"'JERUSH,' SAID GEORDIE, 'THIS CAN'T BE ME!'""'JERUSH,' SAID GEORDIE, 'THIS CAN'T BE ME!'"
"The letters can wait," said Geordie Potts, "but the bob can't, and I've five more besides. Jack might have had his whack out of it if he hadn't wanted to be my manager when he ain't fit for it."
He put the letters into his pocket and made his way to the Sandridge Arms, where he sat and drank by himself. It was seven o'clock, and he was by then tolerably "full," before it occurred to him to see if he still had the letters. He took them out, and the very first his eyes lighted on was one in a long envelope addressed to
"George Potts, Esq.,c/o Captain Smith,Patriarch."
"George Potts, Esq.,c/o Captain Smith,Patriarch."
"Jerush," said Geordie, "this can't be me! 'Esq.' is what they puts after names of gents. Even the skipper don't have it after his."
He fingered the long envelope and took another drink to consider the matter on.
"Snakes! it must be me," he said, as he drew confidence out of his glass; "there's no other Potts but me."
He was over-full by now, and he opened the letter and began to read it:—
"My Dear Sir——"
"By all that's living," said Geordie, "me 'my dear sir'!"
He went on reading:—
"My Dear Sir,—We regret to inform you of the sudden death of your uncle, Mr. Thomas Tyser, on the 10th instant. He left no will, and you, as the next of kin and heir-at-law, are entitled to all his real and personal estate, which is, as you are doubtless aware, very large.According to our present estimate it will amount to at least half a million sterling, and as we have been his legal advisers for the last twenty years and know all his affairs we can assure you that with proper management of certain undertakings at present in our hands, it may be much more than our estimate. In order that you may return at once we enclose you a draft on the Union Bank of Australia for two hundred pounds, and have instructed Captain Smith to give you your discharge, which he will, of course, do at once.
"We hope, as we have been so long in the confidence of Mr. Tyser, that you will see no reason to complain of our care of your interests.
"We are, my dear sir,"Your obedient servants,"Thomas Wiggs and Co."
"We are, my dear sir,
"Your obedient servants,
"Thomas Wiggs and Co."
"My stars!" said Geordie. And he stared aghast at a square piece of paper, which he had reason to believe represented two hundred pounds. "My stars! what a pot o' money!"
He gasped and took another drink.
"I'm the owner of thePatriarch," he said, and grasping all the letters and his two-hundred-pound draft he rammed them down into the bottom of his inside breast-pocket. "I'm the owner of—hic—the—hic—Patriarch."
He came out of his corner and went to the bar.
"Gimme a drink—an expensive drink, one that'll cost five bob," he demanded of the barman.
"You'd better have a bottle o' brandy," said the barman.
"I wants the best."
"This is Hennessy's forty star brandy," said the liar behind the bar. "There's no better in the world."
And Geordie retreated with the bottle to his corner and took a long drink of a poisonous compound which contained as much insanity in it as a small lunatic asylum. He came back to the bar presently and told the barman that he was a millionaire.
"I own half Newcastle and a lot of Bourke Street, Melbourne, and a baker's dozen of ships, and lumps of London!" said Geordie.
"Lend me a thousand pounds till to-morrow," said the barman.
"I like you—hic—I'll do it," said Geordie, and with that he fell headlong and forgot his wealth. They dragged him outside on the veranda and let him lie in the cool of the evening. He was picked up there two hours later by Jack Braby and some of the starboard watch and taken on board.
"He let on he was a millionaire," said the barman, contemptuously.
Braby shook his head.
"Ah, he's liable to allow that when he's full, sir," said Braby.
But that fatal bottle kept Geordie Potts wholly insensible till they were outside the Heads again and on their way to England, with the smoke of the tug-boat far astern. And presently the second mate, Mr. Brose, who was a very rough sort of dog, and had sweated his way up to his present exalted rank from that of a foremast hand, hauled Geordie out by the collar of his coat, and had him brought to by means of a bucketful of nice Bass's Straits water. Geordie gasped like a dying dolphin, but came to rapidly.
"I'll teach you to get drunk, you swab," said Brose. "Take them wet things off and turn to."
And Geordie obeyed like a child in the presence offorce majeure.
"Oh, I've got a head," he told his mates, "and it seems to me that I had a most extraordinary dream."
"Wot did you dream of, old Cocklywax?" asked Braby; "did you dream you'd come in for old Tyser's money?"
And Geordie gasped.
"S'help me," he murmured. "S'help me, did I dream?"
He dropped his marline-spike as if it were red hot and made a break for the fo'c's'le and his wet coat.
"Now if so be I dreamed," he said, "there'll be naught in this pocket. And if I didn't, I'm jiggered."
He put his hand in and brought out a handful of damp and crushed letters, and came out upon deck staggering. Mr. Brose saw him, and was on his tracks like a fish-hawk on a herring-gull. Geordie saw him coming and stood open-mouthed.
"Oh, sir," said Geordie. "Oh, sir——"
"Oh, rot," said Brose; "what's your little shenanakin game? Get to work, or I'll have you soused till you're half dead."
But Geordie could explain nothing.
"Oh, sir," he stammered, and held up his papers, shaking them feebly. And Brose shook him, anything but feebly, so that Geordie's teeth chattered.
"If you please, sir," he cried out at last, "if you please, sir, don't. I owns her."
"You owns wot?" demanded Brose; and the rest of the men edged as near as they dared.
"BROSE SHOOK HIS MATE ONCE MORE.""BROSE SHOOK HIS MATE ONCE MORE."
"He's drunk still," said Braby, as Brose shook his mate once more.
"I owns the ballyPatriarch," screamed Geordie, "and all the rest of 'em, and all my uncle's richness, and I won't be shook, I won't!"
And Brose let him go.
"You're mad," said Brose, "you're mad."
"I ain't," roared Geordie, who was fast recovering from the shock, "I ain't. Take these; read 'em—read 'em out; let the skipper read 'em. I owns thePatriarchand thePalermoand theProosianand the whole line. The lawyer says so!"
He put the lot of damp letters into Mr. Brose's hands and sat down on the spare top-mast lashed under the rail.
"There's letters for the captain 'ere," said Brose, suspiciously; "'ow did you get 'em?"
"'Twas a youngster from the office give 'em me," replied Geordie, "and I took a drink first, and there was one for me, and it said so—said I was the owner, said it plain."
And when Brose had read the opened letter he gasped too and went aft to see the skipper. The rest of the watch gathered round Geordie and spoke in awe-struck whispers.
"Is it true, Geordie?"
"Gospel," said Geordie. "It's swore to. They sends me two hundred quid in a paper."
"Show us," said the starbowlines, "show us."
"'Tis in the paper the second has," said Geordie. "It's wrote, 'Pay George Potts, Esq., two hundred quid on the nail.'"
"I'd never 'ave let the second 'ave it," said Braby. "Like as not 'e'll keep it."
"Then I'll sack him," said Geordie, firmly. "Let him dare try to keep it, and I'll sack him and not pay him no wages."
"This is a very strange game, this is," said Braby. "I never 'eard tell of the likes. Did they put 'Esk' on your letter?"
"They done so," said Geordie. "I've seen uncle's letters and they done so to him."
"Then it must be true," said Braby. "They only puts 'Esk' on gents' letters."
And Williams, the steward, was observed coming for'ard scratching his head.
"Where the deuce am I?" asked Williams, "and wot's the game? I'm sent by the captain to say, 'Will Mr. Potts step into the cabin?'"
They all looked at Geordie.
"Mr. Potts? Why, that's you, Geordie."
"I s'pose it must be," said the owner. "Must I go, mates?"
"Of course," cried Braby.
But Geordie fidgeted.
"I could go in if we were painting of her cabin," he murmured; "but to talk with the skipper——"
That evidently disgruntled him.
"'Tis your own cabin any'ow," said Braby. "I'd walk in like a lord."
"Well, I s'pose I must," said Geordie, reluctantly, and he went aft with Williams.
"And you're the owner?" asked Williams.
Geordie sighed.
"So it seems, stooard," he admitted.
"It licks creation," said Williams.
"So it does," said Geordie, and the next moment he found himself announced as "Mr. Potts," and he stood before the captain with his cap in his hand, looking as if he was about to be put in irons for mutiny; but, as a matter of fact, the old skipper was a deal more nervous than he was.
"This seems all correct, Mr. Potts," said Smith.
"Does it, sir?" asked Geordie. "I'm very sorry, sir, but it ain't my fault, sir. I never meant—at least, I never allowed my uncle would do it, because my father, sir, said he was a bloodsucker, and they fought, and I hit uncle with a brick, sir, to make him let go of father's beard."
"Oh, yes, to be sure," said the captain, nervously, "but I'm thinking what to do. It's a very anomalous situation for you to be here, Potts—Mr. Potts, I mean."
But Geordie held up his hand.
"I'dmuchrather be Potts, sir, thanking you all the same."
"I couldn't do it," replied the skipper. "I was thinking that you might like me to put back to Melbourne?"
"Wot for, sir?" demanded the owner.
"So that you could go home in a P. and O. boat," said old Smith.
"Thanking you kindly, sir," replied Geordie, "I'd rather stay in thePatriarch. I don't like steamers and never did."
He had a vague notion that the skipper wanted him to go home before the mast in one.
"Then you wish me not to put back, Mr. Potts?" said Smith.
"I'd very much rather not, sir," replied Geordie. "I'm very happy here, sir, and takin' it all round thePatriarch'sa comfortable ship, sir. May I go for'ard now, sir?"
He made a step for the cabin door.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," said old Smith, "you mustn't; you must have a berth here and be a passenger."
The skipper's obvious nervousness was not without its effect upon the new owner. For old Smith knew that if he lost his present billet he was not likely to find another one, and he had nothing saved to speak of. So somehow, and without knowing why, Geordie, without being in the least disrespectful, was more decided in his answer than he would have been if the "old man" had showed himself as hard and severe as usual.
"Not me," said Geordie, "not me, sir; I wouldn't and I couldn't. I'd be that uncomfortable—oh, a passenger, good evings, no!"
"But bein' owner youcan'tstay for'ard," urged the skipper.
"Oh, yes, I can, sir," said Geordie; "I'd prefer it."
Smith sighed.
"If you prefer it, of course you must. But if you change your mind you'll let me know."
"Right—I will, sir," said Geordie.
The skipper walked with him to the cabin door.
"And if you don't want to work, Mr. Potts, I dare say we can get on without your services, though we shall miss them," he said, anxiously.
"I couldn't lie about and do nix," replied Geordie. "I'd die of it."
And away he went for'ard, while the skipper and Mr. Brose and Mr. Ware, waked out of his watch below to hear the extraordinary news, discussed the situation.
"And 'ave I to call 'im Mr. Potts?" asked Brose, with a pathetic air of disgust.
"I say so," replied the skipper. "I can'tafford, Brose, as you know, to lose this job. And old Tyser promised me a kind of marine superintendent's billet when I left thePatriarch, and I dessay this young chap will act decent about it."
"I'm fair knocked," replied Ware. "I'm jolly glad that he ain't in my watch. This is hard lines on you, Brose."
"If you please, Mr. Potts, will you be so good has to be so kind has to be so hobliging as to go and over'aul the gear on the main," piped Brose, in furious mockery, "Oh, this is 'ard!"
"Far from it," said old Smith; "you ought to be proud. It ain't every second mate has a millionaire owner in his watch."
But Brose was sullen.
"You mark me, this josser won't do no 'and's turn that 'e don't like."
And for'ard the crowd said the same. As a result, for at least ten days Geordie Potts worked very well indeed. But, of course, Brose, under the skipper's orders, gave him all the soft jobs that were going. The second mate got into a mode of exaggerated courtesy which was almost painful.
"Be so good, Mr. Potts, as to put a nice, neat Matthew Walker on this 'ere lanyard."
Or—
"Mr. Potts, please be kind enough to go aloft and stop that spilling line to the jack-stay."
And at meal times the port watch mimicked Brose.
"Dear Mr. Potts, howner, be so good as to heat this 'orrid 'ash without growling."
And presently, when the weather began to get cold and the men brought out their Cape Horn pea-jackets and their mitts, Geordie commenced to growl a little.
"'IF YOU DON'T WANT TO WORK, MR. POTTS, I DARESAY WE CAN GET ON WITHOUT YOUR SERVICES,' HE SAID.""'IF YOU DON'T WANT TO WORK, MR. POTTS, I DARESAY WE CAN GET ON WITHOUT YOUR SERVICES,' HE SAID."
"I hates turnin' out in the gravy-eye watch worse and worse," he said. "I've half a mind to let on I'm sick."
"You'd better go haft and tell the old man to 'ave the galley fire kep' alight all night," said the crowd, crossly. "But you dasn't."
"I dast," said Geordie; "why, I owns the bally galley!"
"You dasn't!"
"I will," said Geordie. And next morning he went aft and touched his cap to the skipper and begged to be allowed to speak to him.
"The galley fire at night?" said Smith. "Oh, certainly, Mr. Potts. I never done it because it was against the horders of your late revered huncle, sir."
"He was as mean as mean," said Geordie; "I think I can afford the fire, sir."
The fire was lighted and the crowd said Geordie was the right sort.
"And wot about the gear, Mr. Howner?" asked Jack Braby. "If I was you, before it gets too rotten cold I'd 'ave a real over'aulin' of things."
"I'll think of it," said Geordie. And that very afternoon he tackled Brose.
"The gear's tolerable rotten, sir," he began. And the second greaser knew he was right and yet didn't like to say so. He yearned to curse him. "And I'm thinkin'," said Geordie, "it would be a good thing to get up new stuff and overhaul everything. I risks my life every time I goes aloft. The very reef earings would part if a schoolgirl yanked at 'em."
"You'd better speak to Mr. Ware," said Brose, choking.
And at eight bells Geordie spoke to the chief officer, who was quite as anxious as the skipper to keep his billet.
"It shall be done, Mr. Potts," said Ware.
In the first watch that night Geordie felt very tired, and said so. When it was eight bells in the middle watch he was still asleep, or pretended to be.
"Rouse out, howner," said Braby, and he shook Geordie up.
"I feels tolerable ill," said Geordie; "I don't think I shall turn out."
He didn't, and the rest of the port watch went on deck by themselves. At the muster Mr. Potts didn't answer to his name.
"Mr. Potts is hill, sir," said the obsequious watch; "'e said 'e couldn't turn out."
"I thought it would come soon," said Brose to himself. And he went for'ard to the fo'c's'le.
"Are youveryill?" he asked, drily.
"I don't know quite how I feel," said the owner, "but I thinks a little drop of brandy would do me good."
"I wish I could poison it," said Brose, under his voice. "This is most 'umiliatin' to a man in the persition of an officer."
By noon Geordie was well enough to sit on deck and smoke a pipe. The "old man" came to see him.
"Wouldn't you like a berth aft now, Mr. Potts?" urged the skipper.
"I'll think about it, captain," said Geordie. "And in the meantime I don't think I'll turn to."
The skipper turned to Brose.
"We can dispense with Mr. Potts's services for the time, eh, Mr. Brose?"
"Certingly," said Brose. But he walked to the rail and spat into the great Pacific.
From that time onward Geordie did no work to speak of except to take his trick at the wheel. And when they were south of the Horn he decided to do that no longer.
"If you'll take my wheel for the rest of the passage, I'll double your wages," he said to Braby. And Braby jumped at the offer. In the morning Geordie went to the poop. It was noticeable that he went up the weather poop ladder. Except in cases of hurry and emergency such a thing is next door to gross insubordination at sea.
"I ain't goin' to take no more wheels," said Geordie. "And Braby will take mine. I've doubled his wages."
Even old Smith gasped. As for Brose, he felt sea-sick for the first time since he first went down Channel in an outward-bounder thirty years before.
"I'll make a note of it," said the skipper.
They shortened sail in a quick flurry of a gale out of the south-west later in the day, and as all the topsails were down on the cap at once it was "jump," and no mistake. As an act of kindly condescension the owner went to the wheel and shoved away the Dutchman there, who was congratulating himself on not being on a topsail yard.
"Get aloft, you Dutch swab," said Geordie; "I'll take her for you."
And Mr. Ware bellowed like a bull, for he had a fine foretopsail voice, and when it was a real breeze his language rose with the seas and was fine and flowery, vigorous and ornamental, and magnificent. While he was in the middle of a peroration which would have excited envy in Cicero, or Burke, or a barrister with no case, he heard the owner shouting; for a private interview with the steward had given Geordie great confidence.
"Mr. Ware, Mr. Ware, I'd be glad if you'd cuss the men less. I don't like it."
The chief officer collapsed as if he were a balloon with a hole in it. And for the next minute he and the skipper engaged in an excited conversation.
"I can't—can't stand it," said Ware.
"You must," said old Smith, almost tearfully.
And Ware did stand it. But when thePatriarchwas shortened down and he left the deck, he went below and swore very horribly for five minutes by any chronometer.
"Now I know what Brose feels," said Ware. "I've a great sympathy for poor Brose."
The owner ordered a tot for all hands when they came down from aloft. And he called the cook aft and harangued him from the break of the poop.
"Now, Mr. Spoil-Grub, mind you cook better than you've been doin', or I'll have you ducked in a tub and set your mate to do your work."
He turned to the skipper with a beaming smile in his blue eyes.
"I can talk straight, can't I, cap?" he hiccoughed, blandly. "I'm thinkin' I'll lie down in the cabin."
And when the old man went below he found Geordie dossing in his own sacred bunk. The poor old chap went and sat in the cabin and put his head on his hands.
"This is a most horrid experience," he said, mournfully. "I don't like howners on board—I don't like 'em a bit."
But it was not only the after-guard who suffered. Geordie shifted his dunnage aft at last, and though when he was sober he left the skipper's berth, he made himself very comfortable in the steward's. And he loafed about all day on deck with his pipe in his mouth. He began to look at the men with alien eyes.
"I tell you they're loafin'," said he to Ware. "Don't I know 'em? They watches you like cats, and when your eyes are off 'em they do nothin'. I'm payin' 'em to work and I'm payin' you to make 'em. There's a leak somewhere."
And he addressed the crowd from the poop.
"You're a lazy lot," he said, "that's wot you are. For two pins I'd put out the galley fire, and I'd cut off your afternoon watch below."
And next day he raised their wages. A week later he cut them down again. The skipper had a hard job to keep track of what the ship owed them.
"I wish we was home," groaned old Smith. "Oh, he'll be a terror of an owner!"
"I'll murder him," said Brose.
"Wot did I tell you chaps about the 'orrid effecs of sudden richness on a man?" asked the old fo'c's'le man for'ard. "Geordie Potts was a good sort, but Mr. George Potts, Esquire, is an 'oly terror. 'E raises hus hup and cuts hus down like grass."
And it presently came about that the only time they had any peace was when Geordie was very much intoxicated. But when they got into the calms of Capricorn on the home stretch to the north he developed a taste for gambling and made the old skipper sit up all night playing "brag" for huge sums of money.
"I lends you the dibs, and, win or lose, it's all hunky for you," said Geordie. He made out orders to pay the "old man" several thousand pounds, and Smith began to feel rich. Then Geordie raked Ware into the game. At last even Brose succumbed to the lure of "I promises to pay Mr. Brose five hundred on the nail," and joined the gamble.
"This is a dash comfortable ship," said Geordie. "What's a few thousand to me? I don't mind losin'. Stooard, bring rum."
"HE ADDRESSED THE CROWD FROM THE POOP.""HE ADDRESSED THE CROWD FROM THE POOP."
By the time they picked up the north-east trades poor old Smith owed the "owner" ten thousand pounds. Ware was five thousand to the good, and Brose, who had played poker in California, was worth fifteen thousand in strange paper. He began to dream of a row of houses with a public-house at each end. He and Geordie grew quite thick and compared public-house ideals.
"I'm goin' to buy a hotel," said Geordie;"there's one in Trafalgar Square, London, as I've in my mind. I'll fit up the bar till it fair blazes with golden bottles."
He borrowed the mate's clothes and had a roaring time, and then they came into the Channel and picked up a tug, and went round the Foreland into London river.
"I'll bet lawyers and so on will be down to meet me," said Geordie. "They'll be full up with gold. To think of it! And to think I hit my poor old uncle with a brick!"
He mourned over his brutality.
"He wasn't half a bad chap," he said, "and I don't see what call my dad had to call him a bloodsucker after all."
They docked in the South-West Dock, and sure enough they had not been alongside their berth five minutes before old Tyser's usual London agent and a very legal-looking person came on board.
"Let me introduce you to the new owner," said the obsequious skipper, as he led up Geordie, who had a smile on him large enough to cut a mainsail out of.
"Oh," said the lawyer, "then this is Mr. Potts?"
"That's me," said Geordie. "Have you brought any money with you? I owes Mr. Ware five thousand and Mr. Brose fifteen."
The lawyer smiled.
"I'm afraid there's some mistake, Mr. Potts. Your uncle left a will after all."
"I'M AFRAID THERE'S SOME MISTAKE, MR. POTTS.""I'M AFRAID THERE'S SOME MISTAKE, MR. POTTS."
Geordie's jaw dropped and so did Ware's. But Brose's fell as falls the barometer in the centre of a cyclone.
"And me—did he leave me nothin'?" roared Geordie.
"Oh, yes," said the solicitor. "Mr. Gray, will you kindly give me that cash-box you are carrying?"
And the agent handed him the cash-box. "He left you this," said the lawyer. "And in this sealed envelope is the key."
Geordie grabbed the box eagerly.
"It's heavy," he said, "it's tolerable heavy."
And putting it on the rail he opened it with the key.
There was half a brick in it.
DETECTIVES RECEIVING A LECTURE ON THE METHOD OF IDENTIFICATION BY NOSES. From a Photo.DETECTIVES RECEIVING A LECTURE ON THE METHOD OF IDENTIFICATION BY NOSES.From a Photo.
The painter and the writer, the world has been assured repeatedly by the very highest authorities, can never encroach very far on each other's domains. Whereas a picture conveys the same idea to every beholder, so far at least as the outward aspect of the personages represented is concerned, a mere description can only give such vague and hazy outlines that the ideas of no two readers need ever be identical. How is it that no critic has ever suggested that this apparent inferiority of literature might, perhaps, simply be lack of science on the part of the author? Such, however, would appear to be the logical deduction to be drawn from the innovation which M. Bertillon, after ten years' persistent efforts, has recently succeeded in getting officially adopted by the Paris Detective Police.
M. Bertillon has proved that the appearance of any individual may be expressed in terms so clear, precise, and unequivocal that identically the same image is evoked in the mind of everybody who hears or reads the description. With nothing else but such a description to guide him in his search, anybody of normal intelligence is able, after a few lessons from the inventor of the system, to unerringly pick out the person indicated from a crowd, however great, and in an incredibly short time. The new method materially adds to the efficacy of the anthropometrical system of identification, with which the name of Bertillon, the inventor of the "thumb-prints" method, is inseparably connected. A brief outline of that system may here be given.
The variety of Nature is infinite; she never repeats herself. No two leaves are ever precisely alike, much less two human beings. A superficial observer may fancy that two individuals resemble each other in a remarkable manner. Let him examine them more attentively; he will find that they differ radically in almost every detail. The farther he carries his examination the more numerous and the more conspicuous will the differences appear, until at last he may almost experience a difficulty in discovering any trace of the resemblance that before seemed so striking. This is arésuméof some of the principal axioms at the base of M. Bertillon's teaching.
Every person, then, who for one reason or another comes within the power of the lawin France and in some other countries is photographed and measured in prevision of his transgressing on some future occasion.
THESE ARE THE PORTRAITS OF A CRIMINAL, TAKEN IN PROFILE AND FULL FACE.THESE ARE THE PORTRAITS OF A CRIMINAL, TAKEN IN PROFILE AND FULL FACE.
THIS IS THE SAME CRIMINAL, WHO WAS IDENTIFIED BY A DETECTIVE AND ARRESTED ON THE EVIDENCE OF HIS EARS.THIS IS THE SAME CRIMINAL, WHO WAS IDENTIFIED BY A DETECTIVE AND ARRESTED ON THE EVIDENCE OF HIS EARS.
The complete description and measurements are transferred to a piece of thin cardboard, on which are also pasted two photographs of the subject—one full face, the other in profile, both reduced to one-seventh of life size. This is termed the prisoner's "fiche," which is now put away for future reference. Every year about twelve thousand "fiches" are thus added to the collection in Paris. In ten years this means one hundred and twenty thousand; in twenty years nearly a quarter of a million.
Let us assume now that a crime has been committed. All the evidence tends to prove that the culprit is none other than a certain man who passed through M. Bertillon's hands some years ago. His "fiche" is taken out, and copies of the photograph on it are distributed in the usual quarters. This old photograph is the only guide the police have by which to identify the fugitive. In the interval that has elapsed since it was taken, however, the man's outward appearance may have so completely changed that he might now walk under the very nose of the cleverest detectives in Europe, trained in the old school, without being recognised. Just such a case occurred quite recently in Paris, and was specially taken in hand by one of the most experienced men the "Sûreté" possessed at the time, but without result. Six months later a comparatively inexperienced detective arrested the criminal, who was on the point of embarking for America. Trained by M. Bertillon's new method to concentrate his attention exclusively on features which hardly ever vary, and to neglect entirely such accidental details as the fashion of wearing the hair and beard and the apparel, he had at once recognised the person he was in search of by the characteristic shape of ears and nose. This case is given in the accompanying photographs.
The contrary case to the foregoing instance—that is to say, the arrest of an innocent man, on the ground that he resembled a photograph in the detective's possession—used to be an all too frequent occurrence. Not even the very keenest of the law's sleuthhounds were able to avoid such mistakes. A good example is shown in the photographs next reproduced. Innumerable instances, too, are recorded of people claiming, as that of a brother, a husband, or a son who had disappeared, a body which, had they but been M. Bertillon's pupilsfor an hour, they could never by any possibility have confounded with their missing relative. So persuaded have women often been of the accuracy of their own judgment that there have been cases in which they have at first indignantly repudiated the husband or son who subsequently reappears on the scene in flesh and blood and seeks to prove that he is not dead after all.
A detective is now taught that he must use the photograph he is supplied with merely as a check, to make assurance doubly sure, before he ventures on an arrest. What he must principally rely upon is the visual portrait he can evoke in his own imagination, a portrait which, he is told, is only valuable so far as he is able to describe it in words. That which we cannot clearly describe we cannot clearly conceive, is the pith of M. Bertillon's teaching. The pupil is, consequently, made to analyze each feature of the photograph separately, and express the result in certain conventional formulæ that convey a definite meaning to his own mind and to the mind of everybody else who has studied the same method. He makes, in fact, "a portrait in words."
The feature that presents the greatest diversity of form and size is the ear, and, strangely enough, the ear is precisely a feature which we hardly ever consciously look at. It has been reserved for M. Bertillon to point out how admirably it is adapted for the purpose of establishing a person's identity. The size of the ear, the relative proportions to one another of the folds, its contour, the surface and shape of the lobe, the manner the lobe is attached to the cheek, and the inclination of the bottom interior ridge known as the antitragus differ most materially in every individual. Let a modern French detective describe an ear as "Deq. cav. vex. tra. sep"; all his colleagues are immediately able to form a mental image of the description of ear he means.
THESE ARE THE PORTRAITS OF A CRIMINAL.THESE ARE THE PORTRAITS OF A CRIMINAL.
THESE ARE PORTRAITS OF AN INNOCENT MAN WHO WAS ARRESTED BY AN UNTRAINED DETECTIVE AS BEING THE SAME MAN, BUT HIS EARS ALONE WERE SUFFICIENT TO ACQUIT HIM.THESE ARE PORTRAITS OF AN INNOCENT MAN WHO WAS ARRESTED BY AN UNTRAINED DETECTIVE AS BEING THE SAME MAN, BUT HIS EARS ALONE WERE SUFFICIENT TO ACQUIT HIM.
Similarly for the nose, of which three main varieties are recognised, according as the line of the back is concave, rectilinear, or convex. Each of these three principal classes is divided into three divisions according to the direction of the base line—ascending, horizontal, or descending. The degree of concavity or convexity of the line of the nose,as well as the degree in which the base line descends or mounts, is indicated in very simple fashion by putting the term denoting the form into brackets or underlining it. Thus a moderately concave-backed nose is expressed by the abbreviation "cav."; if the concavity is very slightly marked by (cav.); and, if very accentuated, bycav.Noses of which the line is very sinuous or arched are denoted by the abbreviations "s" and "a." A nose described ascav.(s) would have a very strongly-marked concavity and be slightly sinuous, whereas (cav.)swould denote a nose but slightly concave, but with a very sinuous outline. The form of the root of the nose is also indicated in similar fashion to the back and base. So much for the shape of the nose. Its dimensions relatively to the face, its width, length, and degree of projection, are also indicated, for it is evident that size is quite independent of shape.
The degree of inclination of the forehead is another feature that is noted, as well as the general aspect of the complexion, colour of hair and eyes, and anything about the face that is in the least abnormal.
The entire course of instruction in "word-portraits" extends over thirty lessons of two hours each. At the end of the course an examination is held, in which the pupil must acquit himself honourably in the practical tests imposed upon him, if he wishes to obtain the coveted certificate, without which he can now hope for no promotion. Several hundred persons are assembled; with the exception of a few privileged strangers, almost all are connected directly or indirectly with the various services of the police administration. M. Bertillon or his principal lieutenant, M. Payen, hands a slip of paper to the candidate, containing some such brief indications as the following: "R—cav. (deq.) cav. × 1·62. O. 1878." "Pick out the person to whom this refers," adds the examiner. In an incredibly short space of time one of the audience finds himself "under arrest." The figures 1·62, it may be said, denote the person's height; "O" stands for orange-coloured eyes; and 1878 denotes, approximately, the year of birth—that is, that he is now about twenty-six years of age.
DIFFERENT TYPES OF EARS FROM THE CLASSIFICATION-BOOK.DIFFERENT TYPES OF EARS FROM THE CLASSIFICATION-BOOK.
We have the authority of our cleverest modern humorist for the statement that the burglar and the cut-throat like a little innocent amusement occasionally; what wonder, then, if the austere detective does also? His chiefs, therefore, thoughtfully turn these examinations into occasions of grave merry-making by giving one or other of the examinees a descriptive portrait of some high functionary, perhaps of the Prefect of Police himself, should he be present. The fledgeling is thus placed in a dilemma; he must either display his incompetence or do violence to all his notions of respect for the official hierarchy, and put a disrespectful hand on one of the few shoulders in the world that he has looked upon as sacred. The manner in which the luckless wight acquits himself of his invidious task forms the theme of many a conversation in the "highest detective circles" of the French capital for the next week or so.
M. Bertillon has recently compiled an album containing about fifteen hundred photographs of the most notorious French criminals, classified exclusively by the shape of their ears and noses and their height. The man whoseportrait figures in this blackest of black books has, at any rate, the satisfaction of knowing that his physiognomy will not disappear from the world without leaving some memories behind it.
Other black books contain portraits of foreigners of different nationalities. The writer was allowed to peep into that relating to "English and American" malefactors who are at loggerheads with the Paris Prefecture of Police, and was patriotically pleased to find that their total number—five hundred—is only one-fifth that of the Belgians. A very large proportion, too, of thesesoi-disantEnglish and American citizens, if their names are any criterion, might be Russians, Danes, Turks, or Prussians, but are certainly not Englishmen. Anglo-Saxondom may flatter herself that, in so far as France is concerned, she is a most exemplary race.
When the practice of portraits in words becomes generalized, as will no doubt very soon be the case, members of all those professions at which the laws of most countries persist in looking askance will have but a sorry time, if, indeed, they are able to subsist at all. Within the space of an hour or two telegraph and telephone will have carried a brief but unmistakable word-portrait of them to every corner of the civilized world if necessary. In large towns like London and Paris, twenty thousand pairs of trained eyes, covering the entire area of the city, can be set simultaneously on the search for the fugitive murderer or burglar, who will discover that the old methods of disguise are of but little use to him. A rumour that certain London banks contemplated having all theiremployésmeasured and photographed on M. Bertillon's system caused a considerable amount of murmuring recently, the measure being considered as somewhat derogatory by the clerks. By this extension of the method, however, their portraits can be taken without their knowledge, since neither camera nor measuring rule is necessary. Absconding cashiers will, in future, therefore have to be remarkably circumspect in their choice of foreign residence. Impostors like the claimant to the Tichborne estates, whose trial convulsed the Anglo-Saxon world over thirty years ago, will be given short shrift. It may be remarked, however, that one of the principal points brought forward at the trial to prove that the Claimant was not the man he pretended to be was precisely that the lobe of his ear was quite differently formed to the lobe of the real Roger Tichborne. This only proves once more the old adage that under the sun there is nothing new.
DETECTIVES RECEIVING A LESSON ON EARS. From a Photo.DETECTIVES RECEIVING A LESSON ON EARS.From a Photo.
The writer would here express his thanks to M. Lepine, the Prefect of Police, and M. Bertillon for their extreme courtesy in acceding to his request to be allowed to attend the course of lessons, and also for permission to use the photographs now reproduced.