Mr. Croak he thought it very desirable to have a consultation as early
as possible. Mr. Croak understood, or--not to pay him an undue
compliment--he _saw_ that there was _something_ in the suggestion. He
therefore indorsed the learned counsel's brief with that potent word
"consultation," and with the yet more potent figure of two guineas.
A meeting between attorney and counsel took place that very afternoon at
the chambers of Mr. Snayke. Mr. Croak attended it himself, and nobody
else was there. It was a secret meeting; but I shall take the liberty of
drawing aside the veil, and letting the reader into this consultation. I
shall ask him to prick up his ears, so that he may lose nothing of the
conversation, and to concentrate his attention, so that he may
understand what he hears.
"Mr. Croak."
"Yes, sir."
"Pray be seated."
"Thank you, sir."
This was the frigid tone of a greeting between the mouthy criminal
advocate and the patron attorney who buttered his bread on both sides. I
am told that this bumptiousness on the one hand, and humbleness on the
other, is the almost invariable style of intercourse between the
technically upper and the technically lower ranks of the legal
profession. Much of the power of wig and gown is said to depend upon the
maintenance of a relative status in the business of the law.
After a moment or two of iciness, Mr. Snayke's consciousness of what was
due to the attorney warmed him, so he grew polite and more
condescending towards his inferior brother and paymaster.
"You see, Croak," said the great Snayke, "that it is very important to
frame this charge against the prisoner accurately, and I should like to
know the real facts of the case--such as can be established in evidence
exactly--which I do not yet. Did the prisoner steal a cheque with the
amount and so forth filled in, and with his master's signature attached
in his master's own handwriting, or did the fellow steal a blank cheque,
and fill it in, and sign it with his master's name? The distinction is
important to the prisoner himself, because the different facts establish
different crimes; but the prosecutor is far more interested, as it seems
to me, in this part of the affair than the accused."
"Pardon me, sir, if I say I don't see _that_," the attorney ventured to
say.
"Oh, obviously," replied Mr. Snayke. "If the cheque had been perfectly
drawn by the prosecutor--if it had his signature making the 50_l._ 4_s._
1½_d._ payable to Messrs. Clockwork and Rigid or bearer--if it was a
complete and genuine cheque, then it is plain that the loss must be
borne by Mr. Crapp. It was an act of embezzlement of a cheque or its
proceeds by his own clerk. Suppose, on the other hand, that the prisoner
stole a blank cheque, and wrote his master's name at the foot thereof,
that would be a forgery; and the bank must bear the loss, because they
have no right or authority to pay forged cheques."
A light entered the head of the attorney. He was lawyer enough to see a
point when his microscopic vision had been sharpened, and when the
point was held up to him. He told Mr. Snayke that he could not
distinctly say--he had not positively ascertained from the
prosecutor--whether or not the cheque was stolen in blank, or after it
had been filled up and signed. He would see how the matter stood in this
respect, and further instruct Mr. Snayke.
The attorney afterwards had a conference with his client, in which he
endeavoured to expound the law of the case to the prosecutor before he
sought to learn how the facts stood. I don't know what the reader may
think of this order of proceeding. It strikes me as having not been
quite logical, or morally correct. It was very like giving Mr. Crapp a
hint how he might shape the facts, and throw off a burden or loss from
his own shoulders to those of the banker. Until indeed this result of
the legal demonstration was made quite apparent to the prosecutor, he
could not be induced to tax his memory about the facts.
"You see," said Mr. Croak, "if you really did fill up and sign the
cheque, and happened to suffer it to lie about unnoticed for an hour or
two; or suppose, after filling it up and signing it, you handed it to
Thinshanks to post to Clockwork's, and suppose he stole it or cashed it
without authority, and appropriated to his own use the proceeds--?"
"Well, suppose he did. That's what he did do, I dare say," replied Mr.
Crapp.
"I hope not," rejoined the attorney.
"Hope not! What's the use of hoping not? the blackguard's bad enough for
any thing."
"No doubt he is; but, you see, if he stole a cheque after you had signed
it, we couldn't say that he forged your signature, could we?"
"No, I suppose not; but what matters about that? Isn't it as wicked and
abominable to steal a cheque signed, as it would be to steal one
unsigned? If it isn't forgery, it's robbery, felony, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes, my good Mr. Crapp; but I must speak plainer, I see. I want to
find out who is to be at the loss of the money--the 50_l._ odd."
"Why, I suppose I must be--of course, mustn't I?"
"I don't know. Let us see how the facts and the law stand. I hope I can
show that not my client, but the bank, must bear the loss of the cash."
"Oh, I see your drift; but how is that to be made out?"
"Why, suppose you left your drawer open--just suppose, you know, it had
so happened--and that you left your cheque-book available to your
clerk." (Here the attorney drew breath, and looked critically at his
client.) "Suppose that he tore out a blank cheque, and filled it up, and
wrote your signature under the order to pay, that would be forgery, you
know."
"Yes, I know that."
"Then you would _not_ have to lose the money. The banker would lose it."
"Would he?"
"Yes; because if he pays a forged cheque, the consequences are his, not
yours."
Mr. Crapp was bewildered by the strength of his new enlightenment.
"Ah! I see. Yes. I wonder how it was? Now, 'pon my word, Mr. Croak, I
can't tell for the life of me at this moment how it was. I'll rub up my
memory. I'll let you know to-morrow."
The client and attorney parted company. The former, on his return home,
at once sent his pass-book to the bank, and got his account made up. The
cheques which had been cashed since the last balancing of his account
were of course returned in the pass-book, and among them the cheque made
payable to "Clockwork or bearer," and not crossed.
Whoever wrote the signature of "Jno. Crapp," there could be no doubt
that the date and the amount (in words and in figures) were written by
Thinshanks. This, however, was not remarkable. The clerk usually wrote
the body of cheques, for his master to sign.
Mr. Crapp pondered long and anxiously over the document. He compared the
signature "Jno. Crapp" with the same autograph on other cheques. Did he
doubt who had written his name at the foot of that order to pay? No. He
knew it was his own writing. He was only looking at it to see whether he
could find a sufficient excuse to say it was not his writing. Strangely
enough, the "Jno. Crapp" on this cheque was not exactly like that on the
others. This signature was a little more extended, or sprawling, than
his customary autograph. How was that? He recollected perfectly well. He
wrote it in a frightful hurry. He had on the day he wrote it--in the
afternoon--promised to take his dear wife, Mrs. Crapp, to the theatre.
He was racing through his business that afternoon. It was also very odd
that he neglected to cross the cheque. That neglect arose through the
same cause. Dare he venture to say, on his oath, with all the
consequences of perjury before his eyes, that he had not written "Jno.
Crapp" on that slip of paper? Why not? Who should contradict him? Who
could do so? Only Thinshanks. Was that possible? Yes, he might from the
dock contradict him, but his evidence could not be taken; and the
unlikeness of the signature was a further guarantee against harm to the
prosecutor from such a denial. He (Mr. Crapp) was a respectable man.
Could he swear to the lie without blushing? He was afraid not. Yes, he
could--he would. He couldn't afford the loss of 50_l._ It was a heavy
sum for him to lose. It was a fleabite to Undertails. They were rich
beyond computation. He would venture to say it was not his signature,
and risk discovery. Nobody could give legal evidence to the
contrary--that was very certain.
At the next examination Mr. Snayke opened the case as one of forgery.
The learned counsel argued that the prisoner at the bar had doubtless
seized an opportunity, when his master's back was turned, to tear out a
blank cheque from the book, had filled up the stump; he had filled up
the body of the cheque (which was not unusual), but he had also written
his master's name underneath--a course never allowed by Mr. Crapp, never
before done by this young man, and which he had no authority whatever
for doing. Of course he had not crossed the cheque, which showed his
intention to misapply the proceeds, so that he might get those proceeds
to dissipate in that haunt of vice from which he had been taken. It was
(Mr. Snayke proceeded to say) an artful contrivance, and had so well
succeeded, that his master, guided by the stump-cheque, was really led,
in the absence of reflection, to suppose that he had, in the usual way,
signed the draft itself with his own hand; but on looking carefully at
the signature he immediately saw that, although a clever imitation of
his autograph, this "Jno. Crapp" had never been written by him. He (Mr.
Snayke) could very well understand how even a bank-clerk might, without
pausing to compare signatures, honour the forged draft; but the worthy
magistrate, or any one, upon making the comparison between the several
cheques he now offered for comparison with the one payable to Messrs.
Clockwork, see that it was not in the same handwriting as the others.
His highly respectable client would distinctly swear that the signature
was forged, and there could be no doubt about it. The case was now
complete, or would be when he had laid the evidence he had in court
before his worship; and he should ask for the prisoner's committal to
the next sessions, to stand his trial on the charge he had described.
The evidence sustained the learned gentleman's address. The prisoner,
who was not a little astonished at the extraordinary blunder of his
master, as he thought it, saw no object in explaining how the case
really stood. If he could get rid of the proof of the one alleged
forgery--that of "Jno. Crapp"--he could not hope to grapple with the
other charge. He saw that the robbery of the cheque and its proceeds
could be proved. He did not know the object his master had in swearing
that his own signature was not his handwriting, and if he had been
informed, the same authority might have told him that his purpose would
not have been very effectually served by trying to expose the fraud and
villany of his master.
What did happen in the progress of this very remarkable case, the reader
will learn.
The prisoner's committal was reported in the newspapers. His family,
with whom he had not communicated, thus got to know of his situation.
They communicated with him. They employed an attorney for him, whose
name I shall call Shark.
Mr. Shark, who is a notable man in the transpontine region of the
metropolis, and looked upon as almost a deity, at least in power or
skill, by the criminal heathen "across the border," had private
interviews with the culprit in his temporary gaol. Mr. Shark told his
client to make a clean breast of it with him--that he must know the
whole truth, if he was to do him any good, &c.
The unhappy client was as candid as the attorney could wish. He pleaded
guilty at this investigation--not of forgery, but of the other offence.
He insisted that the "Jno. Crapp" had been written by the hand of his
master, in a hurry, as described, and that the neglect to cross the
cheque had been the clerk's temptation. He saw that by intercepting the
course of the cheque from Crapp's to Clockwork's, and that by presenting
it at Messrs. Undertail's himself, he could easily get the sum of
50_l._ 4_s._ 1½_d._ Under an evil impulse he determined to do so, and
was foolish and guilty enough to obey that impulse.
The wretched young man declared that he had never before been guilty of
a dishonest act. This was, he solemnly protested, his first offence. His
whole career had been blasted by yielding to the one temptation. He also
poured into the indifferent ear of his legal adviser the story of his
wretchedness from the moment when he clutched his ill-gotten money. He
had, he said, endured an agony of remorse. In wild excitement he had
afterwards, until his arrest, obtained his only relief from the pangs of
conscience. Several times he had resolved to throw himself upon the
mercy of his late employer; but the savage sternness of that gentleman's
character made him tremble on the threshold of that good resolution.
Mr. Shark saw at once, and almost admired, the ingenuity of the device
adopted by the prosecution for throwing the loss of the money upon the
bankers. He did not think it necessary to enlighten his client on this
head, and allowed him to indulge the belief that Mr. Crapp's evidence
contained an involuntary misstatement of fact. He did not, he said to
himself, think it any part of his duty to interfere between the
prosecutor and his bankers. The prisoner had scarcely any object to gain
by the denial of the forgery; and he would assuredly get no one to
believe him.
This criminal practitioner saw just one use he could make of his
client's frank instructions. The threat of an explanation on the one
hand, and the promise of silence on the other, might get a strong
recommendation to mercy from the prosecutor.
Mr. Shark called upon Mr. Croak. What passed at the interview may be
guessed at through the result. When at the trial Mr. Snayke repeated the
speech of which I have given an outline, he added that the prosecutor,
who had been convinced that this was the prisoner's first crime, and was
anxious that he should have an opportunity of recovering his lost
character, instructed his counsel to recommend him to the merciful
consideration of the court.
The facts were proved, and something more than the facts were sworn to.
The jury found the prisoner guilty. The judge, after giving, as he said,
full effect to the generous recommendation of the prosecutor, sentenced
the culprit to four years' penal servitude.
The bankers allowed Mr. Crapp the amount of the stolen cheque, which had
been declared a forgery by the deliberate judgment of a criminal court.
* * * * *
About twelve months out of the four years of hard punishment allotted to
the dishonest clerk had been served in patience and unrepining
penitence. He had won the good opinion of warders, governor, and
chaplain. He was granted such indulgences as were consistent with the
discipline of his prison. He was not unlikely to get a ticket of leave
as soon as one could be granted.
One evening, amid the calm thoughts which solitude engendered, there
came a notion that he ought not to have allowed that error of Mr.
Crapp's about his own autograph to have gone uncorrected. It was, he
had always understood, desirable to tell the truth--if for no special or
other reason, for the abstract interests of truth. And, for his own
sake, was it not desirable to let the real facts be known? Why should he
suffer under the odium of a deeper criminality than he had been guilty
of? He determined to speak to the chaplain on the subject. He did so.
The chaplain thought he was right in desiring to make these
explanations. The reverend gentleman, in his simplicity, said he would
write to Mr. Crapp and so endeavour to lighten the burden of that
gentleman's prejudice, and perhaps get his signature to a memorial on
his late clerk's behalf. The chaplain, in an accidental bit of wisdom,
mentioned the story of the convict to the governor. The governor saw at
once, or suspected there had been, an object in Mr. Crapp's evidence,
although he hardly knew what it was. His brother-in-law, who was a
solicitor, was then on a visit at his house for a couple of days. The
whole story was repeated by the chaplain and governor to the lawyer. He
traced the successful fraud in his imagination at once. The
circumstances were accordingly mentioned to the proper authorities, who
directed that the facts should be communicated to Messrs. Undertail, the
bankers.
The head of the banking firm who had been so defrauded out of 50_l._
4_s._ 1½_d._, consulted their solicitors, and was informed that under
the new law of evidence the testimony of Thinshanks could be used in a
prosecution against Mr. Crapp, which they recommended as an act of
simple justice, and for the interests of the banking community. Mr.
Undertail's partner was a truly generous man. He shrunk from the
destruction of a respectable tradesman, and the firm was by this partner
led to hesitate. Mr. Undertail consulted the solicitors again on the
subject, and they still thought the firm were bound to prosecute.
There were some difficulties about the case. The evidence of the convict
might be disbelieved. Mr. Snayke, or whoever might be Mr. Crapp's
counsel for his defence, would assuredly argue that the convict had, in
the solitude of his prison, invented this story, in order to gratify a
revengeful feeling against the master who, although he had prosecuted
him to conviction under a stress of duty, had recommended him to mercy.
Yet there were some corroborating facts to be laid before the jury.
Experts might testify that the signature was not a forgery. Mr. Crapp's
hurry might be sworn to by the convict; his visit to the theatre, which
caused it, might be proved. The motive of throwing the loss upon the
bankers could be argued.
Second thoughts in a counting-house at Lombard Street ran in the same
direction as in the solicitors' office. It was determined to prosecute
Mr. Crapp, in the prospect of his conviction for the good of society.
Within a few hours of the formation of this opinion Mr. Crapp fled from
his house, and as a living man was never again heard of. The body of a
man resembling him was ten days afterwards washed ashore at Barking
Creek.
I suspect that Mr. Undertail's partner was led by his excessive
generosity to warn the wretch of his peril, that he fled in consequence,
and that, dreading capture, shame, and punishment, he committed suicide
by drowning.
Does the reader wish me to answer the question at the head of this
narrative? He is welcome to my opinion, and at liberty to differ from it
if it does not please him. I think Mr. Crapp was worse than his clerk; I
think that Mr. Croak was a greater criminal than either; but I consider
that the vilest knave of the lot was Mr. Snayke.
A GRAND RAILWAY "PLANT."
Does the reader know that all the money taken at a railway station is
sent up to head-quarters every night? Such is the arrangement. The money
is put into a box, constructed as well as may be to render peculation or
robbery on the way difficult, if not impossible, and off it is sent. An
"advice" is of course also sent by the station-master or cashier from
the particular station to the head-office. The money for paying salaries
and wages is also sent in a like manner in a reverse course from
head-quarters to the tributaries from which it originally came. The
chief station, terminus, or office, is in fact the centre of an arterial
monetary system. Every thing in the form of cash comes in there and goes
from there.
The mode of paying wages, or at least of conveying the wages from
head-quarters, is this. In order to guard against robbery or fraud, a
list of all the porters, engine-drivers, guards, and other servants who
belong to or are allotted to each station for payment, is sent up to
head-quarters. On a given day--say Friday or Saturday--this list is
taken back to the station by a clerk from the cashier or secretary's
office, who also takes with him the sum required to pay all these
servants their wages. The clerk makes a journey from one end of the line
to the other, depositing, as he goes along, a parcel of money packed up
with the wages-list. These parcels are received from the hands of the
clerk by some one who is always on the lookout at each place of deposit,
with that eagerness or care men usually betray when they expect to
obtain the reward of their industry. The arrival of the cash-bearer is
always either known by fixed arrangement or by a special telegram which
is sent down the line.
The reader is, I dare say, also quite unaware of the fact that, until a
year or two ago, there existed a gang of the vilest scoundrels, who
derived enormous gains by the systematic plunder of railway companies.
Their modes of operation were as various as the devices of wicked
ingenuity could possibly make them, and their ramifications were
astonishing to the most practised detectives. Their subterfuges, plans,
and arrangements furnished me with many a long and lucrative job; and
very many cases, it is fair to suppose, went undiscovered, or even
unsuspected. They brought actions for injuries never received, by
persons who were never present at collisions or smashes; they made
demands for lost parcels which, as an Irishman might be excused for
saying, had never been lost; they stole passengers' luggage; they
appropriated goods in course of transit; and they had other schemes of
plunder. So widely ramified was their machinery, that in nearly every
large station there would be a confederate ostensibly doing the
company's work, receiving the company's pay, and ranked among the
company's faithful servants. On every ninth or tenth train there was a
guard who had a connexion, either as principal or agent, with the
plunderers. At the head-quarters of many lines of railway throughout the
kingdom--in the secretary's, chief cashier's, and manager's offices of
several lines--they had their spies, informers, and associates.
The usefulness of these spies at head-quarters was enormous. Take the
case of a pretended accident by way of an example. An action was once
brought against a company having its chief station in the metropolis.
The plaintiff asked damages or compensation for the injuries sustained
through a collision. The company did not see its way to resist the claim
entirely, but as they considered the amount wanted by the plaintiff to
be excessive, they thought it could be reduced by negotiation. Two
thousand pounds was the sum originally asked. The plaintiff, however, in
the course of the negotiation, reduced his expectations to 1000_l._ This
was, his attorney said, the very lowest he would accept. The company's
solicitors reported this one day, and were authorised to settle by
payment of 800_l._ and costs. The company's solicitors thereupon offered
700_l._ as their very highest figure. If this was declined, they must,
they said, fight to the end, and see what a jury would give. It was of
course their intention to spring 100_l._ at the last moment, rather than
let the negotiation break down. The plaintiff's attorney, however, in
reply to the offer of 700_l._, wrote back to say that he had seen his
unfortunate client, who, in order to put an end to dispute and
litigation, would take 800_l._, but not 1_s._ less; and added, that it
was useless to negotiate further if that concession were not met at
once by an assent. It did not appear, nor was it at all remarkable, that
the negotiation should be thus conducted up to the very point at which
the company's solicitors were empowered to settle; but the real cause of
the plaintiff's agreement to accept 800_l._ was the information he had
received that that sum was the most he could hope to get without passing
through the ordeal of a public investigation--a test the gang would
always yield much to avoid.