THE NOTTINGHAM SILK ROBBERY――HOW PEACE DID IT.
For some time after his last escapade Charles Peace continued to work
industriously at his business. It must not be supposed, however, that
during this period he refrained entirely from his evil practices.
He was at work occasionally at night at habitations within a short
distance of Sheffield; but he was specially careful, and did not
venture upon what he termed a “big job.”
No one at this time suspected that he was carrying on his depredations
in such a secret and covert way.
He had refilled his purse by disposing of some plate, which was the
private property of a merchant at Hull.
When the summer came again he contrived and carried out a robbery on a
more extensive scale.
He had for a long time contemplated making an incursion on a large
warehouse in Nottingham. He had journeyed thither, and had made a
careful inspection of the scene of his proposed operation.
Bandy-legged Bill had to act in concert with our hero, who felt
assured that he would be successful in his forthcoming enterprise.
During the latter months of the year, when fishing on the Trent was
considered good, a man of fairly gentlemanly appearance, with black
hair and a closely shaven face, presented himself at one of the
boating stations at Nottingham.
The manager came forward and asked our hero what he could do for him.
“Ah, you see, I have but indifferent health,” observed Peace, “and a
change of scene is absolutely necessary, so my doctor says. I think of
having a week’s fishing.”
“Yes, sir, and I have no doubt you will benefit by the change,”
returned the manager. “Do you require a waterman?”
“No, I can manage very well by myself; all I need is a boat. My tackle
I have with me at a house in the neighbourhood. I want a good-sized
boat, for, let me see, say a week or so.”
“Yes, sir, we can accommodate you. Step this way, if you please, and
make choice of a boat.”
Peace accompanied the speaker to the appointed spot, and after much
consideration and haggling a bargain was struck for the fishing-boat.
The required deposit was paid, and Peace on the following morning
brought down to the water’s side a considerable amount of tackle,
rods, lines, baits, and all the requisites for an experienced angler.
His manner was so urbane, and he spoke in such a quiet unostentatious
manner, that the boat proprietor was quite taken with him, believing
him to be a gentleman of independent means, who was a devotee to the
sport.
After some conversation as to the best places on the river and other
topics, Peace got into the boat and rowed down the stream. Prior to
his starting he said that he had to meet some friends, who, like
himself, were about to have a few days’ sport on the Trent. He was, as
a matter of course, accepted as a profitable customer.
The day was fine and bright, and the water was as clear as crystal,
and Peace, as he drifted down the river, was well satisfied with the
proceedings thus far. He moored his boat on the river’s bank and threw
in his line. He remained at what he deemed a likely spot, and pulled
out three or four fish.
Peace has been described in the newspapers “as a little insignificant
man with grey hair,” but at this time his hair was raven black――made
so by artificial means――and to all appearances he was a professional
man; he might be a doctor or else a clergyman――it would be difficult
to say which.
Certainly no one would have taken him for a mechanic; neither did his
appearance or manner suggest that he belonged to the working class. He
could assume an air of gentility when it answered his purpose to do
so. As we have already indicated he was a man of what might be termed
a Protean character.
The few chance wayfarers who observed him in his boat were doubtless
under the impression that he was a gentleman of independent means.
This was precisely what he wished to appear.
After angling for some time he went further down the river, making
apparently for a more favourable spot.
After spending some considerable time at his well-beloved sport, he
made for a neighbouring house, where he had his midday meal. Here he
met with some brother sportsmen, who joined him for the remaining
portion of the day, and when night came on he put up at the house by
the river side, where he had a bed.
By early morn he again betook himself to his boat, and drifted further
down the river, until he arrived in sight of the silk manufactory upon
which he proposed operating.
In the after part of the day Bandy-legged Bill made his appearance.
“Well, old man, how goes it?” said the new-comer, in a whisper.
“All right so far. Have you got the trap with you?”
“Yes; I’ve put it up at a beershop close by here.”
Peace at this moment pulled out a good-sized barbel.
“My eye! but you’ve got a whopper there, Charlie, and no mistake,”
cried the gipsy.
“Don’t call me Charlie. If anybody sees us you are my man――don’t you
understand?”
“A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse. Your servant――I tumble,”
returned Bill.
“I’m supposed to be a gentleman now,” said Peace, with a chuckle.
“Ah, I see; and you know how to play the part, which, to say the
truth, is altogether beyond me. Howsomedever, I do very well for a
slavey; nobody is likely to take me for a gentleman.”
“So much the better.”
“But how about the bisness? When is it to come off?”
“To-night, if all goes well.”
The gipsy gave a low mysterious whistle.
“And about this ’ere child?”
“You had better meet me at yonder point,” said Peace, pointing to a
turn in the river. “Be there between eleven and twelve to-night, and
take care to have the trap in readiness.”
“There’s a grove of trees just by that spot, which will suit us to
rights. The pony and trap shall be there at the time you name.”
“Don’t disappoint me, you old sinner,” said Peace; “if you do, it will
spoil all.”
“Did you ever find me in the rear when I was wanted at the fore?”
inquired the gipsy.
“No, I never have. Only it’s as well to have a clear understanding.”
“I will be there at yonder point. But how about ‘cracking the crib?’
Don’t yer want my assistance?”
“I think I can manage that very well by myself.”
“There’s a bloke as sleeps on the premises――so I’ve heerd,” cried
Bill.
“The devil, there is! What――a sort of porter, or something of that
sort, eh?”
“So I’ve heerd.”
“Well, then, perhaps it would be just as well for you to come round to
the warehouse.”
“And leave the trap in the grove of trees.”
“Just so.”
“At what time?”
“Say eleven, or from that to half-past.”
“Now go,” said Peace. “For I don’t want you to be seen by anybody, if
we can help it. Remember, from eleven to half-past.”
“I’ll not forget.” And with that promise the gipsy sheered off,
leaving Peace alone in the boat.
“A good faithful fellow,” he murmured, after his friend’s departure.
“It’s not many I put trust in, but he’s fair and square enough.”
As the shades of evening descended Peace moored his boat, and threaded
his way through the bye-roads and green lanes. He sought seclusion,
which he succeeded in obtaining――seclusion till the hour arrived which
had been appointed for the robbery.
He found the time hang heavily enough on his hands, and hardly knew
how to employ himself; waiting and loitering about is not pleasant
under the most favourable circumstances; but in the dead of the night,
enshrouded by dark shadows, and with no other sounds but the splashing
of water and the mournful sighing of the trees, the watching and
waiting was inexpressibly dull.
However, it had to be endured like all other human ills and trials,
and Peace endeavoured to put the best face on the matter. He trolled
in a low tone a popular ditty, and strove to be as cheerful as
possible.
It was some satisfaction to him that he had not met with a solitary
individual in his wanderings――this was just as he could have wished.
At length the appointed time drew nearer and nearer. Peace made for
the back of the silk manufactory, and waited patiently for the sounds
of footsteps.
Bill was true to his appointment. Presently his companion heard the
rustling of the decayed leaves which strewed the ground, and he was at
no loss to conclude that his confederate was approaching.
He was correct in his surmise.
A low whistle was heard, which Peace answered by a similar sound.
The two robbers were very soon in close conference.
“Any blokes about?” said Bill.
“Not a living soul besides ourselves――at least, none that I have seen.
And you?”
“All’s still and quiet. The gentlemen who live in these ere parts go
early to roost, it would appear. And how about cracking the crib?”
“Leave that to me,” said Peace. “It’s an easy job enough, I fancy.”
The speaker led the way to the side of the premises.
Peace set to work on one of the windows which with his accustomed
skill he contrived to open. The window was drawn down, the gipsy gave
his companion a “leg up,” and in another moment our hero was inside.
He had on at this time some yachting boots, the soles of which were
made of vulcanised india-rubber, and his footsteps were almost
noiseless.
Passing through the room he had entered, he crept downstairs and undid
the bolts and other fastenings of the front door.
This done, he beckoned to his companion.
“I wonder where this man sleeps?” he murmured.
“Haven’t the slightest idea,” returned the gipsy.
“No matter, it’s as well to be prepared, however,” he muttered,
drawing his revolver from his coat pocket. “I never have recourse to
this, except in extreme difficulty,” said he.
“Ah, don’t settle anyone’s hash,” cried the gipsy, moving forward.
“Don’t you come in――leave it to me. You can’t slide about so silently
as I can. Don’t you come in unless you hear me give the alarm. Wait
and watch just inside the passage and keep guard over the door.”
“All right. On yer goes then.”
Peace did go on. In one of the rooms on the basement, he found a man
and his wife in bed, fast asleep. He did not, of course, attempt to
disturb their slumbers, but assuring himself first of all that they
were actually asleep, he withdrew, closing the door gently after him.
He then inserted into it some of his long thin screws, so that the
porter and his wife, if they should by any chance be disturbed, would
find themselves close prisoners in their bedchamber.
It was not at all likely they could break open the door before our
hero and the gipsy had got clean off.
Having performed this little bit of business in a way which was
satisfactory to himself, Peace proceeded upstairs into the warerooms.
He found in these an immense amount of property――silks of every
hue――but he chose rolls of black silk, this being more saleable.
He brought down as much as he could well carry, and then went upstairs
for more, for he was unconscionable in his demands, and stuck at
nothing.
Agreeable to his direction Bill took a considerable portion of the
booty, which he laid carefully in the boat. Then he returned for more
and placed the same with the other rolls.
In a very short time the boat was pretty well filled, and no more
black silk could be found. However, Peace laid his unholy hands upon
some coloured silks.
They had now as much as they could conveniently take away. Peace
emerged from the house and hastened to the banks of the river; he was
followed by the gipsy, both the robbers at this time having their arms
full.
All this had been done without attracting the notice of any one. The
two men jumped into the boat, which sped along over the surface of the
stream swiftly and almost silently till the point made by the bend of
the river was reached.
Near to this point was the grove of trees where the gipsy had tethered
his pony.
The boat was moored again, and the goods taken therefrom as rapidly as
circumstances would permit, and transferred to the cart.
But before this was done ten trusses of tares, which Bill had brought
with him, were taken out of the vehicle, and when the silks had been
packed and been made to occupy as small a compass as possible the
tares were thrown on the top, partially covered with a piece of
tarpauling, and the gipsy was ready to start on his journey.
He was instructed by Peace to make the best of his way to London.
“I’ll go a little way with you, Bill,” he said, “and put up at a
hotel, and the sooner I am housed the better. There will be a rare
outcry in the morning, but that matters but little, I shall be in my
boat.”
“Ah, ah!” laughed the gipsy; “it’s as good as a play. Strike me silly,
but this is about the cleanest job that mortal man ever did.”
“You must get safely to London, and we are not as yet safely out of
the fire.”
“I shall reach London right enough――have no fear about that.”
“Ah, I don’t fear, but still it’s just as well not to shout before you
are out of the wood; but you know what to do when you get there?”
“Get rid of the goods as soon as possible.”
“Yes, and there won’t be much difficulty about that if you go to the
address I gave you. The name is――”
“Stanbridge,” cried Peace’s companion.
“Right you are. See her, and say you come from me, and she’ll work the
oracle. She’s up to every mortal dodge.”
“I’m afraid she’ll be too much for me――I aint much of a hand in
dealing with women; they’re a jolly sight too artful for me.”
“You do as I tell you, and all will be right. There’s no call for you
to be mistrustful. You may rest assured that I am sending you to the
proper party. See her, and if she can’t do the job herself she’ll find
somebody who can.”
The gipsy nodded assent to this proposition, and as the vehicle he
drove came in sight of a road-side commercial hotel he brought his
pony to a standstill.
Peace alighted, wished his companion good night, and entered the
hostelry, where he remained till morning.
By early dawn he was up and doing. He swallowed a hasty breakfast, and
took his departure, making his way direct for the river’s side.
He unmoored his boat, and pulled it between three and four miles down
the stream. He then began to angle with all the keen relish of a
persevering sportsman.
He was tolerably successful, and drew out a number of fish, some of
which were of good size. There were other persons in boats engaged in
a similar occupation, and in the due course of time Peace managed to
scrape acquaintance with those who were nearest to him.
One was an old gentleman, who was a good companion, being loquacious
and full of anecdote. He was, he informed our hero, devoted to the
sport, and the extraordinary “takes” of fish that had at various times
fallen to his share were perfectly astounding.
Peace had the prudence to hear all he said, and say but little in
return. He did not know a great deal about angling, and he was
therefore anxious not to betray his ignorance.
He, however, affected to believe all his companion said, for it was
his “game,” as he termed it, to make as many friends as possible.
Certainly, under the existing, circumstances, this was the wisest
course to pursue.
He said in reply to the old gentleman that he enjoyed the sport, but
could not boast of being a particularly skilful angler, but he was
willing to learn.
Upon this his companion gave him a few useful hints, and said that
fishing had been one of the chief pleasures or pastimes of his life.
He had fished in Scotland, Wales, Norway, and a host of other places.
He did not succeed in pulling out more fish than Peace, but that did
not much matter――he would have done so if they had bitten more freely.
“Much sport, gentlemen?” said a young man who had been walking along
the bank of the river.
“Middling, only middling, as far as I am concerned,” returned the old
gentleman; “but then I’ve not been long here. This gentleman has done
pretty well.”
“Yes, but then I’ve had four days of it, this being my fifth,” cried
Peace. “I mustn’t complain, I suppose――still, I might have done
better.”
“Ah, that’s what we all say,” observed the man on the bank. “But have
you heard the news?”
“What news?” inquired the old gentleman.
“Why, very bad. Spearman’s silk-mill was broken into last night, and
some hundreds’ worth of property stolen.”
“Never!” cried several of the fishermen. “Broken into――eh?”
“So it is supposed. Indeed, there cannot be much doubt about that.”
“It seems incredible that so many dishonest people should be in the
world,” said Peace, in a deprecating tone. “It is indeed a most
melancholy reflection.”
Then, addressing himself to the man on the bank, he said, in a
careless way――
“And where is this mill situated, sir?”
“On the bank of the Trent, about five miles from here, or a little
less, perhaps.”
“Dear me, I’m very sorry to hear it. And have they any clue to the
robbers?”
“None at present, I believe.”
“But they will have. Oh, they will have, let us hope,” remarked Peace,
with well-simulated sympathy.
“Hope told a flattering tale, my friend,” said the old getleman, who
was of a cynical turn of mind. “The chances are that they will never
find out the culprit or culprits――they never do. The police are sure
to go on the wrong scent.”
“Perhaps it was some one on the premises who committed the robbery?”
suggested Peace.
“Very likely, sir――nothing more likely,” cried the old gentleman, as
he pulled out his line and rebaited his hook.
Another passenger now came along the pathway by the side of the river.
He, like the first gentleman, was full of the robbery, and it was
perhaps needless to say that he gave another version of the affair.
His theory was, that somebody was concealed in the warehouse for the
whole of the day, and when it was closed and the porter and his wife
were fast asleep, he crept forth from his hiding-place and let in a
band of men, who ransacked the place and made off with a large amount
of property.
He also stated that the porter and his wife had been drugged.
People are so remarkably fond of dealing with the wild and wonderful.
“It’s a very sad and bad business,” remarked Peace, “whichever way it
was done; and it is to be hoped that justice will overtake the
scoundrels.”
His fellow-fisherman coincided with him in the opinion he had
expressed, and looked upon him as a man whose highly moral principle
made him indignant with the miscreants who had been guilty of so
lawless an act.
He was not known, or rather recognised, at Nottingham, and none for a
moment suspected that the highly moral and sensitive gentleman was the
real culprit.
Peace laughed in his sleeve. The amusement it afforded him was, of
course, known only to himself.
He amused himself with his brother anglers for the whole of that day,
and when evening set in he repaired to the public-house called the
“Seven Stars,” and made himself very agreeable to the frequenters of
the parlour.
He had, before giving over for the day, agreed to meet some of his
brother anglers at the same spot for another day’s sport, and he was
again to be seen in his boat as heretofore.
He did this to lull suspicion――that is, if any was likely to be
attached to him. While occupied in fishing with what to all appearance
was a party of his own particular friends, he felt he was perfectly
safe.
The police went far and near in search of the burglars; they made
desperate efforts to trace the stolen goods. They arrested an
unfortunate tramp who was seen lurking about the neighbourhood on the
preceding day. There was, however, not a tittle of evidence against
the poor tramp, whom the magistrate at once discharged.
It was of no use people saying that they had arrested the wrong
man――they shook their heads and looked mysterious.
As he had been arrested they clung to the opinion that he had a hand
in the robbery.
The poor wretch wanted the common necessaries of life, and was of
course perfectly innocent of the charge made against him; but he was a
tramp, and that was enough for the police, and they assumed, as
illogically as they usually do, that he knew something about it.
This was all they could do in the matter, and so after a hubbub and
outcry for a week or so, the matter was given up as hopeless.
Peace took back his boat, settled with the proprietor, and made the
best of his way to Sheffield.
His wife at this time presented him with a daughter.
Meanwhile Bandy-legged Bill arrived safely in London with the booty
obtained at the mill.
He waited on Laura Stanbridge, and gave her a note from Peace.
The silk was safely deposited in a loft over a stable, which was in
the occupation of a friend of the gipsy’s. The same friend had no
difficulty in divining that Bill was doing something on the cross, but
as he received a handsome sum for the loan of the loft he saw and
heard but said nothing.
The most accomplished and daring thief finds it difficult to get on
without the assistance of one or more confederates. Laura Stanbridge
accompanied the gipsy to the loft in question and inspected the goods.
She was of course to have something for her services, and it was
ultimately decided to remove the silk to her house.
This was done.
Doubtless most of my readers are aware that there are in London
establishments kept by honest tradesmen, who are in a large way of
business, and whose buyers are instructed to purchase goods at their
own discretion, without being rude enough to ask any questions of
those who offer them for sale.
This practice has been carried on for a number of years. It would be
invidious to mention names. The fact of purchases being made in the
manner described is incontrovertible, and the fact also that the
honest tradesman very often, in the way of business, becomes――innocently
enough perhaps――a receiver of stolen goods.
Laura Stanbridge, when the silks were in her possession, got a young
man who had been in the trade, but who had at one time been
unfortunate enough to mistake his master’s money for his own, to offer
the rolls of silk for sale. At one of the aforesaid houses before
referred to they were purchased at about fifteen per cent. below the
market value.
The vendor had to be paid handsomely for his trouble――so had Miss
Stanbridge; so also had several other persons; but with all these
drawbacks Mr. Charles Peace obtained for the goods half as much again
as he would have got from a Jew receiver; so that all things
considered, he had done a lucrative stroke of business. Bill, of
course, stood in, but Peace had the lion’s share.