THE BURGLARY AT WOOD-HILL――AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
It would not be edifying to the reader to chronicle all the marauding
expeditions in which our hero was engaged at this period.
The money obtained by the exercise of his musical ability did not
content him for long. He visited several houses after nightfall, and
if the booty obtained was not large he escaped without detection.
He had “spotted,” to use his own phrase, a house standing in its own
grounds at Wood-hill, within a few miles of Sheffield.
The place seemed so isolated and looked so tempting, it being in the
occupation of some rich person, that Peace determined upon paying it
an early visit.
At the back of the house was a conservatory. This could be reached
from one of the back rooms. Indeed, it might be said to form part of
the room itself.
Peace, who had noted all these things when passing the place in
midday, had determined upon his plan of operations.
He scaled the iron railings which ran round the front garden, and made
at once for the greenhouse. To obtain an entrance into this was a
matter of no great difficulty.
The two folding doors of the parlour led into the conservatory. These
were, as a matter of course, fastened, but not very securely.
The burglar, who, as we have already seen, was an expert in dealing
with locks and bolts, began by ascertaining, as nearly as possible,
the nature of the fastenings.
With a bit of bent wire he picked the lock, and one of the doors
yielded to his pressure.
He found the top bolt had not been drawn home into its socket, and an
aperture was disclosed sufficiently large for him to withdraw the
bottom bolt with one of the instruments he had brought with him. The
bolt was pulled back, and the door was flung wide open.
All this had been done in so quick a manner that none of the inmates
were disturbed.
Peace entered the back parlour, and found therein a considerable
amount of portable and valuable property. By the aid of one of his
silent lucifers, he possessed himself of a number of articles, which
he placed together on the table, with the intention of removing them
upon his return from the other rooms, which it was his purpose to
ransack in a similar manner.
He went into the front parlour, and took from it a still richer booty,
which he placed by the side of the first heap.
This done, he crept cautiously upstairs, and entered the front
drawing-room on the first floor.
This was furnished with most costly articles. The burglar was quite
charmed with the appearance of the apartment, still more so with its
contents.
He now for the first time made use of one of the long screws which he
used so frequently in the after part of his lawless career.
Closing the door, he bored a small hole in it with a bradawl; into
this he inserted a long, pointed screw, which he turned with a
screw-driver, and by this means fastened himself securely in the room.
No one would be able to gain an entrance.
With one of his lucifers he lighted a small wax taper, which he placed
on one of the hobs of the grate. Then he proceeded to open all the
drawers and cupboards, from which he abstracted a number of valuables.
These he placed in his bag.
He felicitated himself upon the successful nature of the expedition;
the proceeds of his night’s work would undoubtedly realise a
considerable sum of money, even at the Jew’s price.
As may be supposed, he did not leave much behind that there was any
possibility of carrying away.
The examination of the room, the turning over the various articles,
and abstraction of the same, took a longer time than he had expected;
nevertheless, he deemed himself quite safe, as the door was securely
fastened.
When he had selected all that he intended to take away with him, he
blew out his taper, and began to withdraw his long, thin screw. This
done, he cautiously opened the door, and peeped out.
No one was visible.
Turning round to reach his bag, his coat-tail caught the branch of a
candelabrum, which fell to the floor with a loud crash.
In another moment he was alarmed by the barking of a dog, and in the
next a fierce animal rushed into the room, and sprang at his throat.
Peace was greatly alarmed. The whole household would, in all
probability, be aroused.
“Curse the hound!” he muttered; at the same time grasping the dog’s
throat with both hands, so as to silence him, and at the same time, if
possible, to throttle him.
A struggle ensued between the burglar and the dog, which, short and
desperate as it was, seemed an age to Peace.
He flung his canine opponent with all his force to the other end of
the room; but the dog was not easily cowed; he came on once more.
Peace had expected this. As the animal approached, he struck it a
terrific blow on the head with his jemmy. For a moment the poor
creature was stunned.
Peace shouldered his bag, and was about to make off, when he received
a cut on the forehead from some weapon, which caused a thousand sparks
to flicker before his eyes.
He struck out right and left with his jemmy at a dark figure in the
doorway.
In another moment he was in the grasp of a powerful man, whose
features were not distinguishable, the room being at this time in
almost utter darkness.
“Scoundrel――villain!” exclaimed his opponent; “you shall not escape
me.”
Peace made no answer to these expletives.
He had but one thought――this being to get away. He struggled
desperately, and fought like a tiger.
The two combatants fell to the floor, rolling over together. Peace
kicked and struck out with his fists, but for all he could do he could
not shake off his resolute antagonist.
The dog, who had now in a measure recovered from the blow, set up a
loud barking.
He, with a noble instinct, rushed to his master’s assistance and
caught Peace by one of his legs, who kicked the animal savagely with
the other.
“Down Bruno――down, boy,” ejaculated Peace’s opponent.
At these words the dog ceased further hostilities. Peace by a supreme
effort rose to his feet, but he was still in the grasp of his enemy,
who also rose.
The noise and barking of the dog aroused another inmate of the house;
this was the servant girl, who hurried on her things and hastened to
the scene of action with a lighted candle in her hand.
“For mercy’s sake, Mr. Gatliffe, whatever is the matter?” she
inquired.
Peace’s heart beat audibly. He was in the hands of Tom Gatliffe.
By the light of the candle which the girl carried he beheld the
well-known features of his rival.
“Heaven be merciful!” exclaimed the latter, who despite his disguise
at once recognised Peace. “Can it be possible?”
He regarded the burglar with a look of bewilderment. Peace was
abashed; panting and puffing like a grampus, he drew back and
supported himself against the edge of the cheffonier.
The two――the honest man and the rogue――regarded each other in silence
for a brief space of time.
“I had never counted on this――I am appalled,” exclaimed Gatliffe. “A
robber, a thief, a burglar! It surpasses all belief!”
A stream of blood trickled down the face of our hero from the blow he
had received at the commencement of the conflict, but he was heedless
of this. The exposure, the terrible discovery made by young Gatliffe,
afflicted him more than aught else.
“What have you to say for yourself――can it be possible that you have
sunk so low as this? I can hardly realise the fact, which, however, is
but too evident. I would that some other person had made this
discovery.”
“It’s no use making fine set speeches,” returned Peace; “here we both
are. It is not a pleasant meeting for either of us, but we must make
the best of it.”
“What has been the matter?” inquired the girl. “Shall I go for James,
or a policeman, or what?”
“You had better go for a policeman; but stay, where is James?”
“In the room over the coach-house, I suppose.”
“Well, we don’t want his assistance――go for a policeman. The station
is not far hence――go, there’s a good girl.”
The maid placed the candle on the table, put on her shawl, and sallied
forth.
When she had gone Gatliffe closed the door, locked it, and put the key
into his pocket.
“Now,” he said, turning to Peace, “you an my prisoner.”
“So it seems,” returned the latter, who had by that time recovered his
assurance; “but may I inquire what you do here? You are not master of
this house――are you?”
“I am not, but one of my employers is. He’s away in the country, and
during his absence I have taken charge of the premises. Insolence will
avail you but little. You might have got me into trouble, imperilled
my position――nay, almost ruined me――had you got clean away with the
things you have purloined.”
“But I’ve not got away, and it’s no use supposing I have,” interrupted
Peace. “It is a bad business, but can’t be helped. Do you mean to tell
me that you are going to hand me over to the police?”
“It is my duty to do so.”
“Duty, be blowed! Look here, we’ve had a word or two. You’ve robbed me
of the only woman I ever cared for. It’s driven me to distraction――that’s
what it’s done――else I shouldn’t be here. It is all your fault――but,
there, I bear you no animosity. Let bygones be bygones. I tell you
I’ve been driven to distraction. Do you hear?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, then, if you are the same generous Tom Gatliffe as I knew years
ago, you wont be hard upon your old chum.”
“What would I give to be out of this difficulty?” exclaimed Gatliffe,
in a tone of sadness. “Do, for mercy’s sake, mend your ways. Never
make another attempt of this sort. It is, I hope, your first false
step――let it be your last.”
“It shall be――I promise you that. It shall be the last,” he answered,
with well-simulated hypocrisy.
“For the sake of those who are near and dear to you, do not, I charge
you, stray from the path of honesty. A burglar――a midnight robber! It
appears almost too terrible to believe. What am I to say to my
employer?”
“You need not say that we were in any way acquainted. The attempt was
made, and you frustrated it. That is all. I’m in your power, and throw
myself upon your mercy. Let me go.”
“If I do, justice will surely overtake you, sooner or later, unless
you mend your ways.”
“I will,” cried Peace. “Be assured of that. Now, Tom, the minutes are
flying rapidly. Even now the police may be on their way here. Let me
get clear off while there’s yet time.”
“But how can I without compromising myself? It is most repugnant to my
feelings, most painful for me to give you in charge. But what am I to
do? How can I help it?”
Open the door, and say I slipped out of your grasp, and got away.
Nothing is easier. Or open the window, I can drop on the grass plat.
Whichever you please, only――time――time presses.”
Gatliffe hesitated for a moment, then he took the key out of his
pocket, unlocked the door, flung it wide open, and said, in a hoarse
whisper――
“Go. Get you gone! I imperil my own position, but we are known to each
other from boyhood. Away at once!”
“You’re a good fellow, Tom; I always said so,” murmured Peace. “Now I
am more than ever assured of it. I shall not forget your kindness. But
a few days ago I hated you, and could have killed you. Now I esteem
and love you.”
“Go to ―――― no more of this,” returned his companion. “All I ask of
you is that you never again suffer yourself to forfeit my good opinion
by any discreditable or dishonest act.”
“Trust me, Tom, I will not,” said Peace, as he flew with rapid steps
down the stairs, and passed through the back parlour, and from thence
into the conservatory.
In a few minutes after this he was clear away from the scene of his
operations.
After his departure Tom Gatliffe remained in the front drawing-room a
prey to a thousand conflicting thoughts.
The unexpected and singular encounter that had taken place was
altogether of such an extraordinary nature that he seemed bewildered
and perplexed.
He had never for a moment imagined that Peace had been pursuing a
lawless career, and the sudden discovery he made that night fell like
a thunderbolt upon him.
Gatliffe was a young man of the strictest integrity, of the highest
moral rectitude, and he felt supremely miserable when he reflected
upon the incriminating facts, which had been made but too painfully
manifest, in connection with his schoolfellow Peace.
He would have given half he was possessed of not to have been in the
house at the time of the burglary.
Generous, kind-hearted, and forgiving as he was by nature, he found it
impossible to blast the prospects of one whom he had known, almost on
what might be termed the threshold of existence.
He glanced at the burglar’s bag, which contained so many valuable
articles, and, as he did so, a shudder passed through his frame.
“I fear this is not his first offence,” he murmured, shaking his head
sadly. “Young as he is he may possibly be old in crime; but perhaps I
do him wrong, yet he was certainly disguised in so cunning and
complete a manner that few besides myself would have known him.
Certainly his disguise was perhaps the most surprising part of the
whole business. Oh! this is all very terrible. I feel wretchedly
depressed.”
Footsteps were now heard ascending the stairs, and in another moment
the servant girl entered the room. She was accompanied by an inspector
of the police and a constable.
“Where is the prisoner?” said the inspector.
“He has escaped,” answered Gatliffe.
“Escaped!” iterated the inspector. “Surely you have not been foolish
enough to let him get away. How did it happen?”
“You shall hear. I had him in this room and kept guard over the
entrance. He pleaded for mercy, but I told him I had a duty to
perform. All at once, after remaining quiet and submissive for some
time, he sprang towards the door. I caught hold of him to arrest his
passage; in doing so my foot slipped, and he lost no time in taking
advantage of this accident, and succeeded in releasing himself from my
grasp. It was all done in less time than it takes me to tell it. He
flew downstairs.”
“Well, you followed, of course?”
“Yes.”
“And could not overtake him?”
“I had very nearly done so, when he rushed into the back parlour,
closed the door, and locked it. I ran round the conservatory, searched
everywhere I could think of, but was unable to find him. Oh! he has
escaped, but it is no fault of mine.”
This, as the reader may guess, was not a truthful statement, but it
was the only course Gatliffe had left to get himself out of the
difficulty.
The inspector looked at the constable――then they both gave a glance at
Gatliffe, who, as a natural consequence, felt greatly disconcerted.
[Sidenote: No. 7.]
[Illustration: BESSIE DREW FORTH FROM THE PAPER A HUNDRED POUND NOTE.]
“Well, it is very unfortunate――exceedingly so,” observed the
inspector. “Should you know the man again?”
“Oh, dear, yes; I’ve no doubt I should.”
“So should I,” exclaimed the girl. “I should know him out of a
thousand. He had a dark skin, and appears to be a mulatto.”
“Is that so?”
This last query was addressed to Gatliffe.
“Yes, she’s quite right――that was what he appeared to be――a half
caste, a creole, or mulatto.”
“Ah! several burglaries have been committed by a man of that
description. I am much mortified at his having made his escape.”
“It is indeed very much to be regretted, but it is no fault of mine. I
hope you don’t think it is,” said Gatliffe.
“I don’t say it is any _fault_ of yours,” returned the inspector,
testily. “I only say it’s unfortunate, that’s all――confoundedly
unfortunate, when you’ve bagged your bird, to let him fly away. I say
again, it’s unfortunate; but talking wont mend the matter. Let’s
search the house, Jawkins.”
This was addressed to the constable.
“You see this?” remarked Gatliffe, pointing significantly to the bag.
The constable opened it, and drew forth one article after the other in
the usual systematic and professional manner invariably adopted by
gentlemen of his profession.
“He meant walking away with a tolerably rich booty,” observed the
inspector. “Ah! he knew his business――not the least doubt of that.”
Gatliffe was ready to sink through the floor; he was so abashed and
humiliated at the contemptible part he had been playing, which was, to
say the truth, altogether foreign to his nature.
After the bag had been emptied of its contents the police-officers
proceeded downstairs. They were followed by the young engineer and the
servant girl.
The other pile of valuables was discovered on the table in the back
parlour. These of course underwent inspection. During the examination
of each separate article Gatliffe was perfectly appalled at the
magnitude of the projected robbery; but he said nothing, being, in
fact, too depressed to venture too many observations.
“Here is where the rascal gained an entrance into the premises,”
pointing to the folding-doors which led into the conservatory, which
gave unmistakeable indications of the marks made by the burglar’s
instruments.
A rapid and rigid search was now made in the grounds, both in the rear
and in the front of the house.
But no burglar was discovered.
The services of Bruno, the faithful dog, were enlisted in this search,
which, however, turned out to be fruitless.
The constables returned to the house. They were evidently deeply
mortified at the escape of the robber, and could but ill conceal their
vexation.
“He’s given us the slip,” said the inspector. “Got far away by this
time, I’ve no doubt. It’s very annoying, but it can’t be helped.”
“I’m sure I am very sorry to have given you so much unnecessary
trouble,” murmured Gatliffe. “The more so since I found it impossible
to detain him. I wish you had come a little earlier.”
“We did not lose a moment after the young woman informed us of the
affair. You take my advice,” remarked the inspector, addressing
himself to Gatliffe, “the next time you collar a ‘cracksman,’ stick to
him. Don’t let him slip through your fingers.”
“Mr. Gatliffe held him fast enough,” said the servant, in a tone of
indignation. “He’s not the man to give in easily. He had a most
desperate struggle with the burglar before I left; and had it not been
for him and Bruno the house would have been well-nigh stripped.”
The inspector nodded his head in acquiescence of this last
proposition.
“We will take the bag with us,” he observed, as he made his way to the
drawing-room. “It may afford some clue to the robber.”
Upon entering the upstairs room, he discovered on the floor the
“jemmy” with which Peace struck the dog. It had fallen out of his hand
during his struggle with Gatliffe.
This was also carried away by the police. Upon their return to the
station orders were issued to the men on duty to keep on the look-out
for the next few days for a man answering to the description of the
burglar.
But the bird had flown――he had also changed his plumage――and he was,
moreover, too cunning a bird to be seen in the neighbourhood for some
time――certainly not till the attempted burglary was a thing of the
past.
Gatliffe was in a state of trepidation for some days. The false
statement he had made to the police officers caused him the deepest
anxiety.
It was altogether so repugnant to his feelings to deviate from the
truth that he felt humiliated at having been compelled, by the force
of circumstances, to trump up so specious a tale to cover the flight
of Peace.
He accused himself of having aided and abetted a burglar in his
lawless attempt at robbery.
This was, however, viewing the matter in its worst light. If Gatliffe
had erred it was from the best motive; it was to save one whom he had
known for many years. He had not the faintest notion, when he connived
at his escape, that he was dealing thus mercifully with a callous and
hardened criminal.
But Peace, it must be acknowledged, was a remarkable man in many ways,
not the least of these being his wondrous power of imposing upon
persons with whom he came in contact.
It is at all times difficult to gauge accurately the character of
culprits of this class.
In a popular history of British criminals the biographer, introducing
a certain infamous rascal, remarks very justly that as a rule the
recorders of rogues and vagabonds endow them with qualities they did
not possess, and credit them with exploits they never performed.
Hence follows, in the opinion of this judicious commentator, “the
difficulty of finding out and appreciating, as they merit, genuine
anecdotes of these heroes.” Burglars suffer, like bards, from theft of
their reputation, and the notorious shoplifter is as liable as the
eminent statesman to be saddled with misdeeds he never committed and
defrauded of distinction actually earned.
The Newgate chronicle we have quoted tells us in a word how this comes
to be.
If any man makes himself distinguished by crime a hundred stories are
set in circulation, putting down things to him which he knew nothing
about. Peace is no exception to this rule.
A leading London paper reported that he had paid a visit to
Chislehurst as a private gentleman, who desired to build a habitation
of a similar character――the real object of his visit, however, being
to gain a knowledge of its interior for the purpose of carrying out a
burglary on a large scale.
There is not a shadow of truth in this report. Peace was never at
Chislehurst; neither did he ever contemplate breaking into the place.
It is a long time happily since this sort of scandal engaged the
tongues and thoughts of the British public.
The days are gone by for ever when each county in England had its
outlaw, whose achievements filled the “lying trump of fame,” and
agitated society with a pleasing fear unfelt among our modern
sensations.
When, however, at rare intervals, some superior villain appears above
the lawless crowd, we find the old tendency to make the most or worst
of him lingers not dead but sleeping.
Our hero is an instance in point.
We doubt, indeed, if any individual named in the long black bead-roll
of the criminal calendar has inspired more invention, or figured in so
much fancy, as Charles Peace.
His midnight adventures have not that strong flavour of exciting
romance we find in the histories of bygone marauders.
He was practical to austerity, and never made a move that was not
calculated and carried out to answer a severe business purpose.
No doubt, as we have before observed, his artfulness, his daring, and
other qualities made him a remarkable man.
Unhappily for himself and his endowments, which would have enabled him
to win a respectable position in an honest career, appear to have been
singularly fitted for the life he chose to follow.
Although he has been charged with many offences he never committed, it
may be safely believed that during the thirty years or so he was
preying upon the public he has done an enormous amount of mischief.
A poet is said to be one in ten thousand. A man of the special
capacity of Peace is far more rare.
He seems like the conquerors, and produces on his fellow-men the same
sort of hope that he may be the last of his class.
Probably there is not another man in England who could have run the
race of this criminal――by night a thief and a murderer; by day a
citizen of credit, who went abroad without fear in the busy haunts of
men.
The miserable failure he had made in attempting to rob the house of
which Gatliffe was the custodian did not abash him.
He was to be seen in places of public resort at Sheffield on the
following day.
Indeed, he mixed more freely with the townspeople than he had done
heretofore.
It is our purpose in this work to throw a light on the actions and
deeds of its lawless hero; not for the purpose of holding him up as an
example, but rather as a warning.
His career furnishes us with a proof that a life of crime is always a
life of care.
Disgrace, obloquy, and punishment are the sure attendants on the
footsteps of a criminal.
Some few days after his last unsuccessful escapade, Peace was standing
outside the principal post-office in Sheffield.
He had been to inquire if there were any letters for him.
He expected to receive one from Bessie Dalton, who, in accordance with
his instructions, directed her epistles to the post-office to be kept
till called for.
Peace had received several, but for some little time past none had
arrived.
He was debating with himself as to the cause, when, much to his
surprise, he descried Tom Gatliffe hastening on in the direction of
the spot where he was stationed.
It was not possible for him to avoid being recognised, and, to say the
truth, he had no desire to do so.
He waited till Gatliffe came up to him.
His countenance denoted that he was a little concerned at the
rencontre.
Gatliffe posted some letters, and then turned towards Peace with a
look of deep sorrow.
“You remember the promise given to me on that terrible night?” said
Gatliffe, in a whisper.
Peace nodded.
“I do,” he returned; “shall always hear it in remembrance. Be in no
way concerned about me. I’ve seen my error, and am now a different
man.”
“I hope and trust you are. Now, Peace,” said the young engineer, in a
more serious and persuasive tone, “let me conjure you, let me beg of
you, never to fall into a similar error. It must have been the
archfiend who tempted you to commit such a monstrous act.”
“Say no more about it. Let it be forgotten. You have been in no way
compromised, I hope.”
“I must tell you frankly that I found myself in such a terrible
scrape, when the police arrived, that I was constrained to do more for
you than I have ever done for myself. I had to tell a most deliberate
falsehood, but let that pass. You will, I am sure, be mindful of your
promise. You are young, possess ability, and may yet win a good
position in life. But do not be tempted. If you are in want of money
at any time drop me a line, and what I can spare in the way of a loan
for a short time you are welcome to. Only do not, I charge you,
attempt to rob or plunder. I am sure I wish to be everything that’s
kind to you; but lately I have heard things which seem to strike me
with horror.”
“What have you heard?”
“I will not pain you by repeating.”
“Oh! don’t mind that. The plain truth is at all times the best. What
have you heard?”
“Well, then, if you must know, the police informed me that there had
been several burglaries committed by a person answering to your
description.”
“And surely you are not fool enough to believe such a statement. They
always say that. They think it so clever. My description, indeed! They
wont tell me so.”
“I don’t mean a description as you now appear, but as you were on that
dreadful night.”
Peace laughed.
“Ah, I see,” he muttered. “Why, I wonder even you knew me, disguised
as I was.”
“I wonder myself.”
“Would they know me now, do you think?”
“Not at all likely, I should say.”
“And Aveline Maitland――what of her?” inquired Peace, in an altered
tone, for as he inquired a sudden pang seemed to shoot through his
frame.
“What of her?” repeated Gatliffe; “why do you inquire?”
“Don’t be jealous――she is nothing to me.”
“I’m not likely to be jealous.”
“You are engaged to her?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I thought so. Well, I wish you every happiness――that’s all I have to
say; but a short time since she drove me to desperation――I did not
much care whether I lived or died; now that is past――I’m getting over
it.”
Gatliffe looked surprised. There was an earnestness in his companion’s
manner which went far towards giving assurance of the speaker’s
sincerity.”
“You’ll not forget all I have said, neither will you forget your
promise――and so farewell,” said Gatliffe, with a nod, as he took a
somewhat abrupt departure.
“Farewell,” repeated Peace. “My ways are not your ways,” he added,
when the engineer was out of earshot.
“Hang it all! what can be the reason of Bessie’s silence? Two letters
unanswered――something must be up. Has she turned against me?”
This thought seemed to a little depress him; not that he had any right
to expect anything else, seeing that he had neglected her in a most
heartless manner. He reflected for some little time, and then said――
“I shall have to go over to Bradford, I expect――that’s what I shall
have to do. Bessie’s a sharp clever girl, and I mustn’t lose sight of
her. A plague upon that drunken brute, Bristow! Had it not been for
him I should not have had occasion to leave Bradford.”
His soliloquy was brought to a close by a female addressing him by his
Christian name.
It was his mother, who, with all his faults, regarded him with a
glance of fond affection.
“Well, Charlie, you rover, now I have found you I don’t intend to let
you go,” said the old lady, playfully. “You must come along with me.”
“Where to?”
“Where do you suppose? You must come home. Surely you can spare your
poor mother a little of your company?”
“All right, then; homewards we will go,” cried Peace, leading the way
in the direction of his parent’s house.