PUNISHMENT BY PILLORY.PUNISHMENT BY PILLORY.
fellows from the Keys, who appeared to be smugglers, for they were pretty much maimed and scarred,” the person was clearly not Chandler. So, finding they had been “running the wrong hare,” they “trailed very coolly all the way back to Ipswich.”
Travelling homeward, they halted a night at Colchester, and called at an inn, the Three Crowns, or the Three Cups, where Chandler had been seen a few months before. Here, as a fact, after overrunning their game near fourscore miles, “they got back to the very form,” yet even now they lost their hare. This inn was kept by Chandler himself, in partnership with his brother-in-law, who naturally would not betray him, and carefully concealed the fact that Chandler was at that very time in the house.
After this Chandler thought Colchester “a very improper place for him to continue long in.” There were writs out against him in Essex, Suffolk, and Norfolk, so he sold off his goods and moved to another inn at Coventry, where he set up at the sign of the Golden Dragon under the name of John Smith. Now, still fearing arrest, he thought to buy off Winter, the mortgagee, by repaying him something, and sent him £130. But Winter was bitter against him, and writs were taken out for Warwickshire. Chandler had in some way secured the protection of Lord Willoughby de Broke; he had also made friends with the constables of Coventry, and it was not easy to compass his arrest. But at last he was taken and lodged in the town gaol. Two years had been occupied in this pertinacious pursuit, prolonged by trials, arguments, journeyings to and fro, and Mr. Wise was greatly complimented upon his zeal and presented with a handsome testimonial.
Chandler, who was supposed to have planned the whole affair with the idea of becoming possessed of a considerable sum in ready money, was found guilty of perjury, and was sentenced to be put in the pillory next market day at Reading from twelve to one, and afterwards to be transported for seven years.
A curious feature of the trial was the identification of Chandler as John Smith by Casson, who told how at Amsterdam he (Chandler) had received payment for his bills partly in silver—£150 worth of ducats and Spanish pistoles—which broke down both his pockets, so that the witness had to get a rice-sack and hire a wheelbarrow to convey the coin to the Delft “scout,” where it was deposited in a chest and so conveyed to England.
Detailed reference has been made in previous pages to the Bow Street runners, to Vickery, Lavender, Sayer, Donaldson, and Townsend, whose exploits in capturing criminals were often remarkable. None of them did better, however, than a certain Mr. Denovan, a Scots officer of great intelligence and unwearied patience, who was employed by the Paisley Union Bank of Glasgow to defend it against the extraordinary pretensions of a man who had robbed it and yet sued it for the restoration of property which was clearly the bank’s and not his. For the first and probably the only time known in this country, an acknowledged thief was seen contending with people in open court for property he had stolen from them.
JAMES MACKOULL. (From a Contemporary Drawing.)JAMES MACKOULL.(From a Contemporary Drawing.)
The hero of this strange episode was one James Mackoull, a hardened and, as we should say nowadays, an “habitual” criminal. He was one of the most extraordinary characters that have ever appeared in the annals of crime. His was a clear case of heredity in vice, for his mother had been a shoplifter and low-class thief, who had married, however, a respectable tradesman; all her children—three sons and two daughters—had turned out badly, becoming in due course notorious offenders. One of them, John Mackoull, was well educated, and the author of a work entitled “The Abuses of Justice,” which he brought out after his acquittal on a charge of forgery; another brother, Ben Mackoull, was hanged for robbery in 1786.
James Mackoull began early, and at school stole from his companions. He studied little, but soon became an expert in thescience of self-defence, and, being active and athletic, took rank in due course as an accomplished pugilist. His first public theft was from a cat’s-meat man, whom he robbed by throwing snuff in his eyes; while the man was blinded, he cut the bag of coppers fastened to the barrow and bolted. Henceforth he became a professional thief, and with two noted associates, Bill Drake and Sam Williams, did much business on a large scale.
One of his most remarkable feats was his robbery from the person of a rich undertaker, known as “The Old Raven,” who was fond of parading himself in St. James’s Park, London, dressed out in smart clothes and wearing conspicuously exposed a fine gold watch set with diamonds. Mackoull knew that on most days “The Old Raven” entered the park from Spring Gardens at 4 p.m., so he timed himself to arrive a little earlier. He waited till the undertaker had passed him, then pushed on in front, when he turned round suddenly, and, clutching the watch with one hand, knocked his victim’s hat over his eyes with the other. Fearing detection for this theft, which caused considerable noise, Mackoull thought it prudent to go to sea. He entered the Royal Navy, and served for two years on board H.M.S.Apolloas an officer’s servant. His conduct was exemplary, and he was presently transferred to H.M.S.Centurion, on which ship he rose to be purser’s steward. He was discharged with a good character after nine years’ service afloat, and returned to London about 1785 with a considerable sum of money, the accumulations of prize-money and pay.
The moment he landed he resumed his evil courses. Having rapidly wasted his substance in the ring, in the cockpit, and at the gaming-table, he devoted himself with great success to picking pockets. He gave himself out as the captain of a West Indiaman, and being much improved in appearance, having a genteel address and fluent speech, he was well received in a certain class of society. At the end of a debauch he generally managed to clear out the company. He was an adept in what is known as “hocussing,” and this served him well in despoiling his companions of their purses and valuables.
It was at this time that he gained thesobriquetof the “Heathen Philosopher” among his associates. He owed it to a trick played upon a master baker, whom he encountered at an election at Brentford. This worthy soul affected to be learned in astronomy, and
Pit Ticket THE COCKFIGHT BY HOGARTH.Pit TicketTHE COCKFIGHT BY HOGARTH.
Mackoull approached him, courteously advising him to have a look at the strange “alternating star” to be seen that night in the sky. As soon as the baker was placed to view the phenomenon, Mackoull deftly relieved him of his pocket-book, which he knew to be well lined. Then, as the baker could not see the star properly and went home to use his telescope, Mackoull promptly decamped, returning to town in a postchaise.
Now Mackoull married a lodging-house keeper, and went into the business of “receiving.” At first he stored his stolen goods in his mother’s house, but as this became insecure he devised a receptacle in his own. He chose for the purpose a recess where had formerly been a window, but which had been blocked up to save the window-tax. It was on that account called “Pitt’s picture.” But the hiding-place was discovered, and as Mackoull was “wanted,” he escaped to the Continent, where he frequented the German gambling-tables and learnt the language. He visited Hamburg, Leipsic, Rotterdam, and is said to have often played billiards with the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, whom he relieved of all his superfluous cash.
Again he had to fly, but being afraid to return to London he travelled north, and landed at Leith in 1805. Thence he went to Edinburgh, and lodged in the Canongate, devoting himself to his old pursuits at taverns, “calling himself a Hamburg merchant and making many friends.” A theft at the theatre was nearly fatal to him. He was caught by a police officer in the act of picking a gentleman’s pocket, and, after running for his life, was at last overtaken. Having no assistance at hand, the “town officer” struck him on the head with his “batoon.” Mackoull fell with a deep groan, and the officer, fearing he had killed him, made off. As the result of this encounter Mackoull was long laid up, and he carried the scar on his forehead to his dying day.
As time passed he grew more daring and more truculent, and it is believed he was the author of the well-known murder of Begbie, the porter of the British Linen Company Bank—a crime never brought home to him, however, the murder remaining a mystery to the last. This victim, returning from Leith carrying a large parcel of bank-notes, was stabbed in the back at the entrance of Tweeddale’s Court. Several persons were suspected, apprehended, and discharged for want of evidence. Yet the most active measureswere taken to detect the crime. “Hue-and-cry” bills were thrown off during the night, and despatched next morning by the mail-coaches to all parts of the country. It was stated in this notice that “the murder was committed with a force and dexterity more resembling that of a foreign assassin than an inhabitant of this country. The blow was directly to the heart, and the unfortunate man bled to death in a few minutes.” Through Mr. Denovan’s investigations many facts were obtained to implicate Mackoull, but the proof of his guilt was still insufficient.
One of the most suspicious facts against him was that later on he was often seen in the Belle Vue grounds, and here, in an old wall, many of the notes stolen from the murdered porter were presently discovered. They were those of large value, which the perpetrator of the crime would find it difficult to pass. Reports that they had been thus found, and in this particular wall, were in circulation some three weeks before they were actually unearthed, and it is believed the story was purposely put about to lead to their recovery. It is a curious fact that the stonemason who came upon the notes in pulling down the wall resided close to the spot where the murder had been committed. But for the good luck that he was able to prove clearly that he was not in Edinburgh at the time of the murder, he might have been added to the sufficiently long list of victims of circumstantial evidence.
Mackoull at this time passed to and fro between Edinburgh and Dublin, and was popular in both capitals, a pleasant companion, ever ready to drink and gamble and join in any debauchery. He became very corpulent, and it was said of him that he did not care how he was jostled in a crowd. This was necessary as a matter of business sometimes, but one night at the Edinburgh theatre he got into trouble. Incledon, the famous vocalist, was singing to full houses, and Mackoull in the crowded lobby picked a gentleman’s pocket. He was caught in the act, but escaped for a time; then was seized after a hot pursuit and searched, but with no result, for he had dropped his booty in the race. They cast him into the Tolbooth, but he was released for want of proof after nine months’ detention. As the story is told, the gentleman robbed was much displeased at Mackoull’s release and complained of this failure of justice. The judge before whom the thief had been arraigned admitted that he ought tohave been hanged. “He went to the play-house to steal and not to hear music; and he gave a strong proof of this, Mr. P., when he preferredyournotes to Mr. Incledon’s.”
Mackoull, retiring south after his liberation, lay low for a time, but he made one expedition to Scotland for the purpose of passing forged notes, when he was again arrested, but again evaded the law. Another enterprise in Chester failed; the luck was against him for the moment. But now, having sought out efficient confederates, he laid all his plans for the robbery of some one or other of the great Scottish banks. He was well equipped for the job, had secured the best men and the finest implements.
THE TOLBOOTH, EDINBURGH.THE TOLBOOTH, EDINBURGH.
He was assisted by two confederates, French and Huffey White, the latter a convict at the hulks, whose escape Mackoull had compassed on purpose. They broke into the Paisley Bank at Glasgow on Sunday night, July 14, 1811, with keys carefully fitted long in advance, and soon ransacked the safe and drawers, securing in gold and notes something like £20,000. Of course, they left Glasgowat once, travelling full speed in a postchaise and four, first to Edinburgh and thenviâHaddington and Newcastle southward to London. In the division of the spoil which now took place Mackoull contrived to keep the lion’s share. White was apprehended, and to save his life a certain sum was surrendered to the bank; but some of the money, as I have said elsewhere,[18]seems to have stuck to the fingers of Sayer, the Bow Street officer who had negotiated between Mackoull and the bank. Mackoull himself had retained about £8,000.
In 1812, after a supposed visit to the West Indies, he reappeared in London, where he was arrested for breach of faith with the bank and sent to Glasgow for trial. He got off by a promise of further restitution, and because the bank was unable at that time to prove his complicity in the burglary. An agent who had handed over £1,000 on his account, was then sued by Mackoull for acting without proper authority, and was obliged to refund a great part of the money. Nothing could exceed his effrontery. He traded openly as a bill broker in Scotland under the name of James Martin; buying the bills with the stolen notes and having sometimes as much as £2,000 on deposit in another bank. At last he was arrested, and a number of notes and drafts were seized with him. He was presently discharged, but the notes were impounded, and by-and-by he began a suit to recover “his property”—the proceeds really of his theft from the bank. His demeanour in court was most impudent. Crowds filled the court when he gave his evidence, which he did with the utmost effrontery, posing always as an innocent and much-injured man.
It was incumbent upon the bank to end this disgraceful parody of legal proceedings. Either they must prove Mackoull’s guilt or lose their action—an action brought, it must be remembered, by a public depredator against a respectable banking company for daring to retain a part of the property of which he had robbed them. In this difficulty they appealed to Mr. Denovan, well known as an officer and agent of the Scottish courts, and sent him to collect evidence showing that Mackoull was implicated in the original robbery in 1811.
Denovan left Edinburgh on January 8, 1820, meaning to follow the exact route of the fugitives to the south. All along his roadhe came upon traces of them in the “post books” or in the memory of innkeepers, waiters, and ostlers. He passed through Dunbar, Berwick, and Belford, pausing at Belford to hunt up a certain George Johnson who was said to be able to identify Mackoull. Johnson had been a waiter at the Talbot Inn, Darlington, in 1811, but was now gone—to what place his parents, who lived in Belford, could not say. “Observing, however, that there was a church behind the inn,” writes Mr. Denovan, “a thought struck me I might hear something in the churchyard on Sunday morning;” and he was rewarded with the address of Thomas Johnson, a brother of George’s, “a pedlar or travelling merchant.” “I immediately set forth in a postchaise and found Thomas Johnson, who gave me news of George. He was still alive, and was a waiter either at the Bay Horse in Leeds or somewhere in Tadcaster, or at a small inn at Spittal-on-the-Moor, in Westmorland, but his father-in-law, Thomas Cockburn, of York, would certainly know.”
Pushing on, Denovan heard of his men at Alnwick. A barber there had shaved them. “I was anxious to see the barber, but found he had put an end to his existence some years ago.” At Morpeth the inn at which they had stopped was shut up. At Newcastle the posting book was lost, and when found in the bar of the Crown and Thistle was “so mutilated as to be useless.” But at the Queen’s Head, Durham, there was an entry, “Chaise and four to Darlington, Will and Will.” The second “Will” was still alive, and remembered Mackoull as the oldest of the party, a “stiff red-faced man,” the usual description given of him. The landlady here, Mrs. Jane Escott, remembered three men arriving in a chaise who said they were pushing on to London with a quantity of Scottish bank-notes. At the Talbot Inn, Darlington, where George Johnson had lived, the scent failed till Denovan found him at another inn, the King’s Head.
His evidence was most valuable, and he willingly agreed to give it in court at Edinburgh. He had seen the three men at Durham, the oldest, “a stiff, stout man with a red face, seemed to take the management, and paid the postboys their hire.” He had offered a £20 Scottish note in payment for two pints of sherry and some biscuits, but there was not change enough in the house, and White was asked for smaller money, when he took out his pocket-book stuffed full of bank notes, all too large, so thefirst note was changed by Johnson at the Darlington bank. Johnson was sure he would know the “stiff man” again amongst a hundred others in any dress.
There was no further trace now till Denovan got to the White Hart, Welwyn, where the fugitives had taken the light post-coach. At Welwyn, too, they had sent off a portmanteau to a certain address, and this portmanteau was afterwards recovered with the address in Mackoull’s hand. At Welwyn also Mr. Denovan heard of one Cunnington who had been a waiter at the inn in 1811, but had left in 1813 for London, and who was said to know something of the matter. The search for this Cunnington was the next business, and Mr. Denovan pushed on to London hoping to find him there. “In company with a private friend I went up and down Holborn inquiring for him at every baker’s, grocer’s, or public house,” but heard nothing. The same at the coaching offices, until at last a guard who knew Cunnington said he was in Brighton. But the man had left Brighton, first for Horsham, then for Margate, and had then gone back to London, where Mr. Denovan ran him down at last as a patient in the Middlesex Hospital.
Cunnington was quite as important a witness as Johnson. He declared he should know Mackoull among a thousand. He had seen the three men counting over notes at the White Hart; Mackoull did not seem to be a proper companion for the two; he took the lead, and was the only one who used pen, ink, and paper. Cunnington expressed his willingness to go to Edinburgh if his health permitted.
Since Denovan’s arrival in London he had received but little assistance at Bow Street. The runners were irritated at the unorthodox way in which the case had been managed. Sayer, who had been concerned in the restitution, flatly refused to have anything to do with the business, or to go to Edinburgh to give evidence. This was presently explained by another runner, the famous Townsend, who hinted that Sayer’s hands were not clean, and that he was on very friendly terms with Mackoull’s wife, a lady of questionable character, who was living in comfort on some of her husband’s ill-gotten gains. Indeed, Sayer’s conduct had caused a serious quarrel between him and his colleagues, Lavender, Vickery, and Harry Adkins, because he had deceived and forestalled them. Denovan was, however, on intimate terms with Lavender, and succeeded in persuading him to assist, and through him he came upon the portmanteau sent fromWelwyn, which had been seized at the time of Huffey White’s arrest. Huffey had been taken in the house of one Scoltop, a blacksmith in the Tottenham Court Road, the portmanteau and a box of skeleton keys being also seized. Both were now found in a back closet in the office at Bow Street, “under a singular collection of rubbish, and were actually covered by Williams’s bloody jacket, and the maul and ripping iron with which the man Williamson had been murdered in Ratcliff Highway.” The portmanteau contained many papers and notes damaging to Mackoull, and in the box were housebreaking implements, punches, files, and various “dubs” and “skrews,” as well as two handkerchiefs of fawn colour, with a broad border, such as the three thieves often wore when in their lodgings in Glasgow immediately before the robbery.
How Mr. Denovan found and won over Scoltop is a chief feather in his cap. His success astonished even the oldest officers in Bow Street. Scoltop was the friend and associate of burglars, and constantly engaged in manufacturing implements for them. He had long been a friend of Mackoull’s and had made tools for him, among them those used for the robbing of the Paisley Union Bank, acoupprepared long beforehand, as we have seen. The first set of keys supplied had been tried on the bank locks and found useless, so that Scoltop had furnished others and sent them down by mail. These also were ineffective, as the bank had “simple old-fashioned locks,” and Mackoull came back from Glasgow, bringing with him “a wooden model of the key hole and pike of the locks,” which enabled Scoltop to complete his job easily. “I wonder,” said Scoltop to Mr. Denovan, “that the bank could have trusted so much money under such very simple things.” Scoltop would not allow any of this evidence to be set down in writing, but he agreed to go down to Edinburgh and give it in court, and to swear also to receiving the portmanteau addressed in the handwriting of Mackoull.
But Denovan’s greatest triumph was with Mrs. Mackoull. She kept a house furnished in an elegant manner, but was not a very reputable person. “She was extremely shy at first, and as if by chance, but to show that she was prepared for anything, she lifted up one of the cushions on her settee, displaying a pair of horse pistols that lay below,” on which he produced a double-barrelled pistol and a card bearing the address “Public Office, Bow Street.” Then she gave him her hand and said, “We understand each other.”But still she was very reticent, acting, as Mr. Denovan was firmly convinced, under the advice of the not incorruptible Sayer. She was afraid she would be called upon to make a restitution of that part of the booty that had gone her way. Denovan strongly suspected that she had received a large sum from her husband and had refused to give it back to him—“the real cause of their misunderstanding,” which was, indeed, so serious that he had no great difficulty in persuading her also to give evidence at Edinburgh.
“ON WHICH HE PRODUCED A DOUBLE-BARRELLED PISTOL AND A CARD” (p. 346).“ON WHICH HE PRODUCED A DOUBLE-BARRELLED PISTOL AND A CARD” (p.346.)
Such was the result of an inquiry that scarcely occupied a month. It was so complete that the celebrated Lord Cockburn, who was at that time counsel for the Bank, declared “nothing couldexceed Denovan’s skill, and that the investigation had the great merit of being amply sustained by evidence in all its important parts.” When the trial of the cause came on in February, and Denovan appeared in court with all the principal witnesses, Johnson, Cunnington, Scoltop, and Mrs. Mackoull, the defendant—it was only a civil suit—was unable to conceal his emotion, and fainted away. This was, practically, the throwing up of the sponge. Soon afterwards he was indicted for the robbery of the bank, and on conviction sentenced to death. He was greatly cast down at first, but soon recovered his spirits, and while awaiting execution received a number of visitors in the condemned cell. Among them was his wife, who provided him with the means of purchasing every luxury. She also applied for and obtained a reprieve for him. But though he might escape the gallows, he could not evade death. Within a couple of months of his sentence he fell into imbecility, his hitherto jet-black hair grew white, and his physical faculties failed him. Before the year was ended he had gone to his account.
The first regular organisation of detective police may be said to have been created by Vidocq, the famous French thief, who, having turned his own coat, found his best assistants in other converted criminals. Vidocq’s personal reminiscences have been read all the world over, and need hardly be recounted here. It was at the end of a long career of crime, of warfare with justice, in which he had been perpetually worsted, that he elected to go over to the other side. He would cease to be the hare, and would, if permitted, in future hunt with the hounds. So he offered his services to the authorities, who at first bluntly refused them. M. Henri, the functionary at the head of the criminal department of the Prefecture, sent him about his business without even asking his name.
This was in 1809, during the ministry of Fouché. Vidocq, rebuffed, joined a band of coiners, who betrayed him to the police, and he was arrested, nearly naked, on the roof as he was trying to escape. He was taken before M. Henri, whom he reminded of his application and renewed his offers, which were now accepted, but coldly and distrustfully. The only condition he had made was that he should not be relegated to the galleys, but held in any
VIDOCQ, THE CELEBRATED FRENCH DETECTIVE. (From the Engraving by Mlle. Coignet.)VIDOCQ, THE CELEBRATED FRENCH DETECTIVE.(From the Engraving by Mlle. Coignet.)
Parisian prison the authorities might choose. So he was committed to La Force, and the entry appears on the registry of that prison that he was nominally sentenced to eight years in chains; it was part of his compact that he should associate freely with other prisoners and secretly inform the police of all that was going on. He betrayed a number of his unsuspecting companions, and seems to have been very proud of his treacherous achievements. No prisoner had the slightest suspicion that he was a police spy, nor hadany of the officials, except the gate-keeper. In this way he earned the gratitude of the authorities, who thought he might be more useful at large. In order to give a plausible explanation of his release, it was arranged that he should be sent from the prison of La Force to Bicêtre and permitted to escape by the way. Vidocq has given his own account of his escape: “I was fetched from La Force and taken off with the most rigorous precaution, handcuffed, and lodged in the prison van; but I was let out on the road.” The report of this daring escape, as it was supposed, was the talk of all Paris, and the cause of great rejoicing in criminal circles, where Vidocq’s health was drunk with many wishes for his continued good fortune.
Vidocq made excellent use of his freedom. He entered freely into all the low haunts of the city, and was received with absolute confidence by every miscreant abroad. Through him, although he kept carefully in the background, innumerable arrests were made; one of the most important was that of the head of a gang of robbers named Guenvive, whose acquaintance he made at acabaret, where they exchanged some curious confidences. Guenvive was very anxious to put him on his guard against “that villain Vidocq,” who had turned traitor to his old friends. But Guenvive assured Vidocq that he knew him intimately and there was nothing to be feared while he was by. Together they went to attack Vidocq, each carrying handkerchiefs loaded with two-sous pieces, and watched for him at his front door. For obvious reasons Vidocq did not come out, but his ready concurrence in the scheme made him Guenvive’s most intimate friend. The robber was willing to enrol Vidocq in his band, and proposed that he should join in a grand affair in the Rue Cassette. Vidocq agreed, but took no part in the actual robbery on the pretence that he could not safely be out in the streets, as he had no papers. When the party, having successfully accomplished theircoup, carried their plunder home to Guenvive’s quarters, they were surprised by a visit of the police, during which Vidocq, who was present, concealed himself under the bed. The end of this business was the conviction of the robbers and their condemnation totravaux forcés, but they appear to have succeeded in discovering how and by whom they had been betrayed.
Vidocq brought about another important arrest in the person of Fossard, a notorious criminal, who was to become yet more famous byhis celebrated theft of medals from the Bibliothèque Royale. Fossard was a man of athletic proportions and desperately brave; he had escaped from the Bagne of Brest and was supposed to be prepared to go any lengths rather than return there; he was always armed to the teeth, and swore he would blow out the brains of anyone who attempted to take him. He lived somewhere near the Rue Poissonnière; the neighbourhood was known, but not the house or the floor; the windows were said to have yellow silk blinds, but many other windows had the same; another indication was that Fossard’s servant was a little humpbacked woman, who also worked as a milliner. Vidocq found the hunchback, but not her master, who had moved into another residence over a wineshop at the corner of the Rue Duphot and the Rue St. Honoré. He at once assumed the disguise of a charcoal-seller, and verified the lodging, but waited for an opportunity to take the criminal. Although he was armed and no coward, he realised that the only safe way to secure Fossard would be in his bed.
THE BICÊTRE IN 1710. (After Gueroult.)THE BICÊTRE IN 1710.(After Gueroult.)
Vidocq now took the tavern-keeper into his confidence, warnedhim that he had under his roof a very dangerous robber, and that this lodger was only waiting a favourable chance to rob his till. The first night that the receipts had been good the ruffian would certainly lay hands upon the money. The tavern-keeper was only too glad to accept the assistance of the police, and promised to admit them whenever required. One night, when Fossard had returned home early and gone to bed, Vidocq and his comrades were let in during the small hours, and the following trick was arranged. The tavern-keeper had with him a little nephew, a child of ten, precocious and ready to earn an honest penny. Vidocq easily taught him a little tale. The child was to go upstairs to Fossard’s door in the early morning, and ask Fossard’s wife for some eau-de-cologne, saying his aunt was unwell. The child played his part well; he went up, closely followed by the police in stockinged feet; he knocked, gave his message, the door was opened to him, and in rushed the officers, who secured Fossard before he was well awake.
In these later days of the First Empire the police, as we have seen, were more actively engaged in political espionage than in the detection of crime, and Paris was very much at the mercy of criminals. There were whole quarters given up to malefactors—places, particularly beyond the Barrier, which offered a safe retreat to convicts, thieves, the whole fraternity of crime, into which no police-officer was bold enough to enter. Vidocq volunteered to clear out at least one of them, a tavern kept by a certain Desnoyez, always a very favourite and crowded resort. Accompanied by a couple of police officers and eight gendarmes, he started off to execute a job for which his superiors declared that he needed a battalion at least. But on reaching the tavern he walked straight into the salon, where a Barrier ball was in progress, stopped the music, and coolly looked around. Loud cries were raised of “Turn him out!” but Vidocq remained imperturbable, and exhibiting his warrant, ordered the place to be cleared. His firm aspect imposed upon even the most threatening, and the whole company filed out one by one past Vidocq, who stationed himself at the door. Whenever he recognised any man as a person wanted or a dangerous criminal, he marked his back adroitly with a piece of white chalk as a sign that he should be made prisoner outside. This was effected by the gendarmes, who handcuffed each in turn, and added him to a long chain of
VIDOCQ STOPS THE MUSIC (p. 352).VIDOCQ STOPS THE MUSIC (p.352.)
prisoners, who were eventually conducted in triumph to the Prefecture.
Vidocq’s successes gained him a very distinct reputation in Paris; he had undoubtedly diminished crime—at least he had reduced the number of notorious criminals who openly defied justice; it was decided, therefore, to give him larger powers, and in 1817 he was authorised to establish a regular body of detectives, the first “Brigade de Sûreté,” which was composed of a certain number of agents devoted entirely to the detection of crime. They were no more than four in number at first, but the brigade was successively increased to six, twelve, twenty, and at last to twenty-eight. In the very first year, between January and December, 1817, Vidocq had only twelve assistants; yet among them they effected 772 arrests, many of them of the most important character. Fifteen of their captives were murderers, a hundred and eight were burglars, five were addicted to robbery with violence, and there were some two hundred and fifty thieves of other descriptions. Such good work soon gained Vidocq detractors, and the old, official, clean-handed police, not unnaturally jealous, charged him with actually preparing crime in order that he might detect it. The police authorities were privately informed by these other employees that Vidocq abused his position disgracefully, and carried on widespread depredation on his own account. In reply they were told that they could not be very skilful, or they would have caught him in the act. Having failed to implicate Vidocq himself, they fell upon his assistants, most of them ex-thieves, who they declared now carried on their old trade with impunity. Vidocq soon heard of these accusations, and, to give a practical denial of the charge, ordered all his people invariably to wear gloves. To appear without them, he declared, would be visited with instant dismissal. The significance of this regulation lay in the fact that a pocket can only be picked by a bare hand.
Certainly Vidocq and his men were neither idle nor expensive to maintain; their hours of duty were often eighteen out of the twenty-four; sometimes they were employed for days together without a break. The chief himself was incessantly active; no one could say how he lived or when he slept. Whenever he was wanted he was found dressed and ready, with a clean-shaven face like an actor, so that he might assume any disguise—wigs, whiskers, ormoustaches of any length or colour; sometimes, it is said that he changed his costume ten times a day. He was a man of extraordinarily vigorous physique, strong and squarely built, with very broad shoulders; he had fair hair, which early turned grey, a large thick nose, blue eyes, and a constant smile on his lips. He always appeared well-dressed, except when in disguise, and was followed everywhere he went, but at a slight distance, by a cabriolet, driven by a servant on whom he could rely. He always went armed with pistols and a long knife or dagger. His worst points were his boastfulness and his insupportable conceit.
M. Canler, afterwards chief of the detective police, tells an amusing story in his Memoirs of how Vidocq was fooled by one of his precious assistants. In choosing between candidates, the old thief sought the boldest and most impudent. One day a man he did not know, Jacquin, offered himself, and Vidocq, to try him, sent him to buy a couple of fowls in the market. Jacquin presently brought back the fowls and also the ten francs Vidocq had given him to pay for them. He was asked how he had managed. It was simple enough. He had gone into the market carrying a heavy hod on his shoulder, and, when he had bargained for the fowls, he asked the market woman to place them for him on the top of the stones on the hod. While she obliged him, he picked her pocket of the ten francs he had paid her. Jacquin acted the whole affair before Vidocq, whom he treated just as he had treated the owner of the fowls. When theséancewas over, he had robbed Vidocq of his gold watch and chain.
After ten years of active work Vidocq resigned his post. He was at cross purposes, it was said, with his superiors; M. Delavau, the new prefect, had no sympathy with him, and was so much under priestly influence as to abhor Vidocq, who perhaps foresaw that he had better withdraw before he was dismissed. But the real reason was that he had feathered his nest well, and was in possession of sufficient capital to start an industrial enterprise—the manufacture of paper boxes. To this he presently added abureau de renseignements, the forerunner of our modern private inquiry office, for which, from his abundant and varied experience, he was peculiarly well fitted. He soon possessed a wideclientèle, and had as many as 8,000 cases registered in his office. At the same time his brain was busy with practical inventions, such as aburglar-proof door and a safety paper—one that could not be imitated and used for false documents.
His private inquiry business prospered greatly, but got him into serious trouble. There seems to have been no reason to charge him with dishonesty, yet he was arrested for fraud and “abuse of confidence” in some two hundred instances; he was mixed up in some shady transactions, among them money-lending and bill-discounting. He was also accused of tampering with certain employees in the War Office, and his papers were seized by the police. Some idea of the extent of his business may be gathered from the description of his offices, which were extensive, sumptuously furnished, and organised into first, second, and third divisions, like a great department of State, each served by a large staff of clerks. A little groom in livery, with buttons bearing Vidocq’s monogram, ushered the visitor into his private cabinet, where the great “Intermediary,” as he called himself, sat at his desk, surrounded by fine pictures (for one of which, it was said, he had refused £2,800) and many other signs of luxury and good taste.
Nothing came of this arrest, which Vidocq took quite as a joke, although he was detained in the Conciergerie for three months and his business suffered. Yet, afterwards, the police would not leave him alone. Old animosities had never disappeared, and they were revived when Vidocq occasionally turned his hand to his old work and caught someone whom the regular police could not find. He had started a sort of “trade protection society,” by which, on payment of a small annual fee, any shopkeeper or business man could obtain particulars concerning the solvency of new clients. The number of subscribers soon exceeded 8,000, and Vidocq, in one of his published reports, fixed the amount he had saved his customers at several thousands of pounds. A fresh storm burst over him when he unmasked and procured the arrest of a long-firm swindler, before the police knew anything of the case.
Once more he was arrested, in 1842; his papers were impounded, there were rumours of tremendous disclosures, family scandals, crimes suppressed—all manner of villainies. No doubt he had made himself the “intermediary” in matters not quite savoury, but the worst things against him were an unauthorised arrest and a traffic in decorations very much on the Grévy-Wilson lines of later days. The prejudice against him must have been strong, and the case
THE CONCIERGERIE, PALACE OF JUSTICE, PARIS.THE CONCIERGERIE, PALACE OF JUSTICE, PARIS.
ended in a sentence of eight years’ imprisonment, which was, however, reversed on appeal. He was much impoverished by his lawsuits, and one of his last proceedings was to appear before a London audience dressed, first as a French convict in chains, then in the various disguises he had used in following up malefactors. Although his lecture was in French, he seems to have attracted large audiences at the Cosmorama. Sir Francis Burdett was a great patron and supporter of Vidocq, and was in the habit, wheneverhe visited Paris, of inviting the old thief-taker to dine with him at the Trois Frères Restaurant in the Palais Royal. Vidocq died in penury in 1857 at a very advanced age.
Vidocq’s mantle, after his resignation of his official post, fell upon one of his own young men, for the fallacious idea still held that to discover thieves it was necessary to have been a thief. The choice fell upon one Coco-Latour, who had been a robber of the housebreaking class, and was much esteemed for his enterprise in that particular branch of crime. He now took over Vidocq’s offices and staff, with much the same results. Arrests were constantly made, numbers of depredators were brought to justice, but again and again in court there were some discreditable scenes; fierce recriminations between the dock and the witness-box, little to choose between the accused criminal and the man who had captured him. Public feeling was revolted by these exhibitions, and at last the authorities resolved to abolish the system. M. Gisquet, who was prefect of police, broke up Coco-Latour’s band of ex-brigands and ordered that in future the work should be done by persons of unblemished character. Any who had been once convicted were declared ineligible. New and respectable offices were installed under the wing of the Prefecture, replacing the old dens in low streets which had been no better than thieves’ haunts infested by the worst characters.
From 1832, when this salutary change took effect, until the present day the French detective has won well-deserved credit as an honourable, faithful public servant, generally with natural aptitude, trained and developed by advice and example. “A man does not become a detective by chance; he must be born to it”; he must have the instinct, theflair, the natural taste for the business—qualities which carry him on to success through many disheartening disappointments and seeming defeats. The best traditions of the Paris Prefecture have been worthily maintained by such men as Canler, Claude, Macé, Goron, and Cochefert. Their services have been conspicuous, their methods good, and they are backed by useful, if arbitrary, powers, such as the right to detain and interrogate suspected persons, which our police, under the jealous eye of the law, have never possessed. This might seem to give the French police the advantage as regards results, yet it is the fact that, with all their limitations, the English police can comparefavourably with that of our French neighbours, and, as has been said, if we have at times to reproach our servants with failure, there are also many undetected crimes, cases “classed,” or put by as hopeless, in France.
PALACE OF JUSTICE AND PREFECTURE OF POLICE, PARIS.PALACE OF JUSTICE AND PREFECTURE OF POLICE, PARIS.
A few stories may be inserted here illustrating the more prominent traits of the French detectives, their patience, courage promptitude, and ingenuity. No pains are too great to take; a clue is followed up at all costs and all hazards. The French detective is equal to any labours, any hardships, any emergency, any dangers. The words “two pounds of butter,” written on a scrap of paper found on the theatre of a great crime, led Canler and his officers to visit every butterman’s shop in Paris, till at last the man who had sold and the criminal who had bought the butter were found. In the same way a knife picked up was shown to every cutler until it was identified and the purchaser traced. A murdered man had been seen in company with another the day before the crime; the latter was described to the police, who got on his track within twenty-four hours, checked theemployment of his time, and found the tailor who had sold him his clothes; within another day his lodging was known, on the fourth he was arrested and the crime brought home to him. Two men on the watch for a criminal held on three days and nights out of doors, in December, almost without food, and, to justify their presence in the high road, pretended to be navvies working at repairs. Four detectives, in pursuit of five murderers, divided the business among them: one played the flute at a hall often visited by their men, another sold pencils in the street, a third worked in brickfields frequented by their quarry, a fourth kept the men wanted constantly in view.