could help me, I'd stand another seven
and welcome. You see there's TR and a cross, inside.' '_I_ see,' he
says. 'Bless you, _I_ know these gloves very well! I've seen dozens of
pairs belonging to the same party.' 'No?' says I. 'Yes,' says he. 'Then
you know who cleaned 'em?' says I. 'Rather so,' says he. 'My father
cleaned 'em.'
"'Where does your father live?' says I. 'Just round the corner,' says
the young man, 'near Exeter Street, here. He'll tell you who they belong
to, directly.' 'Would you come round with me now?' says I. 'Certainly,'
says he, 'but you needn't tell my father that you found me at the play,
you know, because he mightn't like it.' 'All right!' We went round to
the place, and there we found an old man in a white apron, with two or
three daughters, all rubbing and cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a
front parlor. 'Oh, Father!' says the young man, 'here's a person been
and made a bet about the ownership of a pair of gloves, and I've told
him you can settle it.' 'Good evening, Sir,' says I to the old
gentleman. 'Here's the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR, you see,
and a cross.' 'Oh yes,' he says, 'I know these gloves very well; I've
cleaned dozens of pairs of 'em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great
upholsterer in Cheapside.' 'Did you get 'em from Mr. Trinkle, direct,'
says I, 'if you'll excuse my asking the question?' 'No,' says he; 'Mr.
Trinkle always sends 'em to Mr. Phibbs's, the haberdasher's opposite his
shop, and the haberdasher sends 'em to me.' 'Perhaps _you_ wouldn't
object to a drain?' says I. 'Not in the least!' says he. So I took the
old gentleman out, and had a little more talk with him and his son, over
a glass, and we parted ex-cellent friends.
"This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the Monday morning, I
went to the haberdasher's shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle's, the great
upholsterer's in Cheapside. 'Mr. Phibbs in the way?' 'My name is
Phibbs.' 'Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves to be cleaned?'
'Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way. There he is, in the
shop!' 'Oh! that's him in the shop, is it? Him in the green coat?' 'The
same individual.' 'Well, Mr. Phibbs, this is an unpleasant affair; but
the fact is, I am Inspector Wield of the Detective Police, and I found
these gloves under the pillow of the young woman that was murdered the
other day, over in the Waterloo Road?' 'Good Heaven!' says he. 'He's a
most respectable young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it
would be the ruin of him!' 'I'm very sorry for it,' says I, 'but I must
take him into custody.' 'Good Heaven!' says Mr. Phibbs, again; 'can
nothing be done?' 'Nothing,' says I. 'Will you allow me to call him over
here,' says he, 'that his father may not see it done?' 'I don't object
to that,' says I; 'but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I can't allow of any
communication between you. If any was attempted, I should have to
interfere directly. Perhaps you'll beckon him over here?' Mr Phibbs went
to the door and beckoned, and the young fellow came across the street
directly; a smart, brisk young fellow.
"'Good morning, Sir' says I. 'Good morning, Sir,' says he 'Would you
allow me to inquire, Sir,' says I, 'if you ever had any acquaintance
with a party of the name of Grimwood?' 'Grimwood! Grimwood!' says he,
'No!' 'You know the Waterloo Road?' 'Oh! of course I know the Waterloo
Road!' 'Happen to have heard of a young woman being murdered there?'
'Yes, I read it in the paper, and very sorry I was to read it.' 'Here's
a pair of gloves belonging to you, that I found under her pillow the
morning afterwards!'
'He was in a dreadful state, Sir; a dreadful state!' 'Mr. Wield,' he
says, 'upon my solemn oath I never was there I never so much as saw her,
to my knowledge, in my life!' 'I am very sorry,' says I. 'To tell you
the truth; I don't think you _are_ the murderer, but I must take you to
Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it's a case of that sort, that, at
present, at all events, the magistrate will hear it in private.'
A private examination took place, and then it came out that this young
man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza Grimwoods, and
that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before the murder, he left
these gloves upon the table. Who should come in, shortly afterwards, but
Eliza Grimwood! 'Whose gloves are these?' she says, taking 'em up.
'Those are Mr. Trinkle's gloves,' says her cousin. 'Oh!' says she, 'they
are very dirty, and of no use to him, I am sure, I shall take 'em away
for my girl to clean the stoves with.' And she put 'em in her pocket.
The girl had used 'em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had
left 'em lying on the bedroom mantel-piece, or on the drawers, or
somewhere; and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was
tidy, had caught 'em up and put 'em under the pillow where I found 'em.
"That's the story, Sir."
THE ARTFUL TOUCH.
"One of the most _beautiful_ things that ever was done, perhaps," said
Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to expect
dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, "was a move of
Serjeant Witchem's. It was a lovely idea!
"Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the station
for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking about these
things before, we are ready at the station when there's races, or an
Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an university, or Jenny
Lind, or any thing of that sort; and as the Swell Mob come down, we send
'em back again by the next train. But some of the Swell Mob, on the
occasion of this Derby that I refer to, so far kiddied us as to hire a
horse and shay; start away from London by Whitechapel, and miles round;
come into Epsom from the opposite direction; and go to work, right and
left, on the course, while we were waiting for 'em at the Rail. That,
however, ain't the point of what I'm going to tell you.
"While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up one
Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an amateur
Detective in his way, and very much respected. 'Halloa, Charley Wield,'
he says. 'What are you doing here? On the look out for some of your old
friends?' 'Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt.' 'Come along,' he says, 'you and
Witchem, and have a glass of sherry.' 'We can't stir from the place,'
says I, 'till the next train comes in; but after that, we will with
pleasure.' Mr. Tatt waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and
me go off with him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he's got up quite regardless
of expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there's a beautiful
diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound--a very handsome pin
indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had our three or four
glasses, when Witchem cries, suddenly, 'Look out, Mr. Wield! stand
fast!' and a dash is made into the place by the swell mob--four of
'em--that have come down as I tell you, and in a moment Mr. Tatt's prop
is gone! Witchem, he cuts 'em off at the door, I lay about me as hard as
I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight like a good 'un, and there we are, all down
together, heads and heels, knocking about on the floor of the
bar--perhaps you never see such a scene of confusion! However, we stick
to our men (Mr. Tatt being as good as any officer), and we take 'em all,
and carry 'em off to the station. The station's full of people, who have
been took on the course; and it's a precious piece of work to get 'em
secured. However, we do it at last, and we search 'em; but nothing's
found upon 'em, and they're locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are
in by that time, I assure you!
"I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been
passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set 'em to rights, and
were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, 'we don't take much by
_this_ move, any way, for nothing's found upon 'em, and it's only the
braggadocia[C] after all.' 'What do you mean, Mr. Wield?' says Witchem.
'Here's the diamond pin!' and in the palm of his hand there it was, safe
and sound! 'Why, in the name of wonder,' says me and Mr. Tatt, in
astonishment, 'how did you come by that?' 'I'll tell you how I come by
it,' says he. 'I saw which of 'em took it; and when we were all down on
the floor together, knocking about, I just gave him a little touch on
the back of his hand, as I knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his
pal; and gave it me!' It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful!
[C] Three months' imprisonment as reputed thieves
"Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried at
the Quarter Sessions at Gruildford. You know what Quarter Sessions are,
Sir. Well, if you'll believe me, while them slow justices were looking
over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they could do to him, I'm
blowed if he didn't cut out of the dock before their faces! He cut out
of the dock, Sir, then and there; swam across a river; and got up into a
tree to dry himself. In the tree he was took--an old woman having seen
him climb up--and Witchem's artful touch transported him!"
THE SOFA.
"What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break their
friends' hearts," said Serjeant Dornton, "it's surprising! I had a case
at Saint Blank's Hospital which was of this sort. A bad case, indeed,
with a bad end!
"The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, of Saint
Blank's Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give information of numerous
robberies having been committed on the students. The students could
leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats, while the great-coats
were hanging at the Hospital, but it was almost certain to be stolen.
Property of various descriptions was constantly being lost; and the
gentlemen were naturally uneasy about it, and anxious, for the credit of
the Institution, that the thief or thieves should be discovered. The
case was entrusted to me, and I went to the Hospital.
"'Now, gentlemen,' said I, after we had talked it over, 'I understand
this property is usually lost from one room.'
"Yes, they said. It was.
"'I should wish, if you please,' said I, 'to see that room.'
"It was a good-sized bare-room down stairs, with a few tables and forms
in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats.
"'Next, gentlemen,' said I, 'do you suspect anybody?'
"Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were sorry to say, they
suspected one of the porters.
"'I should like,' said I, 'to have that man pointed out to me, and to
have a little time to look after him.'
"He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I went back to the
Hospital, and said, 'Now, gentlemen, it's not the porter. He's,
unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but he's nothing
worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are committed by one of the
students; and if you'll put me a sofa into that room where the pegs
are--as there's no closet--I think I shall be able to detect the thief.
I wish the sofa, if you please, to be covered with chintz, or something
of that sort, so that I may lie on my chest, underneath it, without
being seen.'
"The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o'clock, before any of
the students came, I went there, with those gentlemen, to get underneath
it. It turned out to be one of those old-fashioned sofas with a great
cross beam at the bottom, that would have broken my back in no time if I
could ever have got below it. We had quite a job to break all this away
in the time: however, I fell to work, and they fell to work, and we
broke it out, and made a clear place for me. I got under the sofa, lay
down on my chest, took out my knife, and made a convenient hole in the
chintz to look through. It was then settled between me and the gentlemen
that when the students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen
should come in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And that
that great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book
containing marked money.
"After I had been there some time, the students began to drop into the
room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all sorts of
things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa--and then to go
up stairs. At last there came in one who remained until he was alone in
the room by himself. A tallish, good-looking young man of one or two and
twenty, with a light whisker. He went to a particular hat-peg, took off
a good hat that was hanging there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its
place, and hung that hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. I then
felt quite certain that he was the thief, and would come back
by-and-bye.
"When they were all up stairs, the gentleman came in with the
great-coat. I showed him where to hang it, so that I might have a good
view of it; and he went away; and I lay under the sofa on my chest, for
a couple of hours or so, waiting.
"At last, the same young man came down. He walked across the room,
whistling--stopped and listened--took another walk and whistled--stopped
again, and listened--then began to go regularly round the pegs, feeling
in the pockets of all the coats. When he came to THE great-coat, and
felt the pocket-book, he was so eager and so hurried that he broke the
strap in tearing it open. As he began to put the money in his pocket, I
crawled out from under the sofa, and his eyes met mine.
"My face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was pale at that
time, my health not being good; and looked as long as a horse's. Besides
which, there was a great draught of air from the door, underneath the
sofa, and I had tied a handkerchief round my head; so what I looked
like, altogether, I don't know. He turned blue--literally blue--when he
saw me crawling out, and I couldn't feel surprised at it.
"'I am an officer of the Detective Police,' said I, 'and have been lying
here, since you first came in this morning. I regret, for the sake of
yourself and your friends, that you should have done what you have; but
this case is complete. You have the pocket-book in your hand and the
money upon you; and I must take you into custody!'
"It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and on his trial
he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the means I don't know; but while
he was awaiting his sentence, he poisoned himself in Newgate."
We inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing
anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay in that
constrained position under the sofa?
"'Why, you see, Sir,' he replied, 'if he hadn't come in, the first time,
and I had not been quite sure he was the thief, and would return, the
time would have seemed long. But, as it was, I being dead-certain of my
man, the time seemed pretty short.'"