Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 66

Mr. Wrench and his two companions returned to the inn, all the occupants of which were in a state of alarm. They had no definite notion of the actual cause of the commotion any further than that some stranger had been creeping mysteriously through the apartments of the old hostelry—​for what purpose they were at a loss to divine. The servant girl declared most positively that Mrs. Brickett’s ghost had paid a visit to the establishment on that eventful night. She was most positive in her declaration as to this fact, for she saw her with her own eyes, and nothing in the world should persuade her to the contrary.

Mr. Wrench and Peace did not contradict this statement; on the contrary, they affected to believe it, albeit they were well aware that it was without a shadow of foundation in fact.

None of the occupants of the inn, however, could conceal from themselves that some secret and mysterious agency had been at work.

Brickett was puzzled—​in fact, he was in a state of fog, and could not see his way at all clearly.

He said, in answer to the detective’s queries, that a dark-looking man, who was to all appearance a gipsy, had presented himself at the house just before closing time, and inquired if he could have a bed for a night or two.

The landlord answered in the affirmative, and the stranger, after partaking of some refreshment, retired to the room, No. 9, on the upper floor of the house.

This was all the landlord knew of his customer. He seemed, so Brickett declared, to be a quiet respectable sort of man enough.

Mr. Wrench did not offer any observations when this information was given, but he had his suspicions nevertheless.

The whole household had been so disturbed that there was but little rest for them during the remainder of the night.

The detective and our hero met in the morning, in the club-room, where they had their morning meal together.

“This has been a planned thing,” said Mr. Wrench to his companion; “that rascal would not have entered my room—​opened the drawer of the bureau in which the case was deposited, and stolen the same, had he not been fully aware of both its importance and value. I do much regret that he was not captured.”

“I think you will act as wisely in keeping the affair as quiet as possible,” returned Peace. “What possible good could accrue from his being brought to justice? answer me that. None at all—​it would have only been a needless and unnecessary exposure, at which the earl would have been greatly mortified.”

“There is some reason in that.”

“Very great reason, I should say—​you cannot for a moment suppose that his lordship would like his private affairs dragged before any court of law for the sake of a public prosecution. Rest assured, my friend, that we have acted wisely in letting the rascal go about his business. In any case, even assuming he had been convicted, blame would attach itself to you.”

“So it would—​I admit that. You take a very sensible view of the matter. Let the matter blow over, and say as little about it as possible,” returned Mr. Wrench, with sudden warmth.

“You have shown great wisdom throughout, and I have once more to return you my most sincere thanks.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that” replied Peace, carelessly. “One thing is, however, quite certain: the gipsy cove was employed by some one to abstract the jewellery from the bureau. There could be but ohe object in this—​to remove the traces of identity.”

“I came to that conclusion some hours ago. You are quite right, and we have had a narrow escape—​a very narrow escape,” said Mr. Wrench, with something like a shudder. “Had they succeeded in carrying it off I don’t know what would have been the consequence. To me it would have been most disastrous. I see good reason to be thankful for the issue. But who could have thrown the paper and stone into your window?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion, but probably I may discover before very long. Anyway, I shall make inquiries. But for the present I must bid you good-day, for I have business matters to attend to,” said Peace, rising from his seat and making towards the door of the club-room.

“Good day for the present,” returned the detective, and so the two parted.

In a few minutes after this Henry Adolphus, his lordship’s footman, presented himself, and informed the detective that the Earl and Mr. Chicknell were awaiting his appearance at the Hall.

Mr. Wrench lost no time in paying his respects to his two employers. He made them acquainted with the successful nature of his expedition to Wood-green, his interview with Mrs. Maitland, and wound up by producing the trinkets, which had been so miraculously rescued from the clutches of “Bandy-legged Bill,” the gipsy.

Lord Ethalwood snatched the case and its contents from the officer. He examined the trinkets, and as he did so a bright flush overspread his features.

“The very image of the long-lost Aveline!” he exclaimed directing the lawyer’s attention to the portrait of his daughter. “There can be no doubt as to the identity.” Then, turning to the detective, he said, “You have displayed wonderful ability, sir, in the conduct of this case, and deserve my warmest commendation.”

Mr. Wrench bowed, but did not offer any observation. Possibly he was mindful of the old adage “That a modest man on his own merits is dumb.”

“We” (he spoke in the plural) “have brought the matter to a satisfactory conclusion,” observed the lawyer.

“As yet it is not concluded, Mr. Chicknell,” returned the Earl.

“No—​ahem—​of course not. Much remains to be done. Your lordship is quite right—​it is not concluded, but it is gratifying to know that we have been successful thus far. The ring bears the Ethalwood crest, I believe.”

“It does.”

“An additional link—​I may say an important one—​in the chain of evidence.”

“I am told,” said the earl, addressing the officer, “that some robber, some unprincipled scoundrel, made an attempt to steal these articles from the inn, either last night or early this morning.”

“That is true, my lord, but we were too sharp for him,” said Mr. Wrench, with evident vexation—​“much too sharp.”

“Oh! it would be adding to the other favours already conferred upon me if you could by any means ascertain who the villain was.”

“I will do my best, my lord,” returned Wrench.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I think, that is all we have to say at present, Wrench,” said Mr. Chicknell. “I will see you later on.”

The detective took the hint, bowed, and retired.

“Confound it!” he murmured, as he descended the stairs. “Who could have told him of the attempted robbery? ‘Ill news travels fast’ is an old saying, which is borne out in this instance.”

For the remainder of the day Peace was actively employed in an endeavour to find out the man who had created such a disturbance at the “Carved Lion” on the preceding evening; but, as he had anticipated, he found this by no means an easy task.

The gipsy had got clear off. There were traces of his passage along the high road by the marks of blood which had poured from his wound, but they gradually became fainter, after which they were no longer distinguishable.

Wrench had proved himself to be a proficient in that department of his profession known as “thief catching,” but he was by no means sanguine of success in this case. Neither did he care much about it, for he argued that no possible good could accrue by the arrest of the gipsy; certainly, none as far as he (the detective) was concerned. In point of fact, it would be a needless exposure of his own want of caution.

Thieves as a rule are remarkably cunning, and to capture them is no easy matter.

Captain Fenwick, head constable of Chester, wrote some time back an interesting letter on “Modern Thief-catching.” It is estimated, said he, that there are at large in this country about 40,000 individuals who are either known thieves or under the suspicion of the police; nearly 3000 are yearly liberated from the convict prisons alone; and a large proportion of them are lost in the crowd until they find themselves back in prison again.

Considering the influence of these persons on society in the way both of depredation and contamination, it will be readily perceived that thief-catching is a matter of considerable moment.

Captain Fenwick in his epistle reviews the various means which have been adopted from time to time to identify depredators, and to save the public from being victimised by habitual criminals.

When the telegraph system was adopted it was probably thought that its use by the police would cripple the operations of the professional thief.

As a fact it has been and is still used with some success for the purpose, but even at the present day, with the system and its immense ramifications in full working order, the “dangerous classes,” as they are termed, manage to exist in strong force.

Photography lends its aid in the same direction.

Twenty years ago the police established what are known as “routes,” and many an old gaol bird has been recognised by that means.

When a prisoner has been arrested, and it is suspected from his familiarity with the prison rules and for other reasons that he is known to the police, notwithstanding his air of pastoral simplicity, he is photographed, and his “picture” is circulated.

In a few days it is returned with an accumulation of information signally fatal to the prisoner’s assumed innocence, and largely in the public interest.

Instead of a “moon” (a month) in the local gaol he finds himself before a jury as an old offender, and ultimately back again to a convict establishment.

But photography is not always quite reliable, and it is not even imperative upon an untried prisoner to sit for his photograph, and only “chumps” (the inexperienced) consent; and, although after conviction a prisoner is duly “taken” and carefully registered, his personal appearance naturally changes. This change, as in the case of Peace, is sometimes assisted by art.

As a rule, prison photographs are not excellent specimens of photographic art.

The pose is not perfect, nor the subject carefully focussed, and the result of the defect is not removed by a normal squint or a twist of the features at the critical moment.

Officialdom felt this drawback, and to meet it to some extent a “black book” was devised.

The “Habitual Criminal Register,” as this book is termed, is an imposing-looking tome. In six years and a half the names of nearly 180,000 persons were registered in its pages. In every case the criminal had been more than once convicted on indictment for serious crimes against the community.

This formidable catalogue was compiled for the most part by men whose names are to be found in it and printed at “Her Majesty’s Prison, Brixton.”

There is a curious irony in the fact that some of these gentlemen should be employed to perfect a scheme destined to react upon themselves and their fraternity.

Yet with all these precautions a goodly proportion still evade the clutches of the law.

By the free adoption of aliases, identifications through the Hue and Cry, and even by means of photographs, have often failed.

Amusing exceptions, it is true, have occurred, one woman, who had provided herself with sixteen aliases, being convicted for the thirty-ninth time.

Lieut.-Colonel Du Cane says in his preface to the first volume of the “Register”:—​“It is, I believe, the first time that an attempt has been made to furnish all the police of this or any other country with information in such a complete and readily accessible form respecting the individuals of the class against whom they are carrying on their operations, and the first time that such a work has been carried out in a prison.”

The latest attempt, however, is to checkmate and deal with the habitual criminal in the register of their “Distinctive Marks and Peculiarities.”

The name only has proved an uncertain means of tracing their antecedents. It is found, however, that many of these people bear about with them some mark or peculiarity, which answers much better.

Thus of 2914 persons who were liberated in 1876 nearly one-half were indelibly stamped in this way, and this information is now carefully arranged in the new register.

A thief may assume any name he pleases—​the chances are about even that he is ear-marked, and known more certainly than by name.

This register is a curiously interesting production.

The first issue shows who are “deaf,” “very deaf,” “men of colour,” “blind of one or both eyes,” those who squint, or have a “glide,” or a “cast” in their organs of vision.

Twenty-five per cent. have “broken, or crooked noses,” and a few have “their ears slit.”

The mania for tattooing, which it will be remembered even the “Claimant” was not free from, exists largely among thieves.

There is first of all the “D,” (deserter from the army), which occurs very frequently, two “D’s” almost equally so; some have even three “B C’s,” (bad characters) appearing on the left sides, of a sufficient number to justify the conclusion that a bad soldier is often something more.

The variety of marks upon the chest is very extensive.

Sometimes they are the initials of the owner’s name, or of his sweetheart’s.

The presence of the Union Jack is presumed to indicate patriotism of some sort.

Here and there occur a ship in full sail, the masonic emblems of square and compass, and a few adopt such mottoes as Dieu et mon droit, “Now or Never,” and so on.

The arms are extensively used for this kind of art, every fourth criminal being tattooed with some device.

The variety indeed is almost endless, and the extent in some cases enough to make a Maori jealous.

The sun and moon figure over and over again; anchors, fishes, mermaids, and hearts (pierced with Cupid’s arrow and other devices) are also frequent.

Then there are flags, swords, guns, and implements of war in abundance.

Among other devices we come upon such as “Mary.” “In Memory of My Parents,” &c., &c. The hand is very fruitful in its “particularities,” and the legs are laid under contribution in the same way.

The reader will pardon this digression, as this notice of the means by which the police are able to detect the “wanted” when they are “known,” has interest for the public, as well as the constabulary.

It is calculated to induce a more general scrutiny of suspected thieves, with a view to discovery of peculiar marks, and in future the “information” received by the police may prove more useful in thief-catching.