On the other hand, the Detective Force organised since the establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and trained, proceeds so systematically12 and quietly, does its business in such a workmanlike manner, and is always so calmly and steadily13 engaged in the service of the public, that the public really do not know enough of it, to know a tithe14 of its usefulness. Impressed with this conviction, and interested in the men themselves, we represented to the authorities at Scotland Yard, that we should be glad, if there were no official objection, to have some talk with the Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission being given, a certain evening was appointed with a certain Inspector16 for a social conference between ourselves and the Detectives, at The Household Words Office in Wellington Street, Strand17, London. In consequence of which appointment the party ‘came off,’ which we are about to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or disagreeable to respectable individuals, to touch upon in print, our description is as exact as we can make it.
The reader will have the goodness to imagine the Sanctum Sanctorum of Household Words. Anything that best suits the reader’s fancy, will best represent that magnificent chamber18. We merely stipulate19 for a round table in the middle, with some glasses and cigars arranged upon it; and the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed20 in between that stately piece of furniture and the wall.
It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of Wellington Street are hot and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen at the Theatre opposite, are much flushed and aggravated21. Carriages are constantly setting down the people who have come to Fairy-Land; and there is a mighty22 shouting and bellowing23 every now and then, deafening24 us for the moment, through the open windows.
Just at dusk, Inspectors25 Wield26 and Stalker are announced; but we do not undertake to warrant the orthography27 of any of the names here mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector Wield is a middle-aged28 man of a portly presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger, which is constantly in juxtaposition29 with his eyes or nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman — in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster, from the Normal Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield one might have known, perhaps, for what he is — Inspector Stalker, never.
The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker observe that they have brought some sergeants31 with them. The sergeants are presented — five in number, Sergeant30 Dornton, Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant Straw. We have the whole Detective Force from Scotland Yard, with one exception. They sit down in a semi-circle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a glance, immediately takes an inventory32 of the furniture and an accurate sketch33 of the editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in company could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest hesitation34, twenty years hence.
The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt forehead, has the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army — he might have sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is famous for steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small beginnings, working on from clue to clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem, shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. He is renowned35 for his acquaintance with the swell36 mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced man with a fresh bright complexion37, and a strange air of simplicity38, is a dab39 at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, a light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a prodigious41 hand at pursuing private inquiries42 of a delicate nature. Straw, a little wiry Sergeant of meek43 demeanour and strong sense, would knock at a door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you choose to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards44, and seem as innocent as an infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking men; of perfectly45 good deportment and unusual intelligence; with nothing lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen observation and quick perception when addressed; and generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually46 leading lives of strong mental excitement. They have all good eyes; and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever they speak to.
We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very temperately47 used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob. Inspector Wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves his right hand, and says, ‘Regarding the swell mob, sir, I can’t do better than call upon Sergeant Witchem. Because the reason why? I’ll tell you. Sergeant Witchem is better acquainted with the swell mob than any officer in London.’
Our heart leaping up when we beheld48 this rainbow in the sky, we turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely49, and in well-chosen language, goes into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of his brother officers are closely interested in attending to what he says, and observing its effect. Presently they begin to strike in, one or two together, when an opportunity offers, and the conversation becomes general. But these brother officers only come in to the assistance of each other — not to the contradiction — and a more amicable50 brotherhood51 there could not be. From the swell mob, we diverge52 to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, public-house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out ‘gonophing,’ and other ‘schools.’ It is observable throughout these revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is always exact and statistical53, and that when any question of figures arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to him.
When we have exhausted54 the various schools of Art — during which discussion the whole body have remained profoundly attentive55, except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the way has induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in that direction, behind his next neighbour’s back — we burrow56 for information on such points as the following. Whether there really are any highway robberies in London, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be mentioned by the aggrieved57 party, usually precede the robberies complained of, under that head, which quite change their character? Certainly the latter, almost always. Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence58 under suspicion ever becomes so like guilt59 in appearance, that a good officer need be cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly60. Nothing is so common or deceptive61 as such appearances at first. Whether in a place of public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a thief — supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other — because each recognises in the other, under all disguise, an inattention to what is going on, and a purpose that is not the purpose of being entertained? Yes. That’s the way exactly. Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged62 experiences of thieves as narrated63 by themselves, in prisons, or penitentiaries64, or anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd. Lying is their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie — even if they hadn’t an interest in it, and didn’t want to make themselves agreeable — than tell the truth.
From these topics, we glide65 into a review of the most celebrated66 and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within the last fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery of almost all of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension68 of the murderers, are here, down to the very last instance. One of our guests gave chase to and boarded the emigrant69 ship, in which the murderess last hanged in London was supposed to have embarked70. We learn from him that his errand was not announced to the passengers, who may have no idea of it to this hour. That he went below, with the captain, lamp in hand — it being dark, and the whole steerage abed and sea-sick — and engaged the Mrs. Manning who WAS on board, in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with no small pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the light. Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he quietly re-embarked in the Government steamer along-side, and steamed home again with the intelligence.
When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seat. Sergeant Witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on each of his legs, then modestly speaks as follows:
‘My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn’t to tell what he has done himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as nobody but myself can tell it, I’ll do it in the best way I can, if it should meet your approval.’
We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention.
‘Tally-ho Thompson,’ says Sergeant Witchem, after merely wetting his lips with his brandy-and-water, ‘Tally-ho Thompson was a famous horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with a pal71 that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out of a good round sum of money, under pretence72 of getting him a situation — the regular old dodge73 — and was afterwards in the “Hue and Cry” for a horse — a horse that he stole down in Hertfordshire. I had to look after Thompson, and I applied74 myself, of course, in the first instance, to discovering where he was. Now, Thompson’s wife lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the house — especially at post-time in the morning — thinking Thompson was pretty likely to write to her. Sure enough, one morning the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs. Thompson’s door. Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We’re not always sure of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always very obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not, — just as it happens. However, I go across the road, and I say to the postman, after he has left the letter, “Good morning! how are you?” “How are YOU!” says he. “You’ve just delivered a letter for Mrs. Thompson.” “Yes, I have.” “You didn’t happen to remark what the post-mark was, perhaps?” “No,” says he, “I didn’t.” “Come,” says I, “I’ll be plain with you. I’m in a small way of business, and I have given Thompson credit, and I can’t afford to lose what he owes me. I know he’s got money, and I know he’s in the country, and if you could tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very much obliged to you, and you’d do a service to a tradesman in a small way of business that can’t afford a loss.” “Well,” he said, “I do assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was; all I know is, that there was money in the letter — I should say a sovereign.” This was enough for me, because of course I knew that Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she’d write to Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. So I said “Thankee” to the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the afternoon I saw the little girl come out. Of course I followed her. She went into a stationer’s shop, and I needn’t say to you that I looked in at the window. She bought some writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. I think to myself, “That’ll do!” — watch her home again — and don’t go away, you may be sure, knowing that Mrs. Thompson was writing her letter to Tally-ho, and that the letter would be posted presently. In about an hour or so, out came the little girl again, with the letter in her hand. I went up, and said something to the child, whatever it might have been; but I couldn’t see the direction of the letter, because she held it with the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back of the letter there was what we call a kiss — a drop of wax by the side of the seal — and again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her post the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and asked to see the Master. When he came out, I told him, “Now, I’m an Officer in the Detective Force; there’s a letter with a kiss been posted here just now, for a man that I’m in search of; and what I have to ask of you, is, that you will let me look at the direction of that letter.” He was very civil — took a lot of letters from the box in the window — shook ’em out on the counter with the faces downwards75 — and there among ’em was the identical letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, B-, to be left till called for. Down I went to B— (a hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I went to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, and track, the party that should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, “You shall have every assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the office; and we’ll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the letter.” Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody ever WOULD come. At last the clerk whispered to me, “Here! Detective! Somebody’s come for the letter!” “Keep him a minute,” said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw a young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the bridle76 — stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he waited at the Post Office Window for the letter. I began to pat the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, “Why, this is Mr. Jones’s Mare77!” “No. It an’t.” “No?” said I. “She’s very like Mr. Jones’s Mare!” “She an’t Mr. Jones’s Mare, anyhow,” says he. “It’s Mr. So and So’s, of the Warwick Arms.” And up he jumped, and off he went — letter and all. I got a cab, followed on the box, and was so quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. I went into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for a glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her the letter. She casually78 looked at it, without saying anything, and stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What was to be done next?
‘I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water (looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn’t see my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings79 in the house, but there had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was full. I was obliged to put up somewhere else, but I came backwards81 and forwards to the bar for a couple of days, and there was the letter always behind the glass. At last I thought I’d write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do. So I wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what THAT would do. In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my letter. “Is there a Mr. John Pigeon staying here?” “No! — stop a bit though,” says the barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the glass. “No,” says she, “it’s Thomas, and HE is not staying here. Would you do me a favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?” The postman said Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, and gave it him. He put it in his hat, and away he went.
‘I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R-, Northamptonshire, to be left till called for. Off I started directly for R-; I said the same at the Post Office there, as I had said at B-; and again I waited three days before anybody came. At last another chap on horseback came. “Any letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon?” “Where do you come from?” “New Inn, near R-.” He got the letter, and away HE went at a canter.
‘I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R-, and hearing it was a solitary82 sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a couple of miles from the station, I thought I’d go and have a look at it. I found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to look about me. The landlady83 was in the bar, and I was trying to get into conversation with her; asked her how business was, and spoke40 about the wet weather, and so on; when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlour, or kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!
‘I went and sat down among ’em, and tried to make things agreeable; but they were very shy — wouldn’t talk at all — looked at me, and at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable84. I reckoned ’em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me, and considering that their looks were ugly — that it was a lonely place — railroad station two miles off — and night coming on — thought I couldn’t do better than have a drop of brandy-and-water to keep my courage up. So I called for my brandy-and-water; and as I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson got up and went out.
‘Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn’t sure it WAS Thompson, because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted was to be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. It turned out afterwards that he was wanted by a Northampton officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer to be pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have observed, I found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his shoulder — this way — and said, “Tally-ho Thompson, it’s no use. I know you. I’m an officer from London, and I take you into custody85 for felony!” “That be d-d!” says Tally-ho Thompson.
‘We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up rough, and their looks didn’t please me at all, I assure you. “Let the man go. What are you going to do with him?” “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with him. I’m going to take him to London to-night, as sure as I’m alive. I’m not alone here, whatever you may think. You mind your own business, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It’ll be better for you, for I know you both very well.” I’D never seen or heard of ’em in all my life, but my bouncing cowed ’em a bit, and they kept off, while Thompson was making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they might be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said to the landlady, “What men have you got in the house, Missis?” “We haven’t got no men here,” she says, sulkily. “You have got an ostler, I suppose?” “Yes, we’ve got an ostler.” “Let me see him.” Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. “Now attend to me, young man,” says I; “I’m a Detective Officer from London. This man’s name is Thompson. I have taken him into custody for felony. I am going to take him to the railroad station. I call upon you in the Queen’s name to assist me; and mind you, my friend, you’ll get yourself into more trouble than you know of, if you don’t!’ You never saw a person open his eyes so wide. “Now, Thompson, come along!” says I. But when I took out the handcuffs, Thompson cries, “No! None of that! I won’t stand THEM! I’ll go along with you quiet, but I won’t bear none of that!” “Tally-ho Thompson,” I said, “I’m willing to behave as a man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. Give me your word that you’ll come peaceably along, and I don’t want to handcuff you.” “I will,” says Thompson, “but I’ll have a glass of brandy first.” “I don’t care if I’ve another,” said I. “We’ll have two more, Missis,” said the friends, “and confound you, Constable86, you’ll give your man a drop, won’t you?” I was agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to London that night. He was afterwards acquitted87, on account of a defect in the evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to the skies, and says I’m one of the best of men.’
This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his host, and thus delivers himself:
‘It wasn’t a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of forging the Sou’-Western Railway debentures88 — it was only t’other day — because the reason why? I’ll tell you.
‘I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over yonder there,’ — indicating any region on the Surrey side of the river — ‘where he bought second-hand89 carriages; so after I’d tried in vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in an assumed name, saying that I’d got a horse and shay to dispose of, and would drive down next day that he might view the lot, and make an offer — very reasonable it was, I said — a reg’lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine that’s in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a precious smart turn-out it was — quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove, accordingly, with a friend (who’s not in the Force himself); and leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of the horse, we went to the factory, which was some little way off. In the factory, there was a number of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning ’em up, it was clear to me that it wouldn’t do to try it on there. They were too many for us. We must get our man out of doors. “Mr. Fikey at home?” “No, he ain’t.” “Expected home soon?” “Why, no, not soon.” “Ah! Is his brother here?” “I’M his brother.” “Oh! well, this is an ill-conwenience, this is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I’d got a little turn-out to dispose of, and I’ve took the trouble to bring the turn-out down a’ purpose, and now he ain’t in the way.” “No, he ain’t in the way. You couldn’t make it convenient to call again, could you?” “Why, no, I couldn’t. I want to sell; that’s the fact; and I can’t put it off. Could you find him anywheres?” At first he said No, he couldn’t, and then he wasn’t sure about it, and then he’d go and try. So at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft90, and presently down comes my man himself in his shirt-sleeves.
‘“Well,” he says, “this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of yours.” “Yes,” I says, “it IS rayther a pressing matter, and you’ll find it a bargain — dirt cheap.” “I ain’t in partickler want of a bargain just now,” he says, “but where is it?” “Why,” I says, “the turn-out’s just outside. Come and look at it.” He hasn’t any suspicions, and away we go. And the first thing that happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot91 along the road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life!
‘When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a standstill again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge — me too. “There, sir!” I says. “There’s a neat thing!” “It ain’t a bad style of thing,” he says. “I believe you,” says I. “And there’s a horse!” — for I saw him looking at it. “Rising eight!” I says, rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there ain’t a man in the world knows less of horses than I do, but I’d heard my friend at the Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing as possible, “Rising eight.”) “Rising eight, is he?” says he. “Rising eight,” says I. “Well,” he says, “what do you want for it?” “Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is five-and-twenty pound!” “That’s very cheap!” he says, looking at me. “Ain’t it?” I says. “I told you it was a bargain! Now, without any higgling and haggling92 about it, what I want is to sell, and that’s my price. Further, I’ll make it easy to you, and take half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff 1 for the balance.”
1. Give a bill
“ Well,” he says again, “that’s very cheap.” “I believe you,” says I; “get in and try it, and you’ll buy it. Come! take a trial!”
‘Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the road, to show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in the public-house window to identify him. But the clerk was bothered, and didn’t know whether it was him, or wasn’t — because the reason why? I’ll tell you, — on account of his having shaved his whiskers. “It’s a clever little horse,” he says, “and trots93 well; and the shay runs light.” “Not a doubt about it,” I says. “And now, Mr. Fikey, I may as well make it all right, without wasting any more of your time. The fact is, I’m Inspector Wield, and you’re my prisoner.” “You don’t mean that?” he says. “I do, indeed.” “Then burn my body,” says Fikey, “if this ain’t TOO bad!”
‘Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with surprise. “I hope you’ll let me have my coat?” he says. “By all means.” “Well, then, let’s drive to the factory.” “Why, not exactly that, I think,” said I; “I’ve been there, once before, to-day. Suppose we send for it.” He saw it was no go, so he sent for it, and put it on, and we drove him up to London, comfortable.’
This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a general proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the ‘Butcher’s Story.’
The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced officer, with the strange air of simplicity, began with a rustic94 smile, and in a soft, wheedling95 tone of voice, to relate the Butcher’s Story, thus:
‘It’s just about six years ago, now, since information was given at Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of lawns and silks going on, at some wholesale96 houses in the City. Directions were given for the business being looked into; and Straw, and Fendall, and me, we were all in it.’
‘When you received your instructions,’ said we, ‘you went away, and held a sort of Cabinet Council together!’
The smooth-faced officer coaxingly97 replied, ‘Ye-es. Just so. We turned it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, when we went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers extraordinarily98 cheap — much cheaper than they could have been if they had been honestly come by. The receivers were in the trade, and kept capital shops — establishments of the first respectability — one of ’em at the West End, one down in Westminster. After a lot of watching and inquiry99, and this and that among ourselves, we found that the job was managed, and the purchases of the stolen goods made, at a little public-house near Smithfield, down by Saint Bartholomew’s; where the Warehouse100 Porters, who were the thieves, took ’em for that purpose, don’t you see? and made appointments to meet the people that went between themselves and the receivers. This public-house was principally used by journeymen butchers from the country, out of place, and in want of situations; so, what did we do, but — ha, ha, ha! — we agreed that I should be dressed up like a butcher myself, and go and live there!’
Never, surely, was a faculty101 of observation better brought to bear upon a purpose, than that which picked out this officer for the part. Nothing in all creation could have suited him better. Even while he spoke, he became a greasy102, sleepy, shy, good-natured, chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding103 young butcher. His very hair seemed to have suet in it, as he made it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be lubricated by large quantities of animal food.
‘ — So I— ha, ha, ha!’ (always with the confiding snigger of the foolish young butcher) ‘so I dressed myself in the regular way, made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the public-house, and asked if I could have a lodging80 there? They says, “yes, you can have a lodging here,” and I got a bedroom, and settled myself down in the tap. There was a number of people about the place, and coming backwards and forwards to the house; and first one says, and then another says, “Are you from the country, young man?” “Yes,” I says, “I am. I’m come out of Northamptonshire, and I’m quite lonely here, for I don’t know London at all, and it’s such a mighty big town.” “It IS a big town,” they says. “Oh, it’s a VERY big town!” I says. “Really and truly I never was in such a town. It quite confuses of me!” and all that, you know.
‘When some of the journeymen Butchers that used the house, found that I wanted a place, they says, “Oh, we’ll get you a place!” And they actually took me to a sight of places, in Newgate Market, Newport Market, Clare, Carnaby — I don’t know where all. But the wages was — ha, ha, ha! — was not sufficient, and I never could suit myself, don’t you see? Some of the queer frequenters of the house were a little suspicious of me at first, and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed how I communicated with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went out, pretending to stop and look into the shop windows, and just casting my eye round, I used to see some of ’em following me; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they thought for, to that sort of thing, I used to lead ’em on as far as I thought necessary or convenient — sometimes a long way — and then turn sharp round, and meet ’em, and say, “Oh, dear, how glad I am to come upon you so fortunate! This London’s such a place, I’m blowed if I ain’t lost again!” And then we’d go back all together, to the public-house, and — ha, ha, ha! and smoke our pipes, don’t you see?
‘They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was a common thing, while I was living there, for some of ’em to take me out, and show me London. They showed me the Prisons — showed me Newgate — and when they showed me Newgate, I stops at the place where the Porters pitch their loads, and says, “Oh dear, is this where they hang the men? Oh Lor!” “That!” they says, “what a simple cove67 he is! THAT ain’t it!” And then, they pointed15 out which WAS it, and I says “Lor!” and they says, “Now you’ll know it agen, won’t you?” And I said I thought I should if I tried hard — and I assure you I kept a sharp look out for the City Police when we were out in this way, for if any of ’em had happened to know me, and had spoke to me, it would have been all up in a minute. However, by good luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet: though the difficulties I had in communicating with my brother officers were quite extraordinary.
‘The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house by the Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back parlour. For a long time, I never could get into this parlour, or see what was done there. As I sat smoking my pipe, like an innocent young chap, by the tap-room fire, I’d hear some of the parties to the robbery, as they came in and out, say softly to the landlord, “Who’s that? What does HE do here?” “Bless your soul,” says the landlord, “he’s only a” — ha, ha, ha! — “he’s only a green young fellow from the country, as is looking for a butcher’s sitiwation. Don’t mind HIM!” So, in course of time, they were so convinced of my being green, and got to be so accustomed to me, that I was as free of the parlour as any of ’em, and I have seen as much as Seventy Pounds’ Worth of fine lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a warehouse in Friday Street. After the sale the buyers always stood treat — hot supper, or dinner, or what not — and they’d say on those occasions, “Come on, Butcher! Put your best leg foremost, young ’un, and walk into it!” Which I used to do — and hear, at table, all manner of particulars that it was very important for us Detectives to know.
‘This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the public-house all the time, and never was out of the Butcher’s dress — except in bed. At last, when I had followed seven of the thieves, and set ’em to rights — that’s an expression of ours, don’t you see, by which I mean to say that I traced ’em, and found out where the robberies were done, and all about ’em — Straw, and Fendall, and I, gave one another the office, and at a time agreed upon, a descent was made upon the public-house, and the apprehensions104 effected. One of the first things the officers did, was to collar me — for the parties to the robbery weren’t to suppose yet, that I was anything but a Butcher — on which the landlord cries out, “Don’t take HIM,” he says, “whatever you do! He’s only a poor young chap from the country, and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!” However, they — ha, ha, ha! — they took me, and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was found but an old fiddle105 belonging to the landlord, that had got there somehow or another. But, it entirely106 changed the landlord’s opinion, for when it was produced, he says, “My fiddle! The Butcher’s a purloiner107! I give him into custody for the robbery of a musical instrument!”
‘The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was not taken yet. He had told me, in confidence, that he had his suspicions there was something wrong (on account of the City Police having captured one of the party), and that he was going to make himself scarce. I asked him, “Where do you mean to go, Mr. Shepherdson?” “Why, Butcher,” says he, “the Setting Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug108 house, and I shall bang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which appears to me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you’ll give us a look in, Butcher?” “Well,” says I, “I think I WILL give you a call” — which I fully109 intended, don’t you see, because, of course, he was to be taken! I went over to the Setting Moon next day, with a brother officer, and asked at the bar for Simpson. They pointed out his room, up-stairs. As we were going up, he looks down over the banister, and calls out, “Halloa, Butcher! is that you?” “Yes, it’s me. How do you find yourself?” “Bobbish,” he says; “but who’s that with you?” “It’s only a young man, that’s a friend of mine,” I says. “Come along, then,” says he; “any friend of the Butcher’s is as welcome as the Butcher!” So, I made my friend acquainted with him, and we took him into custody.
‘You have no idea, sir, what a sight it was, in Court, when they first knew that I wasn’t a Butcher, after all! I wasn’t produced at the first examination, when there was a remand; but I was at the second. And when I stepped into the box, in full police uniform, and the whole party saw how they had been done, actually a groan110 of horror and dismay proceeded from ’em in the dock!
‘At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. Clarkson was engaged for the defence, and he COULDN’T make out how it was, about the Butcher. He thought, all along, it was a real Butcher. When the counsel for the prosecution111 said, “I will now call before you, gentlemen, the Police-officer,” meaning myself, Mr. Clarkson says, “Why Police-officer? Why more Police-officers? I don’t want Police. We have had a great deal too much of the Police. I want the Butcher!” However, sir, he had the Butcher and the Police-officer, both in one. Out of seven prisoners committed for trial, five were found guilty, and some of ’em were transported. The respectable firm at the West End got a term of imprisonment112; and that’s the Butcher’s Story!’
The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved himself into the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so extremely tickled113 by their having taken him about, when he was that Dragon in disguise, to show him London, that he could not help reverting114 to that point in his narrative115; and gently repeating with the Butcher snigger, ‘“Oh, dear,” I says, “is that where they hang the men? Oh, Lor!” “THAT!” says they. “What a simple cove he is!”’
It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of being too diffuse116, there were some tokens of separation; when Sergeant Dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round him with a smile:
‘Before we break up, sir, perhaps you might have some amusement in hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. They are very short; and, I think, curious.’
We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr. Shepherdson welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. Sergeant Dornton proceeded.
‘In 1847, I was despatched to Chatham, in search of one Mesheck, a Jew. He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in the bill-stealing way, getting acceptances from young men of good connexions (in the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, and bolting with the same.
‘Mesheck was off, before I got to Chatham. All I could learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to London, and had with him — a Carpet Bag.
‘I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, and made inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with — a Carpet Bag.
‘The office was shut up, it being the last train. There were only two or three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a Carpet Bag, on the Blackwall Railway, which was then the high road to a great Military Depot117, was worse than looking after a needle in a hayrick. But it happened that one of these porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a certain public-house, a certain — Carpet Bag.
‘I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left his luggage there for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, and taken it away. I put such questions there, and to the porter, as I thought prudent118, and got at this description of — the Carpet Bag.
‘It was a bag which had, on one side of it, worked in worsted, a green parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand was the means by which to identify that — Carpet Bag.
‘I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand, to Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic Ocean. At Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone to the United States, and I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, and likewise of his — Carpet Bag.
‘Many months afterwards — near a year afterwards — there was a bank in Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a person of the name of Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America; from which country some of the stolen notes came home. He was supposed to have bought a farm in New Jersey119. Under proper management, that estate could be seized and sold, for the benefit of the parties he had defrauded120. I was sent off to America for this purpose.
‘I landed at Boston. I went on to New York. I found that he had lately changed New York paper-money for New Jersey paper money, and had banked cash in New Brunswick. To take this Doctor Dundey, it was necessary to entrap121 him into the State of New York, which required a deal of artifice122 and trouble. At one time, he couldn’t be drawn123 into an appointment. At another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and a New York officer, on a pretext124 I made; and then his children had the measles125. At last he came, per steamboat, and I took him, and lodged126 him in a New York prison called the Tombs; which I dare say you know, sir?’
Editorial acknowledgment to that effect.
‘I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, to attend the examination before the magistrate7. I was passing through the magistrate’s private room, when, happening to look round me to take notice of the place, as we generally have a habit of doing, I clapped my eyes, in one corner, on a — Carpet Bag.
‘What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you’ll believe me, but a green parrot on a stand, as large as life!
‘“That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a green parrot on a stand,” said I, “belongs to an English Jew, named Aaron Mesheck, and to no other man, alive or dead!”
‘I give you my word the New York Police Officers were doubled up with surprise.
‘“How did you ever come to know that?” said they.
‘“I think I ought to know that green parrot by this time,” said I; “for I have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at home, as ever I had, in all my life!”’
‘And was it Mesheck’s?’ we submissively inquired.
‘Was it, sir? Of course it was! He was in custody for another offence, in that very identical Tombs, at that very identical time. And, more than that! Some memoranda127, relating to the fraud for which I had vainly endeavoured to take him, were found to be, at that moment, lying in that very same individual — Carpet Bag!’
Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar128 ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and opposing itself to every new device that perverted129 ingenuity130 can invent, for which this important social branch of the public service is remarkable131! For ever on the watch, with their wits stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from day to day and year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of trickery and dexterity132 that the combined imaginations of all the lawless rascals133 in England can devise, and to keep pace with every such invention that comes out. In the Courts of Justice, the materials of thousands of such stories as we have narrated — often elevated into the marvellous and romantic, by the circumstances of the case — are dryly compressed into the set phrase, ‘in consequence of information I received, I did so and so.’ Suspicion was to be directed, by careful inference and deduction134, upon the right person; the right person was to be taken, wherever he had gone, or whatever he was doing to avoid detection: he is taken; there he is at the bar; that is enough. From information I, the officer, received, I did it; and, according to the custom in these cases, I say no more.
These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played before small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The interest of the game supports the player. Its results are enough for justice. To compare great things with small, suppose LEVERRIER or ADAMS informing the public that from information he had received he had discovered a new planet; or COLUMBUS informing the public of his day that from information he had received he had discovered a new continent; so the Detectives inform it that they have discovered a new fraud or an old offender135, and the process is unknown.
Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings136 of our curious and interesting party. But one other circumstance finally wound up the evening, after our Detective guests had left us. One of the sharpest among them, and the officer best acquainted with the Swell Mob, had his pocket picked, going home!
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1
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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2
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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3
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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4
consorting
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| v.结伴( consort的现在分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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5
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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7
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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10
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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12
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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13
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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14
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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stipulate
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| vt.规定，（作为条件）讲定，保证 | |
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hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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22
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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23
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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24
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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25
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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26
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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27
orthography
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| n.拼字法，拼字式 | |
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28
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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30
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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33
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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41
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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42
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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43
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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44
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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45
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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temperately
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| adv.节制地，适度地 | |
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48
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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49
concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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50
amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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51
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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52
diverge
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| v.分叉，分歧，离题，使...岔开，使转向 | |
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53
statistical
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| adj.统计的，统计学的 | |
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54
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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55
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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56
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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57
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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58
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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59
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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60
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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61
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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62
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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63
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
penitentiaries
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| n.监狱( penitentiary的名词复数 ) | |
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65
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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67
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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70
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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71
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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72
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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73
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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74
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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75
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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76
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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77
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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78
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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79
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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80
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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81
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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82
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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83
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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84
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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85
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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86
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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87
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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88
debentures
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| n.公司债券( debenture的名词复数 ) | |
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89
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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90
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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91
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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92
haggling
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
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93
trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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94
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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95
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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96
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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97
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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98
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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99
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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100
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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101
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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102
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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103
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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104
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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105
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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106
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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107
purloiner
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| [法] 小偷，窃盗者 | |
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108
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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109
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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110
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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111
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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112
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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113
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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114
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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115
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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116
diffuse
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| v.扩散；传播；adj.冗长的；四散的，弥漫的 | |
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117
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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118
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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119
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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120
defrauded
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
entrap
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| v.以网或陷阱捕捉，使陷入圈套 | |
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122
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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123
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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124
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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125
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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126
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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127
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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128
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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129
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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130
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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131
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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132
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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133
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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134
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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135
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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136
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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