CHAPTERCXXII.THE TRIAL OF THE DETECTIVES—PEACE’S VISIT TO BOW-STREET.Although Charles Peace was what is termed playing a game of hide-and-seek, and to play this game effectually it is usually deemed advisable to court publicity as little as possible, Mr. Thompson—as he called himself—did not choose to pursue this course of action. He went abroad, and paid frequent visits to places of public resort, and was as self-possessed and confident as if he had no oppressive weight on his conscience, no heinous crimes to answer for. In point of fact, he assumed all the airs and graces of a man who had done nothing but meritorious acts throughout his life.It was at this time that the town was startled by the extraordinary detective case in which the convicts Kurr and Benson played so conspicuous a part. The confidence of the public was suddenly shaken in the whole system of the detective department of this country, and it was only after an overwhelming weight of evidence had been brought forward, that they could give credence to the startling revelations of bribery and corruption practised by Kurr and his accomplices upon paid officers of the Crown. Far be it from us to stigmatise the whole force as corrupt and unreliable. There are doubtless many good men, many intelligent, active, and praiseworthy officers to be found, but the machinery appears to be too cumbersome to be put in motion with sufficient rapidity to be of much service in cases of murder or manslaughter. We have alluded to this in a previous chapter, and since that was written, events have occurred which strengthen us in our opinion.The Scotland-yard detective department is, and has been for years past, miserably inefficient in tracing out the perpetrators of the heinous crime of murder, and we are convinced that, sooner or later, it will be requisite, for justice sake, as well as for the safety of the public at large, that some better organised body of men will have to be formed to meet this crying evil.Murders are rife in the land, and it is perfectly appalling the number of murderers who escape the strong arm of the law, which of late seems to be almost paralysed in dealing with crimes of this nature.Charles Peace had read in the papers the report of the first inquiry into the charge made against the four detectives. He was greatly interested in the case, for, said he, with a sort of chuckle—“I think I ought to know something about chaps of that kidney. I’ve dodged ’em a good many times, and when it answered my purpose I’ve bribed them; but this I only did when my dodgery failed. I’ll go and have a squint at these beauties when they come up for their next examination.”“I’m sure I’d do nothing of the sort, if I were you,” observed his wife. “What good can it do you? Talk about women’s curiosity, why it’s nothing in comparison to yours.”“Mind your own business, you fool,” answered Peace sharply. “Leave me to be the best judge of my own actions.”“Oh, well, I’ve done. You know best, I suppose. I only made the remark for your own good. I shouldn’t have thought you had any desire to be seen in Bow-street Police-court.”“I have a desire, and that’s sufficient. I’m as safe there as I am here. More so, perhaps.”It may, and doubtless it does, appear singular that Peace should have had any desire to disport himself in the court referred to, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, he was present at one of the examinations of the detectives, and this has since been proved beyond all question.The court was crowded almost to suffocation when the detective case came on, and Peace had the greatest difficulty in elbowing his way in. The Bow-street court, as most of our readers know, is miserably small, and inconvenient. As far as the public is concerned it could not very well be worse in the way of accommodation. It has for years been acknowledged to be ill adapted for the purpose for which it was constructed.Peace found this out. He was a little man, and behind him was a man of elephantine dimensions, who kept bearing the greater portion of his weight on his shoulders.“I wish you’d not press on me in this manner,” said our hero to his tormentor.“I can’t help it, the people are shoving behind. Don’t blame me.”“Order! Silence in the court!” cried the usher.“But I’m half stifled,” observed Peace. “Can’t you make room for me somewhere?”“No, every place is occupied.”“If you don’t like it go out,” said the big man.Peace, who was dressed in a suit of black, with his silver spectacles on his nose, and looked a mild meek old gentleman of the Pickwickian order, again remonstrated in a soft gentle voice.“What’s the matter?” inquired a stout-built good-natured looking man, as he elbowed his way through the throng.“Old gentleman’s hardly pressed, and can scarcely breathe,” answered one of the persons in the rear, and who evidently commiserated our hero’s situation.The stout person, who seemed to be dressed in a little brief authority, touched Peace on the shoulder, and said in a whisper—“Follow me—this way.”Peace, nothing loth, did as he was bid.He was taken by his conductor from the body of the court and passed in to that portion of it where the lawyers, barristers, and other persons of a nondescript order thread their way. Here he was comparatively comfortable—that is, as comfortable as it is possible to be in this precious sample of a court of justice, which is, perhaps, not saying much.His conductor stood by his side on the same platform.“I don’t know how to thank you sufficiently for this act of kindness,” observed our hero.“Don’t mention it, sir, I beg,” returned the gentleman, who, if the truth must be told, had mistaken Peace for another and more exalted person.Presently the four detectives—Meiklejohn, Druscovich, Palmer, and Clarke—were brought in. They took up their stations, and were joined by Mr. Froggatt the solicitor. Mr. Poland proceeded to state the case. After he had concluded, Mr. Superintendent Williamson was called.It will be needless for us to give a detailed account of the proceedings, as the result has long since been patent to everybody. It will suffice for our purpose to note that Peace became on friendly and familiar terms with the gentleman who had been of such service to him. They conversed freely during the day’s examination, and when the court rose Peace asked his companion to have a glass of wine.“Well,” observed the latter, “I don’t mind if I do; but I’ve not as yet dined.”“Nor have I,” said Peace; “are you going to have your dinner in the neighbourhood?”“Yes,” was the ready response.“Well, so am I. Suppose we dine together somewhere.”“Yes, I’ll do so with the greatest pleasure.”They adjourned to a neighbouring tavern, where they met a friend of Peace’s companion, whom the latter introduced as a Mr. Shearman, who, it is perhaps needless to mention, was the American detective who had the charge against Doctor Bourne in hand.Shearman had come over again to this country to “pot,” as he expressed it, a runaway Yankee, who was charged with frauds on an extensive scale.“Mr. Shearman,” said the gentleman, addressing himself to Peace; “pardon me, but I don’t know your name. I took you for Mr. Belmore, whom I have the honour of knowing.”“My name is Thompson,” said Peace; “and I am most proud to have made your acquaintance. I will, with your permission, show you a rough draft of an invention of mine.”He drew from his pocket a drawing of his apparatus for raising sunken ships.His two companions inspected it, and said it appeared to them to be a most admirable contrivance. This declaration was succeeded by a long discussion upon its merits, and soon after this dinner was served, upon which the three gentlemen sat down.Peace had not the faintest notion at this time that he was hob-nobbing with two detectives, and it was fortunate for him that Mr. Wrench did not put in an appearance at this juncture.“Wal,” said Shearman, “how goes the case? Ugly against the prisoners?”“Most remarkably strong against them,” returned Mr. Cartridge, Peace’s friend.“I guessed as much. Wal, it’s a scandal to your country—a great scandal,” observed Shearman.“Oh, everybody must admit that, sir,” returned Peace. “For my own part, I can’t see any excuse for these men. They were well paid, would, on retiring, be entitled to pensions, and yet they must aid and abet dishonest persons like Kurr and Benson.”“That is if they have done so,” said Mr. Cartridge.“Do you doubt it after what we have heard to-day?” inquired Peace.“I should be sorry to prejudge the case; still, as I before observed, it looks ugly—that I readily admit. It is possible, however, that they may be able to produce some rebutting evidence on the trial, which will materially alter the complexion of the case. One never knows what may take place, for it has been often said that truth lies at the bottom of a well.”When the dinner had been dispatched Peace called for the bill, which he insisted on paying, alleging, as an excuse, that he had invited the other two to dine with him.They both protested against this, but Peace, who was in a liberal mood, would have his own way, and a compromise was therefore effected by the other two being allowed to pay for wine and cigars.In the course of conversation Peace discovered that he was passing a pleasant hour or so with detectives.He was a little disconcerted when he ascertained this, but there was now no help for it—so he put a bold face upon the matter, but was at the same time more guarded in his conversation.Mr. Shearman, as heretofore, told one of his stories about his own exploits in America, and Mr. Cartridge, not to be outdone, narrated the following case of mistaken identity, which for the reader’s behoof, seeing that it is possessed of considerable interest, we printin extenso.
Although Charles Peace was what is termed playing a game of hide-and-seek, and to play this game effectually it is usually deemed advisable to court publicity as little as possible, Mr. Thompson—as he called himself—did not choose to pursue this course of action. He went abroad, and paid frequent visits to places of public resort, and was as self-possessed and confident as if he had no oppressive weight on his conscience, no heinous crimes to answer for. In point of fact, he assumed all the airs and graces of a man who had done nothing but meritorious acts throughout his life.
It was at this time that the town was startled by the extraordinary detective case in which the convicts Kurr and Benson played so conspicuous a part. The confidence of the public was suddenly shaken in the whole system of the detective department of this country, and it was only after an overwhelming weight of evidence had been brought forward, that they could give credence to the startling revelations of bribery and corruption practised by Kurr and his accomplices upon paid officers of the Crown. Far be it from us to stigmatise the whole force as corrupt and unreliable. There are doubtless many good men, many intelligent, active, and praiseworthy officers to be found, but the machinery appears to be too cumbersome to be put in motion with sufficient rapidity to be of much service in cases of murder or manslaughter. We have alluded to this in a previous chapter, and since that was written, events have occurred which strengthen us in our opinion.
The Scotland-yard detective department is, and has been for years past, miserably inefficient in tracing out the perpetrators of the heinous crime of murder, and we are convinced that, sooner or later, it will be requisite, for justice sake, as well as for the safety of the public at large, that some better organised body of men will have to be formed to meet this crying evil.
Murders are rife in the land, and it is perfectly appalling the number of murderers who escape the strong arm of the law, which of late seems to be almost paralysed in dealing with crimes of this nature.
Charles Peace had read in the papers the report of the first inquiry into the charge made against the four detectives. He was greatly interested in the case, for, said he, with a sort of chuckle—
“I think I ought to know something about chaps of that kidney. I’ve dodged ’em a good many times, and when it answered my purpose I’ve bribed them; but this I only did when my dodgery failed. I’ll go and have a squint at these beauties when they come up for their next examination.”
“I’m sure I’d do nothing of the sort, if I were you,” observed his wife. “What good can it do you? Talk about women’s curiosity, why it’s nothing in comparison to yours.”
“Mind your own business, you fool,” answered Peace sharply. “Leave me to be the best judge of my own actions.”
“Oh, well, I’ve done. You know best, I suppose. I only made the remark for your own good. I shouldn’t have thought you had any desire to be seen in Bow-street Police-court.”
“I have a desire, and that’s sufficient. I’m as safe there as I am here. More so, perhaps.”
It may, and doubtless it does, appear singular that Peace should have had any desire to disport himself in the court referred to, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, he was present at one of the examinations of the detectives, and this has since been proved beyond all question.
The court was crowded almost to suffocation when the detective case came on, and Peace had the greatest difficulty in elbowing his way in. The Bow-street court, as most of our readers know, is miserably small, and inconvenient. As far as the public is concerned it could not very well be worse in the way of accommodation. It has for years been acknowledged to be ill adapted for the purpose for which it was constructed.
Peace found this out. He was a little man, and behind him was a man of elephantine dimensions, who kept bearing the greater portion of his weight on his shoulders.
“I wish you’d not press on me in this manner,” said our hero to his tormentor.
“I can’t help it, the people are shoving behind. Don’t blame me.”
“Order! Silence in the court!” cried the usher.
“But I’m half stifled,” observed Peace. “Can’t you make room for me somewhere?”
“No, every place is occupied.”
“If you don’t like it go out,” said the big man.
Peace, who was dressed in a suit of black, with his silver spectacles on his nose, and looked a mild meek old gentleman of the Pickwickian order, again remonstrated in a soft gentle voice.
“What’s the matter?” inquired a stout-built good-natured looking man, as he elbowed his way through the throng.
“Old gentleman’s hardly pressed, and can scarcely breathe,” answered one of the persons in the rear, and who evidently commiserated our hero’s situation.
The stout person, who seemed to be dressed in a little brief authority, touched Peace on the shoulder, and said in a whisper—
“Follow me—this way.”
Peace, nothing loth, did as he was bid.
He was taken by his conductor from the body of the court and passed in to that portion of it where the lawyers, barristers, and other persons of a nondescript order thread their way. Here he was comparatively comfortable—that is, as comfortable as it is possible to be in this precious sample of a court of justice, which is, perhaps, not saying much.
His conductor stood by his side on the same platform.
“I don’t know how to thank you sufficiently for this act of kindness,” observed our hero.
“Don’t mention it, sir, I beg,” returned the gentleman, who, if the truth must be told, had mistaken Peace for another and more exalted person.
Presently the four detectives—Meiklejohn, Druscovich, Palmer, and Clarke—were brought in. They took up their stations, and were joined by Mr. Froggatt the solicitor. Mr. Poland proceeded to state the case. After he had concluded, Mr. Superintendent Williamson was called.
It will be needless for us to give a detailed account of the proceedings, as the result has long since been patent to everybody. It will suffice for our purpose to note that Peace became on friendly and familiar terms with the gentleman who had been of such service to him. They conversed freely during the day’s examination, and when the court rose Peace asked his companion to have a glass of wine.
“Well,” observed the latter, “I don’t mind if I do; but I’ve not as yet dined.”
“Nor have I,” said Peace; “are you going to have your dinner in the neighbourhood?”
“Yes,” was the ready response.
“Well, so am I. Suppose we dine together somewhere.”
“Yes, I’ll do so with the greatest pleasure.”
They adjourned to a neighbouring tavern, where they met a friend of Peace’s companion, whom the latter introduced as a Mr. Shearman, who, it is perhaps needless to mention, was the American detective who had the charge against Doctor Bourne in hand.
Shearman had come over again to this country to “pot,” as he expressed it, a runaway Yankee, who was charged with frauds on an extensive scale.
“Mr. Shearman,” said the gentleman, addressing himself to Peace; “pardon me, but I don’t know your name. I took you for Mr. Belmore, whom I have the honour of knowing.”
“My name is Thompson,” said Peace; “and I am most proud to have made your acquaintance. I will, with your permission, show you a rough draft of an invention of mine.”
He drew from his pocket a drawing of his apparatus for raising sunken ships.
His two companions inspected it, and said it appeared to them to be a most admirable contrivance. This declaration was succeeded by a long discussion upon its merits, and soon after this dinner was served, upon which the three gentlemen sat down.
Peace had not the faintest notion at this time that he was hob-nobbing with two detectives, and it was fortunate for him that Mr. Wrench did not put in an appearance at this juncture.
“Wal,” said Shearman, “how goes the case? Ugly against the prisoners?”
“Most remarkably strong against them,” returned Mr. Cartridge, Peace’s friend.
“I guessed as much. Wal, it’s a scandal to your country—a great scandal,” observed Shearman.
“Oh, everybody must admit that, sir,” returned Peace. “For my own part, I can’t see any excuse for these men. They were well paid, would, on retiring, be entitled to pensions, and yet they must aid and abet dishonest persons like Kurr and Benson.”
“That is if they have done so,” said Mr. Cartridge.
“Do you doubt it after what we have heard to-day?” inquired Peace.
“I should be sorry to prejudge the case; still, as I before observed, it looks ugly—that I readily admit. It is possible, however, that they may be able to produce some rebutting evidence on the trial, which will materially alter the complexion of the case. One never knows what may take place, for it has been often said that truth lies at the bottom of a well.”
When the dinner had been dispatched Peace called for the bill, which he insisted on paying, alleging, as an excuse, that he had invited the other two to dine with him.
They both protested against this, but Peace, who was in a liberal mood, would have his own way, and a compromise was therefore effected by the other two being allowed to pay for wine and cigars.
In the course of conversation Peace discovered that he was passing a pleasant hour or so with detectives.
He was a little disconcerted when he ascertained this, but there was now no help for it—so he put a bold face upon the matter, but was at the same time more guarded in his conversation.
Mr. Shearman, as heretofore, told one of his stories about his own exploits in America, and Mr. Cartridge, not to be outdone, narrated the following case of mistaken identity, which for the reader’s behoof, seeing that it is possessed of considerable interest, we printin extenso.