In the collection of photographs at the Police Headquarters, to which the
authorities have given the name of "The Rogues' Gallery," there are but
seventy-three portraits of females. The best informed detectives,
however, estimate the actual number of professional female thieves in the
city at about 350.
Women do not often succeed in effecting large robberies, but the total of
their stealings makes up a large sum each year. They are not as liable
to suspicion as men, and most persons hesitate before accusing a woman of
theft. Yet, if successful, the woman's chances of escaping arrest and
punishment are better than those of a man. Her sex compels her to lead a
quieter and more retired life, and she does not as a rule frequent places
in which she is brought under a detective's observation.
Some of the female thieves are the children of thief parents, and are
trained to their lives, others come to such a mode of existence by
degrees. All, as a rule, are loose women, and were so before they became
professional thieves. A few of them are well educated, and some of these
state that they adopted thieving only when all other means failed them,
and that they hoped it would keep them from sacrificing their virtue.
This hope proved vain, and imperceptibly they glided into the latter sin.
Some of these women live in handsomely furnished private rooms in such
localities as Bleecker street. Others herd together in the lower
quarters of the city. The female thief, even the most abandoned,
generally has a husband, who is himself a thief or something worse. She
takes great pride in being a married woman, and whenever she gets into
trouble invariably seeks to establish a good character by producing her
marriage certificate. Even the lowest panel thieves will do this.
The Female Thieves are divided into Pick-pockets, Shoplifters, and Panel
Thieves.
"A short while ago a private detective happened to drop into a large
dry-goods store in Grand street, and observed a handsome-looking girl,
about eighteen years old, dressed with the best taste, pricing laces at a
counter. An indefinable expression about her eyes was suspicious, and as
she left the store without purchasing, the spectator followed her to the
corner of Essex Market, where, walking beside her, he noticed something
of a square form under her cloak. At once suspecting it to be a stolen
card of lace, he jostled against her, and, as he suspected, the card of
lace fell from under her arm to the sidewalk. She colored, and was
walking away without picking it up when the detective stopped her, said
he knew the lace was stolen, and that she must return to the shop. She
begged of him not to arrest her but restore the lace, which he did.
After thanking him for not taking her into custody, she invited him to
call on her and learn the story of her life. She has two rooms in a very
respectable locality, furnished in the best manner, several of Prang's
chromos are hung on the walls, and a piano, on which she plays well, is
in her sitting-room. She is very well educated, and was driven into her
way of life by being left without friends or help, and one day stole a
shawl without being discovered. Emboldened by the success of her first
theft, she chose shop-lifting as her way of life, has followed it ever
since, and was never in prison. Some few call her Sarah Wright; but
those who know her best style her 'Anonyma,' as she dislikes the former
title."