THE BOGUS SIR RICHARD DOUGLAS
The most remarkable fact about Richard Douglas, professional swindler,
was that he kept a record of every one of his crimes, as well as a
profit-and-loss balance-sheet, which he drew up at the end of each
year. His diary was an astonishing document, and had it not been for
the craft and obvious guilt of the impostor it might have been used as
evidence to prove that he was not quite right in his head. Douglas,
however, was too resourceful a thief to be a lunatic, and for some
years he victimized all classes in London, where he posed as a baronet
and committed depredations upon the trusting and unsuspicious.
The impostor was a man of venerable aspect, with kindly blue eyes and
a soft, ingratiating manner. He was born with the name of Douglas, but
as his father was a small tradesman in a Surrey village Richard thought
he had better disown him, and when he had failed many times to earn an
honest living he blazoned forth as "Sir Richard Douglas of Orpington
House, Kent," and made his two elder sons partners in his criminal
enterprises.
He was an insinuating rascal, and the tradespeople whom he interviewed
were easily taken in by his plausible tongue. When he went to a
well-known jeweller in Bond Street to select a "present for my wife,
Lady Douglas," he had not the slightest difficulty in persuading the
merchant to let him have a five hundred guinea diamond necklace on
approval. Most swindlers would have been content to disappear with the
necklace and realize its value, but "Sir Richard" was more ambitious
and greedy, for he was back again in the shop the same afternoon, and,
greatly to the gratification of the jeweller, announced that "her
ladyship" had been fascinated by the necklace, and that he wished to
pay for it there and then.
The impostor drew a cheque for six hundred pounds, and, remarking that
his own bank would be closed before he could get to it, induced the
jeweller to give him a receipt for the necklace and seventy-five pounds
in cash. Of course, the cheque came back marked "No account," and not
for many a long day did he see his customer again.
While the "baronet" was busy on swindles of this nature his two sons
were equally active. They lacked, of course, the suave polish of their
father, but they were bright, intelligent youths, and they could pose
as army officers anxious to spend the generous allowance their father,
"Sir Richard Douglas," made them. The credulous traders willingly
cashed cheques for the young Douglases, and were left eventually
with bits of paper as their only souvenirs of their simplicity and
trustfulness.
A few months' swindling provided Douglas with sufficient capital to
rent an expensive house at Ascot, which became his headquarters, and
it was to it that he would retire every week-end from the stress and
strain of London. Every Monday morning, however, he would be driven
in his carriage to the station to catch the train to London, and to
start another week's "work." He dressed for each swindle, and played
many characters. On one occasion after having entertained some of the
leading people at Ascot to dinner he returned to town the following
morning, donned the attire of a broken-down clergyman, and cajoled a
large sum from the credulous by a story of ill-health and poverty and
a starving wife and children. But generally he was the well-dressed man
of the world, and boldly swindled tradespeople under the name of "Sir
Richard Douglas."
He had, of course, many narrow escapes. Once he absent-mindedly
entered a jeweller's shop--diamonds and gold and silver articles
specially appealed to him, because they were easily convertible into
hard cash--which he had defrauded only a fortnight earlier. The moment
the proprietor saw him he identified him as the man who had given a
worthless cheque in exchange for a diamond ring worth a hundred and
fifty guineas, but he pretended not to recognize the self-styled
"baronet," and he entered into negotiations with "Sir Richard," who
was plainly on the warpath again. Now Douglas had that morning told
his elder son, Philip, to hang about in the vicinity of the shop, so
that when he emerged from it he might unostentatiously pass on to him
the spoils, as the impostor intended to steal a few rings, as well as
obtain others by false pretences. The wary jeweller, however, was so
unusually alert that "Sir Richard" realized the situation.
He was in a tight corner now, for in addition to the presence of the
proprietor of the shop a brawny assistant was keeping guard at the
door. The "baronet," however, exhibited no sign of fear or mental
distress. He just casually glanced out of the window, and raised his
handkerchief to his left cheek and brushed it lightly. It was a signal
to his son on the other side of the road, and it meant that he was in
difficulties.
Philip Douglas was a real chip of the old block, and in a moment he
devised a plan to save his venerable parent. Walking briskly into the
shop where "Sir Richard" was the only customer--of course, the impostor
always selected the least busiest part of the day for his frauds--he
peremptorily laid his hand on his father's arm, and in curt tones
expressed his delight at having at last captured him.
"It's a bit of luck for you that I was passing and recognized this
fellow," he said to the astonished jeweller. "Do you know that he
is one of the greatest swindlers in London? I have been looking for
him for over a year. Take my advice and see if he has robbed you of
anything."
Immediately the door was locked, and the "detective" and the other two
men stood round the pale-faced and trembling culprit, who at that very
moment held in his hands a diamond tiara which was worth a thousand
pounds. But he was so terrified now that he seemed not to know where he
was and what he was doing.
The jeweller was so excited at the prospect of getting even with the
man who had swindled him a fortnight before that he instantly preferred
a charge against "Sir Richard," and, furthermore, at the suggestion of
the "detective" added another one, accusing him of trying to obtain the
tiara by false pretences. This was just what both the rogues wanted.
"Then you will be good enough to make a parcel of that tiara," said
the "detective," with an air of authority which was irresistible. "You
will carefully seal it too. I shall have to hand it over to my superior
officer to be used as evidence at the trial. Of course I will give you
a receipt for it."
The jeweller hastened to obey, and ten minutes later Philip Douglas
left the shop and stepped into a four-wheeler with his father and the
diamond tiara. The "detective" shouted out the address of a police
station, nodded curtly to the jeweller, and drove off. That night at
Ascot the family gloated over the acquisition of a prize which would
bring them in six hundred pounds at least, and leave a big profit for
the receiver of stolen goods.
But the biggest _coup_ of all was achieved by the "baronet" posing as
a messenger. It happened that he was chatting with the manager of a
diamond merchants shop when the latter observed that Lady Chesterfield
had given them an order to reset a collection of very valuable stones
which she had just received under the will of a relative. They were
reputed to be worth twenty thousand pounds, and that afternoon the
manager was to call at her ladyship's town house to receive the
precious parcel. On hearing this "Sir Richard" brought the interview to
an end, murmured that he was due back at his country seat to entertain
a Cabinet Minister and his wife, and having got outside rushed to the
nearest post office, obtained Lady Chesterfield's address, and drove to
it. His respectable appearance was in his favour, and he was admitted
at once, but her ladyship's secretary would not hear of handing over
the diamonds until "the manager" established his identity. It was a
critical moment, and had Douglas not been an accomplished swindler
he would have bolted, but he held his ground, and by sheer personal
magnetism won the secretary over. He had a good memory, and he was able
to recall many of the statements the manager had made to him, retailing
intimate details of previous transactions with Lady Chesterfield which
convinced the secretary that he was what he represented himself to be.
Within a week the whole of the stones were in the possession of
a well-known Continental "fence," whose place of business was
in Amsterdam, and the Douglas banking account was increased by
nine thousand pounds. Every morning for weeks the happy family at
Ascot enjoyed the newspaper references to the great mystery, and
congratulated themselves that the secretary's and the manager's
descriptions of the swindler resembled anybody but the bogus "baronet."
Continual success so impressed the impostor that he came to the
conclusion that he was under the special protection of Providence.
He began a diary, and the entries that followed were both amusing
and amazing. Some are worth reproducing, for the police subsequently
captured two of these astonishing compilations, which gave a complete
history of his swindles and impostures.
"Jan. 5th. Phaeton and horse seized. Fear exposure at Ascot, and chance
up there. Fear we must cut."
"Jan. 7th. All day ill. Row about stable. Forcible possession taken of
it. Row all day with one person or another. Fearful how things will
end. Three boys at home idle, all ordering things."
"Jan. 18th. Went to boys' to dinner. Champagne. Very merry. Providence
not quite deserted us."
When he raised three hundred pounds in two days by means of worthless
cheques he celebrated the "triumph" by writing in his diary:
"My labours ended for the week. Over three hundred to the good. Paid
off local tradesmen--genuine cheques. Gave notice to cook. Must get
some one who understands serving fish. Looking forward to a quiet
week-end. Must read Bible regularly."
He was really fond of reading the Bible, and he spent his leisure at
his home in studying it and keeping his diary up to date. When his sons
went off to the races he would potter about in the garden, apparently
the most respectable and virtuous man in the kingdom.
But every Monday morning Douglas would descend upon London, and when
the diaries were bulging with records of swindles of all descriptions,
and almost every tradesman in the West End was on his guard, he turned
for a time to begging-letter writing, at which he proved himself an
adept. He was the starving widow with eight children; the lonely widow
of an Indian officer; the one-legged and one-armed hero of half a dozen
campaigns; the old woman who had worked for the poor all her life, and
was now in poverty herself; and a dozen other characters. These rôles
produced plenty of money, not large sums, but enough to pay expenses
at Ascot and pass the time until "Sir Richard Douglas" and his greater
misdeeds were forgotten by the public if not by his victims.
On one occasion he resumed his clerical garb, and went round collecting
subscriptions for an aged missionary and his wife. By working ten hours
a day for a fortnight he collected several hundred pounds, and he even
persuaded two bishops to contribute through their chaplains, although
as a rule bishops are very careful to make inquiries before patronizing
anything of this sort. Douglas' sympathetic air, however, clinched
the matter, and by showing the bishops' subscriptions he was able
subsequently to swindle scores of persons who would not otherwise have
been taken in.
By now the police were on the look out for the bogus baronet who
had ruined more than one shopkeeper by his frauds. But Douglas was
a quick-change artist, and his keen eyes were ever on the watch. He
walked freely about London, and he always spotted the detectives, and
decamped before they recognized him. Some of the best sleuths were put
on his track, but he fooled them all.
He was once tracked to a house where he was trying to persuade the
occupant, a rich old lady, to buy a tract of land in Scotland which
he did not own, and it seemed certain that the impostor would be
captured, but, scenting danger, he ran upstairs into a room, where he
found some female clothes, and shortly afterwards he walked through the
kitchen--where a policeman was keeping guard--and out of the house by
the side door. The policeman explained later that he thought "she was
the cook going for her afternoon out."
This escape, however, was so narrow that the "baronet" returned at once
to Ascot, and lay low for a month. Meanwhile, his sons had been making
the money fly. Thousands of pounds went to the bookmakers at Ascot
and other racecourses, and all three of them were engaged to girls
with expensive tastes, which had to be satisfied. No wonder the old
hypocrite recorded in his diary:
"It is sad to think of the extravagance of youth. If we misuse the
money Providence has given us we will experience poverty. I have spoken
seriously to the boys, but they will not heed me. Note. Special hopes
for the success of the A.T. scheme."
The latter was, however, not successful, for it was an attempt at a
religious swindle which failed owing to the activities of the police.
Another failure was his short-lived matrimonial agency, which was to be
stocked with three "baronets," who were supposed to be on the look out
for wives. The "baronets" were to be impersonated by his sons. It came
to an abrupt termination by the theft of the preliminary prospectus by
a servant, who had to be bought off later at a cost of five hundred
pounds, an item of expenditure which nearly broke the old man's heart,
according to his diary.
These and other matters contrived to make "Sir Richard" nervy. His
sons were devoting more time to pleasure than to business, and the
knowledge that the authorities were doubling their efforts to catch him
was ever-disturbing. But he could not remain inactive, for his brain
was always teeming with plans for swindles, and he entered details of
several in his diary, some of which he put into execution.
Amongst his acquaintances in London was a widow of fortune. She was
in the late fifties, but despite that was not averse to marrying
again, especially a man with a title, and "Sir Richard's" advances
were not repulsed. Mrs. MacCormack had been left ten thousand a year
by her husband, and the lady maintained a costly establishment in the
neighbourhood of London. Douglas was fascinated by her money. He knew
that once she was his wife he would be able to get complete control of
her and her fortune. She would obey him implicitly, and he could live
at his ease, make his sons handsome allowances, and thoroughly enjoy
life.
He therefore proposed to Mrs. MacCormack, who accepted "Sir Richard"
with an emotion akin to enthusiasm, and immediately began to prepare to
go through the marriage ceremony a second time. But Douglas insisted
upon the engagement being kept a secret, pointing out that it was only
for her sake that he did so.
"You will be accused of marrying me for my title, dear," he said in a
sympathetic tone, "and that would hurt me terribly. Thank God, no one
can accuse me of marrying for money. Your fortune may be large, but I
think that it does not exceed the rent-roll of my Scottish estates."
Mrs. MacCormack was touched by his kindly forethought, and really kept
the secret, although she was anxious to impress her acquaintances with
the fact that she was about to become "Lady Douglas."
It was settled that the marriage should take place at St. George's,
Hanover Square, and "Sir Richard" told the widow that the Archbishop
of Canterbury and the Bishop of London had promised to assist at the
ceremony if their engagements permitted. At the last moment it happened
that both these prelates were detained elsewhere, at least Douglas said
so, and to the rector was given the honour of officiating.
On the morning of the ceremony "Sir Richard" dressed himself with
extreme care in the room he had taken at the fashionable West End
hotel. It was eleven o'clock when he descended, and he was due at St.
George's at twelve. A carriage was to take him there with his best man,
who was his eldest son Philip, and the young rogue was posing for the
occasion as a friend and not a relative of the bridegroom-baronet.
Now, Philip Douglas, who was keenly interested in his father's
matrimonial adventure, had out of mere curiosity made a few inquiries
about Mrs. MacCormack, and he learnt that it was really true that she
had ten thousand pounds a year, but on the day of the ceremony he
discovered by sheer accident that under the provisions of her late
husband's will she was to be deprived of every penny if she married
again. So at half-past eleven Philip Douglas dashed into the hotel,
seized his father by the arm, and drew him into a corner. There he
confided to the old sinner the information that he was going to marry
a woman, ancient and ugly, who would be penniless the moment the knot
was tied. "Sir Richard" gasped, and then burst forth into imprecations
against the widow for her "deceit." With tears in his eyes he said she
had not been honest with him, and when he had regained his composure
he and his son drove away to catch the train back to Ascot. Mrs.
MacCormack arrived in due course at St. George's, Hanover Square, but
the "baronet" never appeared, and she reached home in tears and feeling
that she was the laughing-stock of London. Douglas entered all the
details of the misadventure in his diary, and he severely censured the
widow for not having been "honest" enough to tell him the truth.
For some reason, however, the "baronet" went to pieces after the
abandonment of his wedding. Money suddenly became scarce, and creditors
more persistent. A sheaf of debts contracted by his sons took him by
surprise, but they had to be paid, and Douglas was left with only a few
pounds in hand.
In the midst of the crisis he remembered having heard about a
benevolent clergyman of the name of Hamilton, who had a large fortune,
which he was in the habit of sharing with the poor. Douglas decided
that he would get a slice of it, and to achieve his purpose he became
a clergyman again. This time he was supposed to be an elderly priest
who had fallen upon evil times, and to play the part properly he took
lodgings in a slum house owned by a friend and humble confederate.
From there he wrote to Mr. Hamilton asking him to call upon a sick and
poverty-stricken fellow-clergyman, who had no friends and no hope left
in this world.
The appeal was cunningly worded, and the setting of the stage for the
comedy was perfect. Douglas knew that if only Mr. Hamilton called he
would be able to work upon his feelings to the extent of two hundred
pounds at least. Anxiously he waited for a reply, and his joy was
great when the owner of the house informed him that a clergyman was
approaching.
The sham priest instantly returned to bed, and assuming a pained look
prepared to receive the visitor. He heard the knock at the front door,
and braced himself for the interview. Presently footsteps sounded on
the stairs, and then the door opened and a clergyman entered, whose
expression seemed to indicate a generous and credulous disposition.
Douglas was murmuring a prayer when the clergyman came to his side and
looked down at him. Then he opened his eyes.
"You--you are the saintly Mr. Hamilton?" he asked in a quavering voice.
"No," was the startling answer. "I am Inspector Allen, and I hold a
warrant for your arrest, Sir Richard."
It was a neat capture. The impostor was unable to extricate himself,
and at the ensuing Sessions he and his sons were sentenced to
imprisonment, and after that catastrophe nothing more was heard of the
venerable swindler until a newspaper recorded his death in 1858.