they give an odd wink of recognition to each other--the thief smiling, as
much as to say, "I am quite safe, you know;" and the detective replying
with a look, of which the interpretation is, "We shall be better
acquainted by-and-by." They both feel, in short, that they are using their
wits to get their living, and there is a sort of tacit understanding
between them that each is entitled to play his game as well as he can.
In pursuing the track of an offender, the officers often come across other
crimes of which they were not aware, and for a time are thrown off the
scent, just as a pack of fox-hounds by a hare which crosses their path. In
such cases the only way is to try back until the original trail is found.
It is not uncommon in this manner to stumble upon a regular network of
roguery, and to discover the whereabouts of parties who have long been
"wanting." The most trivial hint will suffice to put the detective on the
right track: for, like men accustomed to work in the dark, things which to
other persons are invisible, to them appear clear as noon-day. The
gossiping tendency of neighbours is especially useful to them in worming
out secrets. To obtain a single link in a chain of facts, they will often
hang about a house for months, interrogating the newspaper lad, waylaying
the servant girl as she is going for her supper beer, and picking all he
wants to know out of her as easily as a locksmith picks a lock, and with
quite as little consciousness on the part of the person operated upon.
Mr. Dickens published some excellent papers in the early numbers of
"Household Words," which illustrate admirably the habits of these
officers. From these we select the following story, not that it is the
most dramatic, but because it shows the vast number of dodges by which the
detectives accomplish their ends:--
"'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 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 a'nt." "No?" said I: "she's very like Mr.
Jones's mare!" "She a'nt 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 stableyard 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 barmaid; 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 favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?" The
postman said "Yes:" she folded it in another envelope, 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 inquiries 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 parlour 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!' said 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 will 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.'"
The largest of all the classes of thieves, and that which employs the most
extensive range of intellect, of age, and of dress, is the pickpocket.
From the first-rate thief, who works about the banks for six or nine
months until he gets a "good thing" to the miserable urchin who filches a
pocket-handkerchief, how vast a descent! Although strung together by the
common thread of crime, and pursuing, as it were, the same line of
business, a duke could not, and certainly would not, look down upon a
street-sweeper with half the hauteur that the leading rogues do upon the
Fagin-led urchin who replenishes with bandanas the stalls of Field-lane.
The popular notion of swellmobsmen is far wide of the truth. It is
supposed that they may be at once recognized by a certain ultra-foppish
manner of dressing, and an excess of jewellery, whereas the aim of a
professor of the "conveying" art is to go about his occupation unobserved;
for to be known to the police is to be disappointed of his booty. He has
his clothes built by the most correct tailor, and gets himself up as much
like a gentleman as possible. The necessities of his art, it is true,
oblige him to carry a coat over his arm in all weathers; but so may any
veritable man of fashion, without creating suspicion. Still, though he may
manage to pass free in a crowd, and frequent fashionable assemblies
without being suspected by the public, the professed thief-catcher is
rarely to be deceived by appearances. As the hunter marks his quarry by
peculiar signs known only to his craft, so the detective can at once
ascertain whether the fine gentleman walking carelessly along is "wrong,"
as the slang term is, or a respectable character.
The principal sign by which a thief may be distinguished in any assembly
is the wandering of his eye. Whilst those about him are either listening
to a speaker or witnessing a spectacle, his orbits are peering restlessly,
not to say anxiously around. When the thief-taker sees this, he knows his
man. One of the detective police who attended at the laying of the
foundation-stone of the Duke of Wellington's College, thus explained to us
the capture of a gentlemanly-looking person who was present on that
occasion:--
"If you ask me to give my reason why I thought this person a thief the
moment I saw him, I could not tell you; I did not even know myself.
There was something about him, as about all swellmobsmen, that
immediately attracted my attention, and led me to bend my eye upon
him. He did not appear to notice my watching him, but passed on into
the thick of the crowd, but then he turned and looked towards the spot
in which I was--this was enough for me, although I had never seen him
before, and he had not, to my knowledge, attempted any pocket. I
immediately made my way towards him, and, tapping him on the shoulder,
asked him abruptly, 'What do you do here?' Without any hesitation, he
said, in an under tone, 'I should not have come if I had known I
should have seen any of you.' I then asked him if he was working with
any companions, and he said, 'No, upon my word, I am alone;' upon this
I took him off to the room which we had provided for the safe-keeping
of the swellmobsmen."
This was a daring stroke, but it succeeded as it deserved. If the man had
been really honest, he would have turned indignantly upon the person who
questioned him; but pickpockets are essentially cowards, both morally and
physically, and they generally come down at once to save trouble, when the
officer has his eye upon them, as the opossums were wont to do when they
espied that dead shot Colonel Crockett. There is a striking example of
this weakness of their tribe in the amusing work of the "Englishwoman in
America." The scene is an American railway-carriage:--
"I had found it necessary to study physiognomy since leaving England,
and was horrified by the appearance of my next neighbour. His forehead
was low, his deep-set and restless eyes significant of cunning, and I
at once set him down as a swindler or pickpocket. My convictions of
the truth of my inferences were so strong, that I removed my purse--in
which, however, acting by advice, I never carried more than five
dollars--from my pocket, leaving in it only my handkerchief and the
checks for my baggage, knowing that I could not possibly keep awake
the whole morning. In spite of my endeavours to the contrary, I soon
sank into an oblivious state, from which I awoke to the consciousness
that my companion was withdrawing his hand from my pocket. My first
impulse was to make an exclamation; my second, which I carried into
execution, to ascertain my loss; which I found to be the very alarming
one of my baggage-checks; my whole property being thereby placed at
this vagabond's disposal, for I knew perfectly well, that if I claimed
my trunks without my checks, the acute baggage-master would have set
me down as a bold swindler. The keen-eyed conductor was not in the
car, and, had he been there, the necessity for habitual suspicion,
incidental to his position, would so far have removed his original
sentiments of generosity as to make him turn a deaf ear to my request,
and there was not one of my fellow-travellers whose physiognomy would
have warranted me in appealing to him. So, recollecting that my checks
were marked Chicago, and seeing that the thief's ticket bore the same
name, I resolved to wait the chapter of accidents, or the reappearance
of my friends.... With a whoop like an Indian war-whoop the cars ran
into a shed--they stopped--the pickpocket got up--I got up too--the
baggage-master came to the door: 'This gentleman has the checks for my
baggage,' said I, pointing to the thief. Bewildered, he took them from
his waistcoat-pocket, gave them to the baggage master, and went
hastily away. I had no inclination to cry 'Stop thief!' and had
barely time to congratulate myself on the fortunate impulse which had
led me to say what I did, when my friends appeared from the next car.
They were too highly amused with my recital to sympathize at all with
my feelings of annoyance; and one of them, a gentleman filling a high
situation in the East, laughed heartily, saying, in a thoroughly
American tone, 'The English ladies must be 'cute customers' if they
can outwit Yankee pickpockets.'"
The quickness and presence of mind of this lady was worthy of the
practised skill of the detective who marked his man at the Wellington
College ceremonial. That same gathering afforded another example of the
cowardice of the swell mob. Immediately they came upon the ground,
fourteen of them were netted before they had time to try the lightness of
their fingers. They were confined in a single room with only two policemen
to guard them, yet they never attempted to escape, although their
apprehension was illegal, but waited patiently until the crowd had
dispersed. When the doors were thrown open, they immediately made a rush
like so many rats from a trap, and never stopped until they were well out
of sight of the police. The rapidity with which they bolted was caused by
their desire to avoid being paraded before the assembled constables, a
measure which is often taken by the police, in order that they may know
their men on another occasion. If, however, the swellmobsman's eye is for
ever wandering in search of his prey, so also is that of the detective;
and instances may occur when the one may be mistaken for the other. At the
opening of the Crystal Palace, a party of detectives distributed among the
crowd, observed several foreigners looking about them in a manner
calculated to rouse their suspicions. These individuals were immediately
taken into custody, notwithstanding their strong and vehement
expostulations made in very good French. When brought before the
inspector, it came out that they were Belgian police, sent over at the
request of our Government to keep a look out on the _mauvais sujets_ of
their own nation.