WOMEN CRIMINALS OF EXTRAORDINARY ABILITY WITH WHOM I WAS IN PARTNERSHIP
Sophie Lyons, bank president--can you imagine it? Strange as it may
seem, I actually held such a position in New York City for several
months, and the experience proved one of the most surprising in my
whole career.
Although this venture in high finance yielded me only a bare living
and nearly landed me in a prison cell, it gave me a remarkable insight
into the methods used by clever women to swindle the public, and showed
me how these women are able to carry through schemes which the most
skillful men in the underworld would never dare undertake.
All this happened in the days before I had won the wide reputation
which my crimes later gave me. I had come to New York with very little
money and with no definite plans for getting any--my husband was
serving a term in prison and I was temporarily alone and on my own
resources.
Walking up Broadway one day, I came face to face with Carrie Morse, a
woman I knew by reputation as one of the most successful swindlers in
the business. Friends of mine had often pointed her out to me, but we
had never been introduced, and I had no idea that she knew me.
I was, therefore, greatly surprised when she stepped up to me and
called me by name:
"Why, Sophie Lyons, how do you do?" she said, with the well-bred
cordiality which was such an important part of her stock in trade.
"Come in and have some tea with me."
As we entered a well known restaurant I noted with envious eyes the
evidences of prosperity which Carrie flaunted. From the long ostrich
plume which drooped from her Parisian hat to the shiny tips of her
high-heeled shoes she was dressed in the height of fashion and expense.
At her throat sparkled a valuable diamond brooch, and, when she removed
her gloves, there flashed into view a princely array of rings which
made my own few jewels look quite cheap and insignificant.
WE PLAN TO START A BANK
And yet, except for this somewhat too lavish display of jewelry, there
was nothing loud or overdressed about her. It was plain that she knew
how to buy clothes, and her tall, well-rounded figure set off her
stylish garments admirably. In every detail--her well kept hands,
her gentle voice, her superb complexion, and the dainty way she had
of wearing her mass of chestnut hair--she was the personification of
luxury and refinement. As she looked that day Carrie Morse would have
passed anywhere without the slightest question for the beautiful and
cultured wife of some millionaire.
All these facts, which I took in at a glance, made me less inclined to
question too closely the motives which had prompted her to hail me as
an old friend when we had never had even a speaking acquaintance. Quite
evidently she had lots of money or an unlimited line of credit. How did
she get it? That was what I was curious to find out. I made up my mind
that I would be just as nice to her as I knew how--hoping that I might
learn from her a new and easy road to wealth.
By the time our tea was served we were chatting away like old friends.
"Sophie," she said, "I'm going to take you into my confidence and help
you make a lot of money. You and I will start a bank."
"You mean, rob a bank, don't you?" I said, not quite able to believe my
ears.
"I mean nothing of the sort," she said, setting down her teacup with a
thump. "You and I will start a bank. It will be a bank for ladies only.
Any woman who has a little money saved up can come to us for advice. We
will take her money and show her where she can invest it so that she
will get more interest than she could in any other way."
"But I don't know anything about running a bank," I protested. "I'm Ned
Lyons's wife--he and I are bank robbers, not bank owners."
"That's all right," she reassured me. "It's not necessary for you to
know anything about running banks in order to hold the position I have
in mind. All you have to do is to follow my instructions--and you'll
soon be wearing as many diamonds as I am."
A half hour before I should have thought it the height of absurdity
for any one to suggest my engaging in a wild-cat banking scheme with
Carrie Morse. Yet now I sat spellbound by her magnetic power--patiently
listening to details which were all Greek to me and getting from every
word she uttered renewed confidence in the reality of the financial
castles in the air which were to make us both millionaires.
What a business woman Carrie Morse would have made! With her personal
charms, her eloquence, and her quick ingenuity she had no need to
depend on crime for a living--she could have accumulated a fortune in
any legitimate line of work.
I ENTER "HIGH FINANCE"
The upshot of it all was that I agreed heart and soul to Carrie Morse's
plans for taking a short cut to fortune. First, she had excited my
avarice by her stories of the ease with which money could be made;
then she dazed me by her apparent familiarity with the intricacies of
finance. At last I became as credulous as any farmer is when he comes
to the city to exchange a few hard earned dollars for ten times their
value in green goods.
I accompanied Carrie to the door of her hotel. The fact that she was
staying at the fashionable Brunswick, while I was finding it hard work
to raise the price of a room at a modest hotel farther down town,
proved another argument in favor of my following the leadership of my
new found friend.
"Meet me at 9 o'clock to-morrow," Carrie had said, "at No. ---- West
Twenty-third street." I was on hand a few minutes before the appointed
hour. The address she had given me was a three-story brownstone-front
house just beyond the business section of the street. But I was barely
able to see it through the clouds of mortar dust raised by a gang of
workmen who were busily engaged in tearing out the whole front of the
building.
"Yes, this is No. ----," said one of the workmen to whom I addressed
a rather startled inquiry. "We're making it over into offices." I was
convinced that I had made a mistake in the address and was just on the
point of turning away when I saw Carrie Morse coming down the steps.
"Good morning," she called cheerily. "This is the new bank--or, rather,
it will be when these workmen get it finished. And you, my dear, are no
longer Sophie Lyons, but Mrs. Celia Rigsby, the president of this rich
and prosperous institution for the amelioration of the finances of the
women of New York."
"But," I said, beginning now for the first time to feel some doubts
about the undertaking in which I had so suddenly embarked, "where is
all the money coming from to start this bank?"
"Money?" said Carrie, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper. "Don't
speak of that so loud--the workmen might hear you. I've leased this
house and I'm having all these alterations made on credit. I haven't
a cent to my name--that's why I'm starting this bank. I need money and
this is the easiest way I know to make it."
Carrie's easy confidence allayed most of my fears and I forgot the rest
when, from some mysterious source, she produced money enough to support
me in comparative luxury during the ten days we had to wait for the
bank to be completed. She insisted that there was absolutely nothing
for me to do in the meantime and that she didn't want to see me in
Twenty-third street until the bank was ready for business.
I was hardly prepared for the surprises which I found when I visited
the bank on the appointed day. Over the entrance hung a huge brass
sign reading, "New York Women's Banking and Investment Company." The
entire front of the building had been remodeled into a commodious and
up-to-date counting room. This was lighted by two large plate glass
windows and the entrance was through a massive door whose glass was
protected by heavy bars. These bars looked for all the world like iron,
but Carrie assured me that they were only wood covered with tin and
painted black.
Inside were all the appurtenances of a first-class banking
establishment--brass railings, desks, counters, chairs, and, in the
most conspicuous position, an enormous "burglar proof" safe. In the
rear were partitioned off two little private offices, their doors
labeled "Mrs. Celia Rigsby, President," and "Mrs. Carrie Morse, General
Manager."
"All this quite took my breath away, but what impressed me most of all
was the sight of half a dozen old graybeards who were busily engaged
on some bulky account books. Not one of these men could have been less
than sixty years old and all were of venerable aspect, with spectacles,
white hair, and long, white beards.
"Why do you hire such old men?" I asked Carrie at the first
opportunity. "And where do you get the money to pay all of them?"
"S-s-sh!" she whispered. "Don't you know there's nothing that inspires
people's confidence like old men? Many people who would never trust
their money to a young, active man will gladly hand it over to an old,
venerable appearing fellow. And the next best thing to an old man is a
pretty woman--that's why I think you and I shall make such a success of
this business. As for paying these old men, they don't get a cent. They
are all working for nothing in the hope of getting a chance to invest
some money in the business."
HOW WE FOOLED THE PUBLIC
I was so impressed by these fresh evidences of Carrie's business
ability and my own ignorance that I felt quite relieved when she
informed me that I would not have to remain at the bank, but would
fulfill my duties as president at some apartments she had taken for
me in a fashionable quarter of Fifth avenue. These apartments were
furnished in splendid style and Carrie handed me a roll of bills with
which to purchase some gowns that would be in keeping with my new home.
After my wardrobe was purchased and my trunks moved over from the
hotel, I was not long in learning just what Carrie expected of me. She
began inserting advertisements in all the leading newspapers offering
"widows and other women of means" investments which were guaranteed to
net them from 15 to 20 per cent. on their money.
When women called in answer to the advertisement at the bank on
Twenty-third street many of them would want more evidence than Carrie
could supply before they would part with their money. These doubting
ones were referred to me--Mrs. Celia Rigsby, if you please, who had
made a fortune by investing her late husband's $1,500 insurance money
in the securities offered by the Women's Banking and Investment Company.
The advertisements were kept going in the newspapers, and more and
more women kept coming to the bank on Twenty-third street. Mrs. Morse
received them all, talked many of them into leaving their money with
her right then and there, and to those who had misgivings she said
sweetly:
"But I would rather you would not be influenced by anything I have
said. It is your duty to yourself to investigate and assure yourself as
to just what profits we are really paying on investments. Perhaps you
would like to see and talk with one of our customers who has done so
well with our investments that she has taken an interest in our bank.
I'm sure you'd be interested in talking with Mrs. Rigsby."
The style in which I lived on Fifth avenue left no doubt of my wealth,
and, with Carrie's help, I soon had a glib and convincing story to tell
of my previous poverty and the steps I had taken to reach my present
prosperity.
Of course, I explained, I took no active part in the bank's affairs.
I allowed the use of my name as president and permitted Mrs. Morse
to refer prospective investors to me merely because I was so well
satisfied with the way my own investments had turned out and felt a
philanthropic desire to share my good fortune with other women.
Business increased rapidly and greater crowds of women came in reply
to my partner's glowing advertisements. Many of them would hand over
their money right away in exchange for a handful of the crinkly stock
certificates which filled a whole room in the rear of the bank. These
certificates were printed in all the colors of the rainbow, for, as
Carrie naïvely explained, "some of the ladies prefer green, some blue,
some black, and so on."
Carrie was jubilant. She kept me liberally supplied with money for
clothes and the heavy expenses of my apartment, but when I asked her
about a further share of the profits she said:
"Sophie, you're as ignorant as a new born babe of business methods.
It's always customary to leave all the money in a new business until
the end of six months. Then we'll divide what we've made, turn the bank
over to someone else and go to Europe for a long rest."
I had my doubts about the truth of this, but, as I was making a good
living with little effort and had nothing better in sight just then,
I determined to continue under Carrie's leadership. She continually
reassured me by insisting that what we were doing was just as
legitimate as any business and that there was nothing in it for which
the police could take us to task.
Although I foolishly had confidence in Carrie's ability to keep out
of trouble, I did not for a minute believe that the securities she
was selling were worth the paper they were printed on. Still, as most
of the women who called to see me seemed to be persons of means who
could well afford to contribute toward our support, I did not feel any
serious compunctions at advising them to invest. It seemed no worse
than picking a rich man's pocket or robbing a wealthy bank--and it was
not half so difficult or so hazardous to life and liberty.
OUR BANKING BUBBLE BURSTS
One day, however, something happened that filled me with honest
indignation at Carrie Morse and her schemes. A poor, bent old widow
called to see me--a woman whose threadbare clothes and rough hands
plainly showed how she had to struggle to make a living. Tied up in her
handkerchief she had $500 which she had just drawn from a savings bank.
"It's all I have in the world," she said with tears in her eyes, "and
I've had to scrimp and slave for every cent of it. I saw Mrs. Morse's
advertisements and I've been to see her this morning. She says if I'll
give my money to her she can double it for me in two years. Would I
better do it? I'm only a poor old woman and I want you to give me your
advice?"
As diplomatically as I could I explained to her that, while Mrs.
Morse's scheme was an excellent one, it would be much wiser for a woman
in her circumstances to keep her money in the savings bank, and I made
her promise that she would put it back there at once. Then I put on my
hat and coat and hurried over to the bank to see Carrie Morse.
As usual Carrie was in the midst of an enthusiastic description of her
stocks while a long line of women anxiously awaited their turn with
her. I took her by the arm, led her into one of the private offices,
and shut the door.
"Carrie Morse, this sort of business has got to stop," I said with all
the emphasis I could. "I'm willing to help you swindle women who can
afford to lose the money, but I positively will not have any part in
taking the bread out of the mouths of poor widows like the one you just
sent over to see me. Sooner than do that I'll starve--or go back to
robbing banks or picking pockets."
"There, there--don't get excited," she said soothingly. "Perhaps I did
make a mistake in encouraging the poor widow. But this is a business
where you can't help being deceived sometimes. Often the women who
plead poverty the hardest and dress the poorest really have the most
money hidden away. I'll give you my word of honor, though, that I won't
accept any money from that widow even if she tries to force it on me."
Somewhat mollified at this I started back home to renew my interviews
with the prospective investors who came daily in crowds.
For several weeks things went on as before. Then one day I chanced to
meet the poor widow who had so excited my sympathies. To my surprise
she confessed that she had finally yielded to the lures of Mrs. Morse's
advertisements and had given her $500 for some shares in a bogus
western oil company.
I was indignant that Carrie should have forgotten her promise in
that way, and I set out at once to demand an explanation. As I was
approaching the bank my attention was attracted by some unusual
excitement just outside the entrance.
Scenting trouble and thinking perhaps it would be just as well if I
were not recognized in that vicinity I slipped into a doorway across
the street where I could see what was going on without being seen.
Around the doors of the bank surged a crowd of several hundred very
excited persons, mostly women. Among them I recognized many of the
ladies whom I had urged to invest in Carrie's securities. I also
noticed our landlord, the contractor who had altered the building, the
man who had supplied the furniture, a collector for the gas company,
and numerous other creditors of the bank.
The doors of the bank were closed and the closely drawn shades revealed
no sign of life inside. In front of the doors stood three blue-coated
policemen vainly trying to keep the pushing crowd back.
What interested me most was two Central Office detectives who mingled
with the crowd trying to get some information from the hysterical
women. They made slow progress, for the women were too excited to do
more than repeat over and over again the sad refrain: "My money's
gone!" But the sight of those plain clothes men showed me the wisdom of
getting out of the way before they had time to get too deep into the
cause of all the trouble.
Quite plainly the bubble had burst. Some investor had become suspicious
and the investigation which she or her husband had started had
demolished the flimsy structure which Carrie's vivid imagination had
reared.
Bitterly I thought of Carrie's treachery to me. Without a word of
warning she had fled, leaving me alone and almost penniless to face
arrest. By now she was doubtless on her way to Europe or Canada with
all the money in which I should rightfully have shared.
There was only one thing for me to do--get away from my Fifth avenue
house before any of the women investors recovered enough of their
senses to put the police on my trail. Hurriedly throwing a few of my
possessions into a trunk I shipped it to my friend Mr. Rowe's hotel and
followed there myself on foot.
To Mr. Rowe I poured out the whole story of my troubles and asked his
help. He was very willing to do all in his power to aid me.
"It looks bad for you, Sophie," he said. "A detective was here less
than fifteen minutes ago inquiring for you and the chances are that
he'll be back again before long. But I can easily hide you until night,
and then we'll try to find some way of smuggling you to the station.
I'll loan you whatever money you need and will ship your trunk to you
when you get to Detroit."
Mr. Rowe was right--the detective returned and posted himself at the
front door of the hotel. With him came another headquarters man to
guard the side entrance. They were evidently convinced that Sophie
Lyons was in the hotel or that she would soon return there.
HOW I ESCAPED ARREST
Night came and the two sleuths showed no signs of leaving. The only
avenue of escape from the upper room where I had been hiding all day
was by the window.
With Mr. Rowe's kind help I securely fastened to the window frame one
end of a long rope, which was kept for use in case of fire. Down this I
slid in the darkness to the roof of a one-story building adjoining the
hotel. From there it was an easy drop to a little alley, which finally
brought me out on Broadway.
After an agonizing wait of several minutes at the station I got safely
on board a train and was soon speeding toward Detroit. Then I drew
the first long breath I had taken since morning, when I had seen that
tearful crowd of investors and creditors in front of the closed bank.
Carrie Morse was never caught or punished for the ladies' bank swindle,
which the newspapers later said must have netted her at least $50,000.
Years after I met her in Chicago where she was operating a matrimonial
agency which was almost as crooked as the bank had been. She never
mentioned our banking venture nor offered me my share of the profits,
and, as I was prosperous then, I never asked her for it.
She was a swindler to her dying day and served many long prison terms.
As she grew old it took all the money she could make to keep out of
jail and she finally died in poverty. With all her cleverness she never
seemed able to see what expensive folly it was to waste her really
brilliant abilities in a life of crime.
This was my first experience with clever women swindlers. I was
surprised to learn, to my sorrow, that the standards of good faith
which are maintained among men of the underworld do not hold good
among most women criminals. I fully determined to have no more dealings
with criminals of my own sex.
But this wise resolve was broken quite by accident a few years later,
while I was traveling in the south of Europe and became acquainted with
Mrs. Helen Gardner, an English swindler and confidence operator. Mrs.
Gardner was a woman of fine presence, a finely modulated voice, all
the manners, graces, and charms of a well-bred English woman, and an
amazingly inspiring and persuasive conversationalist.
In daring and ingenuity this remarkable woman surpassed any man I
ever knew. Crimes which the cleverest men in the underworld would
have declared impossible or too foolhardy to undertake she not only
attempted, but carried through to success.
For years the boldest schemes followed one another in rapid succession
from Mrs. Gardner's fertile brain. Swindling was as natural to her as
breathing is to normal persons. She was the most successful confidence
woman who ever operated in England or on the Continent, and no rich man
was safe once she got her traps set for him.
I first met Mrs. Gardner in Nice, where I was enjoying a little
vacation after a long, arduous bank robbing campaign in America. She
was then traveling under the name of Lady Temple.
To make a long story short, we soon became great friends. We went
everywhere together and she generously shared with me the luxuries
with which she was so plentifully supplied. She finally even induced me
to take rooms in the hotel adjoining her own suite.
I did not know at that time that she was Mrs. Gardner, the famous
English confidence swindler.
She told me little of her personal affairs except that her husband, Sir
Edward Temple, had been a prominent physician in London and that she
was in Nice to recover from the shock incident to his sudden death.
The deep mourning she habitually wore and the heavy black band on her
visiting cards bore out this story, but, to tell the truth, I didn't
bother my head much about its truth or falsity.
I did not at that time happen to know that it is the custom in England
for a doctor's practice to be sold when he retires from business or
dies.
There was no doubt that she had money and that she was giving me a
liberal share of its benefits--why should I worry about where it came
from or how long it would last?
I, in turn, kept her in equal ignorance of my own past life and of my
means of support.
But there was one thing about which I couldn't help being very
curious--the number of doctors who were calling at the hotel to see
Lady Temple. Every day there was at least one and some days there were
three or four--each came alone and the same one seldom appeared a
second time.
MRS. GARDNER'S CLEVER SCHEME
Lady Temple invariably saw all of them. When a physician's card came up
she would ask me to retire to my own rooms and then would be closeted
for a long time with the visitor. It could not be professional calls
these doctors were making, for there was nothing about her ladyship's
health to call for such a varied assortment of medical attention.
What could be the meaning of all these visits from physicians? My
curiosity got the better of me and I determined to do a little
eavesdropping.
My opportunity came when the maid brought in the card of "Dr. Robert
Mackenzie, of Edinburgh, Scotland." As usual, Lady Temple said, "Show
him up," and asked me if I would be good enough to retire. Instead of
closing the door which led from Lady Temple's sitting room to my own I
left it open a trifle and stood there with my ear to the crack, where I
could hear every word that was said and also get an occasional peep at
the lady and her visitor.
Dr. Mackenzie was a grave, pompous appearing man, slightly under
middle age. He was dressed in the conventional garb of the old school
physician and carried a small medicine case.
"I have come to see you, Lady Temple," he said, after the usual polite
preliminaries, "in relation to your advertisement in the current number
of the _Lancet_. Your late husband's practice seems to offer just the
opportunity I have long been seeking to establish myself in London. May
I ask if it is still for sale?"
"My husband was a very distinguished man and had a very lucrative
practice," the bogus Lady Temple replied. "You must read these notices
in the papers which were printed when he died. Here is one from the
London _Times_--oh! my poor dear husband!----"
At this point Mrs. Gardner burst into tears. She covered her face
with her black-bordered handkerchief and her charming figure shook
convulsively with her sobs. Her visitor, Dr. Mackenzie, stood with head
bowed in silent respect.
Presently Mrs. Gardner recovered herself with an effort, and, gazing
appealingly at her visitor through her tear-stained eyes, said:
"Will you pardon me? I know it is very weak of me to give way to my
grief like this.
"As I was saying," she finally resumed, "my husband was so dear to me
that I cannot bear to think of living in London now he is gone. That is
why I am anxious to dispose of my interests there at once. Did you know
the late Sir Edward, doctor?"
"I never had the honor of his acquaintance, but I have often heard him
lecture, and I have in my library all the books he ever published. I
was always a great admirer of his abilities. His discoveries about
the circulation of the blood seem to me the most valuable recent
contribution to medical science."
"It pleases me to have you say that," said Lady Temple, warming into
cordiality at this tribute to her late husband. "I have had many good
offers for the practice, but none so far from a man such as my husband
would have wished to see succeed him. You are a man after Sir Edward's
own heart, and, if you can furnish satisfactory references, I feel
confident matters can be arranged to our mutual satisfaction."
From an inner pocket the doctor produced a packet of letters, which he
carefully unfolded and handed to Lady Temple.
"Very, very satisfactory," she murmured, after studying them intently.
"If my husband were here he would be so gratified to see what an able
successor I have found for him. And now as to terms."
The doctor did not seem at all disturbed by this abrupt introduction of
monetary considerations. Indeed, he was growing quite merry under the
warming influence of her ladyship's bright smiles. These smiles, by the
way, were all the more effective because of their background of widow's
weeds and tear-stained cheeks.
"Then I may really have the practice?" he asked eagerly.
"Indeed you may," Lady Temple replied. "The price is $25,000, but I
do not want to accept that amount or sign the final papers until I
get back to London. My solicitors, however, say it will be perfectly
satisfactory to give you an option now, provided you are willing to
pay just a small amount on the purchase price--say $1,000. Is that
agreeable, doctor?"
Agreeable? Indeed it was!
SWINDLING ONE DOCTOR A DAY
The doctor counted out $1,000 in crisp bank notes. Her ladyship
produced two copies of an agreement which, she said, her solicitors
had prepared, and these they both signed. Then she bade the departing
doctor an almost affectionate farewell and gave him the most minute
directions about meeting her in London a month later.
The next day I overheard an almost similar interview with a doctor from
Glasgow! The only point of difference was that he paid $1,200 for the
option instead of $1,000.
There was no necessity for further eavesdropping. I understood now why
Lady Temple read all the medical papers and why so many doctors came
to see her. No wonder we lived in luxury with some ambitious doctor
contributing at least $1,000 every day to our support!
I said nothing of what I had seen or heard, and, although I continued
to live with Lady Temple for several months, she never explained her
affairs with the doctors. This seems to be a characteristic of all
women swindlers--to deceive even their closest friends and never to
tell any one the whole truth about their nefarious schemes.
It was from others that I later learned the complete details of this
swindle. There really had been a Sir Edward Temple, who was a great
London physician.
Mrs. Gardner, learning of his death from the newspapers, familiarized
herself with his career from the obituary notices, secured some
photographs of him, and began posing as his widow.
Her advertisements in the medical journals did not mention Sir Edward
by name, but it was to be inferred that the practice offered for sale
was his, because of his recent death and because the announcements were
signed "Lady Temple."
Doctors interested were invited to write her at a post office box
address. She replied from Nice, where she had "gone for her health,"
and invited them to come there and see her. What happened to the
unfortunate doctors who made the trip I have already told you.
The supply of physicians willing to pay for an option on a London
practice seemed inexhaustible and in a few weeks my friend must easily
have cleared $20,000. But she began to tire of Nice and invited me to
accompany her to London.
When we reached there we went to Claridge's, in Mayfair, and took one
of the finest suites in that exclusive hotel. The morning after our
arrival she suggested a shopping expedition.
To my amazement there stood at the hotel door waiting for us a splendid
carriage drawn by a prancing pair of horses in heavy silver-plated
harness.
On the doors of the carriage was emblazoned a brilliant coat of arms.
On the box sat a pompous coachman in livery. A liveried footman stood
at attention ready to assist us.
[Illustration: THERE STOOD A SPLENDID CARRIAGE DRAWN BY A PAIR OF
PRANCING HORSES]
I had hard work to believe it wasn't all a dream as I settled back
against the soft silken cushions and heard my friend order us driven to
Bond street.
We stopped in front of a famous jewelry store--I made ready to alight,
but that, it seems, was not the plan. Instead, her ladyship whispered a
message to the footman and he went into the store.
Out came the proprietor, a dignified old Englishman. At sight of this
splendid equipage with its crests on the door and the two fine ladies
inside, he was all bows and smiles.
"It is not customary," he said, rubbing his hands in gleeful
anticipation of big sales to come, "to let our trays of diamonds go out
of the store, but I shall be glad to arrange it for your ladyship."
A clerk appeared carrying two trays full of diamond necklaces, rings,
and other jewelry which Lady Temple had asked to see.
"Have you nothing better than these?" said Lady Temple, rather
contemptuously, after a casual glance at them.
The eager clerk hurried back to the store and returned with a tray of
more elaborate specimens of the jeweler's art.
Lady Temple leisurely selected a necklace, two rings, and a
locket--worth in all more than $5,000.
"Send these to Lady Temple's apartments at Claridge's," she said, "and
include them in my bill the first of next month. Doubtless you knew my
dear husband, the late Sir Edward"--her voice caught as it always did
when she spoke his name--"he had an account here for years."
OUR EXPERIENCE IN LONDON
The clerk smirked his gratitude, promised prompt delivery, and we drove
on to a fashionable dressmaker's. There we secured on credit, which had
nothing more substantial for its basis than the stolen crest our hired
carriage bore, several costly gowns.
This sort of thing went on for two weeks. The magic of my friend's
methods opened to us all the treasures of London's finest shops.
A never-ending line of messengers brought to Claridge's the most
expensive goods of every description--and not a penny of real money was
involved in any of the transactions.
I discarded all my old gowns and had to get additional trunks to hold
the new ones. Soon I had accumulated three or four times as much
jewelry as I could wear at one time. With the prudence for which I was
always famous, I put the surplus rings and brooches in a safe deposit
box.
All this time you may be sure I felt considerable apprehension.
Although I took no active part in these swindling operations, I shared
in the plunder, and knew I would be held as an accomplice in case there
was trouble.
The trouble came sooner than I expected. We had been "buying" some
linens--making our selections, as usual, without leaving our carriage.
Just as we were about to drive away the clerk who had taken our order
came rushing out.
"Your ladyship's pardon," he stammered, "but would you please step
inside the store. The manager thinks there's some mistake--that is, he
thought Lady Temple was in Egypt."
I gave a gasp--now we'd be arrested!
But my friend showed not the slightest emotion, except a little
annoyance, such as was quite natural under the circumstances to a lady
of rank. She calmly walked into the store--and I have never laid eyes
on her since.
After waiting an hour I decided she must have escaped by a side
entrance. I returned to Claridge's and found she had been there before
me. She was gone, bag and baggage--and in a great hurry, as the
disorder of the rooms showed.
I lost no time in arranging my own departure and did not feel safe
until I was well on my way to New York with my trunks full of more
finery than I had ever possessed.
Two or three years later Helen Gardner, alias Lady Temple, was
convicted in France for obtaining money under false pretenses. Her
prison term brought her to her senses--showed her how foolish it was to
waste her life in crime. When she was released she settled down to an
honest career and later became the wife of a prosperous merchant.
The account of my experiences with famous women swindlers would not
be complete without some mention of the greatest of them all--the
notorious Ellen Peck, long known as the "Confidence Queen."
Mrs. Peck's exploits during the many years when she defrauded everybody
who came within her reach would fill a book. One swindle would hardly
be finished before another would be begun, and often she would have
several entirely different schemes under way at once.
She paid her lawyers several fortunes in her persistent efforts to keep
out of jail and to retain possession of the property she had stolen. At
one time, when she was in her prime, she was defendant in twenty-eight
civil and criminal suits.
One of Ellen Peck's many peculiarities was her fondness for practicing
her skilful arts on her fellow criminals. She found more satisfaction
in cheating a thief out of a ten-dollar bill than in defrauding some
banker of $1,000.
Even I, trained in crime from childhood, was not proof against Ellen's
wiles. Several times I became her victim as completely as I did Carrie
Morse's--and I can vouch for the fact that no shrewder fox ever lived.
Each time she tricked me I would make a solemn vow never to have
anything to do with her again. Then along she would come with some
story, oh, so plausible!--and I would swallow it as readily as I had
the previous one and as much to my sorrow.
Once she actually cheated me out of the very shawl on my back. It was a
fine cashmere shawl--one I had secured in Europe at a great bargain.
"Come," said Ellen, "let me have that shawl. I know a rich woman who
will give you $500 for it."
"No," I said, grimly, "I don't want to sell it." But Ellen turned her
hypnotic eye on me, began her irresistible flow of smooth argument
and--got the shawl.
That was the last I saw of her for six months. When I did succeed in
running her down she said she had been able to get only $100 for the
shawl--and she had left that at home on the sideboard!
Grabbing her by the arm I told her I would not let her go until she
gave me what money she had. After considerable argument she emptied
$37.50 out of her purse--which was all I ever got for my $500 shawl.
Ellen Peck conceived a very simple scheme of piano swindling, and I was
in partnership with her in it. She had been working this swindle alone
until she had become known to all the piano dealers. Then she invited
me to join her. Here is how we managed it:
I would go to a store and buy a piano on the installment plan, paying
five or ten dollars down. The instrument would be delivered at some one
of the twenty furnished rooms which Ellen had engaged for just this
purpose in various parts of the city.
As soon as the piano was installed at one of these rooms we would
promptly advertise it for sale at a greatly reduced price. If the
first purchaser did not move the piano at once we would sometimes be
able to sell the same instrument to five or six different persons.
When we had squeezed as much money as we could out of a piano we would
disappear--only to repeat the same trick at another furnished room and
with a piano from another store.
It sometimes happened that, when the several persons to whom we had
sold a single piano came to claim it, the merchant from whom we
had secured it and to whom it still belonged would also put in an
appearance. Then there would be the liveliest kind of a squabble, which
would have to be settled in the courts.
Crafty Ellen Peck supplied the brains for this enterprise but made
me do most of the hard work and gave me only a meager share of the
profits. It was a despicable swindle, for the loss did not fall on the
dealer, but on the poor families to whom we sold the pianos and who
could ill afford the money we took from them. I am thankful to say that
I did not long make my living in this mean way.
I hope that Ellen Peck may be alive to read these lines. In her
declining years wisdom and charity have doubtless come to her just as
they have to me. I feel sure that she shares my sincere repentance for
past errors, and that she will give me her hearty indorsement when I
say, as I constantly do, that under no circumstances does crime pay.