CHAPTERCXI.THE SURPRISE AND ESCAPE—A DRIVE FOR LIFE.Peace, after his encounter with Bessie Dalton, abstained for a short period from his predatory excursions.The scene in the rich merchant’s house at Blackheath had made a deep impression on him, and it is just possible that he had some slight compunctious visitings; but these were of course of short duration.His house in the Evalina-road was, as we have already intimated, exceedingly well furnished. On his removal from Greenwich a large amount of plate and a considerable collection of pictures were not transported openly in the van he hired to remove the rest of his goods; they were forwarded secretly from Greenwich to Peckham.It was generally understood in the neighbourhood that he was a retired gentleman possessed of a modest competence, which enabled him to live quietly without business cares, and to indulge his little whims in scientific inventions, in which indulgence he had lost thousands.The mixed family, as we have already seen, did not live in harmony.Mrs. Thompson, it has been said, was rarely without a black eye, and shrieking and swearing were not uncommonly heard proceeding from the house. Yet Peace gave himself the reputation of a humane and moral man with a character to maintain, who must not be familiarly accosted by milkmen, greengrocers, and other people who resorted to public-house bars in the morning.Peace was very rarely seen till late in the day. People in the vicinity who gave the matter any consideration supposed he was busy with his scientific pursuits, of which he was fond of talking in an effusive manner.He occasionally invited his neighbours into his house to take something, and by all accounts he was a jovial host.He was possessed of seven or eight guitars, and almost as many violins. When he came outside the gate in the afternoon and took a look at the weather he was communicative and critical to whoever was passing that knew him, and he especially delighted in a chat about crime and criminals with the unsuspicious policeman of his district.In conversation he had an odd habit of digging his hands deep into his pockets and twisting himself round in the pantomimic contortions of a clown. Social visits he never paid, and he did not encourage unexpected visits to his house.At Peckham he formed a menagerie of pets, which was certainly extraordinary for so unpretentious an establishment; but being “a gentleman devoted to science” his neighbours thought he might be allowed to indulge a hobby for zoology.That he should be fond of animals is strange, seeing the traits of his character have been disclosed, which indicate that he was cruel and selfish to the last degree.Some of his pets he had learned to execute tricks wonderful enough to earn a showman his living. His pony especially showed marvellous obedience to his command.At a word this faithful animal would rear up and remain standing on his hind legs, and at another word he would lie down as if dead.“Tommy” seemed to have been trained as a silent but faithful partner in burglary.The custom of Peace was to go out during the day with Mrs. Peace, his son, and Mrs. Thompson in his trap, himself driving, and taking a survey of mansions he intended to rob during the night, and arrange about the destination to which he should convey the plunder.He had two methods of attack. He went out early in the evening, when the family of the house to be plundered were all down stairs, then he robbed the rooms above, or late in the evening, or far on in the morning, when the family were all upstairs in bed, then he roamed through the lower regions, and abstracted the heavy articles of plate and pictures, with all valuables that were portable and transmutable into money. In most cases he proceeded alone in these expeditions.The pony went out from Peace’s stables at most unseemly hours, and sometimes the neighbours woke up when it returned.One night the driving up to the gate was so furious that the gig knocked over the gate. The noise attracted the attention of a policeman who was on the threshold of a discovery, but he suspected nothing.Peace had unquestionably just returned from an expedition with spoil, but when he saw the officer he blandly invited him in, although it was one o’clock in the morning, and lifting up the lid of a long box he explained to him that he had been engaged in perfecting an invention for the purpose of raising sunken ships, which he and Mr. Brian were about to patent.“And you know it would not do to let people know about this in the daytime,” added Peace, upon which the policeman drank his health, hoped he did not intrude, and helped to readjust the gate on its hinges.Peace, as we have already signified had described himself to the new sphere of respectable neighbours among whom he at this time moved as a “gentleman of independent means,” and he was looked upon as one who had done well in the world, but there were more burglaries in the neighbourhood, and Greenwich became almost as noted for these classes of depredations as Lambeth had been. But there was this difference—that whilst the “middle class” people of Lambeth dare not report their troubles to the police and were not allowed the privilege of complaining to the columns of the dailies, the Greenwich “whitebaits” would not sit down so calm with this disgraceful state of things.Night after night the houses of leading residents in the locality were broken open and quantities of plate, jewellery, and valuables of that description were stolen.The “gang” who did it were evidently good judges, and selected very carefully before removing anything. Then the police became indignant—the public blamed the police—letters to editors were freely penned, but still the depredations continued.Then came a lull—Peace, the single-handed perpetrator of all these daring robberies, had taken time to consider, and had decided to again change his residence.But he had grown in riches, the result of his six months’ robberies, and he decided upon taking a better house—one with a more substantial look of respectability about it, and hence it was that he deemed it advisable to remove to the residence which we have already described—namely, the habitation in the Evalina-road.It is not easy to calculate with anything like exactness the mischief which a scoundrel like Peace has done by his daring exploits.Man is a creature of imitation, and after the capture and condemnation of our hero, other rogues endeavoured to imitate him.The evil which Peace did seemed to live after him.No sooner had the public experienced a sense of relief at having got rid of him than a successor turned up to carry on the business on the same system which he had introduced.The new candidate for the honours of murder and burglary combined, however, shifted the base of his operations from Blackheath to Hampstead-heath. He was discovered prowling about the grounds of Roselyn House by a constable of the S division.The policeman on demanding of the man what he wanted there, was answered with a threat, to the effect that if he approached he would blow his brains out.He, however, did approach, and while attempting to close with the miscreant, received a pistol shot, which would probably have killed him, had it not fortunately struck the bull’s-eye of his lantern.He was slightly wounded, and in the struggle which followed was struck on the head by his assailant with some blunt instrument.Notwithstanding this he gave the would-be assassin chase, and coming up with him again, closed with the robber, but was too much exhausted to succeed in his commendable efforts to effect a capture.The man accordingly escaped, and no doubt congratulated himself upon the success which so far attended him in his attempts to follow in the footsteps of the prince of scoundrels whose nefarious career he had endeavoured to shadow forth.Doubtless many of our readears will remember the case to which we refer, since it was reported in all the London and provincial newspapers.We sincerely trust that the loathsome memory of Charles Peace will not breed a contagion of burglary.That crime, however, is infectious was shown by the garotte epidemic from which London suffered some few years ago.The best preventive against the prevalence of a possible plague of housebreakers is undoubtedly to be sought for in efficient police surveillance.A stronger force of mounted patrols is wanted in the suburban districts.That a policeman should be left to encounter an armed burglar single-handed on Hampstead-heath in the dead of the night shows that this particular part of the metropolis at any rate is not properly protected.In such a place the police should go in pairs, or, if one man is deemed sufficient to guard it, he should be provided with some better protection than abâtonagainst the chances of losing his life through being assaulted by wretches of Peace’s calibre.It appears to us that the police on night duty are distributed very unfairly. In many streets, for instance, where persons are constantly passing all through the night more police than are necessary are to be found, but in some suburban retreats the midnight quietude is seldom disturbed by the constable’s measured tread.You may walk through the leading thoroughfares of the West-end or the tenantless streets of the City at any hour of the night, and meet with a score of policemen, but on a tour of the same distance in the suburbs where all or most of the burglaries are perpetrated, it frequently happens that not a single guardian of the peace is to be met with. There is evidently need for alteration here.But none of Peace’s imitators, or rather those who strove to carry on their nefarious practices after his fashion, ever succeeded in reaching the same acme of perfection, if it can with propriety be so termed, in any degree comparable to our hero.Peace had been leading a sort of cat and dog life for some time past with his two female companions in the Evalina-road. He knew perfectly well that he was like a man who is at the top of a dangerous precipice; the slightest mishap, one false step, would precipitate him into the dark chasm in which sooner or later he was to be plunged.He, therefore, strove as best he could to keep a tight hand over the woman he most dreaded. He did not care what amount of money he expended in ministering to her wants, with this proviso, that she was to remain in doors. So Mrs. Thompson had her “drops” at home.She had a weakness for strong drinks, and was an inordinate snuff taker, and, according to Peace’s own account, she cost him a pretty penny.His weakness in respect to women is perhaps the most remarkable feature in his character.After ruthlessly slaying the ill-fated Mr. Dyson, which crime he perpetrated not for gain, for it was clearly established that the unfortunate gentleman met with his death from the hands of his murderer simply because the latter had a sort of mad infatuation for his (Mr. Dyson’s) wife.And, stranger still, immediately after the commission of the foul deed, he took up with another woman, whom he afterwards had good reason to be in dread of.Nevertheless, despite all these circumstances, he perseveringly and persistently followed his nefarious calling, even while the sword of justice was almost hanging over his head.He had at this time perpetrated two murders. He had sent Police-constable Cock, of Whalley Range notoriety, and Mr. Dyson, to their account; and yet he professed to be a moral man in his new home in the Evalina-road.It would be impossible to follow Peace’s footsteps throughout his extraordinary career while engaged in his various depredations in the suburbs of London, but it will be necessary for the purposes of his history to glance at some of the well-recognised events which are, so to speak, almost public property.It was not likely he would remain long quiet in his suburban retreat—excitement was a necessity with him. He could not sit himself down with his two female companions like other “gentlemen of independent means”—he must be up and doing.So, early one afternoon, the gate was thrown open and Charles Peace passed through in his pony trap. He had to call on a friend, so he averred, but on this occasion he had with him the lad “Willie Ward.”He was going to give him a ride for a short distance, and purposed dropping him at the “Bricklayers’ Arms.” Willie was then to return home either by omnibus or the marrowbone stage—whichever he choose—but he was not to go further than the appointed place with his patron and stepfather.As far as Willie himself was concerned, Peace had no reason to complain, for he was in a measure attached to his relative, and was at all times faithful and obedient to him.An animated conversation was carried on between the two for the greater part of the journey. The lad would have liked to remain in the trap just to see what the driver thereof would be after, but he durst not express any wish to that effect; so, when the “Bricklayers’ Arms” was reached, and Peace brought the pony to a halt, Willie jumped out and retraced his steps without a murmur.Peace drove on.He was, as the reader has doubtless already guessed, on one of his marauding expeditions. It was as yet early in the evening—so early, indeed, that few persons would expect burglars were abroad.Peace, in the due course of time, arrived at Sydenham. He pulled up in front of a roadside inn, gave the pony-trap in charge of the ostler, and said he had to wait upon a gentleman in the neighbourhood, and would return in about an hour.He was not a man, as we have before observed, who was addicted to drinking, but he thought it just as well to go to the bar and have a small modicum of brandy and water; then he left, bag in hand; the inference being that he was about to deliver some goods at one of the neighbours’ houses.He walked leisurely along till he arrived at a villa residence, built in the Gothic style of architecture. With the greatest possible effrontery he opened the gate and passed into the garden by the side of the house. Nobody appeared to be about, and seeing a bay window half open he crept through, and found himself in one of the back rooms. He peered forth, and seeing the coast clear he ascended the stairs. Somebody at this time was playing on the piano in the parlour, and the noise of the instrument, which was most unmercifully pounded at, effectually drowned the noise of his soft and cautious footfalls.He found in the upstairs room a number of valuable and profitable articles, such as watches, jewellery, and the like; these he at once possessed himself of. The whole proceeds occupied but a small space, and were carefully disposed of in the capacious pockets of his coat. As he descended the pianist was still rattling away at the instrument.When he reached the passage he found on a dumb waiter several silver spoons and forks; he snatched up these, passed through the bay window by which he had effected an entrance, and got off without being observed by a solitary individual.The family were out for a drive, and there was nobody in the establishment besides the eldest daughter, who was taking a lesson of her music mistress, and the servants, who were in the kitchen busily occupied in preparing the dinner.The astonishment of all, when they discovered the robbery, can be readily imagined. Notice was given to the police, inquiries were made, but Mr. Charles Peace laughed in his sleeve, and got clean off; but his evenings work was as yet not over.He bent his steps in another direction, and after walking about three-quarters of a mile, or a little more perhaps, he came in sight of another house he had “spotted.”In front of this was a conservatory. As on the previous occasion he opened the gate, and entered the grounds.Then he passed along till he came to the conservatory. He looked through the window, and saw that it was filled with the choicest flowers.But he suddenly withdrew his head as he heard the sounds of voices, which evidently proceeded from the parlour or dining-room.He was at no loss to divine that the family were at dinner, and to judge from the number of voices he was under the impression that there were several guests present.He hesitated for a moment, being in some doubt as to his mode of action. His object was to gain the upstairs rooms, lay his hands on all within his reach, and then make off.But this did not appear to be so easy a task as he had at first supposed. Probably the servants were passing to and fro, and in such a case discovery would be fatal.But the greater the danger the greater appeared to be the fascination to a man of Peace’s temperament.He passed along the side of the house and found the back door wide open. He looked in and saw no one. With unparalleled audacity and assurance he crept into the passage, flew upstairs, and inspected the apartments above.He filled his bag with the most valuable and portable articles he could lay his hand on, and up to this time had been undisturbed, but the question was how he was to get clear off.If he dropped from one of the upper rooms the chances were that the noise of his descent would attract the notice of some one, besides which the windows were so high up that to descend from them was no easy matter.“I shall have to risk it, I expect,” said he; “go down the stairs and take my chance. It is quite clear they are all of them pretty well occupied in cramming and guzzling. So here goes.”He descended the stairs as quickly as he could, and was making for the back door when he was suddenly confronted by a buxom, red-faced, red-armed servant girl, who gave a start and a faint scream as she caught sight of a strange man.No.59.Illustration: THE DEATH OF TOMMY.THE DEATH OF TOMMY.Peace was perfectly calm and self-possessed.“Don’t be alarmed, my girl,” said he, in his softest accents. “Is the governor in?”“Yes,” she said, in the greatest possible state of surprise.“Ah, that’s all right,” cried Peace. “Can I see him?”“He’s at dinner just now,” returned the maid, completely thrown off her guard, “but I’ll tell him you are here if it’s anything particular.”“Only a message from Mr. Woodward.”“From who?”“Mr. Woodward.”The girl had never heard of such a person. It would be strange if she had, seeing Peace had given the first name that had occurred to him.“I’ll go in and ask if he will see you,” replied the girl.“Do, please,” cried Peace.The maid went into the dining-room to make the inquiry.This was Peace’s opportunity, of which he was not slow to avail himself. He flew out of the house, jumped over the garden fence, and then ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.“Tell him to wait—I’ll see him presently,” said the master of the establishment, when the girl announced that a stranger wished to speak to him.The girl was astonished when she discovered that the stranger was no longer visible. She went out into the garden, looked about in every direction, but could not, of course, see anyone.She went into the kitchen and made her fellow-servants acquainted with the circumstance. The footman said no doubt the “fellar” was going to call again, and that she, Jane, was a little fool.She retorted, and for a few minutes there was an intestine war in the kitchen. However, after this was over, and the strange man did not put in an appearance again, matters did not look so rosy. The servant girl was seriously concerned. What could it mean? The affair had to be explained to her master, who was, of course, very angry, and till up to this time no one had suspected that a robbery had been committed, and it was quite an hour before the discovery took place and then there was, of course, a fine hue-and-cry. But Peace long before this had reached the roadside house where he had left his pony trap. But his evening’s adventures were not nearly over as yet.After he had cleared the fence and got far away from the scene of his depredation, he decreased his speed, for he had become winded, and therefore contented himself with walking at a moderate pace. This he continued to do till the public-house was reached. When this had been done, he thrust the bag containing the valuables underneath the seat of his gig and gave the ostler a handsome gratuity.But now a new danger threatened him. Just as he was getting into his gig he heard a voice exclaim in a tone of surprise,“Look at that fellow. I do believe it’s that scoundrel, Charles Peace.”The voice proceeded from one of the alcoves which were situated in the gardens of the public-house he was about to depart from, and Peace knew the tones of the speaker, who was a Sheffield detective, with whom he had been formerly acquainted. The celebrated exclamation of the Duke of Wellington of “Up, guards, and at them!” did not carry greater dismay to the enemy than did to Peace the words spoken by the Sheffield police-officer.Peace endeavoured, successfully enough, it must be admitted, to alter the expression of his countenance as he stepped into the gig, but he was panic-stricken nevertheless, and for the moment all his fortitude appeared to desert him. He heard a movement, a shuffling of feet, a ringing of glasses proceed from the alcove in the garden. He did not wait to hear or see any more. He urged on Tommy, who answered by going at a rattling rate; the wheels flew round so fast that you could not see the spokes. Presently the driver came in sight of a steep hill, he turned round and observed in the distance two horsemen urging on their steeds to the utmost; they were enshrouded in a cloud of dust.Peace grew sick and faint.“Curses light on them!” cried he; “they are giving chase. One is Stackhouse as I’m a living man.”There was no help for it; the pony had to be put out to the top of his speed.Peace urged him on with a few sharp cuts of his whip and then by his voice, which had a much more powerful effect. The faithful creature seemed to comprehend that the hour of danger and trial had arrived, for it tore up the hill like a mad thing. The pursuers were perfectly astounded at the speed at which Peace was going.“But we shall have him yet, Clayton—have him as sure as a gun.”“My brute is panting and roaring like a blast furnace,” observed the party addressed. “I don’t think he’ll hold on if we come to another such a hill as this. Confound it, there doesn’t appear to be a level piece of ground in this locality.”“Can’t be helped. We must have him.”“Ah! if it be Charles Peace, which I am very doubtful about.”“It’s him safe enough. Do you suppose he would go at such a pelting, killing pace unless he knew he was pursued. I am pretty sure about it’s being Peace, though he is a bit altered. But there, he’s got a regular indiarubber face. He can do pretty much as he likes with it—twist it up in all sorts of ways—I know him of old.”“I am glad you do, and hope you are not mistaken. Lord, how this beast of mine does bump one! He’s like a great elephant.”“Put him along—never mind his bumping,” cried Stackhouse, in the greatest state of excitement. “We shall soon be up with my gentleman.”Peace knew every inch of the ground, while his pursuers did not. Had this not been the case, the probability is that he would have been captured, for Stackhouse was bent upon having him if he could compass it by any possibility. Neither of the detectives was well mounted; they were on hired hacks, which rebelled against being put to an inconvenient pace. They had not been accustomed to gallop up hill, and resolutely refused to accede to such an unreasonable proposition. Stackhouse’s horse became restive, and had he not been a good rider the chances were that he would have come to grief; but the urgency of the case demanded desperate efforts on the part of the detectives.Peace, when he reached the brow of the hill, turned sharply round into a narrow bridle road. He traversed this, and then took another turning, at the end of which were three cross roads.Upon reaching this point, which he had done without attracting the observation of those who were giving chase, he took the road which led direct to Forest-hill.Now he put Tommy out again to the fullest extent of his speed, and, looking back, he could nowhere perceive the two detectives.He had succeeded in doubling upon them; they did not arrive at the cross roads till long after he was out of sight.“He’s done us,” cried Clayton—“given us the slip in a most knowing, clever way. There’s no telling which road he has taken, and, to mend matters, my horse is as lame as a cub and as obstinate as a mule.”“He’s the very devil himself, I do believe,” said Stackhouse. “Why, what a pony he must have to be sure! But it’s no use hesitating—which road had we better take?”“I leave that to you, my friend. I should say, the one which leads direct to London; he would be sure to go that way.”“All right—then on we go.”They did go on, as fast as their two hacks would take them. But mile after mile was covered, yet not the faintest trace could they find of Charles Peace.Clayton was rather nettled.“And suppose after all he is not the man. A pretty pair of fools we’ve been making of ourselves,” said he.“We’ve had a pleasant evening’s ride.”“Pleasant you call it—I can’t see it in that light myself.”“It won’t do either of us any harm.”“Well, we shan’t find him now wherever he may be.”“I’m afraid not. So here is a roadside house, we’ll give it up then and dismount.”The two officers went into the house and partook of some refreshment. Meanwhile Charles Peace had been urging on Tommy, who never relaxed his speed till Forest-hill was reached.It then became painfully evident that the faithful little creature was greatly distressed. He stumbled two or three times, and Peace observed, with the deepest concern, that the pony was all of a tremble.“My poor Tommy!” he ejaculated. “I fear I’ve asked too much of you. Hang it,” he said, in continuation, “but the pony is bad—can’t hold itself still.”The animal in question was in a complete lather, and was snorting and panting in a manner that was painful to behold. Every now and then it gave a cry of pain which went to the heart of its master.“Ah, my faithful friend,” mused Peace; “you have saved my life; but at what cost? and I dare not risk remaining here, though I have every reason to believe that these bloodhounds are no longer on my track.”He had at this time come to a halt, and listened intently to ascertain if there were sounds of coming horsemen. All was, however, quiet, and he had every reason to believe that the danger was over. He therefore let the pony trot along at an easy pace, but even while doing this he found that he every now and then staggered and appeared to be in danger of falling from sheer weakness, so that it was a hard job for him to reach the Evalina-road.
Peace, after his encounter with Bessie Dalton, abstained for a short period from his predatory excursions.
The scene in the rich merchant’s house at Blackheath had made a deep impression on him, and it is just possible that he had some slight compunctious visitings; but these were of course of short duration.
His house in the Evalina-road was, as we have already intimated, exceedingly well furnished. On his removal from Greenwich a large amount of plate and a considerable collection of pictures were not transported openly in the van he hired to remove the rest of his goods; they were forwarded secretly from Greenwich to Peckham.
It was generally understood in the neighbourhood that he was a retired gentleman possessed of a modest competence, which enabled him to live quietly without business cares, and to indulge his little whims in scientific inventions, in which indulgence he had lost thousands.
The mixed family, as we have already seen, did not live in harmony.
Mrs. Thompson, it has been said, was rarely without a black eye, and shrieking and swearing were not uncommonly heard proceeding from the house. Yet Peace gave himself the reputation of a humane and moral man with a character to maintain, who must not be familiarly accosted by milkmen, greengrocers, and other people who resorted to public-house bars in the morning.
Peace was very rarely seen till late in the day. People in the vicinity who gave the matter any consideration supposed he was busy with his scientific pursuits, of which he was fond of talking in an effusive manner.
He occasionally invited his neighbours into his house to take something, and by all accounts he was a jovial host.
He was possessed of seven or eight guitars, and almost as many violins. When he came outside the gate in the afternoon and took a look at the weather he was communicative and critical to whoever was passing that knew him, and he especially delighted in a chat about crime and criminals with the unsuspicious policeman of his district.
In conversation he had an odd habit of digging his hands deep into his pockets and twisting himself round in the pantomimic contortions of a clown. Social visits he never paid, and he did not encourage unexpected visits to his house.
At Peckham he formed a menagerie of pets, which was certainly extraordinary for so unpretentious an establishment; but being “a gentleman devoted to science” his neighbours thought he might be allowed to indulge a hobby for zoology.
That he should be fond of animals is strange, seeing the traits of his character have been disclosed, which indicate that he was cruel and selfish to the last degree.
Some of his pets he had learned to execute tricks wonderful enough to earn a showman his living. His pony especially showed marvellous obedience to his command.
At a word this faithful animal would rear up and remain standing on his hind legs, and at another word he would lie down as if dead.
“Tommy” seemed to have been trained as a silent but faithful partner in burglary.
The custom of Peace was to go out during the day with Mrs. Peace, his son, and Mrs. Thompson in his trap, himself driving, and taking a survey of mansions he intended to rob during the night, and arrange about the destination to which he should convey the plunder.
He had two methods of attack. He went out early in the evening, when the family of the house to be plundered were all down stairs, then he robbed the rooms above, or late in the evening, or far on in the morning, when the family were all upstairs in bed, then he roamed through the lower regions, and abstracted the heavy articles of plate and pictures, with all valuables that were portable and transmutable into money. In most cases he proceeded alone in these expeditions.
The pony went out from Peace’s stables at most unseemly hours, and sometimes the neighbours woke up when it returned.
One night the driving up to the gate was so furious that the gig knocked over the gate. The noise attracted the attention of a policeman who was on the threshold of a discovery, but he suspected nothing.
Peace had unquestionably just returned from an expedition with spoil, but when he saw the officer he blandly invited him in, although it was one o’clock in the morning, and lifting up the lid of a long box he explained to him that he had been engaged in perfecting an invention for the purpose of raising sunken ships, which he and Mr. Brian were about to patent.
“And you know it would not do to let people know about this in the daytime,” added Peace, upon which the policeman drank his health, hoped he did not intrude, and helped to readjust the gate on its hinges.
Peace, as we have already signified had described himself to the new sphere of respectable neighbours among whom he at this time moved as a “gentleman of independent means,” and he was looked upon as one who had done well in the world, but there were more burglaries in the neighbourhood, and Greenwich became almost as noted for these classes of depredations as Lambeth had been. But there was this difference—that whilst the “middle class” people of Lambeth dare not report their troubles to the police and were not allowed the privilege of complaining to the columns of the dailies, the Greenwich “whitebaits” would not sit down so calm with this disgraceful state of things.
Night after night the houses of leading residents in the locality were broken open and quantities of plate, jewellery, and valuables of that description were stolen.
The “gang” who did it were evidently good judges, and selected very carefully before removing anything. Then the police became indignant—the public blamed the police—letters to editors were freely penned, but still the depredations continued.
Then came a lull—Peace, the single-handed perpetrator of all these daring robberies, had taken time to consider, and had decided to again change his residence.
But he had grown in riches, the result of his six months’ robberies, and he decided upon taking a better house—one with a more substantial look of respectability about it, and hence it was that he deemed it advisable to remove to the residence which we have already described—namely, the habitation in the Evalina-road.
It is not easy to calculate with anything like exactness the mischief which a scoundrel like Peace has done by his daring exploits.
Man is a creature of imitation, and after the capture and condemnation of our hero, other rogues endeavoured to imitate him.
The evil which Peace did seemed to live after him.
No sooner had the public experienced a sense of relief at having got rid of him than a successor turned up to carry on the business on the same system which he had introduced.
The new candidate for the honours of murder and burglary combined, however, shifted the base of his operations from Blackheath to Hampstead-heath. He was discovered prowling about the grounds of Roselyn House by a constable of the S division.
The policeman on demanding of the man what he wanted there, was answered with a threat, to the effect that if he approached he would blow his brains out.
He, however, did approach, and while attempting to close with the miscreant, received a pistol shot, which would probably have killed him, had it not fortunately struck the bull’s-eye of his lantern.
He was slightly wounded, and in the struggle which followed was struck on the head by his assailant with some blunt instrument.
Notwithstanding this he gave the would-be assassin chase, and coming up with him again, closed with the robber, but was too much exhausted to succeed in his commendable efforts to effect a capture.
The man accordingly escaped, and no doubt congratulated himself upon the success which so far attended him in his attempts to follow in the footsteps of the prince of scoundrels whose nefarious career he had endeavoured to shadow forth.
Doubtless many of our readears will remember the case to which we refer, since it was reported in all the London and provincial newspapers.
We sincerely trust that the loathsome memory of Charles Peace will not breed a contagion of burglary.
That crime, however, is infectious was shown by the garotte epidemic from which London suffered some few years ago.
The best preventive against the prevalence of a possible plague of housebreakers is undoubtedly to be sought for in efficient police surveillance.
A stronger force of mounted patrols is wanted in the suburban districts.
That a policeman should be left to encounter an armed burglar single-handed on Hampstead-heath in the dead of the night shows that this particular part of the metropolis at any rate is not properly protected.
In such a place the police should go in pairs, or, if one man is deemed sufficient to guard it, he should be provided with some better protection than abâtonagainst the chances of losing his life through being assaulted by wretches of Peace’s calibre.
It appears to us that the police on night duty are distributed very unfairly. In many streets, for instance, where persons are constantly passing all through the night more police than are necessary are to be found, but in some suburban retreats the midnight quietude is seldom disturbed by the constable’s measured tread.
You may walk through the leading thoroughfares of the West-end or the tenantless streets of the City at any hour of the night, and meet with a score of policemen, but on a tour of the same distance in the suburbs where all or most of the burglaries are perpetrated, it frequently happens that not a single guardian of the peace is to be met with. There is evidently need for alteration here.
But none of Peace’s imitators, or rather those who strove to carry on their nefarious practices after his fashion, ever succeeded in reaching the same acme of perfection, if it can with propriety be so termed, in any degree comparable to our hero.
Peace had been leading a sort of cat and dog life for some time past with his two female companions in the Evalina-road. He knew perfectly well that he was like a man who is at the top of a dangerous precipice; the slightest mishap, one false step, would precipitate him into the dark chasm in which sooner or later he was to be plunged.
He, therefore, strove as best he could to keep a tight hand over the woman he most dreaded. He did not care what amount of money he expended in ministering to her wants, with this proviso, that she was to remain in doors. So Mrs. Thompson had her “drops” at home.
She had a weakness for strong drinks, and was an inordinate snuff taker, and, according to Peace’s own account, she cost him a pretty penny.
His weakness in respect to women is perhaps the most remarkable feature in his character.
After ruthlessly slaying the ill-fated Mr. Dyson, which crime he perpetrated not for gain, for it was clearly established that the unfortunate gentleman met with his death from the hands of his murderer simply because the latter had a sort of mad infatuation for his (Mr. Dyson’s) wife.
And, stranger still, immediately after the commission of the foul deed, he took up with another woman, whom he afterwards had good reason to be in dread of.
Nevertheless, despite all these circumstances, he perseveringly and persistently followed his nefarious calling, even while the sword of justice was almost hanging over his head.
He had at this time perpetrated two murders. He had sent Police-constable Cock, of Whalley Range notoriety, and Mr. Dyson, to their account; and yet he professed to be a moral man in his new home in the Evalina-road.
It would be impossible to follow Peace’s footsteps throughout his extraordinary career while engaged in his various depredations in the suburbs of London, but it will be necessary for the purposes of his history to glance at some of the well-recognised events which are, so to speak, almost public property.
It was not likely he would remain long quiet in his suburban retreat—excitement was a necessity with him. He could not sit himself down with his two female companions like other “gentlemen of independent means”—he must be up and doing.
So, early one afternoon, the gate was thrown open and Charles Peace passed through in his pony trap. He had to call on a friend, so he averred, but on this occasion he had with him the lad “Willie Ward.”
He was going to give him a ride for a short distance, and purposed dropping him at the “Bricklayers’ Arms.” Willie was then to return home either by omnibus or the marrowbone stage—whichever he choose—but he was not to go further than the appointed place with his patron and stepfather.
As far as Willie himself was concerned, Peace had no reason to complain, for he was in a measure attached to his relative, and was at all times faithful and obedient to him.
An animated conversation was carried on between the two for the greater part of the journey. The lad would have liked to remain in the trap just to see what the driver thereof would be after, but he durst not express any wish to that effect; so, when the “Bricklayers’ Arms” was reached, and Peace brought the pony to a halt, Willie jumped out and retraced his steps without a murmur.
Peace drove on.
He was, as the reader has doubtless already guessed, on one of his marauding expeditions. It was as yet early in the evening—so early, indeed, that few persons would expect burglars were abroad.
Peace, in the due course of time, arrived at Sydenham. He pulled up in front of a roadside inn, gave the pony-trap in charge of the ostler, and said he had to wait upon a gentleman in the neighbourhood, and would return in about an hour.
He was not a man, as we have before observed, who was addicted to drinking, but he thought it just as well to go to the bar and have a small modicum of brandy and water; then he left, bag in hand; the inference being that he was about to deliver some goods at one of the neighbours’ houses.
He walked leisurely along till he arrived at a villa residence, built in the Gothic style of architecture. With the greatest possible effrontery he opened the gate and passed into the garden by the side of the house. Nobody appeared to be about, and seeing a bay window half open he crept through, and found himself in one of the back rooms. He peered forth, and seeing the coast clear he ascended the stairs. Somebody at this time was playing on the piano in the parlour, and the noise of the instrument, which was most unmercifully pounded at, effectually drowned the noise of his soft and cautious footfalls.
He found in the upstairs room a number of valuable and profitable articles, such as watches, jewellery, and the like; these he at once possessed himself of. The whole proceeds occupied but a small space, and were carefully disposed of in the capacious pockets of his coat. As he descended the pianist was still rattling away at the instrument.
When he reached the passage he found on a dumb waiter several silver spoons and forks; he snatched up these, passed through the bay window by which he had effected an entrance, and got off without being observed by a solitary individual.
The family were out for a drive, and there was nobody in the establishment besides the eldest daughter, who was taking a lesson of her music mistress, and the servants, who were in the kitchen busily occupied in preparing the dinner.
The astonishment of all, when they discovered the robbery, can be readily imagined. Notice was given to the police, inquiries were made, but Mr. Charles Peace laughed in his sleeve, and got clean off; but his evenings work was as yet not over.
He bent his steps in another direction, and after walking about three-quarters of a mile, or a little more perhaps, he came in sight of another house he had “spotted.”
In front of this was a conservatory. As on the previous occasion he opened the gate, and entered the grounds.
Then he passed along till he came to the conservatory. He looked through the window, and saw that it was filled with the choicest flowers.
But he suddenly withdrew his head as he heard the sounds of voices, which evidently proceeded from the parlour or dining-room.
He was at no loss to divine that the family were at dinner, and to judge from the number of voices he was under the impression that there were several guests present.
He hesitated for a moment, being in some doubt as to his mode of action. His object was to gain the upstairs rooms, lay his hands on all within his reach, and then make off.
But this did not appear to be so easy a task as he had at first supposed. Probably the servants were passing to and fro, and in such a case discovery would be fatal.
But the greater the danger the greater appeared to be the fascination to a man of Peace’s temperament.
He passed along the side of the house and found the back door wide open. He looked in and saw no one. With unparalleled audacity and assurance he crept into the passage, flew upstairs, and inspected the apartments above.
He filled his bag with the most valuable and portable articles he could lay his hand on, and up to this time had been undisturbed, but the question was how he was to get clear off.
If he dropped from one of the upper rooms the chances were that the noise of his descent would attract the notice of some one, besides which the windows were so high up that to descend from them was no easy matter.
“I shall have to risk it, I expect,” said he; “go down the stairs and take my chance. It is quite clear they are all of them pretty well occupied in cramming and guzzling. So here goes.”
He descended the stairs as quickly as he could, and was making for the back door when he was suddenly confronted by a buxom, red-faced, red-armed servant girl, who gave a start and a faint scream as she caught sight of a strange man.
No.59.
Illustration: THE DEATH OF TOMMY.THE DEATH OF TOMMY.
THE DEATH OF TOMMY.
Peace was perfectly calm and self-possessed.
“Don’t be alarmed, my girl,” said he, in his softest accents. “Is the governor in?”
“Yes,” she said, in the greatest possible state of surprise.
“Ah, that’s all right,” cried Peace. “Can I see him?”
“He’s at dinner just now,” returned the maid, completely thrown off her guard, “but I’ll tell him you are here if it’s anything particular.”
“Only a message from Mr. Woodward.”
“From who?”
“Mr. Woodward.”
The girl had never heard of such a person. It would be strange if she had, seeing Peace had given the first name that had occurred to him.
“I’ll go in and ask if he will see you,” replied the girl.
“Do, please,” cried Peace.
The maid went into the dining-room to make the inquiry.
This was Peace’s opportunity, of which he was not slow to avail himself. He flew out of the house, jumped over the garden fence, and then ran off as fast as his legs would carry him.
“Tell him to wait—I’ll see him presently,” said the master of the establishment, when the girl announced that a stranger wished to speak to him.
The girl was astonished when she discovered that the stranger was no longer visible. She went out into the garden, looked about in every direction, but could not, of course, see anyone.
She went into the kitchen and made her fellow-servants acquainted with the circumstance. The footman said no doubt the “fellar” was going to call again, and that she, Jane, was a little fool.
She retorted, and for a few minutes there was an intestine war in the kitchen. However, after this was over, and the strange man did not put in an appearance again, matters did not look so rosy. The servant girl was seriously concerned. What could it mean? The affair had to be explained to her master, who was, of course, very angry, and till up to this time no one had suspected that a robbery had been committed, and it was quite an hour before the discovery took place and then there was, of course, a fine hue-and-cry. But Peace long before this had reached the roadside house where he had left his pony trap. But his evening’s adventures were not nearly over as yet.
After he had cleared the fence and got far away from the scene of his depredation, he decreased his speed, for he had become winded, and therefore contented himself with walking at a moderate pace. This he continued to do till the public-house was reached. When this had been done, he thrust the bag containing the valuables underneath the seat of his gig and gave the ostler a handsome gratuity.
But now a new danger threatened him. Just as he was getting into his gig he heard a voice exclaim in a tone of surprise,
“Look at that fellow. I do believe it’s that scoundrel, Charles Peace.”
The voice proceeded from one of the alcoves which were situated in the gardens of the public-house he was about to depart from, and Peace knew the tones of the speaker, who was a Sheffield detective, with whom he had been formerly acquainted. The celebrated exclamation of the Duke of Wellington of “Up, guards, and at them!” did not carry greater dismay to the enemy than did to Peace the words spoken by the Sheffield police-officer.
Peace endeavoured, successfully enough, it must be admitted, to alter the expression of his countenance as he stepped into the gig, but he was panic-stricken nevertheless, and for the moment all his fortitude appeared to desert him. He heard a movement, a shuffling of feet, a ringing of glasses proceed from the alcove in the garden. He did not wait to hear or see any more. He urged on Tommy, who answered by going at a rattling rate; the wheels flew round so fast that you could not see the spokes. Presently the driver came in sight of a steep hill, he turned round and observed in the distance two horsemen urging on their steeds to the utmost; they were enshrouded in a cloud of dust.
Peace grew sick and faint.
“Curses light on them!” cried he; “they are giving chase. One is Stackhouse as I’m a living man.”
There was no help for it; the pony had to be put out to the top of his speed.
Peace urged him on with a few sharp cuts of his whip and then by his voice, which had a much more powerful effect. The faithful creature seemed to comprehend that the hour of danger and trial had arrived, for it tore up the hill like a mad thing. The pursuers were perfectly astounded at the speed at which Peace was going.
“But we shall have him yet, Clayton—have him as sure as a gun.”
“My brute is panting and roaring like a blast furnace,” observed the party addressed. “I don’t think he’ll hold on if we come to another such a hill as this. Confound it, there doesn’t appear to be a level piece of ground in this locality.”
“Can’t be helped. We must have him.”
“Ah! if it be Charles Peace, which I am very doubtful about.”
“It’s him safe enough. Do you suppose he would go at such a pelting, killing pace unless he knew he was pursued. I am pretty sure about it’s being Peace, though he is a bit altered. But there, he’s got a regular indiarubber face. He can do pretty much as he likes with it—twist it up in all sorts of ways—I know him of old.”
“I am glad you do, and hope you are not mistaken. Lord, how this beast of mine does bump one! He’s like a great elephant.”
“Put him along—never mind his bumping,” cried Stackhouse, in the greatest state of excitement. “We shall soon be up with my gentleman.”
Peace knew every inch of the ground, while his pursuers did not. Had this not been the case, the probability is that he would have been captured, for Stackhouse was bent upon having him if he could compass it by any possibility. Neither of the detectives was well mounted; they were on hired hacks, which rebelled against being put to an inconvenient pace. They had not been accustomed to gallop up hill, and resolutely refused to accede to such an unreasonable proposition. Stackhouse’s horse became restive, and had he not been a good rider the chances were that he would have come to grief; but the urgency of the case demanded desperate efforts on the part of the detectives.
Peace, when he reached the brow of the hill, turned sharply round into a narrow bridle road. He traversed this, and then took another turning, at the end of which were three cross roads.
Upon reaching this point, which he had done without attracting the observation of those who were giving chase, he took the road which led direct to Forest-hill.
Now he put Tommy out again to the fullest extent of his speed, and, looking back, he could nowhere perceive the two detectives.
He had succeeded in doubling upon them; they did not arrive at the cross roads till long after he was out of sight.
“He’s done us,” cried Clayton—“given us the slip in a most knowing, clever way. There’s no telling which road he has taken, and, to mend matters, my horse is as lame as a cub and as obstinate as a mule.”
“He’s the very devil himself, I do believe,” said Stackhouse. “Why, what a pony he must have to be sure! But it’s no use hesitating—which road had we better take?”
“I leave that to you, my friend. I should say, the one which leads direct to London; he would be sure to go that way.”
“All right—then on we go.”
They did go on, as fast as their two hacks would take them. But mile after mile was covered, yet not the faintest trace could they find of Charles Peace.
Clayton was rather nettled.
“And suppose after all he is not the man. A pretty pair of fools we’ve been making of ourselves,” said he.
“We’ve had a pleasant evening’s ride.”
“Pleasant you call it—I can’t see it in that light myself.”
“It won’t do either of us any harm.”
“Well, we shan’t find him now wherever he may be.”
“I’m afraid not. So here is a roadside house, we’ll give it up then and dismount.”
The two officers went into the house and partook of some refreshment. Meanwhile Charles Peace had been urging on Tommy, who never relaxed his speed till Forest-hill was reached.
It then became painfully evident that the faithful little creature was greatly distressed. He stumbled two or three times, and Peace observed, with the deepest concern, that the pony was all of a tremble.
“My poor Tommy!” he ejaculated. “I fear I’ve asked too much of you. Hang it,” he said, in continuation, “but the pony is bad—can’t hold itself still.”
The animal in question was in a complete lather, and was snorting and panting in a manner that was painful to behold. Every now and then it gave a cry of pain which went to the heart of its master.
“Ah, my faithful friend,” mused Peace; “you have saved my life; but at what cost? and I dare not risk remaining here, though I have every reason to believe that these bloodhounds are no longer on my track.”
He had at this time come to a halt, and listened intently to ascertain if there were sounds of coming horsemen. All was, however, quiet, and he had every reason to believe that the danger was over. He therefore let the pony trot along at an easy pace, but even while doing this he found that he every now and then staggered and appeared to be in danger of falling from sheer weakness, so that it was a hard job for him to reach the Evalina-road.