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WHY CRIME DOES NOT PAY.
by
SOPHIE LYONS
_Queen of the Underworld_.
[Illustration: Decoration]
New York
J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Co.
57 Rose Street
[Illustration:
Yours Truly
Sophia Lyons.]
Copyright, 1913, by
The Star Company
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. How I Began My Career of Crime 11
II. The Secret of the Stolen Gainsborough--And the
Lesson of the Career of Raymond, the "Prince of
Safe Blowers," Who Built a Millionaire's Residence
in a Fashionable London Suburb and Kept a Yacht
with a Crew of 20 Men in the Mediterranean 37
III. How I Escaped from Sing Sing, and Other Daring
Escapes from Prison That Profited Us Nothing 62
IV. Women Criminals of Extraordinary Ability with
Whom I Was in Partnership 89
V. How I Faced Death, How My Husband Was Shot, and
Some Narrow Escapes of My Companions 118
VI. Behind the Scenes at a $3,000,000 Burglary--the
Robbery of the Manhattan Bank of New York 146
VII. Bank Burglars Who Disguised Themselves as Policemen
and Other Ingenious Schemes Used by Thieves
in Bold Attempts to Get Out Their Plunder 173
VIII. Promoters of Crime--People Who Plan Robberies and
Act as "Backers" for Professional Criminals--The
Extraordinary "Mother" Mandelbaum, "Queen of
the Thieves," and Grady, Who Had Half a
Dozen Gangs of Cracksmen Working for Him 186
IX. Surprising Methods of the Thieves Who Work Only
During Business Hours and Walk Away with Thousands
of Dollars Under the Very Eyes of the Bank
Officials 212
X. Startling Surprises That Confront Criminals--How
Unexpected Happenings Suddenly Develop and Upset
Carefully Laid Plans and Cause the Burglars Arrest
or Prevent His Getting Expected Plunder 225
XI. Thrilling Events Which Crowded One Short Week of
My Life--How I Profited Nothing from All the
Risks I Faced 238
XII. Good Deeds Which Criminals Do and Which Show
That Even the Worst Thief Is Never Wholly Bad 250
INTRODUCTION
The publishers believe that a picture of life sketched by a master
hand--somebody who stands in the world of crime as Edison does in his
field or as Morgan and Rockefeller do in theirs--could not fail to be
impressive and valuable and prove the oft repeated statement that crime
does not pay.
Such a person is Sophie Lyons, the most remarkable and the greatest
criminal of modern times. This extraordinary woman is herself a
striking evidence that crime does not pay and that the same energy
and brains exerted in honest endeavor win enduring wealth and
respectability. She has abandoned her earlier career and has lately
accumulated a fortune of half a million dollars, honestly acquired by
her own unaided business ability.
Sophie Lyons was a "thief from the cradle," as one Chief of Police
said; at the early age of six years she had already been trained by her
stepmother to be a pickpocket and a shoplifter. A beautiful child with
engaging manners, she was sent out every day into the stores and among
the crowds of shoppers, and was soundly whipped if she came out of a
shop with less than three pocketbooks. "I did not know it was wrong to
steal; nobody ever taught me that," Sophie Lyons writes. "What I was
told was wrong and what I was punished for was when I came home with
only one pocketbook instead of many."
As the child grew into womanhood she was conspicuously beautiful, and
soon became known as "Pretty Sophie." Then romance entered her life
and she married Ned Lyons, the famous bank burglar. Her husband was a
member of the great gang of expert safe-blowers who were the terror of
the police and the big banks of some years ago.
Women are regarded as dangerous and are seldom taken into the
confidence of such criminals as these. But Sophie Lyons was not only
welcomed to their councils, but was taken along with them to the actual
scenes of their operations. Many of the most daring bank robberies
were, indeed, planned by her and to her quick brain and resourcefulness
the burglars often owed their success.
Sophie Lyons became famous not only among the burglars who work with
dark lantern and jimmy but also among those specialists who are called
"bank sneaks"--the daring men who walk into banks in broad daylight,
in the midst of business, and get away with great bundles of money.
Her fame spread, too, among other specialists--the shoplifters,
pickpockets, confidence women, jewelry robbers, importers of forbidden
opium, and the men engaged in bringing Chinamen into the country (a
very profitable and hazardous field).
For twenty-five years Sophie Lyons was "The Queen of the Bank
Burglars," the active leader of many expeditions in various parts
of the world, and with her were associated about all of the great
criminals of Europe and America. It has been said that she has been
arrested in nearly every large city in America, and in every country
in Europe except Turkey. She has served sentences in several prisons,
and, on one occasion, her husband, Ned Lyons, was in Sing Sing while
she herself was confined in the women's wing of the prison across the
road. Ned Lyons managed to make his escape and very soon drove up to
the women's prison and effected the escape of his wife, Sophie Lyons.
But all this belongs to the past. Sophie Lyons has learned that her new
life as a respected woman is the only one that is really worth while.
The comfortable fortune she has now honestly accumulated has proved
that it is not true that "once a thief always a thief."
The actual happenings in her career have been more extraordinary than
the imagination of any novelist has dreamed; more surprising than any
scene on the stage.
Yet nearly every one of those whose exploits she has recounted here
is now an outcast, has served a good share of life in prison, is in
poverty, or has died poor. Surely, as she has asserted again and
again--and hopes to abundantly prove--CRIME DOES NOT PAY.
This great truth forced itself upon her after many, many years of
profitless life in the Underworld. And her own life experience and her
present fortune of half a million dollars, all honestly acquired, have
demonstrated that half the industry and ability that great criminals
expend will return them richer and more enduring success in honest
fields of endeavor.
SOPHIE LYONS
QUEEN OF THE BURGLARS
CHAPTER I
HOW I BEGAN MY CAREER OF CRIME
I was not quite six years old when I stole my first pocketbook. I was
very happy because I was petted and rewarded; my wretched stepmother
patted my curly head, gave me a bag of candy, and said I was a "good
girl."
My stepmother was a thief. My good father never knew this. He went to
the war at President Lincoln's call for troops and left me with his
second wife, my stepmother.
Scarcely had my father's regiment left New York than my stepmother
began to busy herself with my education--not for a useful career, but
for a career of crime. Patiently she instructed me, beginning with
the very rudiments of thieving--how to help myself to things that lay
unprotected in candy shops, drug stores and grocery stores. I was made
to practice at home until my childish fingers had acquired considerable
dexterity.
Finally, I was told that money was the really valuable thing to
possess, and that the successful men and women were those who could
take pocketbooks. With my stepmother as the model to practice on I
was taught how to open shopping bags, feel out the loose money or
the pocketbook and get it into my little hands without attracting
the attention of my victims. In those days leather bags were not
common--most women carried cloth or knitted shopping bags. I was
provided with a very sharp little knife and was carefully instructed
how to slit open the bags so that I could get my fingers in.
And at last, when I had arrived at a sufficient degree of proficiency,
I was taken out by my stepmother and we traveled over into New York's
shopping district. I was sent into a store and soon came out with a
pocketbook--my stepmother petted me and rewarded me.
ARRESTED FOR PICKING POCKETS
That was the beginning of my career as a professional criminal. I did
not know it was wrong to steal; nobody ever taught me that. What I was
told was wrong, and what I was punished for was when I came home with
only one pocketbook instead of many.
All during my early childhood I did little but steal, and was
never sent to school. I did not learn to read or write until I was
twenty-five years old. If my stepmother brought me to a place where
many persons congregated and I was slow in getting pocketbooks and
other articles, she would stick a pin into my arm to remind me that I
must be more industrious. If a pin was not convenient she would step on
my toes or pinch me when occasion made her think I was in need of some
such stimulant.
One time we went over to Hoboken to a place where a merry-go-round
was operating, and my stepmother sent me into the crowds to take
pocketbooks and anything else I could put my hands on. A detective saw
me take a woman's pocketbook and he carried me off to jail in his arms,
my stepmother disappearing in the crowd. I remained in the Hoboken jail
several days and was very happy there, for the policemen used to give
me candy and let me play around the place, and did not beat me, as my
stepmother used to do. A strange woman came and took me home, for my
absence was felt because of the loss of the money I used to bring home
every night. I was arrested very often when a small girl, but usually
got out after a few days, as my stepmother knew how to bring influence
to bear in my favor. One time I was sent to Randall's Island and used
to play with the daughters of the assistant superintendent, whose name
was Jones. The little girls learned from their father that I was a
thief, and they used to sympathize with me and make things pleasant,
knowing that it was not my fault, but the fault of my stepmother, who
forced me to do wrong.
A THIEF FROM THE CRADLE
I did most of my stealing when a little girl by putting my hands into
men's and women's pockets, but I also used to cut a hole in the bags
carried by women--and then insert my fingers and take out the money or
other things I found there, as I have already mentioned. Hardly a day
passed when I did not steal a considerable sum of money, and many days
I would take home more than a hundred dollars. Sometimes I would forget
my work and be attracted to a store window and buy a doll for myself to
pet. When I went home to my house and sat down on the steps to cuddle
my doll my stepmother or my brother would come out and catch me up and
give me a good many hard knocks for neglecting my duty--and the only
duty I knew in those days was to steal, and never stop stealing.
More than once when I would dread going home I would have myself
arrested by stealing so a policeman could see me do it. But it didn't
help me much, for my stepmother never failed to get me out of jail
within a few days after my arrest. It seemed so natural for me to steal
that one time when I was arrested the policeman asked me what I was
doing, and I said frankly, "Picking pockets." He asked me how many I
got, and I said, "I don't know; I gave them all to my mama."
Every day I would wear a different kind of dress so as not to attract
attention, in case anybody who saw me steal something the day before
happened to be around. My stepmother was wise enough to disguise me
in this way, and it enabled me to keep working for a long time in the
same place. My stepmother would take me into the department stores and
wait outside for me. If I came out with enough money to satisfy her
she would say nothing, but march me off home or to another store for
more money, but if I came out with less than she expected, then I would
get the pin pricks or pinches, and be made to feel that I had done
something wrong in not working harder and stealing more.
I was, indeed, as one chief of police once said, "A thief from the
cradle." Surrounding my childhood and youth there was not one wholesome
or worthy influence. My friends and companions were always criminals,
and it is not surprising that in my early womanhood I should have
fallen in love with a bank burglar--Ned Lyons.
Following this romance came motherhood and an awakening within me of
at least one worthy resolve--that, whatever had been my career, I
certainly would see that my children were given the benefit of a tender
mother love, which I had never had, and that my little ones should be
surrounded with every pure and wholesome influence.
The first few years of my married life were divided between my little
ones and the necessary exactions which my career imposed on me. Ned
Lyons, my husband, was a member of the boldest and busiest group
of bank robbers in the world. Here and there, all over the Eastern
States, we went on expeditions, forcing the vaults of the biggest and
richest banks in the country. We had money in plenty, but we spent
money foolishly. When we crept out of the vaults of the great Manhattan
Bank in the early morning hours of the night of that famous robbery,
we had nearly $3,000,000 in money, bonds and securities. And from the
Northampton Bank we took $200,000, if I remember correctly.
But we had our troubles. My husband, Ned Lyons, was a desperate
scoundrel, and was constantly in difficulties. My desire was to be with
my little ones, but the gang of burglars with whom I was associated had
learned to make me useful, and they insisted on my accompanying them on
their expeditions. I will explain fully in following chapters just what
my part was in many of their various exploits.
Ned Lyons was hungry for money--money, more money--and the desperate
risks he took and his continual activity took me away from the children
much of the time.
MY ESCAPE FROM SING SING
Always there was something going on, and I had very little peace. Early
one winter Ned Lyons, in connection with Jimmy Hope, George Bliss, Ira
Kingsland and others, blew open the safe of the Waterford, New York,
Bank, and secured $150,000. Lyons and two others were caught, convicted
and sent to Sing Sing Prison.
It was not long before I myself was captured, convicted and also sent
to Sing Sing for five years. But my husband managed to escape from the
prison one December afternoon, and he lost no time in arranging for my
escape from the women's section of the prison, which was a separate
building just across the road from the main prison.
I was all ready, of course, and when my husband drove up in a sleigh,
wonderfully well disguised, wearing a handsome fur coat, and carrying
a woman's fur coat on his arm, I made my escape and joined him. I will
tell the details of how my husband and I got out of Sing Sing in a
subsequent article.
We both went into hiding and made our way to Canada, where Ned, being
short of funds, broke into a pawnbroker's safe and helped himself to
$20,000 in money and diamonds. With these funds in our pockets we
returned to New York, and I kept in hiding as well as I could until my
husband, with George Mason and others, robbed the bank at Wellsboro,
Pennsylvania. Shortly afterward my husband was arrested while engaged
on a job at Riverhead, L. I., and $13,000 worth of railroad bonds were
taken from his pockets.
My husband could not let drink alone, and one day he had a street
fight with the notorious Jimmy Haggerty, a burglar, who was afterward
killed by "Reddy the Blacksmith" in a saloon fight on Houston Street
and Broadway. During the fight between Haggerty and Ned Lyons Haggerty
managed to bite off the greater portion of my husband's left ear. This
was a great misfortune to him as it served as a means of identification
ever after. On another occasion, in a drunken dispute, Ned Lyons was
shot at the Star and Garter saloon on Sixth Avenue by "Ham" Brock, a
Boston character, who fired two shots, one striking Lyons in the jaw
and the other in the body.
My husband soon had the bad luck to be caught in the act of breaking
into a jewelry store in South Windham, Conn. As soon as he knew he was
discovered, my husband tried to make his escape, and the police shot
him as he ran, putting one bullet hole through his body and imbedding
another ball in his back.
He was also caught in the burglary of a post-office at Palmer,
Massachusetts, where they took the safe out of the store, carried
it a short distance out of the village, broke it open, and took the
valuables. As I have already said, the men had found me very helpful
and insisted on my accompanying them on most of their expeditions.
Always, if an arrest was made, I was relied upon to get them out of
trouble. This took time, money, and resourcefulness, and kept me away
from my little ones against my will.
During this time my children were approaching an age when it would
no longer do to have them in our home. Our unexplained absences, our
midnight departures, our hurried return in the early morning hours
with masks, burglars' tools, and satchels full of stolen valuables
would arouse curiosity in their little minds. One thing I had sworn
to do--to safeguard my little ones from such wretched influences as
had surrounded my childhood. With this in view I sent my little boy
and my little girl to schools where I felt sure of kind treatment and
a religious atmosphere. And I paid handsomely to make sure that they
would receive every care and consideration.
I SEE WHY CRIME DOES NOT PAY
I had scarcely gotten the children well placed in excellent schools
in Canada when my husband was caught in one of his robberies. I
busied myself with lawyers and spent all the money we had on hand,
to no avail, and he was given a long prison sentence. Just at this
unfortunate moment I was myself arrested in New York and given a six
months' term of imprisonment.
On my account I did not care--but what would become of my children? My
sources of income had been brought to a sudden stop. I had no money to
send to pay my children's expenses. Then, for the first time, I felt
the full horror of a criminal's life. I resolved for my children's sake
to find a way to support them honestly. I realized the full truth that
crime does not pay.
As I went on day after day serving my term in prison my thoughts
were always about my little ones. The frightful recollections of my
own childhood had developed in me an abnormal mother love. At last
I resolved to write to the institutions where my boy and girl were
located and explain that I was unavoidably detained and out of funds,
but promising to generously repay them for continuing to care for my
children.
But I was too late. The newspapers had printed an account of my arrest,
and when it reached the ears of the convent and college authorities
where my boy and girl were stopping it filled them with indignation
to think that a professional thief had the audacity to place her
children under their care. So they immediately took steps to get rid
of the innocent youngsters, in spite of the fact that I had paid far
in advance for their board and tuition. The boy was shipped off in
haste to the poorhouse, and my dear little girl was sent to a public
orphanage, from which she was adopted by a man named Doyle, who was a
customs inspector in Canada at the time.
When my six months were up my first thoughts were of my children, and
I started off to visit them, thinking, of course, that they were still
in the institutions where I had placed them. I called at the convent,
and when they saw me coming one of the sisters locked the door in my
face. I was astounded at this, but determined to know what it meant. As
my repeated knocks did not open the door, I resorted to a more drastic
method and began to kick on the panels quite vigorously. The inmates of
the convent became alarmed at my persistence and feared that the door
would be broken open, so they thought it best to open and let me in. I
then demanded to know the cause of their peculiar conduct, and one of
them spoke up, saying:
"You are a thief, and we do not want you here."
"Oh, is that it?" I replied. "Well, where is my little girl? I want to
see her."
"Your child has been placed in a respectable family, and you will not
be permitted to see her," answered the sister.
Then my blood began to boil with fury, and I demanded to know why they
had sent my girl away without letting me know, especially as I had
given them considerable money, and they knew all her expenses would
be paid. But she refused to give me any satisfaction. In desperation
I sprang at her. She screamed and called for help. The mother
superior then made her appearance and, dismayed at the sight of the
determination I had displayed, she reluctantly gave me the address of
the man who had my little girl.
I did not have a dollar with me at the time, but started off to walk to
Mr. Doyle's house, which was some distance in the country. After a few
hours' walking I met a man driving by in a buggy, and he stopped and
offered me a ride. I, of course, accepted his invitation and got into
the buggy. He asked me where I was going, and I said I was searching
for a man named Doyle. He wanted my name and the nature of my business,
but I said that information would be given to Mr. Doyle himself, and
nobody else. He then said his name was Doyle, and asked me my name, and
I told him I was Sophie Lyons. As soon as he heard this he stopped the
horse and ordered me out of the buggy, and shouted:
"You are a very bad woman. I have your little girl. I'm going to keep
her. You are not a fit mother, and should be kept in jail, where you
belong."
FOR MY CHILDREN'S SAKE
"We will not discuss that here," I replied. "What I want now is to see
my little girl, and I wish you would drive me to your house."
"You shall never see your child, and you had better not come near my
house," he cried as he whipped up his horse and was soon out of sight,
leaving me alone on the road.
I continued my walk, however, and shortly afterward reached the Doyle
house and stood outside the gate, while Doyle, with his two sons and
two hired men and a dog, watched me from the piazza. I stood there a
few moments, and then Doyle came out and asked me what I was doing
there, and demanded that I leave the neighborhood at once. He said:
"This is my home, and you must go away."
"It may be your home, Mr. Doyle," I answered, "but my child is in
there, and I am going to wait here until I see her."
"I have adopted your girl," he said, "and she will be better off here
than with you."
"It takes two to make a bargain," I said, "and you did not get my
consent when you adopted the girl."
Realizing that it was useless to try to persuade me, he went inside and
left me at the gate, where I stood waiting developments. After another
long wait Doyle came out again and said:
"Are you still there? What do you want? You know very well it is better
for the girl that she remain with us, and not with a thief like you. I
will take good care of her, but you shall not see her."
"I know my rights," I replied, "and I will hire a lawyer and compel
the convent authorities to show me their books and explain what they
have done with the thousands of dollars I left with them to care for my
girl. I will make it hot for you and for them before I finish."
This threat must have frightened him a little, for he then asked me if
I had had anything to eat that day, and I told him I had not. Then he
invited me into the house to get some food, and said he would hitch up
the buggy and drive me back to town. I said:
A MOTHER'S LOVE WINS AT LAST
"No, you will not drive me back to town. I will not go back without my
girl."
"Now, be reasonable, Mrs. Lyons," he said. "Your little girl is happy
here, and she does not like you because you are a bad woman."
"Well," I answered, "if she does not like her mother then you have made
her feel that way; you have taught her to dislike me."
After a little more parleying he went into the house and sent out my
little girl to talk to me.
"My darling," I said, "don't you want to kiss your own mother?"
"No," she said; "I do not like you, because you are a thief. You are
not my mother at all."
My eyes filled with tears at this, and with sobs in my voice I asked
her if she did not remember the little prayers I had taught her and the
many happy hours we had spent together. The little dear said:
"Yes, I remember the prayers, but I do not want to see you. You are a
thief! Go away, please!"
Those words cut me to the heart--from my own precious daughter. And
again I was made to realize that crime does not pay!
I lost no time in setting matters in motion which very soon brought
back to my arms my daughter. Meanwhile I hastened to the academy where
my little boy had been left and demanded to see him. When my boy was
brought out to me he was in a disgraceful condition, he seemed to have
been utterly neglected, his clothing was ragged and his face as dirty
as a chimney sweep's. I was shocked at this and demanded an explanation
from the professor who had charge of the institution. He turned on me
angrily, and said:
"You have an amazing assurance to place your good-for-nothing brat
among honest children. How dare you give us an assumed name and impose
on us in this manner? Get your brat out of here at once, for if honest
parents knew your character they would take their children out of the
school without delay."
"A false name, is it?" I said to the proud professor. "What name did
you give when you were caught in a disreputable house?"
This remark startled him. He changed his manner at once and implored me
to speak lower and not let anybody know what I said. I had recognized
this professor as a man who had visited Detroit a year or so before
and had been caught in a disreputable resort by the police on one of
their raids. The professor, of course, did not imagine that anybody
in Detroit had known him, and so he thought it perfectly safe to
assume the rôle of superior virtue. He apologized for his neglect of
my child and begged me to forget the abuse he had heaped upon me. I
congratulated myself that the child had not heard his remarks to me,
and I departed with my boy.
But my joy over the fact that my little one had not had his mother's
wickedness revealed to him was of short duration. I had brought the
child to Detroit, where I had begun preparations to make a permanent
home, honestly, I hoped. Several persons there owed me money, and among
them a barber I had befriended. I tried persistently to get from him
what he owed me, but without success.
When I returned home after a little trip I was compelled to make to New
York, my boy came up to me, crying, and said:
"Mamma, I don't want to live around here any more."
I wondered what could have caused the poor boy to speak that way, so I
patted him on the back and said:
"Why, what is the matter, dearie? Don't you like this street any more?"
"Mamma," he sobbed, "I heard something about you which makes me feel
awful bad, but I know it isn't true, is it, mamma?"
"Tell me, child, what is it?"
"Well," he answered, "Mr. Wilson, the barber, asked me the day after
you left to go downtown on a trip with him, and I went along. He took
me into a large building which I heard was the police station. He asked
a man to let him see some pictures, and when he got the pictures he
showed me one of them which he said was you; and he said you were a
thief and the police had to keep your picture so they could find you
when you stole things," and then the boy began to sob as if his poor
heart would break.
The man had taken my boy down to the police station and had shown him
my picture in the rogues' gallery. And again the realization was forced
in on me by the reproachful gaze of my boy that crime does not pay.
For a time I managed to get along fairly well and was able by honest
efforts to have a little home and to have my children with me. But
my old career came up to haunt me and many refused to have business
dealings with me when they were informed of my earlier life. At last
I was at the end of my resources--should I lose my little home and my
children, or should I go back once more, just once more to my old life?
The struggle between my two impulses was finally settled by a visit
from two of my old acquaintances of the underworld--Tom Bigelow and
Johnny Meaney. They came to ask my help in a promising job which they
felt sure would be a success if they could enlist my services--there
would be at least $50,000 for me, they said.
"Big Tom" Bigelow was an old-time professional bank burglar, who had
learned his business under such leaders as Jimmy Hope and Langdon W.
Moore--men who had never found any bank or any vault too much for their
skill. Little Johnny Meaney was one of the cleverest "bank sneaks" that
ever lived. He would perform the most amazing feats in getting behind
bank counters and walking off with large bundles of money. He was so
quick and noiseless in his work that he would never have been arrested
but for his fondness for women and drink. When under the influence of
champagne he would confide in some strange woman he had met only a few
days before, and in order to get the reward some of the women would
tell the police where to find Johnny.
He had granulated eyelids, and his inflamed eyes were so conspicuous
that he could always be recognized easily. He was married and had
several children. His wife never knew the kind of work he did. He
had a quarrelsome temper, and always got into some dispute with every
woman he met, and usually left them feeling unfavorably disposed toward
him. Many of the girls who betrayed him did so more through resentment
than anything else. I mention these things to show how personal
peculiarities and temperament are often serious menaces to criminals.
Meaney's specialty was day work. He would walk into a bank during
business hours and sneak behind the counter and pick up everything he
could lay his hands on. He never did any night work, and knew nothing
about safe blowing. As a rule, a man who makes a specialty of night
work, with dark lantern, mask, and jimmy, will not attempt any sneak
work, and the first-class sneak will not undertake night work. The
night robber is guided by the moon, and oftentimes a job will be called
off because the cracksmen think the moon is not right for the work. The
darker the night the better. But the bank sneak prefers daylight of the
brightest kind. He often works right under the eyes of a room full of
clerks, and the bigger the crowd in the streets the easier for him to
make his escape and lose himself among them.
HOW I PLANNED A BANK ROBBERY
It was a "bank sneak" job they had in mind. The bank was in a small New
Jersey city, near enough to New York so that we could lose ourselves
in our old haunts on the East Side before the detectives should get hot
on our trail.
I went to the town in advance of the other members of the party and
rented a small cottage, posing as a widow who planned to settle down
there and live on the income of her husband's insurance money.
Soon after settling in my new quarters, I visited the bank and opened a
small account. I found the cashier a man who fitted in perfectly with
our dishonest designs. He must have been nearly seventy years old and
he could not hear or see so well as he should for the security of the
funds in his charge.
I saw right away that he was very susceptible to pretty women and was
quite willing to drop his work at any time for a half hour's chat with
such a comely widow as I looked to be. My task was to look the ground
over, find out where the cash was kept, and how and when access to it
could best be secured. It was the simplest thing in the world to get
these facts after I had worked my way into the cashier's good graces.
I quickly saw that the most favorable time for the robbery was between
the hours of 12 and 1 o'clock, when the other two men in the bank went
to their homes for lunch, leaving the institution in the charge of
the old cashier. At that time the door of the vault was open, and the
bundles of currency and securities lay there in full view, ready for us
to take away.
It would be an easy matter for Johnny Meaney, who was a small, wiry
fellow, light and quiet on his feet as a cat, to slip in through a side
entrance while I held the cashier's attention with one of my harmless
flirtations and gain access to the vault through the door in the wire
cage, which was almost invariably left unlocked. Even if it should be
locked on the day we set for the robbery, it would be a simple matter
for Johnny to get inside with the aid of one of his skeleton keys.
Accordingly I sent word to my two comrades that the coast was clear and
to come on at once. They arrived in due time and, after looking the
ground over, confirmed my own judgment that the robbery was an easy one
and could be carried out with little risk according to the plan I had
made.
The following Tuesday was the day set, because on that day, as I had
found out, the bank generally had a large amount of cash on hand.
The time fixed was between 12 and 12:30 o'clock, when the assistant
cashier, the bookkeeper, and practically all the rest of the town were
at their noonday meal.
Everything was definitely settled unless my visit to the bank on Monday
should reveal some unlooked-for hitch.
The cashier had become thoroughly accustomed to the "pretty widow's"
habit of dropping in on him every day at the noon hour, and he was
exceedingly glad to see me when I entered as usual, Monday, and began
a series of questions about some fictitious investments of mine in the
West. Alas! how well I remember how that vain old man enjoyed his
innocent flirtation, little suspecting that the object of his regard
was there only to make sure that nothing had happened to disarrange the
plans for to-morrow's robbery.
WHAT DELAYED OUR PLANS
Luckily for me the bookkeeper was just starting for lunch when I took
my accustomed place outside the cashier's window. I had seen the door
through which he had to pass to get from inside the wire cage to the
outer part of the bank opened and shut a hundred times; and I had
always noted with satisfaction not only that it was seldom locked but
also that its hinges never gave even the slightest squeak.
But at this moment a most unexpected thing happened.
As the bookkeeper turned the knob of the wire-screen door and opened it
a most unearthly scream came from the iron hinges.
The clerk passed on, and the door lazily swung back behind him with
another piercing screech that filled me with dismay.
No watch-dog could have sounded a more certain alarm than those hinges.
My heart sank as I realized how impossible it would be for Johnny
Meaney to pass in and out of that creaking door without detection.
Bringing my conversation to a hurried close, I went to tell my comrades
how our hopes had been dashed by the unexpected development of a squeak
in those bothersome hinges.
The difficulty seemed insurmountable until Johnny Meaney, always a
quick-witted, resourceful thief, showed us a way out. His suggestion
was that the robbery be postponed for a week and that in the meantime
we call in the aid of another well-known bank sneak named Bill Taylor,
to fix those refractory hinges.
This seemed the only possible solution of the problem, as that
squeaking had to be stopped, and it was not safe for either of my
companions to attempt it. Accordingly, Meaney went back to New York to
make the necessary arrangements, and a few days later Taylor appeared
on the scene as the suave, well dressed representative of the company
which had built the vault for this bank.
On presentation of his neatly engraved card, Taylor was readily given
permission to inspect the vault. During the afternoon he spent in the
bank he called attention to the squeaky hinges and suggested that he
apply to them some very excellent machine oil he had with him. This he
did and the door moved as noiselessly as before.
And incidentally, while Taylor was masquerading as the traveling agent
of the safe company and had the freedom of the bank that afternoon he
took occasion to fit a key to the wire door. Not that Johnny Meaney
could not attend to this himself in case he found the door locked, but
Taylor thought he might as well make everything as smooth as possible
for Meaney.
Everything was now in shape, and we decided to rob the bank next day.
Just at noon, as the big clock on the Municipal Building was striking
12, I came up the steps of the bank and greeted the old cashier with my
customary smile. The bookkeeper and the four other clerks were passing
out of the side door to their lunch. Suddenly I spilled out of my hand
right in front of the cashier a handful of large coins in such a way
that two silver dollars rolled past him and dropped on the floor inside
the wire cage. As he laboriously stooped to pick them up I strained my
neck and eyes to examine quickly everything inside the cage to make
sure that all the bank clerks had gone out--that nobody remained behind
the wire railing except the aged cashier.
Moving over as far as possible to one side of the cashier's window, I
drew the old cashier's attention to a photograph of a little child in
a locket. This brought the back of his head toward the side door of
the bank. As he leaned his face down to see it more closely I caught a
glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the shadow-like form of Johnny
Meaney.
Noiselessly he had come in through the side door. Like a cat he
crept to the wire door. With my ears strained for the faintest alarm
from those treacherous hinges, I listened as I kept up a rapid fire
conversation to hold the attention of the aged cashier.
The wire door swung open noiselessly; Meaney was crouching low; I had
lost my view of him as he crept toward the big open door of the bank
vault.
On the sidewalk, pacing slowly up and down in front of the side
door, was "Big Tom" Bigelow. He was the "outside man" of the job and,
although I could not see him, I knew he was on the alert to intercept
anybody who might happen in. With some excuse he must stop any clerk
who tried to enter through the side door--I myself must intercept any
clerk who might chance to return from lunch and enter by the front
entrance.
WE GET OUR PLUNDER
With increasing vivaciousness, I rattled along entertaining the
cashier. In a few moments I saw the wire door gently open as if by a
spirit hand. Creeping low along the floor, a shadow crossed the little
corridor to the outside door; noiselessly it opened and closed--the
work was done!
And thus this job, which had taken us weeks to plan, was done in less
than five minutes from the time I entered the bank until Meaney stole
out of a back door with his satchel full of bank notes and securities.
Then the three of us quickly made our way by separate routes to New
York.
The loss was not discovered until it came time to close the vault for
the day, and we thus had nearly three hours' start of the police. A
large reward was offered and numerous detectives engaged, but no one
was ever arrested for this crime. I am just vain enough to think that
the old cashier was probably very reluctant to believe his pretty widow
had a share in the robbery, in spite of her mysterious disappearance
on the very day it occurred.
Our plunder amounted to $150,000, of which $20,000 was cash and the
rest good negotiable bonds. The money was divided and I undertook the
marketing of the securities, which were finally disposed of through
various channels for $78,000, or about 60 per cent. of their value.
Those squeaky door hinges cost Meaney, Bigelow, and myself about $6,000
apiece, for through the addition of Taylor to our party we had to
divide the spoils among four persons instead of three. After paying my
expenses, my share of these ill-gotten gains amounted to about $20,000.
This I thought ample to provide for the wants of my children until I
could establish myself in some honorable business, and I returned to
Detroit fully determined never again to risk, as I had, a long prison
term.
But my good resolutions were short lived. Two weeks later word came
that my husband was in jail for complicity in an attempted bank robbery
which had been nipped in the bud and urgently needed my assistance. It
took several thousand dollars of the money for which I had paid so dear
to secure his liberty, and the remainder soon melted away before the
numerous needs of my little brood and my husband's unfortunate gambling
propensities.
Here I was again just where I was before the robbery of that New Jersey
bank. My money was gone, my old reputation still pursued me, nobody
would trust me; "once a thief, always a thief," they said; nobody
believed in my sincere desire to abandon my early career and lead an
honest life.
I did not feel vindictive at the sneers at my protestations of a desire
to earn an honest living--I could not blame anybody for doubting my
sincerity. But my home and my little ones, dearer to me than life, what
was to become of them? Was there no way to escape from my wretched
career? If ever a woman and a mother realized that crime does not pay,
I was made to learn that truth.
It is a long and difficult road--the narrow path that leads from crime
to honest living. I have traveled it, thank heaven! but it was hard, it
was slow--and many times I strayed from the path.
Some of my companions of the old days traveled that road with me. A
few, a very few, succeeded as I did at last. Many gave it up, turned
back. A thousand episodes of my career and of their misguided lives all
illuminate the one great inevitable fact that crime does not pay!