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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Remarkable Rogues, by Charles Kingston

REMARKABLE ROGUES

MARIE TARNOWSKA ON TRIAL

REMARKABLE ROGUES
THE CAREERS OF SOME NOTABLE
CRIMINALS OF EUROPE AND
AMERICA

BY CHARLES KINGSTON
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LTD.
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY, MCMXXI.

SECOND EDITION

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE DEVONSHIRE PRESS, TORQUAY.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ix

PREFACE

That interest in crime and the criminal is universal noone will deny. In a cruder age it was the custom toorganize parties to witness the public execution of notablescoundrels—Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton) tookThackeray and, I believe, Dickens, to see Courvoisier's—butnowadays we are more decorous, although on occasionseveral thousand persons can assemble outside aprison and stare at a blank wall during a private hanginginside. Most of us, however, are content to behold crimethrough the eyes of our favourite journal and it isimpossible to complain that the press does not cater fullyfor us in this respect. That crime retains its fascinationfor high and low is proved almost every time there is asensational trial at the Central Criminal Court, for theattendance invariably includes distinguished politicians,authors, artists and representatives of that nebulousclass termed "Society." It is, however, no longerpossible for a special box to be erected at the Old Baileyto enable members of the Royal Family to watch a manon trial for his life, and it is now bad form for a "popularjudge" to surround himself with princes and peers andaudibly keep themau fait with the evidence. Thesethings have passed away and we have "headlines" andcontents-bills in their place. We are, in fact, morerespectable if less robust, but sin and sinners will intrigueus to the end of Time.

James Greenacre, was the subject of more than onepamphlet biography, but I have preferred to go to thecopious reports of his trial for my material, and I consultedsimilar sources whenever possible before writingxthe chapters dealing with Marie Tarnowska, Mrs. LeroyChadwick, Jeanne Daniloff, three of my German criminalsand several others. Greenacre's trial and execution wereconducted on typical early nineteenth century lines,and that loathsome scoundrel was nearly elevated to thepinnacle of a hero by indiscriminate publicity. The competitionto be present in Court when he was in the dockwas so keen that a pound a head was charged for admissionto the gallery on each day and even at that price thequeue was always greater than the accommodation.After his conviction he was visited in prison by scores of"noblemen and gentlemen," and while in a contemporaryaccount of the execution—which I quote—thereporter omits the names of those eminent persons whoattended it, it is significant that the number of privatecarriages, according to another journalist, should haveexceeded fifty.

I obtained from an American detective who knewAdam Worth many of the details of that rogue's doings,and it is to an American newspaper of the late sixtiesthat I am indebted for particulars of Belle Star's career.Marie Tarnowska told her own story to Madame A.Vivanti Chartres, who sympathetically transferred thecountess'sapologia to paper and published it. As ahuman document it is very interesting but it is notconvincing, and the very full report of her trial at Venicepublished in the press of this country is the only reliableguide to an understanding of the case. M. Canler, thefamous French detective, first related in narrative formthe incidents which lead to the three arrests of themurderers of Madame Houet, and I consulted the Frenchand English papers for the history of Pierre Voirbo'scrime. "Madame Rachel" was tried three times andthere were several special reports at the disposal of theauthor, but she does not seem to have attracted muchnotice since her death and an account of her life will benew to most of my readers.

1

REMARKABLE ROGUES

CHAPTER I
A RUSSIAN DELILAH

One day in a Russian country-house a girl ofsixteen was presented to three men—a prince,a baron, and a count, and as she greeted themwith youthful enthusiasm andcamaraderie she was quiteunconscious of the fact that each of the three had askedher father for her hand.

In the land of the steppes, girls develop quickly, andalthough Marie was very young in years she was a fully-maturedbeauty, tall, with fine features, a beautifulcomplexion, a divine voice, and enough charm for halfa dozen ordinary women.

No wonder the men were in love with her—she capturedall hearts with her beautiful face and her musicalvoice—and when she had to be told of the proposalsher father informed her that she could choose betweenthe prince and the baron, for he disapproved of thecount.

"I should love to be a princess," Marie criedromantically.

Old Count O'Rourke, a typical Russian nobleman,who was descended from an Irish soldier, was gratified.

"I am happy to hear you say so," he exclaimed, andkissed her.

A year later Marie eloped with the count, the one manof the three she had been warned against.

It was the beginning of a series of tragedies for the2extraordinary girl, who became an even more extraordinarywoman. Her father promptly closed his doorsagainst her once she was the Countess Tarnowska.Marie declared that she did not care, adding that herhusband was the most perfect lover in the world andshe was the happiest wife that ever lived. But withinsix months she had changed her mind.

"God help me!" she murmured to a consoling friend."I did not know there could be so much sorrow in theworld." For in that short time she had discoveredthat Vassili Tarnowska was a libertine and that shewas only one of many women he had professed to love.

From that moment Marie became a different creature.Always high-spirited and highly-strung, she only requireda feeling of injustice to influence her to take tothe path that leads to perdition.

Her husband neglected her, and she could not bearto be alone. Other men flocked round her and talkedlyrically of her exquisite beauty. The neglected wifeeagerly welcomed these compliments. Of course sheand her husband, as members of the Russian aristocracy,had to maintain outwardly an appearance of perfectamity, but they were rapidly drifting apart, and tragedywas hovering over them all the time.

What would have happened had Marie found a strongand loving husband one can only conjecture. Thatshe was born with a "kink" in her brain is evident.She has since confessed to that, and more than onespecialist has recorded that she inherited disease aswell as life from her parents and that she was not alwaysresponsible for her actions. But it has to be admittedthat when she began to carve out a career for herselfindependently of her husband and children she permittedno scruple, no sense of honour, and no decency to interferewith her in her mad pursuit of pleasure.

The first of her victims was her husband's brother.Peter Tarnowska was a quiet, intellectual youth with3a great reverence for womenfolk. He admired hissister-in-law, and was under the impression that Vassiliwas devoted to her. His amazement was, therefore,all the greater when, happening to call unexpectedly,he saw Marie with tear-stained eyes sitting in desolateloneliness. As a result of that interview Peter Tarnowskaknew that he had found his ideal, but, of course,he was too late. She was another man's, and thatman was his brother.

Vassili Tarnowska, who prided himself on his taste,was in the habit of haunting night restaurants withbeauties of questionable antecedents, and he was presidingat a banquet in a restaurant in Kieff when hewas startled to see his wife enter with a man. She wasbeautifully dressed, and she looked so happy that hethought her the loveliest woman there. The realizationmade him jealous, and Tarnowska, who did not wanthis wife until others showed their appreciation of herbeauty and wit, now came back to her, and at once wasthe most jealous of husbands.

Had Marie been wise she would have seized theopportunity to atone for the past and make her futurehappiness certain. She had two pretty children, andTarnowska was evidently determined to do his dutyby them all, but the countess had already gone too farto wish to withdraw. She had lovers; here a doctor,there an officer of the Imperial Guard; and there wasalways a flattering number of candidates for the honourof escorting her to the theatre or restaurant. She wasconvinced that respectability was synonymous withdullness, and, accordingly, when the count expressedhis penitence and desired a reconciliation he was toolate. Marie had no room for him now in her overcrowdedheart.

They lived together, of course, and entertained on thelavish scale which brought so many Russian familiesto poverty in the pre-revolution period. Marie was the4most popular of hostesses, for she possessed that happyfaculty of making each of her guests feel that the entertainmentwas got up solely in his or her honour.

Months of riotous pleasure passed. Vassili Tarnowska'sjealousy became a mania. He suspected everyman he saw in his home, and his wife's flippant andcontemptuous answers to his questions exasperatedhim. The beauty found it impossible to forgive or forgetthe fact that the husband she had once consideredthe most chivalrous man in all the world had been theonly male to neglect her for other women.

They were at breakfast one morning when Tarnowskawas handed a telegram. Suddenly he leaned across thetable and screamed a question to her.

"What have you been doing to my brother Peter?"he cried.

Marie could not speak.

"Read that," said the count, as he thrust the telegraminto her shaking hand.

"Peter hanged himself last night." She read themessage aloud in a voice that grated on him. "Hewas a foolish boy," she remarked indifferently. "Ihad forgotten his existence."

The tragic fate of Peter Tarnowska was still beingtalked about when Alexis Bozevsky became the loverof the countess. He was the type of man who looksand acts like the hero of a melodrama. He was tall,with a superb figure, a moustache that seems to havebeen irresistible, abonhomie men and women werehypnotized by, and he was, undoubtedly, a past masterin the art of pleasing romantically-minded ladies.

He penned a couple of letters to Marie, which wonher for him, body and soul. She ran the most terriblerisks on his behalf once she was in love with him, andthe woman who was a queen amongst men now gladlybecame the slave of this handsome officer of the ImperialGuard.

5The story of their love is brief and tragic and verymelodramatic. It is difficult to believe that it allhappened so recently as 1907. The jealous husband,the handsome lover, the cigarette-smoking Russiancountess with the beautiful face and dark eyes—allbelong to the stage; yet the Tarnowskas and AlexisBozevsky were real personages, and two of them areliving to-day.

For some time Marie's latest conquest was unnoticedby her husband, who hoped that his brother's suicidewould reform her. When he stumbled upon the truthhe simultaneously resolved to kill Bozevsky in a duel.The first encounter between the jealous husband andthe handsome lover took place in the house of the former.Tarnowska was armed, but he would not shoot a defencelessfoe, and he flung on the table a revolver for his enemy.

"We will settle it here," he said, with the laugh ofa madman.

Bozevsky was terrified by that laugh, and fled fromthe apartment to tell Marie what had happened. Theyagreed on a course of action, knowing that there was noroom in the world for both the count and the officer,and they felt that they were helpless to avert theapproaching tragedy.

A few days later Count Tarnowska, very pale and veryself-possessed, entered the police station at Kieff.

"I have shot Alexis Bozevsky," he said calmly. "Ifound him dining with my wife at the Grand Hotel.I am your prisoner."

The astounded and agitated inspector did not detainhim. Tarnowska was of too high a rank, and, besides,he suspected that the count was not quite right in hishead. But Tarnowska had spoken the truth. Bozevskywas not dead, but he was dying, and Marie had left herhome and had deserted her children in order to nursehim.

Bozevsky lingered for a few days, and Marie scarcely6ever left his side. She knew that never again would shego back to her husband. The attack on Bozevsky outsidethe Grand Hotel precluded that. She spent hourspraying for the recovery of the young officer whom shepassionately loved, and often he would lie with a wansmile on his strained face whilst she pictured theirhappy future together. At these interviews Dr. Stahl,who was attending the wounded man, was alwayspresent. He was pale and weak-looking, obviously thevictim of drugs, and Marie ignored him because sheknew that he was in love with her too!

For Stahl had introduced Marie to the mysteries ofdrug-taking, to which she was now addicted. Thisaccounts for a lot. At her trial she was described as a"human vampire," yet at times she had been the mostdevoted of mothers and the most generous of friends.But she lacked a brake to steady her when she began todescend, and she went from one wickedness to anotheruntil the final catastrophe.

When the young officer died Marie Tarnowska's heartdied too. She could never love again, and she neverdid, but she could pretend to. In her desolation sherushed off into the country; she travelled and tried toforget. Her husband and her children were lost toher; she had been told that she would never be allowedto see them again. The sentence hardly affectedher, for she could not think of anything or anybodynow that the world was very lonely and her lifeempty.

Hitherto Marie Tarnowska had never known what itwas to lack money. She had spent freely without anythought of the morrow. She had no idea of the valueof money. In the past it had always been there forher to take. But now that her husband no longeracknowledged her existence her sources of supply werecut off, and it was the soulless proprietor of a second-ratehotel who drew her attention to the fact that even7beautiful countesses must pay their way or suffer thehumiliations attendant on poverty.

It was a bitter awakening. Marie Tarnowska becameterrified. She could not earn her living; she must begor borrow, or kill herself; and she had no desire to die.

She was walking to a telegraph office to send a messageto her father explaining her position and imploring himto respond, when she heard her name pronounced bysome one behind her. Turning, she recognized DonatPrilukoff, one of the wealthiest lawyers in Moscow.He had been a visitor at her house in the days of herglory, and Marie had been aware that he was in lovewith her.

Prilukoff was rich! Marie recollected that too! Shehad disliked him in the past, but she was poor now andbeggars cannot be choosers.

"My dear friend," she murmured, and tears cameinto her fascinating eyes.

Prilukoff guessed how her affairs stood, and cameto the rescue, but she could not forget her antipathyto the lawyer. A new passion had arisen in her, however,a passion for money, and henceforth she meantnever to feel the want of it again, even if she had topretend to love Prilukoff.

They became inseparable, the Moscow lawyer and thebeautiful adventuress who had broken so many heartsand her own life.

"What has become of Dr. Stahl?" Marie askedshortly after their reunion.

Prilukoff laughed carelessly.

"He shot himself through the heart the other day,"he said, in a callous tone. "They sent for me, and hedied with your name on his lips, Marie."

She was "Marie" now to the man she had christened"The Scorpion" when she was rich and at the heightof her popularity.

Prilukoff, middle-aged and unromantic-looking, was8fiercely in love with the countess. At all their previousmeetings he had been thrust into the background by theclever, handsome young men who had worshipped atMarie Tarnowska's shrine, but now he had her to himself.Every day she accepted money from him. Hercreditors having discovered her address, presented theirbills with unveiled threats.

Prilukoff saved the situation each time. He paidout thousands of pounds, and Marie Tarnowska hatedhim the more she was indebted to him. Had he ill-treatedher she might have showered kisses on his feet,but he was recklessly generous, and she despised andhated him. She was that sort of woman.

It was necessary, of course, that they should moveabout, for it would have damaged Prilukoff's reputationas a sound family lawyer whom elderly ladies couldtrust with their investments if it was known that he wassupplying a notorious woman with funds.

Marie gladly went to Italy, leaving the lawyer toattend to his business, but he was with her again withinseventy-two hours.

"I cannot bear to let you out of my sight," he said."The business must take care of itself."

"But what about money?" asked Marie nervously.It was all she thought of now. "I owe a thousandpounds to my dressmaker, and——"

Prilukoff produced a roll of notes.

"Don't be afraid," he said, "there is always plentyto be had."

She was completely in Prilukoff's power when sherenewed her acquaintanceship with an old friend, CountPaul Kamarowsky, a colonel in the Russian Army, anda wealthy man. The count had just lost his wife, andhe was endeavouring to escape from loneliness by wanderingabout Europe with his little daughter. Marie,therefore, came into his life again at a very critical time,and she had no difficulty in making him fall in love with9her. He was ready to be tricked, and with Prilukoff'shelp she proceeded to swindle him.

Marie had had no intention of obtaining money fromKamarowsky until the Moscow lawyer had startledand terrified her by confessing that he was practicallypenniless. He had not only spent his means on her,but he had stolen over forty thousand pounds from hisclients in order to satisfy her extravagant whims. WhenMarie, regarding him with horror, suggested that heshould return to Moscow, he gripped her by the wrist.

"I've ruined myself for you," he cried hoarsely."Once I was the most respected lawyer in Moscow,now I am a common thief, and if I return I shall bearrested. Marie, you must be mine. I love you. Ihave sacrificed everything for you. You must neverdesert me. If you do——"

She saw the threat in his eyes, but did not hear hiswords.

Events now followed one another in rapid succession.Prilukoff had to be careful to keep out of the way of thepolice, whilst Countess Tarnowska, who would havegiven anything to be rid of him, had to see him everyday and discuss ways and means of obtaining suppliesof hard cash.

Prilukoff, who discerned that Kamarowsky was inlove with Marie, conceived a scheme by which theyeventually extracted a large sum from him. Scarcelyhad the swindle been accomplished than Marie heardthat her husband had divorced her. She was free tomarry again, and she had already pledged her word tothe swindling lawyer to take his name, but Count PaulKamarowsky, rich, of noble family, and likely to makea devoted husband, was going to propose to her!

The count did so that very night, and Marie acceptedhim, extracting a promise that he would keep theirengagement a secret. She was terrified lest Prilukoffshould tell Paul that she was his, and so she played with10the two men, keeping them apart and persuading eachthat he was the chosen bridegroom, though well awarethat she was in the power of Prilukoff and that she darenot disobey him.

Marie was not in love. As I have said, her capacityfor love had ceased to exist with the death of AlexisBozevsky, but she wanted Kamarowsky's fortune, andshe would obtain it only by conspiring with Donat Prilukoff,the dishonest lawyer, her master.

As though the situation was not sufficiently complicated,a third lover now came on the scene. This wasNicholas Naumoff, a youngster of twenty, the only sonof the governor of Orel. Nicholas and Kamarowskywere devoted friends, and when the count introducedhim to Marie he succumbed on the spot to thecharmer.

With three lovers, one of whom held her in the hollowof his hand, Marie Tarnowska had a breathlessly excitingtime. In the old days she would have enjoyed thesituation, but now she hungered and thirsted for gold,and it was of money only that she thought whenevershe asked herself what she should do.

The lawyer from Moscow haunted her. How shewished that he would die and leave her to marry therich Count Kamarowsky, the man who could take herback into society and open the doors now closed to her!Marriage with Prilukoff would mean the perpetuationof her disgrace, and she would inevitably sink lower;yet she dare not move without his permission, and wheneverhe came to her she had to do his bidding.

It was a cruel trick of Fate's to put her in such aposition. Countess Tarnowska, who had once drivenmen crazy by her capriciousness, the beauty who couldpick and choose her lovers—and did so—was now at thebeck and call of an ugly lawyer with an ugly record!She shed bitter tears, and was only comforted whenPrilukoff whispered that there was a way of getting11Kamarowsky's fortune and never knowing again theterrors of poverty.

Meanwhile, Paul Kamarowsky suggested that theyshould prepare for their wedding. Marie, who onlydreamt of the time when she would be his, had to pleadfor a postponement, knowing that if she fixed the datePrilukoff would do something desperate. But despiteher dislike for the lawyer she complained to himthat Kamarowsky had not yet referred to financialmatters.

Prilukoff, confident that Marie could not escape hisclutches, propounded a plan whereby Kamarowskywas to be induced to make his will in her favour andalso insure his life for £25,000 on her behalf. The trickwas simplicity itself.

Prilukoff allowed Marie to dine with Kamarowskyin an hotel at Venice, where they were all staying, andin the middle of the dinner a waiter handed the womana letter. Marie started and went crimson when sheread it, and her companion, insisting on seeing whathad disturbed his fiancée, read the note, which purportedto have been written by a well-known Russian princeoffering to settle his fortune on her and insure his lifefor £25,000 if only she would return to Russia and marryhim. Prilukoff had, of course, written the letter, andMarie Tarnowska acted her part so realistically that thenext day Kamarowsky's will and insurance on his lifewere facts, and she was heiress to both!

But once Kamarowsky had appointed the Russianbeauty the sole inheritor of his property in the eventof his death the conspirators wasted no time arrangingfor his murder. They both wanted his money badly.Marie, realizing that she could never marry him withoutPrilukoff's permission—a permission which wouldnever be granted—entered into the conspiracy witha callousness and an abandon that were inhuman.She was only twenty-seven, but she could plot in cold12blood to take the life of one who had been and wasextremely generous to her.

Of course Marie herself would not do the deed, andPrilukoff, whose nerve had long since gone, was quiteincapable of actually killing anyone. He could arrangethe details and hand the knife or revolver to the selectedassassin, but beyond that he could not go.

However, they were thorough and remorseless plotters.Kamarowsky was in their way. His death would makeMarie a rich woman and Prilukoff a rich man, becausethen he could make her marry him. The count, therefore,must be removed. But who was to kill him?That was a question that was answered within a fewhours by the arrival of Nicholas Naumoff.

The young man found Marie in her hotel at Venice, andthere and then it flashed across her mind that he wasthe very person to kill Kamarowsky and at one stroketurn her poverty into riches, for Prilukoff having nomore clients to rob, Kamarowsky must be murdered.

She was too clever, of course, to take him into herconfidence, although Naumoff was so infatuated thathe would have obeyed any command she was pleasedto give him. But Marie Tarnowska had a wholesomefear of the law, and, whilst she was willing to consignher young friend to a living grave, she had not theslightest desire to experience the discomforts of a prisonherself.

It turned out that Naumoff had called to ask her tomarry him. His proposal inwardly amused Marie, forhe was so young and she was so old—in experience.But she listened gravely to him, and when he had finishedshe kissed him on the forehead and whispered in avoice broken with sobs that she had prayed for this dayand now that it had come she could not, dare not, aspireto happiness because a certain man stood betweenthem and would prevent their marriage.

The ardent youth naturally demanded to know who13it was who was driving her to madness. She answeredunder pressure that he was Count Paul Kamarowsky,Naumoff's dearest friend.

He was so surprised that he tried to persuade Mariethat she was mistaken. Somehow Naumoff had notregarded Kamarowsky as an aspirant to her hand.He was so old compared with him, and love was, in hisopinion, the prerogative of youth.

"Watch him," said Marie, who had been secretlyengaged to the count for some months, "and you willbe convinced that he persecutes me. I have to bepolite to him, but, Nicholas, dear, I should be happy ifI never saw him again."

Naumoff watched as bidden, and of course he sawKamarowsky wait attentively on the woman to whomhe was engaged. Quite innocent of the fact that he wasgiving cause for offence to his young friend, Kamarowskyseldom went out unaccompanied by Marie; and, whenhe was not looking and Nicholas was near her, shewould make a little grimace of disgust to indicate thatthe count's presence was distasteful to her.

Naumoff, who had again proposed to Marie and beenaccepted, was nearly driven out of his mind by jealousy.He had pledged his word of honour not to reveal hisengagement to Kamarowsky, who was also similarlyplaced by a promise to the beauty. Only Prilukoff,who remained in the background, knew the true stateof affairs, and he was too worried by fear of the policeto be able to enjoy the comedy.

But that comedy quickly developed into one of themost amazing tragedies of modern times, for Naumoff,hot-headed and irresponsible when under the influenceof the Russian Delilah, decided to kill the man Mariedescribed as her persecutor, the lover by whose deathshe stood to gain a fortune.

It was in the month of September, 1907, that thedecision was come to. As soon as she heard it Marie14found it convenient to take a trip to Vienna and waitthere for the tragedy which would give her Kamarowsky'slarge fortune and enable her to collect £25,000from the insurance companies. Prilukoff also vanished,having arranged to return to Marie when she had enteredinto her inheritance.

So that she might not be suspected of participationin the crime the woman wrote a letter to the Chief ofPolice at Venice, warning him that there was a feudbetween Nicholas Naumoff and Paul Kamarowsky andthat in all probability they would have recourse tofire-arms. Acting on this letter the police watchedKamarowsky's apartments, and by a strange coincidencearrested a man who came from them at the momentNaumoff fired the shots which aroused the house. Theprisoner, however, was released when it was seen hewas not the person they wanted.

When Naumoff, mad with jealousy, called on Paulone morning, the count warmly welcomed him, thoughowing to the early hour he had to receive him in bed.But the moment he saw Naumoff's expression he guessedsomething was wrong. Before he could speak, however,the young man drew his revolver and fired two shotsat close range into Kamarowsky's body. The injuredman managed to rise to his feet and ask why his dearestfriend had turned against him. Naumoff babbled outsomething about Marie Tarnowska, and the countunderstood.

"You have been fooled," he muttered, for he wasrapidly losing blood. "Ah, there is some one on thestairs. Quick, I will help you to escape by the window.Some day you will understand. Nicholas, I—I lovedyou as a son. I never thought it would come to this.Quick—this way."

MARIE TARNOWSKA ENTERING THE COURTHOUSE AT VENICE.

Kamarowsky actually assisted his murderer to escape,but Naumoff did not evade the police for long, and whenhe was locked in a cell he knew that not only had Countess15Marie Tarnowska been arrested, but that Prilukoff,the swindler, was also in custody.

The count was taken at once to a hospital, and afamous surgeon stitched up his wounds.

"He will live," he said. "No vital part has beentouched."

It seemed as though the Tarnowska tragedy was toend in a trial for attempted murder only, but Fate wasrelentless, for the chief surgeon who had pronouncedKamarowsky's life to be safe suddenly went mad inthe hospital ward and ordered the stitches to be removedfrom the healing wound. A few hours afterwardsKamarowsky died in agony, and the last words ofhis delirium were a message of love for Marie, the womanwho had planned his death and who had tricked his bestfriend into committing the crime.

The three accomplices spent over two years in prisonbefore being arraigned, and the trial was a protractedaffair in spite of the fullest confessions by the prisoners.Sensations were innumerable during the proceedingsand there were many emotional scenes, and on May 20th,1910, the Venice jury brought in a verdict of guilty,adding a rider to the effect that the countess andNaumoff were suffering from partial mental decay.Prilukoff was sentenced to ten years' solitary confinement;Marie Tarnowska to eight years' and four months'imprisonment, and Naumoff to three years and onemonth, the time already spent in gaol to be included.

As for Marie Tarnowska, the beauty who had ruinedmany lives, she went to her punishment as if in a trance.All her scheming, all her heartlessness and greed onlybrought her in the end to a convict's garb and years ofunceasing and humiliating labour. And from the cellshe passed to obscurity.

17

CHAPTER II
AN INFAMOUS FEMALE POISONER

Gesina Gottfried was, as a girl, plumpand pretty, bright and pert, and the youngmen of the town in Germany in which shewas born never let her know what loneliness meant.She had, of course, numerous suitors; and, while thesocial position of her parents was a poor one, she didnot hesitate to declare that she would only marry aman likely to make money and give her the luxuriesfor which she craved. This was regarded as a goodjoke by her acquaintances, for in those days the statusof women in Germany was even lower than it is to-day,and they were regarded, after they had lost their youthand their looks, as on a level with the beasts of thefield—it was no uncommon sight to see women harnessedto the plough—and they were expected to toil all daylong.

However, pretty Gesina was humoured, and, aftertaking stock of all her lovers, her choice alighted uponone named Miltenberg. He had a small business ofhis own, was reputed to possess a considerable sum inthe savings bank, and bore the reputation of beingambitious, and, therefore, certain to make more money.Gesina's parents cordially approved of her decision,and at the age of seventeen the girl became a wife.Within three years she was the mother of two finechildren, and the small world in which the Miltenbergslived envied them.

18But the truth was that the marriage had proved amiserable fiasco. The young bride had not taken longto discover that her husband was an improvidentdrunkard, who was heavily in debt and who lived onthe verge of the gaol. Whenever she remonstrated hetreated her cruelly, and it was only Gesina's pride thatprevented her denouncing him. But she was compelledto conceal her grief because she would not give herjealous girl friends and former rivals an opportunity tojeer at her, for she had boasted often that she was goingto be a lady and that when she was married she wouldhave a servant of her own. They had derided her then,and she would not tell them now that she had made amistake in marrying Miltenberg, the drunkard andwife-beater.

So the girl who had dreamed of being a lady and hadactually become a drudge was terrified every time sheheard her husband enter the house. Food was scarce,but the cries of her children did not arouse a mother'slove. She turned upon them and exhausted her rageby ill-treating them; yet Gesina was able to keep upappearances and her parents did not guess the realstate of affairs.

About four years after her marriage Gesina paid avisit to her mother. She found her engaged in a waragainst the mice that were infesting the kitchen, herprincipal weapon being white powder which she hadbought from the local chemist.

As Gesina sat and watched the bodies of the poisonedmice it seemed to her a pity that brutal husbands couldnot be as easily got rid of, and her thoughts dwellingfor a long time on this injustice she finally abstractedsome of the white powder when her mother was upstairs.

Gesina reached home that night with the preciouspowder, half an hour before her husband returned fromone of the vilest cafés in the town. She was tremblingwith excitement and her pale cheeks were now flushed,19and she looked something like the girl Miltenberg hadmarried four years earlier. But he was too far goneto notice anything, and beyond the customary threatshis only remark was to growl his appreciation of theglass of beer with which Gesina unexpectedly presentedhim. The beer was not yet poisoned, for Gesina haddecided to give him one more chance. It was, of course,a hopeless one, as it was not possible that he would reformunexpectedly and never strike her again.

The drunken boor was sitting at the table clutchingthe glass when a knock came to the door, and a momentlater Gesina had admitted a mutual friend, Gottfried,a young man who had shown for some time that headmired her. Locked within the ill-used wife's breastwas the secret of her strange love for this weak youth,and now the sight of him inflamed her, as she knew thatshe had the means to free herself from the brute whosename she bore. Gottfried's coming there thatnight meant sentence of death on Miltenberg, andwithout any compunction the woman dropped someof the arsenic into his glass.

The doctor who attended Miltenberg during his brieffatal illness was aware of the fellow's dissipated life,and he readily certified that death was due to naturalcauses.

Gesina was now in a position to marry Gottfried, andthere was yet a chance that she might be rich andhappy.

Without troubling about mourning she renewed heracquaintance with Gottfried, who had by now, however,grown tired of her. Perhaps he had read her characterthat night he had called and sat beside Miltenbergwhilst the latter drank the poisoned beer. Perhaps hehad a suspicion of the truth, and was afraid lest heshould meet with the same fate. But the poisonerignored his coldness towards her. She had determinedto marry him, and marry her he must.

20She forced a proposal from him, and then an unexpectedobstacle arose in the opposition of her parents.Gesina was astounded; Gottfried secretly delighted.He was always docile and submissive when in her company,but once he was out of her sight he hated her.She was too self-willed and masterful for him, and he wasa genuinely happy man when he was informed that herparents considered him too obscure and contemptibleto be worthy the honour of their daughter's hand.

In vain Gesina argued, implored and threatened.The old people would not give way. They told herthat it was her duty to look after her children and notbother about a second husband, and as they had thelaw on their side Gesina would only fling herself out ofthe house and return to her own squalid one to ponderover her grievances.

A woman of her sort could come to only one decision,and that was to send her father and mother to theirgraves with the aid of the white powder which hadproved so effective in the case of her brutal husband.She accordingly pretended to forget Gottfried, andsought a reconciliation with her parents, who, to celebratethe reunion, gave a pork supper in her honour.Gesina, who was particularly fond of this favouritedish, did full justice to it, although before sitting downto the table she had put arsenic in the beer her parentswere to drink! When they were taken to their room inagony she calmly continued to eat, and she was socallous that when they died she shed no tears.

With three victims to her account Gesina went to seeGottfried. He affected to be overjoyed at meeting heragain, and, fortified by the knowledge that the oppositionof her parents rendered a ceremony of marriage betweenthem impossible, spontaneously invited her to havedinner with him. But Gesina took away his appetiteat the very beginning of the meal by informing him thather parents had suddenly died, and that there was now21no reason why he should not fulfil his promise and makeher his wife.

Gottfried went pale with terror, and so great was hisagitation that she noticed it at once, and taxed him withtrying to deceive her. The unhappy coward protestedthat she was doing him an injustice.

"I am grieved to hear of their death," he stammered,perspiration breaking out on his forehead. "I had agreat respect for them, and your tragic news has upsetme."

Gesina laughed contemptuously.

"Considering that they always treated you like dirt,you needn't wear mourning for them," she retorted."Don't be a fool, Hermann. All I want to know iswhen we can be married? I'm tired of livingalone."

The last sentence put an idea into his head. It remindedhim that she had two children. In falteringtones he suggested that it would be inadvisable to marry.He swore that he had nothing saved, and that it would betoo heavy a burden for him to provide for a wife whowould bring with her another man's two children.

If Gesina had not been satisfied that she had themeans of removing everybody who stood in her wayshe would have been extremely angry with Gottfried,but now she only became pensive, and a little later proceededto discuss his objection in detail.

"You don't object to me, I suppose?" she asked,holding her clasped hands under her chin.

He protested with many oaths that he loved her todistraction, but that the children were so many barriersto their marriage because he was really poor.

"Very well," she observed, before changing the subject,"I will wait until the children are not a burden toanybody."

A fortnight later she met him again.

"My children are dead," she said simply. "They22had convulsions a week ago, and quickly passed away.I am now quite alone in the world."

The man regarded her with horror. It is most likelythat he was the only person who suspected that theseunexplained deaths were no mysteries to her. But hecould not have thought for a moment that she was afivefold murderess!

Gottfried was an ignorant and superstitious man, andhe knew nothing about poisons. All the deaths causedby Gesina's "white powder" had been duly certified byrespectable local practitioners, and he had not the courageto create a scandal by voicing his suspicions regardingthe two children.

There was something fascinating about Gesina, andGottfried's will power always vanished when he waswith her. But nevertheless, he made a brave struggleto resist her, and, although he agreed to an engagement,he never had the slightest intention of becoming herhusband.

Gesina pretended to be satisfied with his promise, andeven when, as the occasion arose, he put forward theflimsiest of excuses to postpone the ceremony, she wasever contented and apparently happy. A few monthswent by, and there were no more sudden deaths amongher relatives. Gottfried's fears left him and he beganto think of her as he had in the days when she was ayoung bride.

Yet he stopped short at marriage, and beyond anengagement would not go. As the young woman veryseldom referred to the former he was very pleased to takeher to the cafés and to the theatres, and generally havea good time in her society. But he totally misunderstoodthe character of the creature who called herselfhis sweetheart. Gesina was content because she hadalready devised a method by which she knew that shewould accomplish her object. She had not poisonedfive human beings without learning a lot, and she was23now an expert. She knew exactly how to kill and how tocause an illness without fatal results, and she decidedto dose Gottfried until she had so weakened him in bodyand mind that he would be mentally as well as physicallyat her mercy.

The infatuated fool never suspected anything, andwhen his mysterious illness began he did not draw anyinferences from the fact that Gesina often sat by hisside while he was drinking. Of course the vile creaturehad used every opportunity to administer arsenic insmall quantities, and she had many, because she insistedupon nursing him.

It was a most scientific and crafty murder, because asGottfried grew weaker he got more affectionate, and shegave him the poison so cleverly, and worked upon hisfeelings so astutely, that he came to regard her as hisdevoted nurse! He would allow no one else to come nearhim or give him his medicine, and every day his passionfor her increased, and he shed tears when she was notwith him. Gesina, after coaxing him to take poisonedsoup, would sit by his bed and cheer him by painting theirfuture together in rosy colours. She would not hearof a fatal issue to his illness, and what with her gaiety andher optimism the patient thought her an angel.

But despite her "nursing" he grew worse every day,until it was obvious that he was going to die. By thistime he was too weak to be able to think of anythingexcept his love for Gesina, and at last he asked her as afavour to marry him on his death-bed.

Within an hour of his proposal, Gesina, dressed inblack, called upon a clergyman, and told a heart-rendingstory of a dying lover who had implored her to ease hislast hours by consenting to be his wife. The ministerof religion was touched, and instantly agreed to marrythem. He repaired at once to the death-chamber, andthere the dying man and the murderess joined handsand were made man and wife. Within twenty-four24hours, however, Gesina was a widow again, for Gottfriedpassed away as the result of an extra strong dose whichshe administered twenty minutes after she had becomeFrau Gottfried.

She did not lose anything by the marriage even if shedid not gain much. Gottfried left a few hundred pounds,and to this sum she succeeded. Her principal motivefor marrying him was vanity. So many persons hadtalked sneeringly of her long engagement to Gottfriedthat Gesina knew it would surprise and mortify thegossipers if she did really become his wife, and to gratifythis whim she slowly poisoned him!

But her successes were so numerous, that she took topoisoning people as a hobby. The "white powder"was her infallible remedy for removing objectionablemen and women. She did not fear the doctors, and shelaughed at their ignorance. Most of them were quacks,and none of them were a match for the quick-wittedwoman, who seemed to flourish on murder. She mightdwell in an atmosphere of death, yet there were alwaysmen to court her, and the good-looking widow hadseveral proposals.

The third opportunity to marry, which she decided toaccept, came from a prosperous merchant, who wasfascinated by the young face and the glib tongue of thepoisoner. He met Gesina for the first time at Gottfried'sfuneral, and he had accompanied her home with afew other friends to comfort her, and after that hefrequently called, until it was obvious that Gesina likedhim. That unlucky merchant was, however, indirectlyresponsible for one of Gesina's most brutal crimes erehe, too, fell a victim to her devilish arts.

One night the merchant was chatting with the widow,when a tall, stout soldier staggered into the room theworse for drink. Gesina and the merchant started totheir feet, and the latter would have turned upon thedrunkard had not the woman recognized her brother,25whom she had not seen for years. During those yearsWilhelm had not improved; he was, in fact, after thestamp of her first husband, Miltenberg, a drunkard anda bully, and he now insisted upon being made welcome,behaved rudely, insulted Gesina's lover, and was onlypacified by offerings of unlimited beer. When he haddrunk sufficient he announced his intention of remainingin the house, and there was every reason to suspect thathe intended to cadge and bully her out of her smallmeans before taking his departure.

But the "white powder" solved the problem. Gesinawoke him up in the middle of the night with a glass ofbeer in her hand, which he delightedly drank, andthanked her with brotherly affection. At nine o'clockhe was a corpse, and when Gesina knocked on his doorand called out the time she received no answer. Shehad not expected one.

The merchant, who had been thoroughly disgustedwith the soldier's behaviour, could scarcely expressconventional regret when he heard the news, and hegained Gesina's gratitude by paying the funeral expenses.Out of gratitude Gesina fixed the date for theirmarriage, but a week before the ceremony was to beperformed her lover fell ill.

His days on earth were now numbered. Gesina,averse to becoming his wife, had poisoned him, but in thesame way as she had done Gottfried. She dosed himinto a state of utter helplessness, and when he was prostrateshe induced him to make a will in her favour. Thiswas the day before he died. The doctor was never evensuspicious, and her lover was buried. Then she retaineda clever lawyer to collect his effects, turn them into hardcash, and remit the money to her. A few relativesprotested, but Gesina and the lawyer settled them, andthe murderess entered with intense satisfaction intopossession of three thousand pounds, a large sum to her.

A year subsequent to this crime she was again engaged,26and once more she slowly poisoned her fiancé and he madeher his heir. When his will had been drawn up sheadministered the final dose, and, having allowed a fewdays to elapse, proceeded to inquire into the extent ofher inheritance.

Greatly to her anger and astonishment, she discoveredthat she had been hoaxed. Her victim had left nothingexcept debts, and she had wasted valuable arsenic uponhim. To add insult to injury, rumours spread thatGesina had inherited a large fortune, and several personswho had lent her money began to press for repayment.

Besides being a murderess, Gesina was very mean.She could borrow from the poorest of her acquaintances,but she would not repay them even when she had a considerableamount to her credit. She loved money, andnothing pleased her better than to add to her store ofgold coins. She was in the habit of carrying five hundredpounds about with her in notes and gold, and she graduallyacquired a collection of jewellery.

It is difficult to write of her as a human being. Onecan hardly imagine that she ever existed, and yet all thedetails of her career I have given are on the official recordsof the German Criminal Courts.

Gesina with the blue eyes and the merry laugh wentthrough life scattering death on each side of her. Shecould crack a joke with a man who was dying at herhands. She could dress in black and shed tears over acoffin, and at the same time debate with herself as to hernext victim. She poisoned innocent and inoffensivepersons just to keep her hand in. When she had over athousand pounds she murdered a woman because she hadasked for the return of a loan of five pounds.

The last-named affair occurred after the murder of thelover who had tricked her in death. Gesina's friend livedin Hamburg, and, having fallen upon evil times, andhearing that her old acquaintance was now a rich widow,she wrote asking to be repaid the money she had lent27her. Gesina sent an affectionate letter in return, invitingKatrine to visit her, when she would not only pay herthe debt, but add a present for her past kindness. It isonly necessary for me to add that Katrine never returnedto Hamburg for my readers to realize what happened toher when she became Gesina's guest.

But on account of her numerous crimes Gesina wascompelled to change her residence frequently, and whenshe bought a house in Bremen it was the sixth Germantown in which she had settled.

The house she took was capable of accommodatingseveral families, and she considered it a safe investmentfor her "earnings." But somehow things went wrong.She was an expert poisoner, but she was not good atbusiness, and eventually she had to raise a mortgageon her property at a ruinous rate of interest.

Gesina's ambition had always been to appear betteroff than her neighbours, and now, in order to gratify hervanity, she forgot her old passion for hoarding money.She lived luxuriously and dressed well, and, realizingthat her mind was beginning to be reflected in her face,she took to paint and powder to conceal her true character.Youth had fled from her, although she was youngin years. She was thin, scraggy, and unpleasing to theeye, but Gesina acquired the art of making up, and shewas able to pose as a young-looking widow who hadknown sorrow without having been hardened by it.

For two years she played her part so well that sheescaped detection. The "pretty widow" became a well-knowncharacter in Bremen, and it was often rumouredthat she was about to be married again. But somehowan accident always happened at the critical moment.Either it was the wrong man, and then Gesina simplypoisoned him, or else the right man became uneasy andbacked out of the engagement, and the murderess feltthat she dare not protest too much lest she should exposeherself and her past to inquiry. Anyhow, she was still a28widow when the mortgagees foreclosed and took possessionof her apartment house.

Gesina was now really poor. All her savings had gone,and with them her credit. She was actually in danger ofstarvation, and her condition was so forlorn that when thenew owner of the house—he had purchased it from themortgagees—came to turn her out and install his ownfamily, he was so touched by her distress—and she lookedso pathetically pretty as she sobbed in the darkenedroom—that he gave her the position of his housekeeper.

Herr Rumf was one of the most respected tradesmenin Bremen. A master wheelwright, he employed severalhands, and was considered a generous employer. Hiswife and children adored him, and he was just the sortof man to be affected by a forlorn widow's grief, for hewas large-hearted and easily roused to deeds ofgenerosity.

Gesina was not long in Rumf's employment before sheplanned out a regular campaign of murder. She resolvedto murder her employer's wife, and thus regain her ownershipof the house, in addition to becoming the mistressof his fortune, for once she was his wife she meant todispose of him as she had Gottfried and the infatuatedmerchant. As for Rumf, he unconsciously became awilling party to the plot. His own wife, aged by thecares of a large family, was not exactly an exhilaratingcompanion, and he was charmed of an evening on hisreturn from his shop by Gesina's ready wit and herstories of fashionable persons she pretended to haveknown when she was better off.

When Frau Rumf gave birth to a child it was Gesinawho attended her, and who at night waited on Rumf, andbanished his melancholia. He, too, began to cherishdangerous thoughts, and when his wife's illness took aturn for the worse, following the unexpected death of herinfant, he was not nearly as distressed as he would havebeen had he never made the acquaintance of the widow29who had "come down in the world," as she often assuredhim.

The unfortunate wife died, and Gesina was given thecharge of the five little children. Herr Rumf could notneglect his business. It was of far more importanceto him than his family; and, while he observed all theconventions in mourning for his wife, he was too good aGerman to allow her decease to interfere with money-making.Gesina, therefore, reigned over his household;and, recalling what Gottfried had said about childrenbeing an obstacle to matrimony, she poisoned all five inthe most fiendishly cruel manner.

The amazing thing is that Rumf never suspected thatthe seven tragedies in his household were not mereaccidents of fortune. He was suspected of aiding andabetting the murderess, but as he very nearly became oneof her victims he was not prosecuted, especially as heactually brought her career to an end.

His last child had just been interred when Herr Rumfhimself had a breakdown. For some days he had foundit impossible to retain food, and he was wasting away,when he ordered one of the pigs he kept to be killed and aportion of the meat cooked for him. As Gesina was thenvisiting some friends the meal was prepared by a servant,and to Rumf's extreme delight he found that it agreedwith him. It was the first food he had eaten for a fortnightthat he was able to digest.

Pleased at the discovery, he had a goodly piece of thepig placed in the larder for future use, being determinedto live on pork until he found something else to agreewith him. Nearly every day he took a look at the meat,just to see that it was all right, and it was only by accidentthat Gesina did not get to know of this. Rumf hadforgotten to tell her of his wonderful discovery, andwhen she came across the spare rib of pork in the lardershe guessed who it was for, without realizing all that itmeant to Rumf, and decided that it would provide a safe30medium for administering another dose of arsenic to him.She accordingly sprinkled it with the white powder, notknowing how affectionately her employer regarded thatparticular piece of meat, and ignorant of the fact that hescarcely thought of anything else from morning untilnight.

One day Rumf came home earlier than he was expected.Gesina was gossiping with a neighbour, and didnot see him enter the house. The wheelwright went tothe larder to have a peep at his beloved pork, and henoticed immediately that it had been shifted. He pickedit up to replace it, and then he saw the white powder.At once he remembered having seen similar powderbefore. It was in a salad which Gesina had preparedfor him just before the beginning of his illness.

Without scarcely pausing to think, he wrapped themeat up in a cloth, and carried it to the police, who had itexamined.

When the doctor reported that the white powder wasarsenic Gesina was arrested. She instantly confessedin the most brazen-faced manner, recounting her exploitsfrom the day she had murdered her first husbanddown to the attempt on Rumf's life, and, knowing thatshe would be shown no mercy, she reviled her gaolers,and defied them to do their worst.

Her trial and condemnation in 1828 followed as amatter of course, but Gesina went to her death with amincing gait, and a sneer for mankind in general. Sheexpressed only one regret, and that was that the notorietyher evil deeds had earned for her had resulted in thepublic becoming aware that her teeth were false!

31

CHAPTER III
BELLE STAR, THE GIRL BUSHRANGER

When the American Civil War came to an endit set free from discipline thousands ofrough, lawless men, many of whom subsequentlyadopted crime as a profession. Amongst themwas the father of Belle Star. He was a tall, powerfully-builtman, with rugged features and gorilla-like arms,a crack shot and a fearless horseman, and during thefour years Star had fought on behalf of the Southernagainst the Northern States he had revelled in theconflict. Peace had no charms for him, and when therival parties settled their differences he decided to makewar on both. In other words, he took to the bush withhalf a dozen tried and trusted comrades, and for severalyears the gang, which steadily grew in numbers, terrorisedthe country-side.

Belle, his only child, was born near a battlefield andwithin sound of the booming of the guns. The motherdid not long survive her birth, but, although nearlyalways on the march, Belle was well looked after. Shewas a pretty, fairy-like child, with blue eyes and anengaging manner, and she was the pet of the camp.The Southern soldiers called her their mascot, andbefore she was five she could handle a pistol, and by thetime she was ten she was expert in the use of the lasso,carbine, bowie knife, and revolver.

When Star turned bushranger Belle was only twelve,but she was already well qualified to be a prominent32member of his gang. Only her father excelled her as ashot, and in horsemanship she was without a rival.Wild and apparently untamable steeds that Star himselfdare not mount became docile as soon as Belle took themin hand. Animals loved her; men feared and respectedher.

She grew into a beauty, slim and fragile-looking, yetin reality very strong, intelligent, audacious and clever.When she was only fifteen she was once left in chargeof the headquarters of the outlaws for a whole day whilstthey rode to a certain town and held up the bank.During their absence a tramp attempted to rob the camp,but although he took Belle by surprise she soon had himon the defensive, and instead of killing her she killed himwith her small white hands, slowly forcing the thiefbackwards with her hands around his throat; then downon his knees, and, finally, left him a corpse at her feet.On the return of the outlaws she told her father what hadhappened, and he there and then named Belle as hissuccessor in the leadership of the gang, and every manpresent swore to obey her when her turn came to reignover them.

Reared amid bloodshed, taught every day to regardhuman life as anything but sacred, and educated to believethat it was no sin to rob, it is not astonishing thatat the age of eighteen Belle, for all her beauty, was athorough-paced criminal. She had already shot downat least half a dozen men; like her father she fearednothing, and flying along on a swift horse she wascapable of hitting any human target within sight.

More than once her marksmanship had saved the gangfrom being surrounded and overpowered, and during thelast two years of her father's life it was really her brainthat guided the band of outlaws.

But the inevitable day came when Star, the terror ofTexas, was slain in a running fight, and Belle succeededto the vacant leadership.

33Only those who knew what she really was could havetaken her seriously in her new capacity. She was eighteen,with refined, delicate features, lovely blue eyes, apair of rosy lips, and a slim figure. By now the gangconsisted of twenty men, all veterans in vice and crime,big, brawny, evil and coarse. Not one of them wouldhave hesitated to cut the throat of his own mother, yetBelle during her reign held them in the hollow of herhand.

They never dared to disobey her. There was neverany talk of mutiny, as there had been in her father'slifetime, and animated by this perfect loyalty the gangwent on from success to success, and Belle Star, thegreatest of all female bushrangers, kept in subjectionscores of villages and towns.

One of the first acts of the bloodthirsty spitfire wasto "avenge," as she called it, the death of her father.Star had sent to their last account at least forty men andwomen, but Belle would have it that his death had beenundeserved, and that because he had never robbed thevery poor the Sheriff had no right to shoot him for tryingto evade arrest. So she marked down the Sheriff forexecution, and with six of her followers set out for thelonely farm belonging to the county official.

Despite the fact that she knew that the Sheriff waskeeping a sharp watch for her, Belle did not hesitate towreak vengeance on him. It was in the early hours of aJune morning that she and her six followers rode out ofthe camp, and for five hours they travelled, only stoppingwhen within half a mile of the Sheriff's residence. Thenthey dismounted, carefully tethered their horses in awood, and did the remainder of the journey on foot,Belle leading the way, revolver in hand.

It was a lovely day, and as the Sheriff inspected hisfarm workers, a score of sturdy men devoted to his interests,he could hardly have suspected danger. Hewas fully protected and well armed in case of attack,34and, feeling secure, he wandered aimlessly towards themost remote corners of his property. He was idlysauntering in the direction of a tool-shed, when twomen sprang at him, and before he could utter a soundhad him on his back, gagged and bound.

Half an hour later the Sheriff was led before BelleStar, who was standing under an old tree waiting for him.There was very little beauty in her face now. Her eyesshone like a tigress', and her small white hands wereclenched.

Belle was smelling blood and gloating in the comingmurder of the man who had executed justice upon herfather.

The outlaw chieftainess called it a "trial," but theSheriff was doomed from the first. As they were out ofearshot she allowed the gag to be removed from hismouth, and then he was mockingly asked if he could suggestany reason why he should not be suspended from thetree under which they had assembled.

The Sheriff was a brave man, and he knew that hisfate was sealed. He did not, therefore, make any pleafor mercy, but in the curtest tones told Belle that he wasmerely one more victim of hers, but that in time hismurder would be avenged. He was proceeding to taunther with her disgraceful life, when she flushed angrily,and ordered him to be strung up.

Her commands were obeyed, and Belle's last act was toscribble on a piece of paper, "Executed by Belle Star,"and pin it to his coat, before she rode away with her sixruffians.

The murder of the Sheriff aroused the country, andit seemed that Belle's career must be a short one.Rewards were offered for her death or capture amountingto more than ten thousand dollars.

All classes organized to hunt down the notorious femalecriminal. Respectable citizens enrolled themselves aspatrols to guard their homes, and for miles around there35was not a town or village without its special defence.But Belle had her own system of obtaining information,and she learnt early all about the preparations that werebeing made to capture her, laughing and derisivelyboasting that she would outwit all her foes.

It was her fearlessness and audacity allied to successthat held the gang in subjection. Belle could do nowrong. When any of them attempted a job on theirown account they invariably failed. Thus when Belleinjured her arm, and had to travel two hundred milesdisguised in order to see a doctor, four of her followersthought they would rob a jewellery establishment andkeep the "swag" for themselves. They found couragein drink, and proceeded to attack the shop, but everythingwent wrong from the start. They were surprisedby a patrol, and a fight ensued, in the course of whichtwo of them were shot dead. The others escaped, andreached the camp in an exhausted condition, and whenBelle returned she punished them by making themdo all the dirty work of the camp for a month, and finedthe discomfited scoundrels by refusing to allow them toparticipate in the results of the next expedition.

That a young girl could dominate a gang of bloodthirstyruffians in this manner would be incredible ifthe story of Belle Star's life was not fully authenticated.

With her usual cunning Belle waited until the enthusiasmof the numerous Defence Committees wascooled by inaction before resuming hostilities. Forseveral weeks nothing was seen of her gang, and rumoursbegan to circulate that she had fled with her followersto a less highly organized district, having realized thatthe good people of Texas were too clever for her.

Disguised as a man, Belle would visit various towns,and in the market places and hotels listen to legendsabout herself. She would laugh the loudest when theleading citizens eloquently depicted her fate if they gother into their hands. She had a sense of humour, and36she could stroll into a local Court and watch pettythieves being sentenced, and applaud moral sentimentsuttered by the presiding judge, who could not know thatthe notorious female bushranger was sitting a few feetaway from him!

But her greatest exploit, apart from her many crimes,was the winning of two races on the same day in fullview of thousands of spectators. It happened that atown which had often suffered from her depredationsdecided to hold a special race meeting, and amongstseveral prizes two large sums of money were offered tothe winners of two particular races, one being for maleand the other for female jockeys.

Belle, realising that she was an expert rider, determinedto enter for both events, and as the one for mentook place an hour before that for the ladies, she assumedmale attire, and as a handsome young man rodeon to the racecourse. After giving a false name she waspermitted to take her place at the post, and as her horsewas the fleetest, and she was the most skilful jockey,victory followed as a matter of course.

She received the stakes from the local mayor, made aspeech of thanks, and then retired. When she reappearedshe was dressed as a country girl, and this timeshe was leading another horse.

She looked so simple and sweet that the stewards wereonly too delighted to accept her entry for the race forfemale jockeys, and loud was the applause when theyoung beauty came in an easy first. Once more Belleattended before the élite of the town to receive a considerablesum of money, and she was cheered to theecho by the huge crowd, amongst whom there were hundredsof men who had sworn to capture Belle Star aliveor dead.

The funds proved very useful to the gang, but, betterthan that, the men were so surprised and delighted byher double exploit that they became more slavish in37their devotion to her. Belle was supreme. She knewnow that if she led them into the very jaws of hell theywould not draw back or complain.

Owing to her father's depredations having created areign of terror amongst the country banks, a rule hadbeen made requiring all cashiers to keep a fully loadedrevolver on their desks, whilst if any suspicious strangerentered the premises one of the other clerks was to coverhim unostentatiously with a revolver, and shoot at thefirst sign of danger. This innovation having reducedconsiderably the number of bank "hold-ups," it createda belief that it had succeeded in frightening away BelleStar's gang, but Belle proved that that was a greatmistake.

Adopting her usual disguise of a young farmer, Bellewent alone to Galveston to pick up gossip, and she wasfortunate enough to overhear at one of the principalhotels a conversation between two merchants which revealedthe interesting fact that a week later the NationalBank was due to receive a consignment in gold amountingto one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.

That was the sort of thing that fired Belle's imagination,and although she knew that the National Bankwas well guarded, and that the manager and cashiertransacted business fully armed, she resolved to capturethat consignment of gold.

She returned to her headquarters to give final instructionsto her followers, and then she went back toGalveston, but this time she had assumed the characterof a little old woman with a thin voice and a hesitatingmanner. She "fluttered" in the approved fashion ofnervous old ladies, and more than one polite citizen ofGalveston hastened to help her across the road whenthey saw her shrinking from lumbering cart horses.

It was exactly ten minutes before closing time whenBelle timidly entered the National Bank and presenteda cheque, which she asked the cashier to change for her.38She looked so pathetic in her black clothes, and was soapologetic and yet friendly, that the cashier felt quitesorry when he had to tell her that he could not obligeher for the simple reason that the cheque was drawn onthe bank's branch at Austin, the capital of Texas. Perhapssome of his politeness was inspired by a glance at thesignature on the cheque, which was that of a well-knownUnited States diplomat.

The poor old lady looked greatly distressed, and whenat last she fully understood that she was not to have themoney she showed signs of collapsing. The cashierand one of the clerks hastened to come to her assistance,and they assisted her into the manager's office, where shesank on to a chair, and huskily whispered that she wouldbe all right in a few moments.

Manager, cashier and clerk were glancing at oneanother when they were startled to hear the command—"Handsup!" The next moment the "little oldlady" was covering them with her revolver, whilstsix of the outlaws under her command entered the building,closed the door of the bank, and made all the officialsprisoners. Then they visited the vaults and thestrong-room, and, having waited until darkness hadfallen, took the gold out and packed it in the vanbrought for the purpose, eventually riding awayleisurely.

It was not until the early hours of the followingmorning that the trussed-up and gagged bank staff werediscovered and released. By then Belle Star was faraway, and for the next two days the gang were busychanging their quarters in case they had been trackedto their camp. This single exploit made them all rich,but, of course, there was no limit to their greed, and nosooner was it accomplished than Belle began to planothers equally daring.

But she had a woman's vanity, and she brooded overinsults and taunts which a man would have ignored,39and she sometimes risked her own safety and that of herfollowers to avenge a petty slight.

She once happened to be in a populous town nearAustin, when she heard the local judge declare that heknew Belle Star by sight and that he would shortlyarrest her, and have her publicly whipped before handingher over to the Lynchers. The girl brigand andthe judge were actually seated next to one anotherat the table d'hôte dinner at the hotel when he saidthis.

Belle smiled at his delusion, but when he proceeded tospeak of her in opprobrious terms and gave her credit formore crimes than murder and robbery her anger nearlyled her into revealing her identity. But she maintainedcontrol of herself, and after a little reflection decided towait until the following morning before punishing theboastful judge.

Next morning after breakfast—she had registered asa man, and, of course wore male clothes—she mountedher horse in front of the hotel, and then sent a servantto tell the judge that a stranger wished to speak to him.At this time of day everybody was at work, and thehotel staff were busy indoors and in the stables. Whenthe judge appeared he and Belle were practically alone,as she knew, and without hesitating she blandly informedhim that she was Belle Star, and then raised herwhip and lashed him in the face.

The judge was so astounded that he was unable toescape her until she had lacerated him considerably,and, half blind and smarting from pain, his shrieksfor help were unanswered until Belle had reached a placeof safety.

It is a well-known fact that when a woman deliberatelyembraces crime as a profession she is generally morebrutal and merciless than the average male criminal.It was so with Belle Star. The fair-haired girl with thesunny smile and the lovely lips could in cold blood40sentence to death a young man whose only offence wasthat he had tried to defend his property and his life.

Belle, too, was in the habit of accepting her ownsuspicions as full proof. Once a well-laid scheme cameto naught because at the last moment the owner of theshop that had been marked down for attack awoke to arealization of his danger and secured reinforcements.The outlaws were driven off, and Belle, savagely discontentedand disappointed, came to the conclusion that herplans had been betrayed by a young farm hand who hadbeen in her pay as a spy.

She, therefore, sent two of her followers to arrest him,but the suspect gave them no trouble, for he camewillingly. Then Belle coldly told him of his offence.He swore he was innocent, but she cut him short bydrawing her revolver and putting a bullet in his brain,and the gang buried the suspected traitor with as muchnonchalance as they would have interred a dog.

It is impossible, however, to relate all her exploits.She personally led onslaughts on banks, stores, privatehouses, and public buildings.

She had a solution for every problem and a way out ofevery difficulty. When one of her men was arrested andwas in imminent danger of death, Belle, finding that thejudge could not be kidnapped, proceeded to make aprisoner of his wife, and the judge subsequently found anote pinned to his pillow, informing him that unless thecaptured outlaw was allowed to go free the lady would bemurdered. He was given only twenty-four hours to saveher, but, as the town was in a ferment over the excessesof the gang, the judge, guessing that he dare not acquitthe prisoner, had to connive at his escape in order toprevent the murder of his wife. He had a bad time ofit when his fellow-citizens heard how they had beencheated of their prey, and he was compelled to resign,but as his wife was returned safe and unharmed he wasnot sorry that he had placated the outlaw.

41Belle had plenty of friends who worked secretly for her.They did not take any part in the raids, but they werevery useful in supplying information and warnings, andmore than once the gang escaped, thanks to the timelyadvice of these spies. Thus when Belle was heading anexpedition to rob a bank, she looked for and found acertain mark on the bark of a particular tree within acouple of miles of the town. That told her that the bankhad obtained the protection of the authorities, and wouldbe more than a match for the outlaws. She proceededno farther, and she afterwards learned that the proprietorof the bank had planned to capture the gang. Theirdisappointment when she and her followers never turnedup at all was a source of amusement to her, and compensatedfor the collapse of her plans.

For a long time, however, the Government would nottake any action against the marauders, maintainingthat the local authorities ought to be able to deal withthem. But, when within the space of a month fivebanks and six shops were burgled and nine innocent liveswere lost, the Government realized that this was nolocal problem but a national affair after all. BelleStar was terrorizing the country in no unmistakablemanner. Her word was law, and the State was ignored.

Hundreds of small farmers paid her weekly tributes tosave them from being robbed of their all, and thingscame to such a pass that some mean-spirited personsactually proposed that each town should pay ransommoney to Belle if she would only promise to keep away!

When the troops took the field against her Belle'sdays were numbered, although she refused to admit this,and she issued proclamations inviting the soldiers tocome on. Certainly the initial encounters ended favourablyfor Belle. She added to her recruits, providedthem with plenty of ammunition, and, setting an exampleof fearlessness, led them against the soldiers, and drovethem off.

42She had by now her headquarters in the midst of aforest, and it was possible for travellers to pass withina few yards of the huts without knowing that theywere there. Beyond the huts was a miniature fortresswhich commanded the approach to the forest, and, asit could be attacked from one side only, it was easyfor half a dozen desperate men, all expert marksmen,to hold hundreds at bay.

Despite the fact that a regiment of soldiers wassearching for her and her gang, Belle refused to lie low.Her raids continued, and when a spy of hers appealedfor help she promptly responded, although it involvedgreat risks. This spy, a woman employed as a cookin an hotel, had a husband who had been arrested fora trivial offence, but as he had a bad record it wascertain that if the judge discovered it he would givethe fellow a long sentence.

As the prisoner had come from New York, the policeof the latter city were asked for particulars of his career,and they responded by sending a list of his previousconvictions to the judge at Galveston.

But the damaging papers arrived on a Friday night,and before the judge could see them Belle personallyentered the post office, held up the staff, examined thecorrespondence, and, having found the bulging packetfrom the New York Chief of Police, took it away anddestroyed it. The result was that the spy's husbandwas treated as a first offender, and let off with a nominalfine.

The day after this exploit Belle was riding alone nearher camp, when she was attacked by two soldiers,who suspected her identity. They followed, thinkingthat they could capture the famous brigand easily.But Belle's object was to separate them, and when theman on the swifter horse outdistanced his comradeBelle turned in her saddle and, despite the pace atwhich she was going, killed him with her first shot.43His corpse had scarcely struck the ground when asecond bullet ended the career of the other soldier.

These exploits gained for her a great deal of sympathy.The Texans were essentially a sporting race, and theyargued that if a regiment of soldiers could not overcomea slip of a girl and a score of brigands then they deservedto be beaten. This was extraordinary, in view ofthe fact that Belle had robbed and pillaged all alike.The very poor she had spared for the reason thatthey were not worth robbing, but it was accounteda virtue unto her, and numerous acts of benevolenceby her enhanced her reputation.

The fact was that Belle was as cunning as she wasunscrupulous. She distributed money and provisionsamongst the poor and worthless not because she hadany pity for them, but because it was the cheapest wayof obtaining the support at critical moments of a largeportion of the population. Every gaolbird looked upto Belle as a subject does to a Sovereign, and theyrespected her all the more when they knew that sheadmitted to membership of her gang only the bestexperts in the criminal line.

At least four pitched battles were fought betweenthe outlaws and the Government soldiers before thefinal encounter. Belle seemed to bear a charmed life.She always headed her colleagues and took the greatestrisks, and when she emerged without a scratch fromthe fiercest encounters her ignorant and superstitiousfollowers began to believe that she was not mortal.They had often seen her ride at a troop of armed soldiersand coolly pick off the officers, while all the time a perfecthail of bullets had sung around her fair head withouttouching her.

Whenever the battle was going against the outlawsit was Belle who revived their drooping courage, andshe twice turned defeat into victory by her marvellousshooting. The outwitted and beaten commanders were44compelled to send for reinforcements, and, so variableis human nature, when a hundred weary and dust-strainedtroopers entered Austin, the town they hadcome to save, they were jeered at by the ungratefulinhabitants, who had learnt that in a pitched battlewith Belle Star's outlaws the soldiers had been worsted.

Belle's end was fittingly dramatic. She was celebratinga run of success against banks and shops witha feast when news came that two hundred and fiftysoldiers under the command of a major were advancingto storm the fort. Instantly she sprang to her feetand ordered every man to his place.

She was sobered in a moment by the news, whichwas as unexpected as it was unpleasant; and therewere several of her followers who had drunk too muchto be of use. In vain did Belle shake and curse themand even implore them to wake up. They could onlystagger forward a few paces and collapse. One man,in a fit of drunken hilarity and bravado, began to fireindiscriminately, thereby revealing the hiding-place ofthe outlaws, and Belle was so enraged that she brainedhim with her carbine. There was no time to removethe corpse, for the soldiers could be heard approachingnow, and Belle, realizing that this time it was goingto be a fight to a finish, put herself at the head of hergarrison, and prepared to conquer or die.

The outlaws were well entrenched, and had a plentifulsupply of ammunition, but they were up againstequally desperate men now. At last, seeing that ifthey remained in the fort those who were not killedoutright would be captured, Belle personally led asortie against the enemy, hoping to escape in the confusion.The men followed her gladly, rememberingtheir previous victories, but most of them were stillfuddled by drink, and in the circumstances could notbe expected to show to advantage.

Belle was the only one to fight at her best. She45displayed amazing courage, time after time headingattacks on the troopers, who were so flustered as toshow signs of panic. But the commander rallied them,and as by now the troopers regarded Belle Star as ademon and not as a human being they pressed forwardto destroy her without being affected by hersex or age. When things were going against her shecollected a few of her followers, and made one lastdesperate attempt to break through the ring of soldiers,but her luck failed her, and she fell riddled with bullets.It was the death she had always desired.

47

CHAPTER IV
THE WOMAN WITH THE FATAL EYES

Jeanne Daniloff was reared in an atmosphereof mystery, intrigue and squalor. Her fatherwas one of the many victims of Russian tyranny,and he had been forced to wander about Europe, goingfrom one cheap boarding-house to another, accompaniedby a wife who resented his lack of worldly success, andby a daughter who, as she grew older, rebelled againstthe squalid isolation of the life they were leading.

But Jeanne was not the sort of girl to accept her fatequietly. She had inherited her father's fanaticism,though she never applied it to political purposes, andalso her mother's temper, and, becoming tired of thefrequent quarrels between her parents, she eloped toParis with an old gentleman. Jeanne was not sixteen,well developed, hardly a beauty, but possessed of apair of remarkable eyes. She was well described lateras "The woman with the fatal eyes." Jeanne wasnot destined to live many years, and yet during herbrief career she hypnotized to their ruin three men, allof whom were, presumably, persons of education andposition.

The ambitious, fiery-natured Russian girl meant tohave a good time. Jeanne Daniloff was a curiousmixture of pride and self-abasement. She hated povertyand she loved love. In her opinion the world ought tohave been populated only by handsome men able to48provide her with every luxury, with a sprinkling ofwomen to flatter her by their jealousy. Warm-heartedand warm-blooded, reared in poverty and trouble,Jeanne Daniloff was born to play a tragic rôle on thestage of life.

Her first escapade did not last longer than six monthsand by the time her elderly friend had deserted herJeanne was an orphan. At that moment her fate wastrembling in the balance, and she might have been leftin her loneliness to sink to the lowest depths had not hergrandmother, who had always loved the reckless andirresponsible girl, offered her a home. Jeanne accepted,and went to live at Nice, encouraged, no doubt, bythe knowledge that Nice had many carnivals, and wasa resort of the rich.

Her grandmother, who kept a boarding-house, wassoon cured of her delusion that Jeanne would help herin the conduct of her establishment. Household workwas not to the liking of the young girl, who thoughtonly of dresses and dances and men, and while the oldlady was left to look after her boarders Jeanne spentthe days reading novels and the nights dancing. Shebecame a well-known figure at the numerous dancinghalls in Nice, and most men forgot her rather plainfeatures once they came under the spell of her "fataleyes." Jeanne had only to look at a man to bring himto her feet. Once she realized her power she revelledin it, and, despite her aptitude for doing nothing, shemanaged to educate herself to hold her own in the bestsociety, into which she sometimes strayed.

There is always at least one critical turning point inthe careers of women of the Daniloff type, and Jeanne'scame unexpectedly at a ball at Nice. She was chattingwith a couple of friends between dances when the masterof ceremonies begged to be allowed to present a newcomerto her. A few moments later Jeanne Daniloffwas face to face with a tall, pale young man with a weak49mouth and a nervous manner. Jeanne looked at himwith her fatal eyes, and he was her slave.

Weiss was a lieutenant in the French Army, of goodfamily, and with a future. In that crowd of adventurersand witlings he was a somebody, and when the followingday he called on Jeanne at her grandmother's boarding-househe thrilled her with a proposal of marriage. Itwas not unexpected. Jeanne must have known thatshe had fascinated him, but she was nevertheless pleasedat the prospect of becoming Madame Weiss, and in herusual manner she flung herself impetuously into thearms of her lover.

Her happiness was short-lived, however. Weiss'smother, when she heard of her son's intention, madeit her business to interview Jeanne. Madame Weisswas not to be fascinated by the "fatal eyes," and shesummed up the character of the boarding-house sirenin terms that left no doubt in her son's mind that shewould never consent to the union. As according to thelaw of France the young officer could not marry withouthis mother's permission the brief engagement betweenhim and Jeanne came to an end.

The Russian girl quickly recovered her spirits andonce again abandoned herself to the gaieties of Nice.The prospect of losing her turned Weiss's love into aburning passion. He attended balls just to catch aglimpse of her; and it maddened him to see her smilinginto the faces of men he imagined to be his rivals. Dailyhe pestered his mother to give her consent, but she heldout against him, and at last Weiss had to resort todesperate measures.

With his promotion to the rank of captain he receivedorders to go to Oran in Algiers. The night before hewas due to leave Nice he sought out Jeanne and imploredher to elope with him. Of course he was in completeignorance of the fact that the girl had already had that"affair" with that elderly gentleman which had terminated50in Paris. Young Weiss used all the eloquenceof which he was capable, unable to realize that he wasaddressing one to whom elopement appealed irresistiblybecause it was an adventure.

They left together for Oran, and shortly after theirarrival set up housekeeping under the soft, alluringskies of Algiers. The humid climate suited Jeanne.The mysticism and romantic beauty of North Africacaptivated her; she revelled in the colour, the movementand the variety of the native towns and villages.As the reputed wife of Captain Weiss she mixed in thebest society, and Jeanne was soon a popular hostess,whilst her fascination for men was as remarkable asever it had been.

Meanwhile, the much-in-love Weiss had not ceasedto pester his mother, and she, feeling that it would befoolish to resist any longer, gave her consent, and CaptainWeiss and Jeanne Daniloff were married.

The ceremony had a curious effect upon Jeanne.She became deeply religious. Every morning she readthe Bible, and her prayers were never neglected. Shetook to visiting the poor and her charity was boundless.Her husband was delighted. He was her most devotedadmirer, and as he possessed qualities which made himan ideal husband she ought to have been very happy.

For a time Jeanne mastered herself sufficiently toappreciate him and to show her devotion by living onlyfor him. His abilities had by now been recognized bythe French Government, which had permitted him toretire from the army and take a well-paid civil appointmentin the Algerian service. There was, therefore,no lack of money, and when in course of time Jeannewas the mother of two fine children, a son and a daughter,she seemed to be the happiest wife and mother in Oran.

She had the means to give dinner-parties and garden-parties,and the very best people were amongst herintimate friends. It was, indeed, a decided change51from the boarding-house at Nice and the cheap dancinghalls.

Soon after the birth of her second child—in the earlypart of 1889—Captain Weiss bought a charming houseand grounds at Ain-Fezza, near Oran. It was an idealresidence, and everyone envied Madame Weiss herhome, her children and her husband. She had thereputation of being a most devout Christian and agood wife and mother.

The Paris elopement seemed to belong to anotherworld. The reckless pleasure-seeking Jeanne Daniloffmight never have existed, yet the time was fast approachingwhen her real self was to come to the surfaceagain. Nothing could have prevented her being herself.She could not help her own nature. The daughterof the Russian revolutionaries, a veritable child ofstorm, could not maintain the character she had earnedin Oran; and when all appeared well with her sheplunged into a murderous intrigue which cost her everything—home,children, husband and life!

In the year 1889 an engineer of the name of FelixRoques came to Ain-Fezza to work on the AlgerianRailways. He had not been long in the place when hewas compelled to listen to glowing accounts of MadameWeiss, in which her piety and love for her family weredilated upon. Roques's curiosity was aroused. Itseemed impossible that the world should contain soperfect a creature as they told him Madame Weiss was.At this time Jeanne was only twenty-one, and in thefull possession of her powers, physical and mental.

Felix Roques had no difficulty in making her acquaintance.In common with the principal employésof the company that was constructing the railway, hewas invited to a garden-party at Madame Weiss's,and there he was introduced to her by her husband.For some extraordinary reason the sight of Felix Roquesaroused in Madame Weiss's breast all those doubtful52passions which had lain dormant since her flight fromNice. In a moment she was Jeanne Daniloff again.She fell straightway in love with the handsome engineer.Home, husband, children and reputation became asnothing to her. She dropped the mask and was the wildchild of nature again. All the blood of her fanatical,revolutionary ancestors coursed through her veins,warmed by the balmy African sun.

She was really in love at last. That was what shetold herself. She had married Captain Weiss to escapefrom the dreary boarding-house and the commonplacepersons her grandmother catered for. She had toleratedhim because he gave her social position, and she hadaccepted boredom because she wished to be with herchildren. But now she was in love, and Felix Roques,whose features were regular without making him startlinglyhandsome, fell under the spell of the fateful eyes,and was never the same man again.

The lovers had many secret meetings, and even whenthey met at parties could not conceal their affection.Friends warned Weiss; but he only laughed at them.Was not his wife the most religious woman in Oran?Had he not the evidence of his own senses that shewas devoted to him and to their little boy and girl?"You are talking nonsense, my friend," he would answercalmly, and go about his duties, and once, to show hisconfidence in his wife, asked Felix Roques to take herto an evening party because business would detain himat his office.

The time came, however, when Madame Weiss andFelix Roques decided that it was impossible for eitherof them to be content with simple dalliance. Thehypnotized engineer declared that Jeanne must giveherself completely to him.

The suggestion was met with a pleased laugh. Jeanneliked a strong, determined lover, and not a milksop ofa husband who let her have her own way in everything.53I will give her own description of this scene with herlover. It reveals the temperament of the woman in aremarkable way.

"I loved Monsieur Roques as the master of mythoughts, of my intelligence, of my body, of every fibreof my being, as a master whom I worshipped, and inwhose presence I myself ceased to exist," she wrote."When he asked me for the first time to appoint himan assignation we were walking with some other people.Instead of saying yes or no I took out a coin and saidto him, 'I don't wish to take on myself the responsibilityof a decision; you know that if once we begin to loveit will be no light thing for me. I shall lead you far,perhaps farther than you think. If it comes down headsit shall be yes; if tails, no.' He looked very astonished;he blushed very deeply and said, 'So be it.' I spunthe coin; it came down heads, and I was his."

The astounding nature of this female criminal isproved by the fact that to celebrate her downfall shehad a ring engraved with the date, November 13, 1889!

Once she was committed to him her love became amania. She wrote to him daily, and at night, when shehad superintended the putting to bed of her children,she would sit down beside their cot and scribble pagesof ecstatic praise of the young engineer.

Some of those letters have been preserved, and I willgive one or two specimens.

"Dearest," she wrote a fortnight after she had betrayedher husband, "you do not know how I hold tolife now. Does it not promise to me in the future daysof radiant happiness, intimacy, affection growing dailystronger, with you, my beloved, you to whom I amproud to belong, you for whom I am capable of anysacrifice, any act of devotion? How I love you, Felix!Take all the kisses I can give you and many more. Iembrace you with all the strength of my being.—Yourwife, Jeanne."

54Several months passed, and everybody in the districtexcept Weiss knew of the intimacy between his wifeand Roques. The infatuated man refused to believea word against her, and his wife rewarded him by eventuallycoming to the conclusion that he was in her way,and that she must "remove" him in order to attainto the fullest happiness with Felix Roques.

The guilty couple often discussed the possibilityof murdering Weiss without having to pay the penalty.Like everybody else they had been fascinated by thelurid English drama known as "The Maybrick Case."They had read full details of the "removing" of JamesMaybrick by arsenic, and the very complete Frenchreports of the sensational Liverpool trial introducedJeanne Weiss to many of the mysteries of arsenicalpoisoning. She knew that there were ways of obtainingpoison without having to name that dread word, andwhen the fatal step was resolved on she voted for Fowler'ssolution as the medium.

A remarkable correspondence led up to the opening actof the drama. She sent Roques a letter, in which shesaid, "I am beset with sad and depressing thoughts.What I am about to do is very ugly."

Later she wrote, "I prefer Fowler's solution to beginwith. It is agreed, Felix. You shall be obeyed. HaveI ever hesitated before anything except the desertion ofmy children? Crimes against the law don't troubleme at all. It is only crimes against Nature that revoltme. I am a worshipper of Nature."

Another remarkable reference to the forthcomingattempt on her husband's life must be quoted, "Ihave been playing the Danse Macabre as a duet. Mynerves must be affected, for it produced a gloomy effectupon me. I thought of death and of those who areabout to die. Can it be that this feeling will return tome? But it is so sweet to think that I am working forour nest."

55The last letter she penned before the actual poisoningbegan was an outburst of love and hysteria.

"Oh, Felix, love me, for the hideousness of my taskglares at me. I want to close my heart and my souland my eyes. I want to banish the recollection ofwhat he has done for me, for I worship you. I feelsuch a currency of complete intimacy between youand me that words seem unnecessary. We read eachother's thoughts as in an open book. To arrest thiscurrent would be to arrest my life. I may shudder atwhat I am doing after it is done, but go back I cannot.Comfort and sustain me; help me to get over the inevitablemoments of depression, bind me under youryoke. Make me drunk with your caresses, for thereinlies your own power. I will be yours, whatever happens.So long as you give me your orders I will carry them out.But it seems to me I am doing wrong. I love youterribly."

Weiss became ill in October, 1890, mysteriously ill,for the local doctor was greatly puzzled. The patient'syoung wife—she was only twenty-two—nursed himwith apparent devotion. She would allow no one elseto give him his food, and, of course, her reason for thiswas the fact that no one else could be relied upon to mixarsenic with it!

When friends of the family called Jeanne's distresstouched their hearts. She was implored not to riska breakdown herself by overdoing the day and nightnursing of her ailing husband, and they advised her toemploy professional help. With a wan smile Jeanneannounced her determination to nurse him tenderlyherself, and sacrifice her own life if necessary for him.There had been adverse rumours concerning JeanneWeiss in Oran and the neighbourhood, but in theface of this unexampled devotion to her husbandthey seemed to be the inventions of unscrupulousenemies.

56The doctor grew more puzzled. Just when his patientseemed to be improving he would have a relapse, andthere was a curious ill-luck about the ministrationsof Madame Weiss. He did not see that Jeanne was onlyacting the part of the distressed and anxious wife.It was her pale face and tearful manner that kept hiseyes closed to the truth.

It happened, however, that Weiss had a secretary,Guerry, whose wife was a friend of Mademoiselle Castaing,the postmistress at Ain-Fezza, a lady whose bump ofcuriosity was abnormally developed, for she was in thehabit of passing her time by opening the letters thatcame through her office, and reading the contents.

Mademoiselle, in fact, knew more about the intriguebetween Madame Weiss and Felix Roques than anyoneelse, and it was only by exercising the rarest self-controlthat she refrained from publishing far and wide thenews that Roques had gone to Spain to be out of theway when Weiss died, and that Madame Weiss was tojoin him later in Madrid with her children. She knewalso that months before Jeanne had refused to elopewith Roques, because that would have meant partingfrom her children, the custody of whom would be givento her deserted husband by the Court. It wasbecause she wished to keep her children that shedecided to murder her husband instead of simplyleaving him.

Guerry, the secretary, was devoted to his employer.When Weiss became worse he reported the fact toMadame Guerry, and that lady sniffed meaningly andfinally blurted out the gossip she had heard from thepostmistress.

Instantly the secretary's suspicions were aroused.He felt certain that Jeanne was poisoning her husband,and when on October 9 his wife hinted that MadameWeiss had posted an important letter addressed toFelix Roques at Madrid, and that the letter was still57lying in Mademoiselle Castaing's post office, he promptlywent down to see the lady whose curiosity was thedirect means of saving a wronged man's life.

It was, of course, against the regulations for the postmistressto discuss her duties with outsiders, and Guerry,unwilling to put her in an embarrassing position, cutthe Gordian knot by stealing Madame Weiss's letter.When he got home he read it, and a more remarkabledocument was never penned.

"You may as well know what a fearful time I amgoing through at this moment—in what a nightmareI live," Jeanne wrote. "Monsieur has been in bedfour days, and the best half of my stock is used up.He fights it—fights it by his sheer vitality and instinctof self-preservation, so that he seems to absorb emeticsand never drains a cup or a glass to its dregs. Thedoctor, who came yesterday, could find no disease.'He's a madman, a hypochondriac,' he said. 'Sincehe seems to want to be sick, give him some ipecacuanha,and don't worry. There's nothing seriously the matterwith him.'

"The constant sickness obliges me to administerthe remedy in very small doses. I can't go beyondtwenty drops without bringing on vomiting. Yesterdayfrom five in the morning until four in the afternoonI have done nothing but empty basins, clean sheets,wash his face, and hold him down in the bed duringhis paroxysms of sickness. At night when I have gotaway for a moment I have put my head on MademoiselleCastaing's shoulder and sobbed like a child. Iam afraid, afraid that I haven't got enough of theremedy left, and that I shan't be able to bring it off.Couldn't you send me some by parcel post to the railwaystation of Ain-Fezza? Can't you send four or five pairsof children's socks with the bottle? I'll take care to getrid of the wrapper. Hide the bottle carefully.

"I'm getting thinner every day. I don't look well,58and I am afraid when I see you I shan't please you.Did you get the photograph?

"Forgive my handwriting, but I am horribly nervous.I adore you."

The secretary handed the letter to the Public Prosecutorat Oran, and immediately Jeanne Weiss wasarrested. The police were only just in time. Anotherday's delay and Weiss must have died, for the doctorshad to work desperately before they could report thathe was mending. When she was put in prison Jeannetried to commit suicide, but a strong emetic preservedher life. Then followed a genuine illness, and for sixmonths she was in the prison infirmary.

She had been allowed to take her infant with her,but it sickened in goal and died, greatly to her distress,for although Jeanne could plot to receive arsenic withwhich to poison her husband, and could ask her loverto hide the bottle in children's socks, she was devotedto her babies. A curious contradiction, yet it wasbecause of this that, instead of deserting Weiss, shechose rather to poison him.

A perusal of Madame Weiss's papers left no doubtin the minds of the authorities that Felix Roques washer guilty accomplice, and the services of the Spanishpolice were utilized to effect his arrest in Madrid. Roques,however, had no intention of facing the music, and hecontrived to smuggle a revolver into the Spanish goal,and with it he blew out his brains. The young Russianwoman was left, therefore, to answer alone the seriouscharge of having attempted to murder her husband.

The trial did not take place until the last week in May,1891, when Jeanne Weiss was just twenty-three. Shehad, indeed, lived her life. In experience and intrigueshe was an old woman, and it was hard to credit thestory of her career as laid before judge and jury by theprosecutor. During her incarceration she had composeda sort of autobiography in which she attempted59to put all the responsibility on Felix Roques, and whentired of that she persuaded herself that her husbandhad forgiven her, and that he would save her frompunishment by giving evidence on her behalf. It wassheer invention, but it enabled her to enter the Courtwithout a tremor, and feel hopeful of an acquittal.

The trial was conducted with all the emotion of whicha French Court can be capable, and had it not been forthe proofs in the prisoner's own handwriting her youthand her "fatal eyes" might have saved her from conviction.Jeanne's chief hope was that the sight of herdistress might reawaken the love her husband first borefor her, the love that had once caused him to quarrelwith his own mother. But Weiss had been sickenedto the soul by the realization of her treachery. He couldnot look upon her without shuddering with horror,and from the moment he had been convinced that shehad tried to murder him he declined to give her hisname. Henceforth she was Jeanne Daniloff, and notMadame Weiss, and he would not permit anyone tospeak of her as his wife.

Jeanne, who had decided to commit suicide if she wasconvicted, came into Court with a handkerchief whichshe constantly pressed against her face. No one knewthat in the corner of it was a piece of cigarette paperwhich contained a dose of strychnine. This was tobe her last resource if the verdict of the jury went againsther.

The critical moment came when Weiss stepped intothe witness-box. Now that Felix Roques was deadWeiss was the only person who could tell the inner historyof the intrigue. Jeanne hoped that he wouldsuppress everything likely to damage her, and all thetime he was being questioned she kept her eyes on him.

But it was too late. Weiss was an older and a wiser,if sadder man now. Jeanne's eyes were no longercapable of hypnotizing him, and he simply told the60truth. When he was given permission to leave thebox he turned abruptly towards the jury and addressedthem.

"I desire, gentlemen," he said, "to make the followingdeclaration: I speak that I may reply to certaincalumnies that have appeared in the press. I havenever forgiven Jeanne Daniloff. I do not, and I neverwill, forgive her. Henceforth she is nothing to me.Whatever her fate, I stay near my children. I onlywish never to hear her name again."

That statement sealed the doom of the accused. Sheuttered a gasp of terror, and would have fallen hadnot the wardress clutched her, and although the trialcontinued for several hours longer she scarcely understoodwhat was happening.

It was at four o'clock in the morning when the juryreturned a verdict of guilty, "with extenuating circumstances,"and but for the latter the convict wouldhave been sentenced to death.

The fatal eyes had, in fact, saved her; but JeanneWeiss had no desire for life. To her, death was farmore preferable than existence within prison walls,and when the judge's sentence was still ringing in herears she bit her handkerchief as though trying to steadyher nerves, though in reality she was swallowing thedose of strychnine she had concealed in the hem. Arequest to the wardress for a glass of water was instantlycomplied with, and Jeanne then washed the fatal poisondown. A few moments later she was shrieking in agony.

They carried her into an adjoining room, and a doctoradministered an emetic, but already the deadly dosewas accomplishing its task. Jeanne Weiss was dying,and those who had assisted to bring her to justice stoodaround her as she passed into another world.

The manner of her going was in keeping with hercharacter. Wild, turbulent, passionate, fierce and unscrupulous,Jeanne Daniloff was a revolutionary, one61who rebelled against the laws of mankind. She tookher own life gladly, and her last words were referencesto her children and to the man for whom she had sacrificedso much.

She appeared anxious to spare her children the disgraceof having a convict for a mother, but it was really herhusband's repudiation and the knowledge of her lover'sdeath that had inspired her to revise the sentence ofthe Court and execute herself.

63

CHAPTER V
MADAME RACHEL

THE BEAUTY SPECIALIST

Anybody who has sufficient self-assurance toset up as a "beauty specialist" will neverwant for clients as long as there are middle-agedand ugly women in existence and vanity continuesto be one of the most common weaknesses ofhumanity. But when Rachel Leverson, an unscrupulousLondon Jewess, claimed to have discovered aprocess by which she could make members of her ownsex beautiful for ever she struck out into a new line,and one that proved eminently successful until thepolice intervened.

Madame Rachel, as she called herself, had no pretensionsto good looks. She was, to tell the truth,repulsive in appearance, being stout, with a greasyskin, irregular features, eyes that repelled, and a mannerthat was generally familiar and always irritating. Butjust as men will buy a hair-restorer from a bald-headedbarber so will women flock to an ugly creature to learnthe secret of beauty. Madame Rachel was ugly inmind as well as in body; she was rapacious and unscrupulous,and yet for years she prospered as a "beautydoctor."

It was a very risky business that Madame Rachelbrought into existence, but, despite her audaciousfrauds, it was not without difficulty that she was convictedin a court of law and punished for her crimes.

Before starting as a "beauty specialist" Rachel64Leverson had tried fortune-telling, but the profits hadbeen too small and clients too few, and she quicklyretired from it to strike out on new lines, and she didnot have to wait very long before her bank balancejustified her enterprise.

The woman's headquarters were in a house at thecorner of Maddox Street and New Bond Street, andwere, therefore, right in the heart of fashionableLondon.

Her methods were a mixture of quackery, blackmail,subserviency and bullying, and, realizing that mostpeople do not value anything which is not costly, shecharged enormous fees. Whenever she quoted themshe did so in a reluctant manner, as if to suggest thatshe personally got nothing out of the business, andwas, in fact, really a philanthropist. Of course, sherelied principally on her knowledge of the weaknessesof her sex, and those would-be clients whose financialposition obviously precluded them from adding to herprofits she skilfully used to advertise her merits.

On one occasion the widow of a Civil Servant, alady in the fifties, who had lost her good looks manyyears earlier in the hot suns of India, applied to MadameRachel to be made beautiful for ever, being unawarethat the Jewess charged a hundred guineas for thepreliminary treatment only and that she required athousand guineas for the full course. But as the ladywas in society Madame Rachel did not drive her awaywith contumely, as she had persons of low degree.She merely surveyed her caller, and then announcedthat she could not accept less than five hundred guineas"on account."

"MADAME RACHEL"

"You should understand," said Madame Rachel,leaning back in an arm-chair, and speaking in an impressivemanner, "that the process I have discoveredis known only to myself, and that it is a very expensiveone to work. I have to charge high fees not only for65that reason, but to make sure that only ladies of rankand fortune will patronize me.Ladies will keep mysecret, I know. If they didn't I should be out of work"—hereshe laughed—"in a month. I am sorry thatyou cannot afford the course of treatment, for I amsure that it would do all you require. Still, it can'tbe helped."

The widow went off to tell her acquaintances, and,incidentally, to get half a dozen friends to lend hersufficient money to undergo the expensive treatment.In return she promised that as soon as she had discoveredthe secret process she would reveal it to them,and then they could make themselves beautiful withouthaving to spend another penny or consult the beautydoctor.

A week later the widow paid Madame Rachel thefive hundred guineas, and at once began the treatment.It continued for a month, during which time the victimdrank all sorts of medicines, had innumerable baths,sat in dark rooms for hours, and painted her skin withvile concoctions. Instead of becoming more beautiful,she got even uglier, and at last she came to the conclusionthat she was being trifled with. As soon as sherealized this she demanded the return of her five hundredguineas.

Madame Rachel, who had hitherto acted the partof the sleek, half-obsequious, half-familiar friend, burstinto a roar of laughter when the request was made,and, towering over the widow, with her greasy facedistorted with passion, and her heavy thick handsclenched, she cursed, threatened and jeered.

"I will not give you more than a minute to leavemy premises," she shouted, in conclusion, and shelooked capable of murdering her dissatisfied client."I suppose you think that because I am an unprotectedwoman trying to earn an honest living that you canbluff me? I have spent the whole of your fee on the66treatment and haven't made a penny profit, and now—"

"That's a lie," cried the courageous widow. "Don'tshout at me, woman. I am going straight to my solicitorto instruct him to issue a writ against you."

Madame Rachel laughed horribly.

"Splendid," she cried, clapping her hands. "Nothingwould please me better. I should revel in such alaw case, and so would your friends. Wouldn't theylaugh when they heard that the ugliest woman in Englandwas so stupidly vain as not to know that only amiracle could make her beautiful! How they will jeerat you! You'll be the laughing stock of London! Ican imagine how the papers will report the case. Andthe headlines! It will be a treat to listen to the cross-examinationby my counsel, who will know all thathas passed between you and me. Oh, by all meansgo to your solicitor, and as a personal favour I imploreyou to bring an action against me. It would be thebest possible advertisement for my business."

The widow went, but the writ never came, for onsecond thoughts she decided that it would be betterto forego the luxury of revenge than to hold herselfup to ridicule. Madame Rachel had anticipated this,and it was the real reason why she dealt only withpersons of good social position who would not dare toinvite publicity.

Another victim was the wife of a man who was aprominent member of the Conservative Party. Shehad heard a lot about Madame Rachel, and she decidedto seek her advice as to the best method of improvingher skin, which was unpleasantly sallow. The swindlerpretended that she had an infallible remedy for this,and when the statesman's wife called she did not hesitateto guarantee a cure, provided her instructionswere followed. Madame Rachel advised daily bathsand the use of certain cosmetics, and for these a verystiff fee was paid in advance. Three times a week the67lady came to the establishment to undergo the treatment,and Madame Rachel was always in attendance,with a huge smile and plenty of flattery.

It happened that in the course of conversation MadameRachel had learned from her client that she was takingthe treatment unknown to her husband because shewished to give him a pleasant surprise. Husbandand wife were as deeply in love with one another asthey had been on their wedding day, and the ladylived only to please him, and she thought that if shesuddenly presented herself before him with a beautifulskin he would be enchanted. The information greatlyinterested the swindler, whose greedy eyes had noticedthat the lady wore on her fingers diamond rings whichcould not have cost less than a thousand pounds.

During the first week of the treatment, which mainlyconsisted of taking baths, the client wore her ringsall the time. But Madame Rachel pretended thatthey hampered her process, and so she insisted uponthe lady discarding them with her clothes before enteringthe bath. The request was complied with—the"beauty specialist" had a wonderful power over hercustomers—and as a result the "patient" never sawher rings again. When she missed them after returningfrom the bath, she immediately rang the bell and complainedto the maid. The next moment MadameRachel burst into the room in a rage and began to poura stream of filthy abuse upon her client, who saw atonce that the "beauty specialist" was the thief, andtaxed her with the crime. Instead of repudiating theaccusation, she retorted by declaring that unless thelady went at once and gave no more trouble she woulddeclare that she had been to her house to meet a gentlemanby appointment who was not her husband.

"You never told your husband that you've beencoming here," she screamed triumphantly, noticingthe look of dismay and fright on her client's face. "It's68been a secret to him. What would he say if I told him,and my assistants confirmed me, that you'd been keepingclandestine appointments with a lover? Go and letme hear no more of your alleged losses, or it'll be theworse for you."

That lady was not very wise, for she did not tellher husband at once how she had been tricked. Hadshe consulted him immediately he would have takensteps to recover the jewellery, but it was too late to doanything when she admitted how she had allowed herselfto be robbed.

All the time there was a steady flow of clients whopaid enormous fees and solemnly went through thefarcial programme which Madame Rachel guaranteedwould confer everlasting beauty upon them. Theywere mainly middle-aged widows and old maids, whofancied that certain distinguished men of their acquaintancehad grown "interested" in them, and wouldpropose if only they were a little more attractive orappeared just a few years younger. When clients werewithout eligible male friends the "beauty specialist"undertook to supply them with husbands for a consideration.Indeed, there was nothing she would notpromise in return for a substantial sum of money.

Her strongest protection was the knowledge thather patrons feared ridicule more than the loss of theirmoney. Dissatisfied clients occasionally created scenesat the beauty shop, and then Madame Rachel treatedthem to language which sent them scamperingfrom her premises. But the majority took their disappointmentquietly, not even registering a protestwhen after months of "treatment" they found themselvesworse than when they had started.

Meanwhile, the money rolled in, and Madame Rachel,who had once told fortunes in vile public-houses at apenny a time, now sported a carriage and pair, and wasfrequently seen in the most fashionable restaurants.69When strangers saw her they invariably inquired asto the identity of the vulgar creature, and the usualanswer was, "She's the famous Madame Rachel, whois the greatest beauty specialist in the world. Shehas accomplished miracles, I am told." Thus was herfame extended.

But suddenly the number of patrons began to diminishperceptibly, greatly to the alarm of the swindler, whosegreat ambition was to provide such handsome dowriesfor her two daughters as would win for them titled husbands.She had already saved thousands of pounds,but she required much more for her purpose, and itwas quite by accident she discovered how to improveupon her swindle.

A certain woman of thirty, plain and uncouth, cameto her to be changed into a beauty. She had the moneyto pay for the process, and Madame Rachel took her inhand. Alice Maynard was one of those women whonever attract men, and she was fully conscious of thefact. When she confided her griefs to the "sympathetic"sharper she was at once promised a husband witha title on the condition that she would reward herbenefactress for her trouble. Miss Maynard cheerfullypromised anything, and from time to time handed overvarious sums, ranging from ten guineas to a hundred.

When informed that the woman's savings were exhaustedMadame Rachel introduced her to a man whocalled himself the "Hon. George Sylvester." Heproposed at once, was accepted, and married the girlshortly afterwards. Then the "Hon. George," havingborrowed fifty pounds from his bride, disappeared, andit was only when the weeping woman consulted a bookon the peerage with a view to communicating with herhusband's relatives that she discovered that therewas no titled family of the name of Sylvester. Latera solicitor elicited the information for her that the manshe had married was a bookmaker's tout, who had70escorted other ladies to the altar, and for whom thepolice were searching.

Alice Maynard, broken-hearted and ashamed, retiredto the country, to die within a few months, leavingMadame Rachel in peaceful possession of the sevenhundred pounds she had had from her. Madame hadpaid the "Hon. George Sylvester" five pounds topose as the son of a peer and marry the forlorn younglady, and, as she anticipated, it proved a cheap methodfor getting rid of her.

The success, from Madame Rachel's point of view,of this affair caused her to develop it on a larger scale,and very soon another victim presented herself forthe purpose of being plucked. As this deluded creatureseemed likely to yield thousands of pounds, the "beautyspecialist" prepared to reap a rich harvest.

One evening a thin, spare, scraggy little woman withyellow hair, obviously dyed, painted face and eyebrows,and the affected giggle of a schoolgirl, called at thebeauty shop in Bond Street. She introduced herselfas Mrs. Borradaile, the widow of Colonel Borradaile,and she asked that she might be made beautiful forever, because, although fifty, she had the heart of achild, and she wished to marry again, if possible.

Even Madame Rachel, with all her experience, hadthe greatest difficulty in preventing herself from laughingat this human caricature, but as Mrs. Borradailemade no secret of her strong financial position she enteredseriously into negotiations. Her first question wasabout the amount the widow wished to spend, and theanswer was that she did not want to pay more than ahundred pounds.

Madame Rachel pretended to be satisfied, and thereand then she accepted ten pounds on account, a sumshe had often before refused with scorn. But she knewthat Mrs. Borradaile could be bled if properly treated,and she proved the correctness of this view by getting71from her in the course of the first month four hundredguineas.

The widow was crazy to become beautiful, and, whenchance enabled the swindler to get Mrs. Borradailecompletely in her power, the rest was easy. The twowomen were discussing the treatment in MadameRachel's private room when a maid entered with a card.

Madame Rachel read the name on it with surprise.

"Lord Ranelagh!" she exclaimed, and her astonishmentwas genuine, for she did not know the peer. "Iwonder why he has come! It can't be that he wishesto be a client."

Mrs. Borradaile was greatly impressed by the rankof the visitor, and during the quarter of an hour the"beauty specialist" was absent from the room shethought of nothing else except the exclusiveness of hervisiting-list. Evidently the woman's oft-repeated claimto be in society was true.

Mrs. Borradaile knew nothing of Lord Ranelagh'sreputation. He was an idler of doubtful habits, who,with advancing years, could not lose the delusion thathe was a lady-killer. He spent his time running afterwomen, and his call on Madame Rachel was simplyinspired by curiosity. He did not know the woman,but he wanted to hear something of her wonderfulmethod, rightly guessing that he would not be repulsedon account of his social position.

Madame Rachel received him with flattering cordiality,and invited him to come again. The peer accepted theinvitation, and in that moment the "beauty specialist,"who knew how to take advantage of an opportunity,evolved quite a brilliant scheme for the discomfitureof the widow who was waiting her return.

Affecting enthusiasm and surprise, she sank intothe chair beside Mrs. Borradaile, looked at her meaningly,seized her hand, and pressed it between her own.

"I congratulate you, my dear," she whispered, to72Mrs. Borradaile's unfeigned amazement. "You haveachieved a wonderful conquest."

"I—I don't understand," Mrs. Borradaile stammered,thinking that Madame Rachel had gone mad.

"Lord Ranelagh!" she replied, with another pressureof her hot, fat hands. "He really came to seeyou. He's been following you to my establishmentevery day, and he called just now to inquire about you."She giggled, and her large black eyes twinkled. "LordRanelagh is the wealthiest bachelor peer in England,"she whispered. "I congratulate you, Mrs. Borradaile,for when the treatment is finished, and you have satisfiedhis lordship's standard of beauty, he will make youLady Ranelagh. He told me so in confidence, andyou must never let a soul know that I've imparted thesecret to you. What a great future is yours!"

From that moment Mrs. Borradaile was MadameRachel's body and soul. The foolish woman actuallyagreed to pay three thousand pounds to be made beautiful,and she paid six hundred pounds on account. Shewas too vain to entertain the slightest doubts as toMadame Rachel's truthfulness, and when she was introducedto Lord Ranelagh at her own request, and afew commonplace remarks passed between them, shewas absolutely convinced that the peer had fallen inlove with her, and that when the "beauty specialist"had finished with her she would become the "RightHon. Lady Ranelagh."

It was a very remarkable "courtship," and it issometimes difficult to believe, judging by her part in it,that Mrs. Borradaile was quite sane, although latershe recovered sufficiently to start the criminal proceedingsthat brought the "beauty shop" to an end. Butduring the period when she was daily undergoing bathsand using up a large amount of cosmetics she swallowedevery story the adventuress told her, and allowed herselfto be led by the nose.

73No courtship being complete without love-letters,the ingenious Madame Rachel had not the heart todeprive Mrs. Borradaile of the pleasure of hearing fromher lover. It was true that Lord Ranelagh had nointention of marrying Mrs. Borradaile, for he was onlyinterested in her because he was curious to see whetherthe "beauty doctor" could succeed in transformingthe ugly little widow into a handsome woman. However,Madame Rachel had her own way of producing love-letters,and she showered them upon Mrs. Borradaile,who believed that they all came from the peer who hadfallen in love with her at first sight.

Many of the letters were published in the paperssubsequently, and created astonishment and mirth.It was never actually proved who wrote them, becauseMadame Rachel always insisted upon taking the originalsfrom the widow, though allowing her to keepcopies.

One specimen of the curious correspondence willsuffice to show the sort of stuff Mrs. Borradaile waswilling to swallow. The term "granny" applies toMadame Rachel, who bestowed this endearing termupon herself:

"My only-dearly beloved Mary,

"The little perfume-box and the pencil-casebelonged to my sainted mother. She died with themin her hand. When she was a schoolgirl it was myfather's first gift to her. Granny has given the watchand locket to me again. Your coronet is finished, mylove. Granny said you had answered my last letter,but you have forgotten to send it. I forgot yesterdaywas Ash Wednesday. Let old granny arrange the time,as we have little to spare.

"My dearest one, what is the matter with the oldwoman? She seems out of sorts. We must manageto keep her in good temper for our own sakes, becauseshe has to manage all for us, and I should not have had74the joy of your love had it not been for her. Darlinglove, Mary, my sweet one, all will be well in a few hours.The dispatches have arrived. I will let you know whenI hear from you, my heart's love. Bear up, my fondone. I shall be at your feet—those pretty feet thatI love—and you may kick your ugly old donkey. Twoletters, naughty little pet, and you have not answeredone.

"With fond and devoted love,
"Yours, until death,
"William."

All the letters, inspired, it is certain, by MadameRachel, were in this strain, and each one contained awarning not to offend her.

The letters the peer was alleged to have writtenalso dropped hints that the woman's monetary demandswere to be met without hesitation, and by way of compensationhe was made to promise a fortune as well asa title for his bride. Sometimes Lord Ranelagh'sletter requested Mrs. Borradaile to settle certain debtshe owed Madame Rachel, and so artfully interspersedwere his epistles with criticisms of her that Mrs. Borradailenever guessed that they were all forgeries, andvery likely had been dictated by "granny" herself toher daughters.

Madame Rachel's constant advice to Mrs. Borradailewas to persevere with the treatment, and to start tocollect jewellery, because Lord Ranelagh loved diamondsand pearls. The coronet mentioned in the letterquoted never had any existence, although the swindlerwas given eight hundred pounds to pay for it. Shetold Mrs. Borradaile that she was minding it for her,and the deluded woman accepted her assurance thatit was quite safe.

The beauty shop in New Bond Street became Mrs.Borradaile's second home, because Madame Rachel75insisted that she should not do anything without consultingher. The widow was a gold mine to the adventuress.She parted with her money readily and cheerfully.Once Madame Rachel required two hundredguineas for a certain purpose, and, as she did not wishto draw a cheque on her own account, she told Mrs.Borradaile that she must purchase a carriage for herwedding, and have the Ranelagh arms painted uponit. The simple-minded and trusting widow did as shewas told, but, of course, the carriage was never bought,Madame Rachel utilizing the cheque for her ownneeds.

It was the same with her trousseau. Mrs. Borradailechose it, and gave Madame Rachel the money to settlewith the tradespeople. Certain of the articles, havingbeen delivered, had to be paid for, but the creaturepromptly pawned them all because they were of no useto her.

In the course of some months Mrs. Borradaile hadbought and paid for jewellery, clothes, some choicepieces of furniture, a coronet and a carriage, and shewas under the impression that Madame Rachel wasminding them all for her. That was not surprising,seeing that when the swindler informed her that sheand Lord Ranelagh were to be married by proxy sheunhesitatingly accepted that extraordinary way ofbecoming a peeress. But Mrs. Borradaile was so delightedto think that some one had fallen in love withher that she was eager to believe anything.

However, a worm will turn, and when Madame Rachelhad bled Mrs. Borradaile of nearly four thousand poundsas well as securing promises in writing to pay as muchagain, the widow suddenly woke up and consulted hersolicitor. That hardheaded man of the world had nodifficulty in proving to her that she had been the victimof a scandalous swindle, and he counselled an appealto the law. Accordingly Madame Rachel was arrested76on a charge of having obtained money by false pretences,and was committed for trial at the Old Bailey.

The trial was a notable one, and attracted crowdsto the court. Lord Ranelagh was given a seat on thebench, and when called as a witness he denied havingmet Mrs. Borradaile, and laughed at the idea that hehad written the letters, copies of which were exhibitedby the prosecution. Counsel for the defence cross-examinedseverely, and Mrs. Borradaile had a roughtime at their hands, and as Madame Rachel noticedthat the case was going favourably for her she beganto assume a haughty attitude, reclining in the docklike a tragedy queen, and sniffing scornfully wheneverany damaging statement was made by a witness forthe other side.

Considering the overwhelming nature of the evidencefor the prosecution it was a remarkable feat on thepart of Madame Rachel's counsel that they shouldsucceed in preventing the jury coming to a decision.The twelve good men and true took five hours to arguethe case amongst themselves, and then had to announcethat they were unable to agree.

Madame Rachel's smile of triumph when the trialwas declared abortive was remarkable, and when thejudge ordered a new trial at the next sessions, andassented to admitting the prisoner to bail, two suretiesat five thousand pounds each, the "beauty specialist"had no difficulty in obtaining the necessary backing.

Her freedom, however, was destined to be short,for the second trial—which took place on September21-25, 1868—ended disastrously for her.

The prosecution, represented by Mr. Sergeant Ballantineand Montague Williams and Douglas Straight,advanced no new facts, relying upon a repetition ofthe proof they had given at the first trial. But MadameRachel's clever array of lawyers—Digby Seymour,Q.C., headed a legal team of four—were unable to77hoodwink a jury again. On this occasion the twelvemen had no difficulty in arriving at an adverse decision,unanimously finding the prisoner guilty after an extraordinarysumming-up by Mr. Commissioner Kerr. Shewas white to the lips and shaking with fear whenshe stood up to receive sentence of five years' penalservitude, and she could not leave the dock withoutthe aid of the wardresses. The last the packed courtsaw of the ugly old hag was a deathly white face and apair of black eyes gleaming unnaturally.

She served her time, and soon after her release, withamazing impudence, started business again as a "beautyspecialist." Undeterred by previous experience, shesought for another victim of the Borradaile type, and,finding one, swindled her with cynical effrontery untilthe dupe turned against her. Then followed anothertrial for obtaining money and jewels by false pretences,and again the sentence was five years' penal servitude.Madame Rachel was convicted on April 11th, 1878,and she died in prison.

79

CHAPTER VI
THE MONTE CARLO TRUNK MURDERESS

When a young woman deliberately embarksupon a career of crime she is certain of afair amount of success, provided she ispretty enough to attract men to her side. A beauty,however black her record may be, need never want formale assistance. If she is clever and designing she can,as a rule, lay her plans with such discretion that ifarrest follows she is able to plead that she was merelythe tool of a designing man.

The trick has succeeded nine times out of ten. Juriesnaturally pity the "weaker sex," and at the Old BaileyI have seen women let off with a few months' imprisonmentwhilst their really less culpable partners in wrongdoinghave been sent to penal servitude for no otherreason than that they were of the masculine gender.Thus, it will be admitted that the female criminal hasat least one advantage over her male colleague.

But Marie Goold never was a beauty. As a younggirl she was plain-looking and her manner repelled.She made no friends, and the passage of time did notbring any improvement in her appearance. She wasclever and resourceful, however, and when a desire tomix in fashionable circles and to acquire riches quicklydetermined her to turn criminal she relied solely onher brains and not on her face. Yet she married threetimes, and on each occasion above her own position,and from first to last she always had at least one man80in tow who was completely dominated by her and obeyedher implicitly.

Her first marriage was the result of pique on herpart. There was a youth in her native village—shewas born in France—who for some quaint reason fellin love with her. He may have admired her vitriolictongue and her fearlessness, but the fact remains thathe proposed. Marie Girodin refused him, but theyouth did not tell his parents of his failure, and they,in their anxiety to save him, began a campaign ofcalumny against the "charmer." It was a fatal moveon their part, for Marie, just to spite them, marriedtheir son and then discarded him, because she decidedthat he could be of no use to her. He was wretchedand unhappy, but so hypnotized by his wife that whenshe returned to him after a long absence he was almostdelirious with joy, and promptly handed over his savings.Marie had been in Paris and London in the meantime,but she only remained at home for three months. Herhusband died suddenly, and the widow immediatelywent abroad again. It was perhaps merely a coincidencethat the young man expired just when Marie had madeup her mind that she would accept the gallant Englisharmy officer who had been courting her under theimpression that she was free.

Once more Marie ventured on the matrimonial sea.Her second marriage was an improvement on the first,and for a while she was content to spend money andenjoy herself. The captain's means, however, wouldnot stand the strain, and Marie left for a Continentaltour by herself. She stopped for a couple of days atNice and then departed; and when she had gone twothousand pounds' worth of jewellery disappeared withher. There was no proof of her guilt, and she was notmolested, but Marie's poverty ceased abruptly, andfor a few months she was able to indulge herself.

Then the captain died, for Marie had, curiously81enough, grown very tired of him too. His ideas ofhonour and honesty had disturbed her. She knew thathe sternly disapproved of theft and forgery, and toobtaining money by false pretences—one of her littlehobbies—the captain was fanatically opposed. Therefore,his death came as a welcome release to her. Blacksuited her, and if money was scarce she had a collectionof jewellery which was her precaution against a "rainyday."

She was now nearer thirty than twenty, and it requiredall the art of which she was capable to makeherself presentable. Her face was thin and marked,her eyes were black and repellent, and her skin sallow.People shrank from her until she began to talk, forthen her rippling voice poured forth stories of adventuresin which names of famous men and women in Franceand Great Britain appeared with her own.

Strangers were impressed by her. She never assertedthat she was on intimate terms with Presidents andCabinet Ministers, but she inferred it, and the credulouscrowded round her. Once she got them interested sheheld them. She was clever enough to be able to do that.

But talking did not produce money, and Marie, whoowed thousands, began to feel a draught. She did notask for loans. Such a procedure would be tantamountto suicide, but she resorted to trickery to replenish herpurse. Thus she flattered and coaxed an Englishlady into giving her the position of secretary-companion.Marie protested that she only wanted companionshipherself, and that she would not accept a salary, asshe had plenty of money lying at her bankers. TheEnglish woman, captivated by her chatter, agreed, anda few weeks later was lamenting the loss of six hundredpounds which had "gone astray" while she and her"companion-secretary" were travelling to San Sebastian.

The day after the disaster Marie told her that she82had been summoned to Paris to consult her lawyersabout some property left to her by her husband. Sheparted from her employer with tears in her eyes, butshe did not go to the French capital. She fixed uponMarseilles, and, taking up her headquarters in theleading hotel there, had a riotous time on the moneyshe had stolen from the English lady.

The six hundred pounds and Marie were soon separated,and once more she was penniless. She still had herjewellery, but she was loath to sell it, and in desperationshe set on foot various swindles. They all came tonothing, and at last, feeling that the police were watchingher, she became panic-stricken, and fled to London.They could not harm her there, as she was, by virtueof her second marriage, a British subject.

In London she was friendless, while hotel managerswere hard-hearted and would allow no credit. PoorMarie was compelled to work, and, of course, she hatedthe prospect, but necessity compelled her to disposeof her jewellery, and with the money to start a dressmaker'sestablishment. She found a coy-looking shopin an unobtrusive street in the West End of London,and with a small and select stock began her new career.

The woman, a criminal to the finger-tips, utterlyunscrupulous and merciless, had no intention of settlingdown to the drudgery of a dressmaker's life. Sheregarded her establishment as a spider must regard hisweb. Money was not to be earned legitimately, butby trickery. Money and more money was all Mariethought of, and, with the aid of her crafty tongue, sheextracted various sums from trusting and sympatheticclients.

She could ingratiate herself into the confidences ofmiddle-aged English ladies who were losing their attractionsby grossly flattering them, and, because shewas no rival so far as looks were concerned, they becamefriends of hers rather than clients.

83Her first exploit in London was a great success. Awell-to-do woman of fifty, who had been fascinated by"Madame's" promise to keep her young, called to seeher, and found the dressmaker in tears. The usualquestion ensued, and then Marie whispered that thebroker's men were in the next room, and that she wasruined. The sympathetic customer paid the amountwhich Marie said was owing, and as the whole story wasa lie the "dressmaker" was sixty pounds to the good.

Hitherto Marie's criminal activities had centred onobtaining money by means of fraud. Her first twohusbands may have died under suspicious circumstances,but it was only suspicion after all, and it was not untilshe was a British subject and a resident in the WestEnd of London that she soared to greater criminalheights.

The widow began to think of marrying again. Ahusband would be decidedly useful in London. TheEnglish were inclined to regard her with suspicionbecause she had no man attached to her, and Mariemeant to abandon the dressmaking business becausethe comparatively small sums which she obtained fromconfiding customers were of little use to her. Shewanted thousands now, for she had become a confirmedgambler, and the luck as a rule went against her. Shetherefore, as a preliminary, commenced a campaign tofind a husband, and she had not to wait long forsuccess.

It was said at the time of the final catastrophe thatMarie first met Vere Goold when the latter called topay an account for a relative, but there was no confirmationof this, and there is reason to believe thatshe made his acquaintance at a restaurant in the WestEnd.

Vere Goold was an Irishman of good family, whodevoted his time to absorbing intoxicating liquors.A man of education and some ability, drink and drugs84had robbed him of all his will power. He had been sentto London by friends and relations who were anxiousfor him to reform, and they made him a small allowance,hoping that he would find it impossible to live on it,and would, therefore, seek some form of employment.

Goold, however, was content to take the part ofthe shabby genteel "loafer," and for some years hewas well known in most of the taprooms in the West End.When he was in funds he was in the habit of entertainingacquaintances in one of the cheap Soho restaurants,but these rare appearances in the rôle of host wereinvariably marked by ejection from the particularrestaurant. Now and then he paid a small fine atMarlborough Street for being "drunk and disorderly,"but on the whole Vere Goold had only one enemy, andthat was himself. He was otherwise quite inoffensiveuntil he came into the life of the adventuress.

The moment she decided to become Vere Goold'swife there was no way of escape for him. The womanwas a human snake, and he was the frightened, timidrabbit. She dosed him with liquor and did all thethinking for him. When she led him to the nearestregister office he plaintively said "Yes" to everything,and it took his drink-soddened mind some hours torealize that he was a married man, the husband ofMarie, the woman with the evil face and the tongueof honey.

Marie Goold was delighted with her third husband.She compiled a list of his relatives, most of them ofgood social position, and, what was more important,she discovered there was a baronetcy in the family,and that if only certain persons died her husband wouldsucceed to it and she would become Lady Goold! Ambitionand vanity caused her to make her husbandassume the baronetcy. By now the dressmaking businesshad been disposed of, and the married couple hadabout a hundred pounds between them. Marie voted85for a protracted honeymoon on the Continent, and,to lend distinction to their adventures, it was as SirVere and Lady Goold that they left London for Paris,"her ladyship" plentifully stocked with clothes whichshe had obtained from the wholesale houses withouttroubling to pay for them.

But when their funds vanished they experienced manyvicissitudes of fortune, and Vere Goold, who waitedon his wife like a slave, came in for much abuse. Hewould listen meekly to her upbraidings, and then wanderforth, hoping to meet an acquaintance on the boulevardswhom he might "tap" for a few francs. They wereturned out of several hotels and boarding-houses. OnceGoold borrowed a little money and gave it to Marie.She promptly took a room at an hotel, and as the managerinsisted upon cash down, even for their meals, she lether husband go without food, whilst she enjoyed theexcellent cuisine of the hotel.

They experienced occasional bursts of sunshine whenMarie succeeded in extracting loans from confidinghotel acquaintances, but the inevitable sequel to theseminor triumphs was flight to escape prosecution forfraud. The helpless husband followed her about likea tame dog, and when she told him that she had founda way out of all their troubles he believed her, anddeclared his acquiescence in everything she said and did.

I have mentioned that Marie Goold was a gambler,and in the darkest hour she remembered Monte Carlo.She was positive that she knew the way to break thebank. Given a little capital, she was confident thatshe would make them both rich beyond the dreams ofavarice.

The adventuress craved for big money now. Foryears she had lived by her wits, and the result wasmisery, mental and physical. She had swindled scoresof acquaintances, and it was hardly safe for her toappear in London, Paris and other cities. She knew86that the police of several countries had her name ontheir books, and for all her cleverness she had nothingto show except a weak-minded drunkard of a husbandand her own ill-nourished condition. But she feltcertain that Monte Carlo would prove their salvation.It was her last hope. She had expended all othersources of income, and now everything would dependon her cleverness as a gambler and the system she hadinvented.

For ten days they were held up in Paris owing tolack of funds, but Vere Goold wrote pitiful letters tofriends in England, and a few of them responded, whileMarie, making the most of her assumed title of "LadyGoold," obtained on approval a diamond ring from ajeweller. She was to have it on approval for twenty-fourhours, and then, if she decided to keep it, was topay cash down. But before the twenty-four hourselapsed the ring was pawned and she and the "baronet"were in the express for the Riviera, exulting over thegood time coming. She had worked out an infalliblesystem with which she could smash the bank, and henceforththey were—so she assured him—to have no difficultyin living up to their "baronetcy."

Marie was so anxious to keep as much of her smallstore of money as possible for the tables in the Casinothat she became economically minded, and, insteadof going to an hotel, took apartments in a Villa. Shesent for her niece to act as a sort of housekeeper, becauseshe would have to spend her days in the gaming-rooms.The niece, who was only twenty-four, was delighted toaccept the invitation. She had not experienced muchpleasure in her life, and the prospect of a season atMonte Carlo enchanted her.

It is not difficult to guess Marie Goold's experiencesas a would-be breaker of the bank at Monte Carlo. The"infallible system," which had worked out so wellon paper, proved a delusion and a snare, and Marie87returned from the Casino in a towering rage with everybody.For hours her husband had patiently waitedoutside the Casino to accompany her home. He wasnot allowed to enter by his strong-minded wife, whohad ordered him to hang about outside until she wastired of playing. Vere Goold would have willinglyallowed her to use him as a door mat, and he was quitecontent to take her to the Casino and remain in thegrounds until she was ready for him. He had a vagueidea that his clever wife would overcome all difficulties,for he believed her to be a genius.

Four visits to the Casino resulted in Marie beingpenniless again. The position was desperate. Theyhad obtained the rooms at the Villa Menesimy withoutthe formality of rent in advance or references, the landlordhaving been overwhelmed by the honour of "SirVere and Lady Goold's" acquaintance. Nevertheless,at the end of the month he would demand what wasowing, and the sum was so small that inability to payit would arouse his suspicions, and then they wouldhave to fly from Monte Carlo, and Marie would beunable to test her system further. But she refused toadmit that her system was faulty. Her reverses sheput down to sheer bad luck.

Marie had to search Monte Carlo for a likely victimto provide funds. In this way precious hours werewasted. She told her husband that she ought to beat the Casino coining money instead of lunching ascheaply as possible in expensive hotels and restaurants,but it was necessary for the vulture to go after herprey, and the loss of time could not be helped.

She achieved her object with characteristic cunning.One afternoon she "accidentally" stumbled against alady in the hall of an hotel, and instantly apologizedvery humbly. From apology to general conversationwas an easy step, and the stranger was fascinated byMarie's ready tongue. When they had made their88names known to one another, "Lady Goold" beggedto be allowed to present her husband "Sir Vere," toMadame Levin, and the latter, who was the widow ofa wealthy Stockholm merchant, gladly accorded permission.She had social ambitions, and she welcomed"Sir Vere and Lady Goold" with more than ordinarycordiality. Marie, fashionably dressed and with hersallow cheeks lightened by a skilful use of powder, deferredin the most alluring manner to the rich widow.That she was wealthy was obvious from her display ofjewellery, for Madame Levin carried thousands ofpounds worth with her and frankly invited the admirationof strangers.

Marie Goold thought that Madame Levin wouldprove a source of income, and she was, therefore, surprisedand exasperated when she discovered that thelady was close-fisted. Instead of obtaining hundredsit took Marie a fortnight to borrow forty pounds fromher rich friend, and in return for that small loan shehad to bow and scrape to her, and agree with everythingshe said. In fact, the clever adventuress hadto subordinate her own opinions to the clumsily-expressedand frequently irritating statements to whichthe widow gave vent.

Her experiences leading up to the borrowing of thatforty pounds should have convinced her that MadameLevin would prove a worrying creditor. The loaneventually passed into the keeping of the owner of theCasino, and Marie once again had to try and "raisethe wind."

It maddened her to think that Monte Carlo wascrowded with wealthy persons of both sexes on whomshe was unable to practise any of her money-raisingtricks, simply because they would not have anythingto do with her. "Sir Vere and Lady Goold" werefor some unexplained reason at a discount, and squabblesand hysteria were of frequent occurrence at the Villa89Menesimy when Marie came back from the gaming-tableswithout a sou.

Then Madame Levin began to press for repayment,and when her debtor pleaded temporary embarrassmentowing to non-receipt of a large remittance fromher husband's agent in London she showed her teeth.Clearly Madame Levin regarded forty pounds as avery large sum, and she pestered "Lady Goold" everytime they met. The adventuress was at her wit'send. She had to look pleasant and chat amiably withthe rich widow, and ignore her insults, and yet shelonged to get her white hands round the throat of herpersecutor. She hated the Stockholm widow with aferocity that was akin to madness, for Madame Levinwas angrily demanding payment of the debt whileMarie was actually in want of money to buy thenecessaries of life.

The two women had a violent quarrel, and Mariemust have unconsciously revealed something of herreal self, for Madame Levin became afraid of her. Perhapsshe saw murder in the evil eyes of the adventuress.She had been told already that Marie Goold was notentitled to the prefix "Lady," and from a trustworthysource she had ascertained that they were a couple ofneedy adventurers with a very shady and shadowy past.

After that Madame Levin seldom saw her, thoughshe continued to write angry letters asking for the returnof her money. Marie Goold ignored these appealsand threats. She was too absorbed in her own immediatedifficulties now. Even poor Vere Goold, thathelpless incompetent, was feeling the strain. Forsome days he was actually obliged to keep sober owingto the shortage of ready money.

Every day made matters worse. The Casino wasnot mentioned, and the Goolds were living in direpoverty, chained to the Villa Menesimy by their pennilesscondition. Then it was that the wolfish woman90thought out the second great plan which she declaredcould save them.

She did not condescend to take her husband into herfullest confidence, but she gave him an outline of herlatest plans. He agreed, of course. It was too latenow for this weak-minded sot to try and emancipatehis soul from the thraldom of his domineering wife,and as usual he was content to leave everything to her.

The first move was to get Marie's niece to spend acouple of days away from the apartments in the VillaMenesimy. This was accomplished easily. Then Mariecalled on Madame Levin with a smile and an apology,and asked her to come to the Villa Menesimy on thefollowing Sunday to have tea with herself and herhusband, and receive the forty pounds to which shewas entitled.

Madame Levin hesitated. She disliked Vere Goold,the victim of drink and drugs, and she was afraid ofMrs. Goold, who was obviously a person who wouldstick at nothing. But when Marie emphasized herwillingness to settle her debt the widow forgot her fears.She had arranged to leave Monte Carlo within a fewdays, and she was anxious to recover her forty poundsbefore she took her departure.

The Sunday came, and at half-past four MadameLevin entered the apartments the Goolds occupiedat the Villa Menesimy. She was never seen alive again,for Marie Goold in inviting her to tea did so to takeher life. Vere Goold, his faculties paralysed by drugs,opened the door to Madame Levin, and presently Marieemerged from the kitchen to greet her and to explainlaughingly that her niece had been called away, andthat she was compelled to prepare the tea herself.She placed a chair for her visitor, and returned to thekitchen, whilst Vere Goold, his whole body trembling,sat facing Madame Levin, trying to make conversation.

The widow forgot her doubts and fears, and chatted91brightly to the accompaniment of the pleasant jingleof tea-things from the kitchen. Goold mumbled answersto her remarks, but the widow thought that his nervousnessand distracted condition were due to drinkand drugs, and she did her best to put him at his ease.

The noise in the kitchen ceased abruptly, but MadameLevin did not turn her head. She talked on of herhome in Stockholm and of her future plans, and hervoice was the only one heard as Marie Goold crept fromthe kitchen with a formidable-looking poker in herright hand. Madame Levin's back was towards thekitchen door, and she never heard the footfalls of hermurderess.

Vere Goold sprang to his feet as the poker was raisedby his wife and brought down with terrific force uponthe head of the unfortunate visitor. She collapsedwithout a sound, and then Marie finished her off with aknife, her husband looking on dazed and stupefied.

She roused him with an oath, and, realizing that theywere both in danger, he worked as she commanded.They had a big trunk in the bedroom, and this washauled out. A large carpet-bag was found whichcould hold the head and legs of the murdered woman,and the rest of the corpse was packed in the trunk.

Late that night the niece returned, and she noticedat once that the carpet and curtains of the sitting-roomwere splashed with blood, but her aunt anticipatedquestions by informing her that her uncle had had afit, during which he had vomited blood.

The next evening—the murder took place on Sunday,August 4, 1907—the guilty couple prepared for flight.They could not leave the trunk and the carpet-bagbehind them, and they took both with them, Gooldcarrying the latter. The trunk was conveyed in a cabto the railway station, and tickets taken for Marseilles.

They arrived at their destination in the early hoursof Tuesday morning, and Goold immediately ordered92the trunk to be labelled "Charing Cross, London,"and despatched there. Then with his wife he went toan hotel for rest and refreshment.

It was now the duty of the goods clerk at MarseillesStation to attend to the trunk, but when he came nearit he was surprised by a fearful odour. Closer examinationproved that blood was oozing from beneath thelid. Pons—that was the clerk's name—went at onceto the hotel and saw the Goolds. They explained thatthe trunk was filled with poultry, hence the blood,but the railway official was not satisfied, and he calledat a police station, where the inspector instructed himto inform the Goolds that the trunk would not be allowedto leave Marseilles until it had been opened andthe contents examined in their presence.

Pons's first visit to the hotel had aroused doubts inMarie's mind, and she told her husband to get readyto steal out of Marseilles. He quickly obeyed, andthey were actually emerging from the hotel when thegoods clerk arrived for the second time. He conveyedto them the decision of the police, and Marie, consciousthat they were in a tight corner, staked her life on bluff.

"Very well," she said haughtily, "we will take acab and drive to the station, and when you have openedthe trunk you can apologize for having been so impertinentas to doubt my word." The cab was called, andMarie and her husband with the large carpet-bag gotin, but the woman's heart must have sunk when Ponsentered after them, as though they were under arrestalready.

The cab rattled along, and no one spoke until Mrs.Goold clutched the clerk's arm and whispered to himthat she would be willing to pay ten thousand francsif he would let them go. Pons sat immovable. Hewas not to be bribed, and the attempt to do so provedthat his suspicions were well-founded.

The examination of the contents of the trunk and93carpet-bag indicated that a brutal murder had beencommitted, and before the two prisoners had time toconfess the police identified the victim, and unravelledthe whole story. Marie and her husband were accordinglysent back to Monte Carlo to stand their trial.

The woman was the chief figure in Court, her husbandalways presenting a shivering, weak-kneed appearancein the dock. Marie Goold was clearly the person whohad murdered Madame Levin, and the sentence in hercase was death. Her husband was consigned to penalservitude for life.

After a sensational trial they were removed to theFrench prison at Cayenne, and there in July, 1908,Marie Goold died of typhoid fever. Fourteen monthslater Vere Goold, driven insane by remorse and thedeprivation of drink and drugs, committed suicide.

The fate of the niece was pathetic. She was so upsetby her association with the murderers that despiteevery attention she faded away, dying before she attainedher twenty-seventh birthday.

95

CHAPTER VII
MARTHA KUPFER, SWINDLER

The European War produced many Germancriminals, but the most resourceful of themall was Martha Kupfer, a middle-aged widowwith a plausible manner and a pretty daughter, whoseonly capital was a profound knowledge of the weaknessesof her compatriots, out of which she made over £200,000before she was arrested. She obtained this fortune inless than a couple of years, and there is every reason tobelieve that had she not grown careless she would neverhave been detected.

Anybody who is conversant with the German peoplemust be aware that they worship three gods—Food,Money and Decorations. Every Hun before the warwould have sold his soul for a medal, and although theex-Kaiser cheapened the Iron Cross and similar gew-gawsby his lavish and ridiculous bestowal of them, theyare still prized in Prussia.

When the Allies proclaimed a blockade of Germany,they incidentally turned the thoughts of all true Hunsto food, not only because they are the heaviest, grossestand coarsest eaters in Europe, but because the risingprices clearly indicated an easy way to wealth for speculators.Money and food, therefore, were supreme, anddecorations were temporarily forgotten.

An elderly Bavarian four years ago, summed up thesituation neatly: "There are two things a Germancannot escape—Death and the Iron Cross." He gotsix months in gaol for his humour.

96Frau Kupfer, a stoutish little woman with a smilingface and large blue eyes, was one of the many whopondered over the situation. She was poor, and strugglinghard to make both ends meet, and she listened withenvy and attention to the various stories her neighbourstold of the fortunes dealers in food were accumulating.They all wished they had the opportunity to share intheir profits, and they spoke wistfully of money investedin banks and insurance companies which were payingmiserably small dividends whilst corn dealers and grocerswere turning their capital over in less than a month!

As the woman watched the bloated faces grow red andthe dull eyes light up with greed, she realized that ifonly she could persuade them to believe that she had thepower to buy and import provisions on wholesale linesand retail them at exorbitant prices to the communitythey would gladly entrust her with their savings, and sheand her daughter would have a good time and never wantagain.

This was in the early part of 1915, when Martha Kupferwas living in a poverty-stricken flat in Leipzig. Shethought the matter over for some days, and at last decidedto enter upon a swindling career. She was certainthat she had found a royal road to riches, and believingthat she would do better in the metropolis she madepreparations to live in Berlin.

But she had first to raise at least a hundred pounds topay her expenses. It would not do to begin withoutcapital, for if she looked poor she would not be able toinfluence the well-to-do, and she had, therefore, to try herhand in her native town. Frau Kupfer's first exploitwas characteristic. She went to the widow of a doctorwhom she knew to have a considerable sum in the bank,and she told her a wonderful story of how Wertheim,the great Berlin merchant, had sent for her to act asbuyer for his grocery department because she had specialfacilities for getting the Danish farmers to sell cheaply97to her. She added that she was to have half the profits,and she finally persuaded the old lady to part with fivehundred pounds by promising that every month shewould receive from her interest amounting to fiftypounds! This was at the rate of 120 per cent per annum!The doctor's widow was too good a German to be ableto resist the temptation. She handed over the money,and Frau Kupfer and her daughter went to Berlin tostart the great campaign.

Thanks to the capital provided by the credulous widow,Frau Kupfer was in a position to rent an expensive flatclose to the one-time palatial building known as theBritish Embassy. Then she did a little shopping, andthe outcome of this was that her neighbours—and Germansare renowned for their curiosity—began to babbleexcitedly about the fashionably-dressed widow and herdaughter, who were obviously persons of great wealth.

Frau Kupfer and Gertrude wore the latest gowns, andtheir hats were wonderful. Every morning a beautifully-appointedmotor-car took them for drives, and the twoservants—being patriotic, she restricted herself to acouple—exhibited to their friends, when their mistresswas out, cards bearing the names of some of the greatestpersonages in Berlin. Princesses, countesses, generals,admirals, and hosts of the nobility, learned professors,and several millionaire business men and their wivesappeared to be on calling terms with the new-comers.

Meanwhile, Frau Kupfer and Gertrude went their ownway, seeking no acquaintances, but always charming andgood-tempered and charitable.

The fact was that Frau Kupfer knew that to attractpeople one must appear not to want them. They mustcome to the gilded parlour of their own accord, but untilshe was quite ready to swindle them she must pretendnot to be anxious to extend her "large circle of acquaintances."It seems unnecessary to add that thecards which so impressed the servants were fakes.

98Curiously enough, it was a doctor who started the ballrolling in Berlin. About this time the Berlin newspaperswere full of fictitious stories of German victories on landand sea. Twice already it had been reported that Zeppelinshad wiped London out of existence, and the dailyboast of the papers was that Great Britain had ceased torule the waves, her ships having been destroyed by thegallant German Navy.

But while the Huns believed anything they wished tobelieve these flattering reports did not make bread andmeat more plentiful, and the food difficulties were increasinginstead of diminishing. Only a few personswondered how it was that London could have beenrebuilt between the first and second Zeppelin raids.The majority accepted each lie with delightful simplicity.But only the rich experienced no privations, and FrauKupfer and pretty Fraulein Gertrude were apparentlyvery well off, for they, at any rate, did not want for thenecessaries or the luxuries of life.

One morning, however, Frau Kupfer pretended thatshe had a headache, and she summoned by telephone aDr. Richter, a physician who has one of the largest andmost fashionable practices in Berlin. Now the doctor,being a near neighbour of the Kupfers, had heard therumours of their wealth, and he obeyed the summonswith alacrity. He found Frau Kupfer charming andamiable, apologizing a dozen times for giving him somuch trouble, and murmuring that she was sufferingfrom overwork.

The doctor was sympathetic, and when Gertrudebrought him some refreshment he was only too eagerto linger over it as his patient chattered. He was curiousto discover the secret of her wealth, and as she talkedvolubly Frau Kupfer "unconsciously" gave him thedesired information.

"My agents in Denmark," she said, with a wan smile,"are angry with me because I can't take all the food99they have bought on my account. You see,Herr Doctor,I lived for many years in Denmark, and when thewar broke out and those terrible English began theirblockade it occurred to me that I could help my belovedcountry by importing food from Denmark, especially asI have unique facilities, owing to the largest farmers beingrelated to me. I didn't mean to make money, but Ifind that the shops in Berlin are so anxious to buy thatthey will pay any price. I can turn my capital over tentimes a month.

"It seems that there are enormous profits waiting tobe picked up, but I haven't the necessary capital. I amquite content, but my agents think I am foolish not toraise another hundred thousand pounds and make asmuch a month by using it. You have no idea the moneythat can be coined, but, of course, one must know how towork it." She laid a hand on the doctor's arm and lookedat him appealingly. "I have spoken candidly, becauseI know I can trust you,Herr Doctor," she added, in amusical undertone. "You won't tell your friends, willyou? I am only a widow, and I don't want to be bothered.I am quite content with the present profits, theywill enable me to complete my darling child's educationand give her a large dowry when she marries."

The doctor hastened to assure her that her secret wassafe with him. Then he took his departure, and ithappened that his next patient was Countess von Hohn,the wife of General Count von Hohn, an aide-de-campto the Kaiser, and a first cousin of Prince von Bülow, theex-Chancellor. To her the doctor revealed the greatsecret, knowing that the countess loved money better thanlife itself. As he anticipated he fired her imagination,and she instantly commanded him to bring about ameeting between herself and the wonderful Frau Kupfer.

"I have twenty thousand pounds lying idle at mybanker's," she said, and in her excitement she forgot thatshe was ill, and began to walk up and down the apartment.100"Frau Kupfer, you say, can turn it into fortythousand within three months? I must see her at once.Herr Doctor, send your wife to call on her, and afterthat, when she's at your house, you can ring me up onthe telephone, and I will hasten round. If this wargoes on against Germany, it behoves us to have somethingto fall back upon. Everybody knows that dealersin provisions are amassing fortunes. Why shouldn'tI have some of the profits too?"

Of course there was no difficulty in effecting an introductionto Frau Kupfer. The two met at Dr. Richter'shouse at afternoon tea, and Countess von Hohn madeherself very charming to the widow, whose dress andjewellery must have cost a small fortune. Indeed,they became so cordial that, although this was theirfirst meeting, the countess willingly accepted an invitationto call at Frau Kupfer's flat the following afternoon.

When she arrived she was shown into the magnificentlyfurnished drawing-room, and there she was purposelyleft alone for a few minutes. During that time theinquisitive, money-mad woman searched the room forsigns of wealth. There were many to be found.

On the mantelpiece was a letter from the manager ofthe Deutsche Bank acknowledging a deposit of sixtythousand pounds; on a costly desk was a letter fromanother bank informing Frau Kupfer that their Copenhagencorrespondents had advised them to place to hercredit one hundred and eleven pounds. Other papersand letters were in the same strain, and when the countesshad mastered their contents she was positivelytrembling with anxiety to get a finger in the financialpie belonging to her newly-made friend.

It was against all etiquette for the countess to be leftunattended in the drawing-room, but when Frau Kupfer,clothed in a glorious tea-gown, fluttered in and began toapologize most profusely and extravagantly for her101neglect and rudeness, the countess, who would in anyother circumstances have been furious, hastened toreassure her.

"These are war-times, Frau Kupfer," she said, with asmile, "and we can afford to dispense with etiquette.I assure you I have not been sorry for the opportunity toinspect your beautiful furniture and pictures."

Martha Kupfer smiled in acknowledgment, but sheknew what her visitor had been doing. One glance hadtold her that the letters on the table and the mantelpiecehad been touched. They were not in the same positionthat she had left them in. Her little ruse had succeeded,for she had purposely baited the room with these lettersand given the countess plenty of time to read them.

Tea was served, and a short time was spent in conversation,in which Gertrude Kupfer discreetly joined, butat the right moment she made an excuse and went out.

The countess was relieved. She had been unable totouch any of the expensive cakes owing to her anxietyto get to business. The moment Gertrude had gone shementioned the subject uppermost in her mind.

"My dear Frau Kupfer," she said, in her most winningmanner, "I want you to promise not to be angry withme if I ask you to let me invest twenty thousand poundsin your little provision enterprise."

Frau Kupfer started and looked embarrassed.

"I feel as if we had known one another for years;you can trust me," she added, appealingly.

But the swindler did not speak, and the countessproceeded:

"I am sure you need capital. Why not let me help?"

Suddenly Frau Kupfer looked up at her.

"You are right, countess," she said, with a charmingblush. "It would be selfish of me to deny my friends ashare of the profits. I will take your money, and youshall have ten per cent on it every month. I am makingthat and more.

102"Do you know that I can import bacon, for whichthe people of Berlin pay eight shillings a pound for lessthan a shilling a pound? The profits on flour are bigger,and I can get a hundred per cent on soap and candles,and practically everything of which the English aretrying to deprive us. I have a contract to supply threepalaces of the Kaiser's with provisions for a year. Yousee, I am protected in high quarters. Of course, HisMajesty is paying the highest price for the very best,and on that contract alone I shall make thirty shillingsprofit on every pound I spend. I liked you countess,from the moment we met. You shall have a share. Itis a pity you have not more money saved, because thatwould mean a bigger return. However, you can reinvestyour dividends."

Within forty-eight hours the twenty thousand poundswhich the Countess von Hohn had received by the saleof her British and French securities was in the hands ofFrau Kupfer.

I should mention that six weeks before the war startedthe German Foreign Minister notified all those who couldbe trusted to keep the secret that they had better realizetheir investments in Great Britain, France and Russia.As the countess' husband was one of the inner set, he gotthe information early, and was able to save his own andhis wife's fortune.

This unexpected windfall delighted Frau Kupfer andGertrude. The first thing they did was to send fiftypounds' "interest" to the doctor's widow at Leipzig,and the second to take a larger and better flat,retaining their original residence, however, and usingit mainly as a hiding-place for the choicest provisions.

Frau Kupfer paid her two maids lavishly and fed themluxuriously, and they were hers body and soul in a citywhere famine threatened to stalk abroad. It was easy,therefore, to stock the flat with preserves, bacon, ham,103wines, cigars, cigarettes and soap, besides a huge amountof clothing.

The stock was replenished from time to time, whilenow that their headquarters were at one of the finestflats in Berlin, Frau Kupfer and Gertrude were ableto proceed from financial triumph to social triumph.

Countess von Hohn was promptly paid her first dividendof two thousand pounds a month after she hadinvested her money, but she promptly sent the chequeback with a request that it might be added to hercapital.

Frau Kupfer must have screamed with laughter whenshe read this proof of how complete was her power overher first great dupe. She was, indeed, succeeding beyondher wildest dreams.

The widow at Leipzig also helped considerably, forshe wrote to a rich and highly placed friend in Berlinabout her luck, and that friend promptly called on FrauKupfer, and begged to be permitted to invest in the greatfood trust. She found the woman entertaining half adozen ladies, all of whom bore names that were householdwords in the country, and when she rather pettishlycomplained of being bothered she did not resent hermanner, but became more supplicating than ever, andeventually went away poorer by a thousand pounds,which she had "invested."

Frau Kupfer was now fairly launched on a career ofgigantic swindling. It was no longer necessary to pretendthat she had tens of thousands of pounds at herbankers. It was a fact. The money simply poured inupon her every day.

All sorts and conditions of people clamoured to beallowed to join the secret food trust. They quite understoodthat everything had to be done quietly. Thecommon people, who had no inkling of the tremendousprofits that were being made by speculators in food,must be kept in ignorance lest they should complain,104and the horrible Socialist papers make trouble for theprofiteers.

Besides, as Frau Kupfer said, they must not forget thatthey were all partners in a scheme that was daily contraveningthe Government regulations as to maximumprices.

Thus the times were in her favour. The wardominated everybody's thoughts, and food was so scarcethat it ceased to be a question of prices. All werewilling to pay provided they obtained the provisions,and so with the necessity for secrecy and the blind,unquestioning obedience and trustfulness of her clients,Frau Kupfer's position seemed impregnable.

Six months after her arrival in Berlin Frau Kupferlaunched out as a woman of fashion and means. Shewent everywhere. The nobility received her, and shewas the constant companion of aristocratic dames,who gave her and her daughter seats in their boxesat the theatre.

No one could rival them in the art of dressing. Itwas the talk of fashionable Berlin that Frau Kupferand Gertrude paid eighteen shillings a pair for stockings,and never wore them twice, and that they had themost expensive wardrobe in Germany. The swindlermaintained the deception by giving dinners, for whichthe élite scrambled to obtain invitations. The veryrarest dishes and vintages were provided for her guests,and despite food restrictions Frau Kupfer could entertainas though there was not a war on and the Britishblockade a myth.

There might be food riots in Berlin, Leipzig, Hamburgand scores of other places, but the friends of theswindler never wanted for anything, and Frau Kupfer'sdinners were her best protection against exposure.She was a charming hostess, and her sympatheticinterest in the relatives of her guests who were in thetrenches was enchanting.

105One of her most profitable deals arose out of herpretended interest in the son of a retired general whowas introduced to her by the Countess von Hohn.General von Demidoff, a German of Polish extraction,was known to be a rich man. He had served for fiftyyears in the army, and had spent at least half that timeenriching himself at the expense of the troops underhim.

But although he must have had plenty of cash hedid not succumb to Frau Kupfer's scheme as quicklyas she expected. General von Demidoff—he won thecoveted "von" in the Franco-Prussian War—wasan old man, and he was reluctant to engage in hazardousspeculation, but he was greatly pleased with FrauKupfer and her daughter.

The arch-swindler never even hinted that he shouldtake shares in the secret food trust, and as he got manyluxurious dinners at her expense he was only too gladto number her amongst his acquaintances. They oftenmet at the theatre or at the house of a mutual friend,and it was even rumoured that the old man was keenon the wealthy widow; but this was only an invention.Frau Kupfer had no desire for matrimony. She wasaware that marriage would inevitably lead to the discoveryof her colossal frauds.

But when Frau Kupfer began to talk about thegeneral's son, and to ask permission to send him parcelsof dainties, which she knew he could not obtain forhimself, he thought that a woman with such a kindheart must be amongst the best of her sex, and althoughhe took a month to make up his mind he finally decidedto entrust ten thousand pounds to her for investmentin her business.

When he called on her with this intention he foundher reclining gracefully on a sofa reading, in theLokalanzeiger,an account of the victory of the Crown Prince'sArmy at Verdun. Her eyes were shining with enthusiasm,106and she was all smiles when General von Demidoffwas announced.

For quite ten minutes she would not permit a wordof business to pass his lips. He had to have a drinkfirst—she had his favourite beverage ready in a fewseconds—and then there was a variety of sandwichesfor his delectation. The old soldier was always readyto eat, and he was feeling particularly pleased withhimself, when he suddenly told his hostess that hewished to hand her ten thousand pounds for investment.

He made the announcement as though he were conferringa favour on her, and his amazement was allthe greater when with a charming smile she coyly refusedto accept his offer, explaining that she had all thecapital she required, and that the "dear general" hadbetter leave his money where it was.

He went away profoundly puzzled, little realizingthat Frau Kupfer was actually gasping for money.She had run through tens of thousands of pounds.Certain wealthy investors had, much to her disappointment,decided not to reinvest their dividends, and hadkept her cheques. Tradespeople, hit by the defalcationsof other customers, had insisted upon being paid,and as her weekly expenses were never less than twohundred pounds it had not taken her long to get througha fortune.

Yet with admirable fortitude and a wonderful discernmentof human nature, she had refused Generalvon Demidoff's offer, although she was in grave financialand personal danger. But she knew her man. Shewas aware that he would tell the story to all his friends—andthe general mixed only in the very best society—and,better than that, she was willing to stake herlife, as she had done her liberty, that within a few dayshe would be back again with twenty thousand poundsat least, which he would literally thrust into her hands,and insist upon her keeping.

107I have given this story in detail because it is typicalof the methods of Germany's greatest war swindler.It is taken from the account of the preliminary examinationbefore the judge in Berlin, who at first would scarcelybe brought to believe that the general had actuallyreturned to Frau Kupfer's flat, and had compelled herto accept twenty-five thousand pounds for investmentin her food trust.

The money came as a godsend, and once more theprecious pair of swindlers were rejoicing. Of course,the mother was the brains of the movement. GertrudeKupfer had nothing to do except to look pretty andwear the most costly clothes.

There were very few young men worth attractingto the flat for her mother to rob, though now and thenshe was able to relieve monetary pressure by bringingalong a wounded officer of family and position whocould be tempted to invest a few hundred pounds.Frau Kupfer, however, thought only in thousands,even if she was willing to take any money, howeversmall in amount.

For over eighteen months the merry game continued.The great war increased in intenseness, and the worldwas topsy-turvy, but Frau Kupfer and Gertrude indulgedin every extravagant pleasure, and swindledhigh and low alike. Some one had to pay for thosechampagne dinners, and for the clothes they wore.Gertrude Kupfer alone averaged fifty pounds a weekon her wardrobe.

Frau Kupfer gave many lavish entertainments towounded soldiers. Once she took the whole seatingcapacity of a theatre and filled the building with soldiers,and while mother and daughter were at the zenith ofsuccess they must have given tea-parties to thousandsof warriors.

The money dribbled through their fingers like water,and fresh dupes had to be found almost daily to pay108the interest due to the original investors. The smallestinterest promised had been one hundred per cent perannum, and for many months the widow managed toremit the amount owing. It was a wonderful featconsidering the circumstances, but she stopped atnothing, and she even swindled the maidservants outof their savings.

One of her brightest ideas was to patronize the smalltradespeople, and thus bring them under her influence.In due course they succumbed, and sums from tento two hundred pounds were obtained from them.

Nothing worried Germany's "Madame Humbert."Berlin was thronged with wounded; the papers werebeginning to give hints of defeats; and it was admittedthat a complete victory for the Fatherland was out ofthe question—but Frau Kupfer was unperturbed. Shewas merry and light-hearted, and she lived so wellthat her naturally plump face and stout figure expanded,and she was a living testimony to the ineffectivenessof the British blockade. Her circle of friends continuedto grow. Her dinner-parties were all the moreappreciated. She was one of the most sought afterpersons in Berlin society, and in the hour of her triumphshe never thought of the dark, underground dungeonsthat are so numerous in Germany. It seemed as thoughshe could never know defeat, no matter what happenedto her country.

Christmas Day, 1916, found Berlin a city of gloom,save for the gorgeous flat where Frau Kupfer was entertaininga score of high-born society dames and a fewelderly men to a sumptuous repast. It proved to bethe last of a long series, for she was taken ill after thedinner, and for the next three weeks was too ill to leaveher room, and in those three weeks the Berlin policediscovered all about the great swindle. An accidentled to the catastrophe.

I have mentioned that Frau Kupfer had two flats,109and that she used the smaller one as a storing place forprovisions for her own use. One evening a vigilant-eyedpoliceman, who was feeling hungry, noticed thatseveral large parcels were being delivered at a certainflat near the Wilhelmstrasse. He had been warnedto keep a look-out for food hoarders, and he came tothe conclusion that this was an attempt to evade theregulations. He therefore forced his way past thecarters into the flat, and, having ordered the terrifiedmaid to clear out, examined the place for himself.It did not take him long to discover enough provisionsto stock a grocer's shop. There were scores of hams,thousands of preserves neatly stacked against the walls,boxes of cigars, cigarettes, cases of wine, and plentyof flour, sugar, sweets, etc. I fancy the policemanindulged in a good meal before he reported to PolicePresident von Jagow what he had found.

That night Frau Kupfer and her daughter were arrestedon a charge of contravening the food regulations, andwith their arrest the bubble burst. The "investors,"first uneasy, grew alarmed, and began to talk. A fewdays later they all knew that they had been swindled.

Inside two years Frau Kupfer had robbed them oftwo hundred thousand pounds, all of which she hadmanaged to dissipate, leaving nothing for them. TheFood Trust had had no existence save in her imagination.Mother and daughter are now in damp cellsin the Moabit Prison, and when Frau Kupfer leavesthat ghastly prison house she will be in her coffin, forin Germany swindling is considered ten times a greateroffence than murder, however brutal that murder mayhave been, and the greatest of Hun food swindlerswill spend the remainder of her life in prison.

Gertrude Kupfer, however, will be released in a fewyears because it has been held that she acted entirelyunder the influence of her mother, and was in no wayan originator of the swindle.

111

CHAPTER VIII
MADAME GUERIN, MATRIMONIAL AGENT

There have been many matrimonial agencyswindlers, but when Madame Guerin, theplump little Frenchwoman with the pleasantand engaging manner, entered that "profession" sheintroduced new methods into that old form of fraud.She did not hanker after a lot of clients, preferring tofind a nice, gullible man with money, scientificallyrelieve him of it, and then pass on to the next. Hercareer proved short and exciting, and only by an accidentdid it fail to wind up with a tragedy. But that wasnot her fault, for she showed that to obtain a fortuneshe was capable of running any risk.

It was at Versailles, in the shadow of the old palace,that Madame Guerin, with the assistance of a friend,who was known as Cesbron, but who was really herhusband, started her matrimonial agency.

It was no ordinary affair worked from a cheap suiteof offices with all the usual appliances of a modernbusiness. Madame Guerin could not be as sordid asthat. She was human and sympathetic, and her personalitywas electric. She had reached that time oflife when men found her society agreeable, because aflirtation could not be taken seriously by her. Shelet them understand that she knew that most menwanted young and pretty wives with fortunes, andthat she was in a position to help them to find theirideal.

Her "business premises" took the shape of a pleasant,secluded Villa, beautifully furnished and delightfully112managed. It was an honour to be invited to an intimatelittle dinner at her home, and her invitations were veryseldom declined. When it was tactfully whisperedthat the fair tenant was in the habit of bringing veryeligible girls and handsome bachelors together, shequickly found the sort of clients she required.

One of her first victims was a man of good family,who held a remunerative Government post. He wasjust the type of man who would rather die than enterinto negotiations with the average matrimonial agent,but over a recherché meal at the Villa there seemed tobe no loss of dignity in half-carelessly discussing hisdesire to marry a girl of beauty and fortune.

It was then that Madame Guerin revealed talentsof a high order as a swindler. She never lost her poseof the smart society woman who was entertaining afriend and talking about his future amid the soft lightsand the restful furniture.

When the Government official mentioned that hehad about three hundred a year in addition to his salaryof about the same amount, Madame Guerin decidedthat there must be a way of separating him from someof his fortune by persuading him that she was goingto add to it.

"I know a very pretty girl," she said languidly,"a dear girl, too, and one who is anxious to marry.She is an orphan, and is bothered by fortune-hunters.She would like to become a gentleman's wife, and as shehas five thousand a year derived from first-class securities,it seems to me, my friend, that she would justabout suit you."

Five thousand a year! It made his mouth water.

"Where can I meet this delightful lady?" he askedanxiously.

"As she is my dearest friend I could invite her here,"she answered, after a moment's pause. "Her nameis Miss Northcliffe."

113"She is English then?" said the official, but therewas no disapproval in his tone.

"Her mother was French," said Madame Guerin,who had all the time been watching his face. "Herfather was an eminent doctor in London. Miss Northcliffeloves France, and she has often told me she wouldlove to be married to a Frenchman and live all herlife in Paris."

The bait took, for the fish rose to it greedily. ThereuponMadame Guerin, feeling she had "landed" him,dropped her pose as hostess and became a matrimonialagent. Of course her expenses would be heavy inconnection with the visit of Miss Northcliffe. Shewould have to furnish a suite of rooms specially for thegreat English heiress. Then, as he would gain fivethousand pounds a year by the introduction, it wouldnot be out of place if he paid something in advance.Madame Guerin guaranteed success, and so forth.He believed every word.

"You and my dear girl friend will be thrown togetherfor days," she said, in a confidential tone. "I'll inviteno one else here, and it'll be your own fault if you don'twin her. But you must send me one of your photographsto-night, and I will show it to her the momentshe arrives. She is a very impressionable, impulsivegirl, and I am certain she will fall in love with yourpicture."

Most men will believe a woman's flattery, and in thecase of this French official he swallowed Madame Guerin'swith avidity. It seemed to him he was on the roadto riches, and he scarcely hesitated to send not onlythe photograph but a preliminary fee of a hundredpounds.

If he was disturbed by doubts during the succeedingdays, they were set at rest when an invitation arrivedto meet Miss Northcliffe at dinner at the cosy Villa.He was, as he admitted afterwards, almost crazy with114delight. The heiress was a reality. Madame Guerinhad not been "pulling his leg" after all. Had sheasked him for a thousand pounds there and then hewould probably have paid it without a murmur.

The dinner was a brilliant success from start tofinish. Never before had he met such a charming,unaffected girl. A typical English beauty with fairhair, a peach-like skin and dark grey eyes, who dressedexquisitely, and spoke French with a fascinating accent.Her reserve, too, was perfectly enchanting. She didnot gush or chatter, and during the greater part of thedinner she hardly uttered a word, but towards the endshe became animated.

"She said she would wait until she had made upher mind about you before becoming friendly," whisperedMadame Guerin at the first opportunity.

He thrilled with pleasure and turned to resume hisconversation with Miss Northcliffe; and when he leftthe Villa close on midnight his brain was in a whirl.

Miss Northcliffe had plainly shown her preferencefor him, and he was in love with her. He was an experton old engravings and modern poetry, and she had,wonderful to relate, revealed a knowledge of those twosubjects which, though not profound, proved that shewould be an ideal collaborator when they were married.

And then her dress! It was a dream, an exquisitecreation that might have been made out of angels'wings. The pearl necklace the English heiress had wornwas worth twenty thousand pounds. At least, MadameGuerin said so, and she ought to know, because shehad some famous pearls herself. He lay awake mostof the night exulting over his good fortune, and earlythe following morning rushed off to Versailles to takeMiss Northcliffe for a motor drive.

A week later Madame Guerin suggested that heshould propose, but she warned him that the girl wassuspicious of fortune-hunters and that he must prove115to her that he was not a needy vagabond marryingto be kept.

He laughed at the notion, but he took it seriouslyall the same, and when Miss Northcliffe modestly andblushingly accepted his offer of marriage he impulsivelyasked to be tested as to his means.

But Miss Northcliffe preferred to leave that to herdear friend and guardian, Madame Guerin, and thelatter thereupon suggested that he should realize acouple of thousand pounds and settle it right away onMiss Northcliffe, who was, of course, equally willingto supply evidence that her fortune was not a myth.

The infatuated man declined to doubt his fiancéefor a moment, and the two thousand pounds were inthe possession of Madame Guerin two days later. Shereceived the money with a congratulatory smile, andtold him to call again the following Sunday and fix thedate for the wedding.

There were four days to Sunday, and how he passedthem he never knew. Certainly he was a very inefficientpublic servant during that time, for his mind wasconcentrated on the beauty and fortune of the lovelyEnglish girl who was about to become his wife. WhenSunday came round he was up at dawn, and two hoursbefore he was due to start for Versailles he was hattedand gloved.

The Villa looked very inviting as he walked up to itand pulled the old-fashioned bell. A long pause ensued,and then the fat cook opened the door and breathlesslyinformed him that Madame was resting in her roombut would be down in a few minutes. He expressed hisregrets, but when he was in the drawing-room he beganto feel that there was something wrong. The atmospheredepressed him, and he had to reprove himselfaudibly for being morbid to prevent a fit of pessimismoverwhelming him.

He was staring through the window when Madame116Guerin entered, very pale and dabbing at her eyes witha handkerchief. In great alarm he rushed to her side.What had happened? Where was Miss Northcliffe?Was she ill? A dozen questions tumbled over oneanother, and all the time the plump little widow triedto control her sobs.

"Oh, monsieur," she exclaimed, with a piteousexpression, "how shall I break the news? I am distracted,desolate! Miss Northcliffe—she has gone—disappeared.I know not where. She may be kidnappedor she may have run away. I am too distractedto be able to think. It is all dreadful and—" A floodof tears completed the sentence.

In vain he implored her to tell him plainly what hadhappened. The result was that he left the Villa awarethat he had lost his two thousand pounds and dimlysuspicious of Madame Guerin, although she had swornthat Miss Northcliffe had taken away every penny ofit, and, indeed, owed a goodly sum to her.

Further reflection convinced him that he had beenswindled, and he began to think of appealing to thepolice, but at forty-five one does not do things in ahurry, and he was not the person to court ridicule.He had walked into the trap open-eyed, and if his colleaguesin the Government service heard the story ofthe "English heiress" they would make his life a miserywith their vulgar chaff. So beyond another visit tothe Versailles Villa to inquire if Miss Northcliffe hadreturned he took no steps to recover his losses.

The next exploit was even more subtle. Some oneintroduced a well-to-do Parisian of the name of Lalèreto Madame Guerin along with the information thathe was on the look-out for a wealthy wife. As MonsieurLalère had a comfortable bank balance of his own sheenthusiastically agreed to provide him with a bride,and when she learnt that he was partial to an Englishgirl her delight was boundless.

117On this occasion the Versailles Villa was not utilizedas the stage for the little comedy. She decided to varyher methods, and she started by going to London andputting up at a fashionable hotel. The two thousandpounds extracted from the Government official camein very handy, as even in London one can live quite along time in an expensive hotel on that amount.

Shortly after her arrival Lalère came at her invitation.Madame Guerin was, of course, fashionablydressed and apparently busy all day calling upon theleading members of the English aristocracy. She couldnot give him more than a few minutes one afternoon,and when he expressed disappointment she promisedto do her best when she had fulfilled her social obligations.She mentioned glibly that she was dining that nightwith Mrs. Asquith, whose husband was then Chancellorof the Exchequer, and that the day after she was lunchingwith "the Crewes."

The Frenchman was greatly impressed by these lies,and he therefore appreciated all the more her spontaneousinvitation to him to accompany her to the opera thefollowing Monday evening. It seemed that a friendof hers had been called out of town and that her stallwas vacant. Madame Guerin added that she hoped tobe able to introduce Lalère to some English heiressesbetween the acts.

Monday night found Madame Guerin and MonsieurLalère seated in the stalls at the Covent Garden Theatre.Just before the curtain went up the woman indicateda private box wherein three young ladies, beautifullydressed, were sitting.

"Three friends of mine and all rich, monsieur," shesaid confidentially. "You can have your choice. Letme know the one you prefer. They will be guidedentirely by my advice."

Of course after that Lalère had no eyes for the stage,and some of the greatest singers in the world failed118to engage his attention. His eyes were always wanderingto the box where the three English beauties were,and he studied their appearances carefully. Eventuallyhis choice alighted upon the girl in the centre, whosename was, Madame Guerin informed him, Miss Northcliffe.

Thus once more the mysterious Miss Northcliffeappeared on the scene, and again she found a Frenchmanwho was mesmerized by her beauty and her reputedfortune. All the acting that night at Covent Gardenwas not behind the footlights. Both Madame Guerinand Miss Northcliffe could have given points to manyof the professionals.

That the girl who acted as the matrimonial agent'sdecoy was clever and educated there can be no doubt.She could speak French fluently, and she had a first-rateknowledge of the world. She had been able totalk intelligently to the authority on old engravingsand modern poetry, and now she charmed Lalère byher acquaintance with the subjects that interested him.

The sequel was that Lalère paid Madame Guerinfifteen hundred pounds on the understanding that shewas to bring about a match between himself and MissNorthcliffe. But no sooner had he parted with themoney than the "heiress" vanished, greatly to MadameGuerin's distress and Lalère's annoyance; and all hehad to show for his expenditure was a cynical and bittercontempt for women-folk in general.

Success made Madame Guerin avaricious. She beganto crave for a large fortune, and she believed that shewas clever enough to gain it at one stroke. Experiencehad proved that it was easy enough to open a man'spurse with a story of a rich bride, and her victims tooktheir disappointment so calmly that there was no dangerof retribution. Perhaps the sight of wealthy Londonfired her imagination. Anyhow, she immediately beganto look round for a suitable dupe there.

119It was, however, necessary to have her husband'shelp. As she pretended to be a widow, she called himher friend, and it was as Monsieur Cesbron that sheintroduced him to her friends and acquaintances. HithertoCesbron had wisely kept in the background, anadmiring spectator from afar of his wife's astuteness,and no doubt he shared in the little windfalls from theGovernment official and Lalère.

He was not averse to taking a leading part in thenext big swindle, and it was Cesbron who found thevery man for their purpose. Through a friend he hadheard that in the West End of London there was a doctorwho had saved a considerable sum of money, and whowas in every way a very eligible bachelor.

The initial difficulty was how to make themselvesknown to him, but Madame Guerin solved the problemby planning a pretty little scheme. She might havecalled on the doctor in the guise of a patient, but shedecided not to do this lest he discovered there was nothingthe matter with her.

Her final plan was to pretend that she had inventeda new method of sterilizing milk, and that she wishedto have a doctor's opinion of its merits.

Madame Guerin underrated her abilities, for, as eventsproved, she need not have bothered about the "invention."The doctor was pleased to make theacquaintance of the charming widow, and she soon hadevery opportunity for dragging in references to herrich young lady friends who were anxious to findhusbands.

The medical man was incredulous at first, then curious,and eventually impressed. Madame Guerin did notlook like a swindler or talk in the manner of a professionalmatrimonial agent. She was too human for that, andthere was nothing of the hard-headed business womanabout her.

The doctor readily agreed to join her at a dinner-120partyand meet the young heiresses, and choose whichof them he would care to marry.

The meeting took place at an hotel, and on this occasionMiss Northcliffe failed to win his approval. A younglady whose name was given as Miss Smith gained his vote.

Miss Smith was a beauty, vivacious, clever, andfascinating. When he was persuaded to believe thatshe had a large fortune, the doctor considered himselfthe luckiest man in the world.

The girl, one of Madame Guerin's cutest confederates,was equally as good an actress as Miss Northcliffe,and, shrewd man of the world as the doctor was, shehad no difficulty in persuading him that he had capturedher maiden fancy.

Now, as I have said, the doctor was not a pennilessadventurer. He was a prosperous professional man,with a good position and a consoling balance at hisbankers, theCrédit Lyonnais. Apart from the somewhatunconventional means by which they had becomeacquainted, the engagement was, on the surface, nothingremarkable. Miss Smith was obviously well educated,and fit to preside over the doctor's home. They were,therefore, of equal social position.

Madame Guerin was, of course, the brains of theaffair, and only the "spade work" was left to herhusband. It was she who decided when she and MissSmith should leave London on the plea that they hadto keep engagements in France, and it was she whoinstructed Miss Smith to agree to her fiancé's requestthat she should name the day.

The two women left for Paris the day before Cesbron,but they only stopped a day at the capital before theyproceeded to the Villa the swindler had rented in thevicinity of Fontainebleau. It was situated in a verylonely spot, and Madame Guerin and Cesbron had takenit because they had decided to murder the doctor andobtain his fortune.

121They had already endeavoured to get the doctor totransfer his account to the Paris bank which they saidlooked after Miss Smith's immense fortune; but hedeclined to effect the change. However, they werenot disheartened. If they were equal to killing thedoctor they were also capable of forging a claim to hismoney at theCrédit Lyonnais.

The marriage was fixed to take place in the secondweek in November, 1906, and early in the same monthMadame Guerin invited the doctor to spend a few daysat her Villa before he became the husband of the heiress.He was very busy just then, but, of course, he was mostanxious to see his friends, and he accepted the invitation,and in due course arrived at the isolated house.

If he had not been absorbed in his forthcoming marriage,the doctor would hardly have found the placeattractive at that time of the year. Of course, MadameGuerin was always interesting, and she was a perfecthostess. There were good points about her friendCesbron, too, and, with the excitement of the engagement,the flattery of his hostess, and the attentions ofCesbron, the doctor was never dull.

He could never be expected to believe that the womanwith the plump, smiling face and the sympathetic eyes hadplanned his murder, or that Cesbron, her husband, wasmerely waiting for the proper moment to "remove" him.

One afternoon Madame Guerin and the doctor werechatting in the front room, when Cesbron drove upin a cart with a huge, iron-bound trunk.

"Is our friend going to be married too?" he askedjocularly.

Madame Guerin's eyes glinted, but her lips partedin a smile.

"Oh, he is always buying clothes," she said indifferently,"and he likes to keep them clean and drywhen travelling. He told me yesterday he had ordereda new trunk. It is a hobby of his."

122The truth was that that trunk had been purchasedto hold the doctor's corpse!

There was quite a little party at the Villa that night,and all the time the huge box was waiting in the nextroom for its victim. The visitor had no suspicion thatanything was wrong. He knew by now that MadameGuerin would expect a commission for having introducedhim to the great heiress, but he thought nonethe less of her for that. Cesbron, too, was respectfuland attentive, and all appeared to be looking forwardwith intense satisfaction to the marriage celebration.Miss Smith was not, of course, at the Villa. She wasnow in Paris selecting her trousseau, and her fiancéhad to be content with a charming little love-letterwhich came to him every morning.

The day before the one fixed for the tragedy Cesbronand the doctor happened to be in the little garden,when the former playfully started a discussion as totheir respective physical conditions, and before longthe two men had agreed to a friendly wrestling matchto see which of them was the stronger.

To Cesbron's surprise and annoyance, he discoveredthat the doctor was by far the better of the two. Thisput him out, for it meant that he would have to resortto fire-arms to achieve his object—the murder of theguest.

Cesbron did not like using a revolver. It made alot of noise, and, lonely as the Villa was, there wasalways the danger that some one might be passing atthe moment of the crime. However, the risk had tobe taken. He knew now for certain that he was quiteincapable of seizing the doctor by the throat and stranglinghim, and that if it came to a fight he would be nomatch for his opponent.

On November 9, 1906, the doctor was alone writinga letter in the drawing-room. The house was veryquiet, and he was under the impression that Madame123Guerin and Cesbron had gone out. At this time ofthe year it was dark at half-past four, and the doctorwrote leisurely, pausing occasionally to improve aphrase before committing it to writing.

Suddenly an explosion seemed to take place in theroom, and simultaneously he felt something sting him.The next moment he knew that a bullet had passedinto his neck behind his left ear, cutting through thetongue and soft palate, and breaking several teeth.

But the wound was not sufficient to prevent hisrising and confronting Cesbron, who was standing nearthe door with a smoking revolver in his hand. Onlyfor a fraction of a second did the two men pause. Thenthe injured man made a dash at Cesbron, who, recallinghis playful encounter of the day before, took to flight,well aware that he would be helpless if the doctor gothis fingers round his throat.

When Cesbron sped into the darkness the doctormade his way out of the house and into the garden,stumbling towards the gate. To his surprise this waslocked. Evidently the conspirators had not forgottenanything.

There was nothing for him to do now but to try andclimb over the wall, and he succeeded in getting hishead above the top, but immediately it was silhouettedagainst the sky another shot was fired, and for thesecond time he was hit. He fell back into the garden,where, thanks to the darkness and the shelter of thebushes, he was able to remain concealed until the morning,when he crawled to the police station at Fontainebleau,and told the story of the attack on him at theVilla.

The police took the doctor to the local hospital, andthen went in search of Madame Guerin who, whenarrested, thought to avenge herself by swearing thatthe doctor was her accomplice. She lied so skilfullythat she persuaded the police to detain him for a time,124but in the long run the truth was discovered, and itwas proved that the doctor was merely another ofher dupes.

A strange feature of the case was the disappearanceof Cesbron. The police and detective force of Francesearched for him everywhere, but he was never seen,and the same lack of success was experienced when theauthorities became anxious to make the acquaintanceof the English heiresses, Miss Smith and Miss Northcliffe.Not a trace of them could be found, and thiswas very fortunate for Madame Guerin, because, whenshe was brought up for trial in July, 1907, she couldpose as a poor woman who was being prosecuted whilsther partners were allowed to go free owing to the incompetenceof the authorities.

The jury took a lenient view of her swindles, ignoringthe charge of attempted murder, because it was undoubtedlyCesbron who had fired the two shots at thedoctor, and without his presence in the dock it wasimpossible to tell exactly what part the female prisonertook in the final tragedy. But that she was a verydangerous adventuress and swindler was obvious, andeverybody was surprised when the judge passed sentenceof three years' imprisonment only.

Her face lit up with joy. She had been afraid thatit would have been at least ten years. Three years!Why, it was worth running such a bogus matrimonialagency if that was the only punishment.

It is the French custom to sentence any accusedperson who fails to answer the charge in person, andCesbron was ordered two years' hard labour. He didnot, however, oblige the prosecution by appearingand undergoing his punishment, and from that day tothis nothing has been seen or heard of him.

125

CHAPTER IX
THE MURDER OF MADAME HOUET

The annals of French crime are rich in dramaticand extraordinary episodes, but none canexcel in breathless interest the story of themurder of Madame Houet and the discovery and punishmentof her murderers twelve years after her tragicdeath.

Madame Houet was a widow with a fortune estimatedto exceed two hundred and fifty thousand francs, wholived with her son in a little house in the Rue St. Jacques,Paris. Her only daughter was married to a wine merchantnamed Robert, who was reputed to be well off.The old lady's son was a big, powerful fellow, whoseweak brain prevented him earning more than a precariouslivelihood, a fact which annoyed his penuriousparent. She scraped and saved and half-starved herselfto be able to add a few coins daily to her store.In the circumstances, it is not astonishing that amongsther neighbours she should have had the reputation ofbeing worth a great deal more than she actually was.

The gossips never tired of discussing her hiddenwealth, and everybody was prepared to hear of hermurder for the sake of her hoard. Even her son-in-lawwas ignorant of the extent of her savings—the old ladywould never discuss the subject with him or anyoneelse—and, after making allowances for the exaggerationsof the neighbours, he came to the conclusion thathis wife's share of her inheritance would not be less126than a quarter of a million francs. There were times,too, when he comforted himself with the assurance thathis wife's brother would not live very long. More thanone doctor had hinted that the weak brain would soonaffect the body, and that he would suddenly collapseand die.

These thoughts induced the wine merchant to sellhis business and retire. Robert had always wantedto live the life of a gentleman, as he termed it. Hewas fond of the theatre and the restaurants, and hehad a mania for tempting fortune on the racecourseand on the roulette table. So when he observed signsof decline in his mother-in-law—and his wife oftenwept as she told him that the old lady was fading away—hefound a purchaser for his shop, pocketed the proceeds,and went the pace, confident that before he hadspent his capital he would be in possession of MadameHouet's cash.

But Madame Houet was tougher than he thought,and easily outlasted the twenty-five thousand francsRobert had received for his shop. For a few monthsMonsieur and Madame Robert were seen everywhere,and they became familiar figures in the fashionablerestaurants and theatres. When he came to his lastthousand-franc note Robert determined to risk it allon a visit to a gambling den. He carried out his intention,and returned home at three in the morningpenniless.

He was now not only without resources, but heavilyin debt. As the husband of Madame Houet's heiresshe had been given extended credit, but the ex-winemerchant knew that if he failed to keep his agreementshis creditors would complain to his mother-in-law.

But could he hold his creditors back until the oldlady died? Several times a week he called on her andnoticed with increasing alarm that she was daily improvingin health. Her appetite was prodigious, as127he discovered every time he took her out to lunch.Driven desperate, the penniless man tried forgery,and by imitating his mother-in-law's signature on theback of a bill induced the merchant who had purchasedhis business to advance him twelve thousand five hundredfrancs for three months.

The weeks passed all too swiftly, and when only afortnight remained of the three months the forger'sposition was worse than ever. Fourteen days moreand the forged bill would be presented and dishonoured,and Madame Houet would repudiate the signature.Robert went for long walks every night to think overthe situation, and eventually he found a solution.

"I have urgent business to attend to," he told hiswife one morning, "and I am afraid I shall have to beoften away from your side. Why not pay that long-promisedvisit to your aunt in Marseilles? I should behappier if I knew you were with her."

His wife agreed, and for a month was out of Paris,and during that month the tragedy occurred.

Robert had decided to murder his mother-in-lawso that his wife might receive at once her share of theestate. He knew that the old lady had recently madeher will bequeathing her fortune in equal shares to herson and her daughter, and, therefore, there was nodanger of Julia losing her inheritance. The ex-winemerchant, however, was not capable of carrying outthe plan unaided, and he sought an acquaintance,Bastien, a jobbing carpenter, who promised to helpin the murder for a fee of twenty thousand francs,to be paid within thirty days of Madame Robert'sreceipt of her legacy. The terms were agreed to, andthey began to make their plans.

There was a big garden attached to a house in theRue Vaugirard, and Robert rented both for a month,and the night before the murder he and Bastien duga grave for their intended victim, who at the time they128were working was busy counting her savings with aview to sending the money to the bank in the morning.The widow may have been a miser, but she had a greatdeal of common sense, and she never kept large sumsin her home.

Curiously enough, she and her son had of late begunto quarrel fiercely. She had accused him of being lazy,and he had flung reproaches at her, and it was knownin the Rue St. Jacques that the Houets were constantlyat loggerheads.

"There'll be a tragedy in that house," said the landlordof the inn at the corner. "The police ought tobe told. It is not safe to leave the old woman alonewith that crazy son of hers."

When the ill-feeling between the mother and son wasat its height, Bastien, Robert's confederate, drove upto her residence in a cab, and on being admitted to herpresence announced that he came with an invitationto spend the day with her son-in-law. Madame eagerlyaccepted, for the three meals at his expense would enableher to add at least a franc to her store.

On the journey to the Rue Vaugirard the widowcommented on the fact that her strange companionheld a coil of rope in his hands.

"Yes," he said, with an impudent grin, "I boughtit for a special job. I hope it will prove strongenough."

Again he grinned meaningly; but the old womanwas, of course, unconscious of the fact that the "specialjob" he referred to was her murder by strangulation.

The cab stopped outside the gate at the end of thegarden and some distance from the house. With remarkableagility Madame Houet descended, and whenBastien had opened the entrance to the garden passedin. She had not proceeded a dozen paces, however,nor had she had time to notice the newly-made grave,when two strong hands shot out and gripped her by129the throat, and before she could utter a sound Bastien'srope was around her neck, and she was swiftly strangled.The next ten minutes was spent by the men filling inthe grave, and when that task was over they adjournedto the house and steadied their nerves by imbibingcopious draughts of wine.

"The fortune is mine!" Robert cried exultingly."Bastien, my friend, we have nothing to fear. Youhave only to keep your mouth shut, and the police arehelpless, and ten years hence, even if they discoverproofs of our guilt, they won't be able to touch us.That is the law of France. A murderer must be convictedwithin ten years of the last arrest for the crimeor else he goes free without any penalty."

"And the money?" asked Bastien sharply.

"I have been told that it takes about a month towind up the affairs of a dead woman," said the ex-winemerchant. "My wife will have her mother'sfortune by then. Call four weeks from to-day and Iwill hand you your well-earned reward."

They shook hands on it and parted. Nothing remainedexcept to wait, and that was easy enough.

The instant Madame Houet was missed her son wasarrested. On the face of it there seemed to be everyjustification for that procedure, and the detectivesfelt that they had the murderer in their power. Thatthe widow had been murdered they had no doubt,and it was only when they were searching for her bodythat they arrested Robert and Bastien. Followingthe capture of the latter the son was released, it beingadmitted that he could have had nothing to do withthe disappearance of his mother. It was, however,quite another matter to find the corpse. MadameHouet had simply vanished, and, although the detectivesbuilt up a strong case against the two accused, theywere compelled to release them because they wereunable to produce the body.

130It was proved that Bastien had called for the widowand had driven away with her, and it was known thathe had fetched her at the instigation of Robert. Thetwo men agreed that they had seen Madame Houeton the day of her disappearance, but swore that shehad left them with the intention of going home. Thecleverest members of the detective force traced themen's movements on the fatal day, but failed to discoverthe garden in the Rue Vaugirard, for Robert had,of course, never gone near it since the hasty burial,and, apparently, there was no one to give informationto the police about the strange man who had paid therent for it for a month and had not occupied it for morethan a day and that day September 13th, 1821.

When Robert and his confederate walked out of theircells they entered a café and had lunch, and they confinedtheir conversation to denunciations of the authoritiesfor having kept them in gaol so long. Beforethey separated, however, Robert fixed an appointmentwith his fellow-assassin to call for the twenty thousandfrancs and they went their way, animated by feelingsof triumph, the ex-wine merchant, especially, scarcelyable to suppress his joy.

There is a well-known proverb which says that "Alittle learning is a dangerous thing," and Robert, themurderer, discovered its truth when he sent his wifeto claim half her mother's fortune. He had carefullystudied the laws relating to murder, and, confidentthat the police would never find Madame Houet'sbody, he had willingly accepted the inconveniencesof being constantly under suspicion because hebelieved that the ten years required by the law wouldsoon pass and place him beyond danger. After thetenth year if the corpse and his guilt were brought tolight he would not be prosecuted. It was a curiousregulation, but it just suited Robert, and he hummedgaily to himself while awaiting his wife's return.

131She came back with a long face and whispered thebad news.

"The gentlemen in the Government office told me,"she said, between her tears of disappointment, "thatunder the law they cannot distribute my mother'smoney until ten years have passed, when, if her bodyisn't found, she becomes legally dead. At present,according to the law, she is considered to be alive, and,therefore, her estate cannot be touched."

The ex-wine merchant nearly collapsed, and it wassome time before he induced his wife to complain thatshe was practically destitute and extract an allowanceof thirty francs a week on account from the State.For that she had to sign a bond guaranteeing to repaythe money to her mother if the latter should appear onthe scene again.

By dint of desperate appeals to relatives Robertsucceeded in getting the money to take up the forgedbill, but he had now another danger to face—Bastien,the jobbing carpenter, who, he knew, would make aterrible row when told of the failure to get hold of thewidow's money.

The carpenter came with an expectant expression,and left infuriated. Vainly had Robert explained.Bastien bluntly informed him that he did not believea word.

"You are trying to defraud me!" he had shrieked,shaking his fist and sending Madame Robert into hysterics."I will be even with you yet, and if to-morrowyou have not the money ready, I—" He ceasedabruptly and shuffled out of the house.

He did not come back for a fortnight. Then ensueda repetition of the first scene, terminated by Roberthanding him two hundred and fifty francs.

It was a couple of months before Bastien believedhis explanation of his poverty, but the two murdererscontinued to quarrel whenever they met. Robert was132again hopelessly in debt, and could hardly raise a fewfrancs to give to his fellow-assassin, who was blackmailinghim daily. Eventually things became so badthat Bastien in desperation committed a burglary forwhich he was arrested and sent to penal servitude forseven years.

Then fresh information reached the authorities andRobert was arrested again, whilst Bastien was broughtfrom prison and taken with the ex-wine merchantbefore the magistrate. They were severely examined,but despite many contradictions and lies they had tobe discharged again, Bastien returning to gaol, andRobert to the miserable rooms he called his home.This second arrest, however, meant that still ten yearswould have to elapse before Madame Houet was considereddead in law and her assassins free frompunishment.

When Bastien had served his sentence for burglaryhe began to blackmail Robert systematically, untilanother robbery landed him in gaol again. As the yearswent by he grew jealous of the liberty enjoyed by Robert,and, becoming garrulous, eventually confided in an oldconvict with whom he worked exactly nine years andeight months from the day of his second arrest. Hisfellow-prisoner had twelve years to serve, and was,accordingly, not to be feared, but the very week heheard Bastien's story of the tragedy in the Rue Vaugirardhe saved a warder's life by an act of bravery,and was rewarded by a free pardon in March, 1833.

The pardon, however, did not include employment,and the ex-convict found the world hard and unsympathetic.No one would have anything to do with aman whose record included a murder and several violentassaults, and he was starving when it occurred to himthat he might be able to make something out of Bastien'sconfession. He, thereupon, called on the chief ofpolice, and offered to tell him where the body of the133widow was provided he was given five hundred francswhen his statement had been tested.

The chief willingly promised the sum mentioned,for it was a continual source of exasperation to himthat two such villains as Robert and Bastien shouldhave outwitted him and his legion of trained detectives.

The ex-convict recounted what Bastien had told him,and for the third time Robert and Bastien were chargedtogether. They were not so confident now, for somethingseemed to tell them that they were not going toescape again.

It is the French custom to have the accused presentat any important discovery bearing upon their case,and Robert and Bastien were, accordingly, handcuffedand taken to the garden at the back of the house in theRue Vaugirard. Half a dozen detectives were providedwith spades, and, whilst the prisoners looked on,they dug as if for their lives. But they met with noreward, and Robert, who had remained motionlessthroughout, was regarding them with a sneering smilewhen one of the detectives suddenly turned on him.

"Get out of the way, man!" he cried contemptuously."One would think that the widow Houet hadgripped you by the feet."

On hearing this Robert started as though he hadbeen shot, and it did not surprise the officials in theleast when the skeleton of the murdered woman wasfound exactly under the spot where he had been standing.It was plain that he had hoped to keep the officersaway from it and that his ruse would cause them toleave the garden without the corpse. Had they doneso, he and Bastien would have had to be released.

The skeleton was in an almost perfect state of preservationand there was not the slightest difficulty inidentifying it, for the rope was still around the neck andon one of the fingers of the left hand was a gold ring.

The ex-wine merchant and his confederate were134tried before the Paris Criminal Court and found guiltyof murder. For some extraordinary reason, however,the jury added "extenuating circumstances" to theirverdict and this took away from the judge the powerto inflict death. They were, however, consigned to aliving death in one of the French convict settlements,and there they existed for a few miserable years beforedying of inanition, overwork, and monotony.

Practically the whole of Madame Houet's fortunewas inherited by her son, who died in an asylum, andeventually the money which had been the motive fora terrible crime passed into the coffers of the state,the widow's son leaving no heirs.

135

CHAPTER X
THE BOOTMAKER'S ROYAL WOOING

When the Essen doctor advised MariaHussmann, Frederick Krupp's "lady housekeeper,"to try a course of thermal bathsat Aix-la-Chapelle she was only too glad to do so. Mariawas a typical German woman, heavy, solid, and, asshe was in the late thirties, fond of boasting of herrespectability. She styled herself "a noble lady,"and she was in the habit of explaining to her acquaintancesthat she only "condescended" to manage HerrKrupp's domestic staff for him, having been temptedby an enormous salary, the latter being a tribute toher excellence and her social position. She alwayscarried herself with great dignity, and Krupp, whohad a comic admiration for what in Germany passesfor good breeding, was rather proud of his employée'spride.

Of course, he readily granted her permission to makethe journey to the favourite resort, and to stay therefor at least a month. Maria, therefore, packed up hertrunks, and started for Aix-la-Chapelle. The womanhad a fairly large sum of money saved, and, anxiousto meet the best people, she put up at a first-class hotel,and placed herself under the care of a physician witha European reputation. In this way she acquiredposition at once in the hotel, and while carefullysuppressing the fact that she was the Cannon King's136housekeeper she let it be known that she derived hermeans from him.

Everybody thereupon assumed that she was a relationof Krupp's, and after that expressed no surprise that sheshould be so rich.

The tall woman with the red face, who looked sogrotesque in her fashionable clothes, was most assiduousin following her doctor's orders, and she was soon awell-known figure amongst the patients, who camefrom all parts of the world. When the scores of impecuniousGerman officers heard that she was actuallyrelated to the millionaire Krupp they crowded roundher, and the widow took their admiration as due entirelyto her personal charm! Every day she had moreinvitations to lunch than she could accept, and therewas keen competition for the honour of escorting herto the theatre or opera. This was, indeed, life, and,large as was Frederick Krupp's monthly cheque, shebegan to look forward to the time when she would beindependent of it, and would have an officer husband—theambition of every German woman—and a homeof her own to manage.

Then suddenly she met, purely by accident, a manwho raised her ambitions even higher. Hitherto shehad considered it bliss to hear a young officer of thePrussian Guards whisper insincerities into her ear,but once she became acquainted with a future Kingshe forgot all other men.

It was a very hot afternoon in mid-August, 1897, whenMaria, walking slowly between an avenue of trees,slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and she would havemet with a serious accident had not a gentleman caughther in time. The shock, however, gravely affectedher, and her rescuer had to escort her to a friendly seatto give her time to recover. There he waited politelyuntil she signified that she was better, and it was onlythen that she took notice of him. She saw a man above137medium height with a saturnine countenance, darkeyes and a black moustache. She noticed that theexpression of his mouth hovered between a sneer anda scowl, and somehow his grey suit and light Homburghat failed to give a touch of relief to an exterior notat all pleasing. However, Maria was too great a "perfectlady" not to feel grateful for the service he hadrendered her, and she thanked him, ending up by revealingher identity.

"I am charmed, madame," said the stranger, speakingin French. "My name is—but, no, I must respectmy incognito. I am Count d'Este. You can knowme by that." A profound bow followed, and the nextmoment the count had disappeared.

Marie went back to her hotel with the words "incognito"and "count" ringing in her ears. She was surethat the stranger had been impressed by her, and shewas equally certain that he was a great man, for onlymonarchs and their heirs talked of travelling "incognito."He was undoubtedly something better thana count, although Maria had an exaggerated venerationfor any title of nobility.

Of course, the "lady housekeeper from Essen"procured anAlmanach de Gotha at the hotel, but asit was not illustrated, she could not identify the mysteriousgentleman, and she might have given up the taskhad she not met him again at the same place the followingday. On this occasion he came straight up to her,and in the most charming and natural manner enteredinto conversation, carefully inquiring first if she hadsuffered any ill-consequences from the previous day'smishap, and expressing the greatest delight when shedeclared that she was quite well again.

They parted after half an hour, the count in a sadvoice informing her that owing to fear of being recognizedand his incognito not being respected he could not askher to be his guest at a restaurant. The remark138fired her curiosity, and she went at once to the publiclibrary, and within a quarter of an hour was surroundedby a score of books on the royal families of Europe.It took her, however, nearly two hours to solve themystery, and it was a bound volume of the ParisFigarothat gave her the clue she was seeking.

"He's the Archduke Francis Ferdinand," she whisperedto herself, and her body vibrated. "The heirto the throne! And we're such good friends! Now I'llhave no difficulty in being received into the societythat I've always longed to enter."

When she reached her hotel there was a retired Germancolonel waiting to take her for a promenade, and atany other time Maria would have given half her fortuneto be seen in his company, but now she almost condescendinglybegged him to excuse her, and as she lumberedup the stairs the colonel could only stand in the hall,stare after her, and mutter curses expressive of hissurprise and anger. He had planned to marry thewealthy relative of Frederick Krupp, and so save himselffrom bankruptcy. But Frau Hussmann had nouse for common colonels now. She could think onlyof her august friend, the heir to the throne of Austria;no one else mattered.

It was her intention to keep her discovery to herself,but when on the third day she found the "count"obviously waiting for her she could not restrain herselfwhen after five minutes' promenading together shehad yet to hear a word from him. The "count"was in one of his melancholy moods, but since seeinghim last she had read in several papers how addictedhe was to pessimism, and she had already come to theconclusion that her mission in life was to save him frommelancholia, and give him a new interest in life.

"Your Imperial and Royal Highness"—she began.

But he started convulsively, and laid a warninghand on her arm.

139"Ah, I see you have discovered my secret," he saidwith a most anxious expression. "Trust a woman'swit to get to the truth. You pierced my incognito,madame. But I am not angry. It is proof that youtake an interest in an unhappy man. I thank youfor it."

"Unhappy?" she echoed in amazement. "YourRoyal Highness——"

"My name is Franz—to my friends," he said, lookingat her steadily, "and we are friends, are we not?"

Maria could scarcely speak, so excited was she bythe honour. The Archduke Francis Ferdinand wasso natural and such a delightful companion! Thatvery day he told her how his uncle, the Emperor, wastrying to force him to marry an archduchess he did notlove, and he recounted scenes in the Hofburg at Viennawhich simply enthralled Krupp's lady housekeeper,who felt that she was, indeed, taking a peep into themost exclusive Court in Europe.

"I can go nowhere without being pestered," saidthe melancholy archduke. "I have no real friends.The Czar and the Kaiser only invite me to their palacesto introduce me to princesses. I am considered merelya pawn on the chessboard of Europe, and they neverseem to think that I have a heart like other men, andthat I long for a sweet, sympathetic wife."

He pressed her hand and looked into her eyes, andMaria Hussmann had difficulty in keeping on her feet,so overcome was she by emotion as she walked in thatshady avenue and knew that she was being made loveto by the future Emperor of Austria and King ofHungary.

"You understand now why I am in Aix-la-Chapelle,"he resumed after a pause. "I can experience a littleliberty here, and by paying cash for everything I haveno need to reveal my identity. Of course I dare notdraw cheques on my bankers, for that would give me140away completely. Oh, madame, I am thankful thatI came here, for I have never been so happy since Imet you."

The courtship was not a long one: indeed, it wasmuch too short for the romantic woman. Nearlyevery afternoon she met the archduke, and he alwayshad some fresh story to tell her of the Hofburg—theKaiser's secret visits there, the drawing up of importanttreaties at midnight, the "removing" of politicalenemies, and the real meaning of various public actionsof the emperor's. Incidentally he enlightened Marieas to the real character of Frederick Krupp. He was,of course, very sorry to have to draw the line at themillionaire, he said, even if Madame was a relativeof the Cannon King's; but Marie hastened to dissociateherself from her "relation," explaining that she had afortune independent of him, and that if ever she marriedshe would not want to see too much of the Kaiser'sfriend.

A fortnight after the accident the archduke formallyasked Marie to be his wife. She had been expectingthe proposal for days, but she was surprised almost intohysterics when he actually made the offer. It seemedtoo good to be true. Aix-la-Chapelle was then crowdedwith beauties of all sorts and conditions. Some ofthe loveliest heiresses in Europe were to be seen dailyin the town. The archduke had only to reveal himselfto be flattered and courted by them, and yet hehad chosen her! It was undoubtedly the greatestcompliment she could possibly receive.

In the faintest of tones she said "Yes," and the archdukebowed over her hand, and impressed a respectfulkiss upon it. "Just like one would expect from aprince," said the lady housekeeper later when describingthat moment of blissful triumph.

"Of course, we'll be married at once," said FranzFerdinand, who was the most attentive and enthusiastic141of lovers. "Until you are my wife I shall notknow a moment's peace, for if the Emperor got to knowof my matrimonial plans he would have you kidnapped,Maria, and I should be left to mourn your loss."

The idea of the Emperor abducting this sixteen stoneof solid German flesh would have struck anyone butMaria as comic. She, however, was too great an admirerof herself and too romantic to see anything absurdin the idea.

"I am ready for you at any time, Franz," she saidin a flutter. "You know I am yours for ever now."

How delightful it was to meet the archduke everyday after dusk and discuss the question of immediatemarriage! They made plans, only to unmake them attheir next meeting. Once for a period of three daysKrupp's housekeeper had to live without seeing herfiancé, but, as he explained on his return to Aix-la-Chapelle,he had been unexpectedly recalled to Viennato take part in a Council of State at the Hofburg.

"Again the Emperor talked of my marrying oneof my cousins," he said with a scowl. "He littlerealizes that I am about to wed the girl of my heart,and one whom I mean to make my Empress when theright time comes."

Once more they fell to discussing the best place toget married in. Various Continental cities were mentioned,but rejected, and eventually the archduke'ssuggestion that they should travel to London at once,go through the marriage ceremony at a register office,and then in the presence of a priest, and afterwardsreturn to Aix-la-Chapelle, was adopted. From thereFrancis Ferdinand was to inform his uncle as to whathad happened, and prepare for his entry into Austriawith his bride by his side.

"Once you are mine, even the Emperor will not beable to separate us," he assured her confidently, "andyou can always rely upon my love and protection. I142am sure the Austrians and Hungarians will take mylovely bride to their hearts."

With the venue settled upon there was only one thingmore to do, and that was for the archduke to send for"a few thousand marks" for the expenses of theirwedding and subsequent honeymoon. He spoke soglibly of his immense fortune that poor Maria did notdare to refer to the fifty thousand marks she had inthe bank at Essen. However, he spared her any embarrassmentby laughingly advising her to take whatevermoney she had out of the German banks in case "theEmperor, my uncle, should try to deprive you of it."Maria accordingly sent instructions to her bankers,and shortly she had two thousand five hundred poundsin her possession, but only for a short time, for shehanded it over to "Franz" for safe keeping on hissuggestion.

The portly housekeeper and the melancholy archdukestole out of Aix-la-Chapelle late one night, and,travelling by a circuitous route, reached London twodays later. They were both dead tired, but neverthelessvery happy, and for the time being the Austrian heirseemed to have become another man. He could laughand joke and talk rapturously of the love he bore hisbride, and he was all impatience for their brief journeyto the register office in the neighbourhood of the Strand.

London was crowded at the time. In the previousJune Queen Victoria had celebrated her DiamondJubilee, and if all the royalties had departed there weresufficient notable sight-seers from all corners of theearth to make the great city more than usuallyinteresting.

"It is the best time for us," said the archduke, beamingupon Maria as they prepared to leave the hotelfor the register office. "These Londoners have hadso much royalty in their midst lately that they won'ttrouble to bother about me."

143The dingy register office seemed to Maria Hussmanna veritable Fairyland setting for her romance when shestood beside Francis Ferdinand, and the wheezy officialturned them into man and wife in the most matter-of-factmanner. She regretted that they had to givefalse names, but she was well aware that that smallfraud would not invalidate the marriage.

A couple of clerks, called in, and rewarded withhalf a sovereign each, officiated as witnesses, and thenMaria and her princely husband went out into thesunshine and tried to realize that the wonderful eventhad happened.

They had a merry little lunch for two at the SavoyHotel, and in the afternoon they went for a drive throughLondon. At night they had a box at one of the principaltheatres, and Francis Ferdinand talked of taking herdown to Windsor to see the Queen.

"Her Majesty has a womanly heart, and she willsympathize with us," he declared. How Maria's heartbeat when she listened to him talking so familiarlyof the crowned heads of Europe! "She'll stand by us,and she's the most powerful woman in the world. Iknow Wilhelm will bluster and Nicholas shed tearsover my supposed loss of dignity, but I don't care."

Maria had agreed to keep their marriage a secretuntil her husband had chosen the right moment tobreak the news to his uncle, the Emperor Francis Joseph,and what with daily drives, visits to the theatres, andexciting plans for a tour of the Courts of Europe, shelet a whole week go by in London without having brokenher promise. Yet she wished that she could tell someof the people at theSavoy, especially those fashionabledames who were in the habit of regarding her with unfavourablelooks. It would make them treat herrespectfully. It was all very well for Francis Ferdinandto wish for privacy, but she was crazy with anxietyto astonish Europe with news of her exploit.

144She must have dropped hints in the hearing of hermaid, for between lunch and afternoon tea at theSavoyone mild September day she found a pleasant-manneredgentleman beside her, who opened a conversation, anddeftly extracted a statement from her concerning herhusband. This person happened to be a journalist,and, the same day, the wires were busy conveying thestartling information that the heir to the throne ofAustria had married Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp'slady housekeeper!

Meanwhile the bridegroom had also read the statementin a London paper, and without a trace of annoyancehad questioned his wife. Maria confessed thatshe had been unable to resist the temptation to proclaimher pride and happiness, and he did not reprove herharshly. It was only human, after all, he said, forgirls do not marry archdukes every day, so he kissedher and went downstairs, and she never saw him again.

A third person read about the affair with, perhaps,more interest than anybody else, and he was the realFrancis Ferdinand. He was staying at his palace inHungary, and the announcement of his marriage tickledeven his dormant sense of humour. Three years wereto elapse before he was to become the husband of theCountess Sophy Chotek, later Duchess of Hohenberg,and seventeen ere their double murder was to precipitatethe greatest of all wars.

There was no difficulty in exposing the fraud, butwhen a detective from Scotland Yard called at the hotelhe found only a weeping bride. Her husband had disappeared,and she was desolate. The truth was brokento her, and a benevolent lady in London made arrangementsfor her to return to Essen. The authoritieshad no use for her now. Their energies were concentratedon discovering the retreat of the impostor.

His history was a peculiar one. Johann Schmidt—hisreal name—was the son of a Berlin bookmaker, who145after numerous terms of imprisonment had become aninmate of a criminal lunatic asylum. He escaped fromthis prison by impersonating one of the doctors, and,having made his way to Aix-la-Chapelle, wooed andwon the impressionable lady housekeeper from Essen.

The impostor was not, however, brought to trial,as Maria would not prosecute him. All she wishedwas to be allowed to bury herself in obscurity. Butshe was scarcely more annoyed than the ChauvinisticGerman journalists that her husband was not the realSimon Pure.

"No wonder he could pose so successfully as FrancisFerdinand," one of them wrote, "he was for six yearsin a lunatic asylum."

147

CHAPTER XI
THE BOGUS SIR RICHARD DOUGLAS

The most remarkable fact about Richard Douglas,professional swindler, was that he kept arecord of every one of his crimes, as well asa profit-and-loss balance-sheet, which he drew up atthe end of each year. His diary was an astonishingdocument, and had it not been for the craft and obviousguilt of the impostor it might have been used as evidenceto prove that he was not quite right in his head. Douglas,however, was too resourceful a thief to be a lunatic,and for some years he victimized all classes in London,where he posed as a baronet and committed depredationsupon the trusting and unsuspicious.

The impostor was a man of venerable aspect, withkindly blue eyes and a soft, ingratiating manner. Hewas born with the name of Douglas, but as his fatherwas a small tradesman in a Surrey village Richardthought he had better disown him, and when he hadfailed many times to earn an honest living he blazonedforth as "Sir Richard Douglas of Orpington House,Kent," and made his two elder sons partners in hiscriminal enterprises.

He was an insinuating rascal, and the tradespeoplewhom he interviewed were easily taken in by his plausibletongue. When he went to a well-known jeweller inBond Street to select a "present for my wife, LadyDouglas," he had not the slightest difficulty in persuadingthe merchant to let him have a five hundred148guinea diamond necklace on approval. Most swindlerswould have been content to disappear with the necklaceand realize its value, but "Sir Richard" was moreambitious and greedy, for he was back again in theshop the same afternoon, and, greatly to the gratificationof the jeweller, announced that "her ladyship" hadbeen fascinated by the necklace, and that he wished topay for it there and then.

The impostor drew a cheque for six hundred pounds,and, remarking that his own bank would be closedbefore he could get to it, induced the jeweller to givehim a receipt for the necklace and seventy-five poundsin cash. Of course, the cheque came back marked"No account," and not for many a long day did hesee his customer again.

While the "baronet" was busy on swindles of thisnature his two sons were equally active. They lacked,of course, the suave polish of their father, but theywere bright, intelligent youths, and they could poseas army officers anxious to spend the generous allowancetheir father, "Sir Richard Douglas," made them.The credulous traders willingly cashed cheques forthe young Douglases, and were left eventually withbits of paper as their only souvenirs of their simplicityand trustfulness.

A few months' swindling provided Douglas withsufficient capital to rent an expensive house at Ascot,which became his headquarters, and it was to it thathe would retire every week-end from the stress andstrain of London. Every Monday morning, however,he would be driven in his carriage to the station tocatch the train to London, and to start another week's"work." He dressed for each swindle, and playedmany characters. On one occasion after having entertainedsome of the leading people at Ascot to dinnerhe returned to town the following morning, donned theattire of a broken-down clergyman, and cajoled a large149sum from the credulous by a story of ill-health andpoverty and a starving wife and children. But generallyhe was the well-dressed man of the world, andboldly swindled tradespeople under the name of "SirRichard Douglas."

He had, of course, many narrow escapes. Oncehe absent-mindedly entered a jeweller's shop—diamondsand gold and silver articles specially appealedto him, because they were easily convertible into hardcash—which he had defrauded only a fortnight earlier.The moment the proprietor saw him he identified himas the man who had given a worthless cheque in exchangefor a diamond ring worth a hundred and fifty guineas,but he pretended not to recognize the self-styled"baronet," and he entered into negotiations with"Sir Richard," who was plainly on the warpath again.Now Douglas had that morning told his elder son,Philip, to hang about in the vicinity of the shop, sothat when he emerged from it he might unostentatiouslypass on to him the spoils, as the impostor intendedto steal a few rings, as well as obtain others by falsepretences. The wary jeweller, however, was so unusuallyalert that "Sir Richard" realized the situation.

He was in a tight corner now, for in addition to thepresence of the proprietor of the shop a brawny assistantwas keeping guard at the door. The "baronet," however,exhibited no sign of fear or mental distress. Hejust casually glanced out of the window, and raised hishandkerchief to his left cheek and brushed it lightly.It was a signal to his son on the other side of the road,and it meant that he was in difficulties.

Philip Douglas was a real chip of the old block, andin a moment he devised a plan to save his venerableparent. Walking briskly into the shop where "SirRichard" was the only customer—of course, the impostoralways selected the least busiest part of theday for his frauds—he peremptorily laid his hand on150his father's arm, and in curt tones expressed his delightat having at last captured him.

"It's a bit of luck for you that I was passing andrecognized this fellow," he said to the astonished jeweller."Do you know that he is one of the greatestswindlers in London? I have been looking for him forover a year. Take my advice and see if he has robbedyou of anything."

Immediately the door was locked, and the "detective"and the other two men stood round the pale-faced andtrembling culprit, who at that very moment held inhis hands a diamond tiara which was worth a thousandpounds. But he was so terrified now that he seemednot to know where he was and what he was doing.

The jeweller was so excited at the prospect of gettingeven with the man who had swindled him a fortnightbefore that he instantly preferred a charge against"Sir Richard," and, furthermore, at the suggestion ofthe "detective" added another one, accusing him oftrying to obtain the tiara by false pretences. Thiswas just what both the rogues wanted.

"Then you will be good enough to make a parcelof that tiara," said the "detective," with an air ofauthority which was irresistible. "You will carefullyseal it too. I shall have to hand it over to my superiorofficer to be used as evidence at the trial. Of courseI will give you a receipt for it."

The jeweller hastened to obey, and ten minutes laterPhilip Douglas left the shop and stepped into a four-wheelerwith his father and the diamond tiara. The"detective" shouted out the address of a police station,nodded curtly to the jeweller, and drove off. Thatnight at Ascot the family gloated over the acquisitionof a prize which would bring them in six hundred poundsat least, and leave a big profit for the receiver of stolengoods.

But the biggestcoup of all was achieved by the151"baronet" posing as a messenger. It happened thathe was chatting with the manager of a diamond merchantsshop when the latter observed that Lady Chesterfieldhad given them an order to reset a collection ofvery valuable stones which she had just received underthe will of a relative. They were reputed to be worthtwenty thousand pounds, and that afternoon the managerwas to call at her ladyship's town house to receivethe precious parcel. On hearing this "Sir Richard"brought the interview to an end, murmured that hewas due back at his country seat to entertain a CabinetMinister and his wife, and having got outside rushedto the nearest post office, obtained Lady Chesterfield'saddress, and drove to it. His respectable appearancewas in his favour, and he was admitted at once, buther ladyship's secretary would not hear of handingover the diamonds until "the manager" establishedhis identity. It was a critical moment, and had Douglasnot been an accomplished swindler he would havebolted, but he held his ground, and by sheer personalmagnetism won the secretary over. He had a goodmemory, and he was able to recall many of the statementsthe manager had made to him, retailing intimatedetails of previous transactions with Lady Chesterfieldwhich convinced the secretary that he was whathe represented himself to be.

Within a week the whole of the stones were in thepossession of a well-known Continental "fence," whoseplace of business was in Amsterdam, and the Douglasbanking account was increased by nine thousand pounds.Every morning for weeks the happy family at Ascotenjoyed the newspaper references to the great mystery,and congratulated themselves that the secretary's andthe manager's descriptions of the swindler resembledanybody but the bogus "baronet."

Continual success so impressed the impostor thathe came to the conclusion that he was under the special152protection of Providence. He began a diary, and theentries that followed were both amusing and amazing.Some are worth reproducing, for the police subsequentlycaptured two of these astonishing compilations, whichgave a complete history of his swindles and impostures.

"Jan. 5th. Phaeton and horse seized. Fear exposureat Ascot, and chance up there. Fear we mustcut."

"Jan. 7th. All day ill. Row about stable. Forciblepossession taken of it. Row all day with one personor another. Fearful how things will end. Three boysat home idle, all ordering things."

"Jan. 18th. Went to boys' to dinner. Champagne.Very merry. Providence not quite deserted us."

When he raised three hundred pounds in two daysby means of worthless cheques he celebrated the"triumph" by writing in his diary:

"My labours ended for the week. Over three hundredto the good. Paid off local tradesmen—genuinecheques. Gave notice to cook. Must get some onewho understands serving fish. Looking forward to aquiet week-end. Must read Bible regularly."

He was really fond of reading the Bible, and he spenthis leisure at his home in studying it and keeping hisdiary up to date. When his sons went off to the raceshe would potter about in the garden, apparently themost respectable and virtuous man in the kingdom.

But every Monday morning Douglas would descendupon London, and when the diaries were bulging withrecords of swindles of all descriptions, and almost everytradesman in the West End was on his guard, he turnedfor a time to begging-letter writing, at which he provedhimself an adept. He was the starving widow witheight children; the lonely widow of an Indian officer;the one-legged and one-armed hero of half a dozencampaigns; the old woman who had worked for thepoor all her life, and was now in poverty herself; and153a dozen other characters. These rôles produced plentyof money, not large sums, but enough to pay expensesat Ascot and pass the time until "Sir Richard Douglas"and his greater misdeeds were forgotten by the publicif not by his victims.

On one occasion he resumed his clerical garb, andwent round collecting subscriptions for an aged missionaryand his wife. By working ten hours a day fora fortnight he collected several hundred pounds, andhe even persuaded two bishops to contribute throughtheir chaplains, although as a rule bishops are verycareful to make inquiries before patronizing anythingof this sort. Douglas' sympathetic air, however, clinchedthe matter, and by showing the bishops' subscriptionshe was able subsequently to swindle scores of personswho would not otherwise have been taken in.

By now the police were on the look out for the bogusbaronet who had ruined more than one shopkeeperby his frauds. But Douglas was a quick-change artist,and his keen eyes were ever on the watch. He walkedfreely about London, and he always spotted the detectives,and decamped before they recognized him. Someof the best sleuths were put on his track, but he fooledthem all.

He was once tracked to a house where he was tryingto persuade the occupant, a rich old lady, to buy a tractof land in Scotland which he did not own, and it seemedcertain that the impostor would be captured, but,scenting danger, he ran upstairs into a room, where hefound some female clothes, and shortly afterwardshe walked through the kitchen—where a policemanwas keeping guard—and out of the house by the sidedoor. The policeman explained later that he thought"she was the cook going for her afternoon out."

This escape, however, was so narrow that the"baronet" returned at once to Ascot, and lay low fora month. Meanwhile, his sons had been making the154money fly. Thousands of pounds went to the bookmakersat Ascot and other racecourses, and all threeof them were engaged to girls with expensive tastes,which had to be satisfied. No wonder the old hypocriterecorded in his diary:

"It is sad to think of the extravagance of youth.If we misuse the money Providence has given us we willexperience poverty. I have spoken seriously to theboys, but they will not heed me. Note. Special hopesfor the success of the A.T. scheme."

The latter was, however, not successful, for it wasan attempt at a religious swindle which failed owingto the activities of the police.

Another failure was his short-lived matrimonialagency, which was to be stocked with three "baronets,"who were supposed to be on the look out for wives.The "baronets" were to be impersonated by his sons.It came to an abrupt termination by the theft of thepreliminary prospectus by a servant, who had to bebought off later at a cost of five hundred pounds, anitem of expenditure which nearly broke the old man'sheart, according to his diary.

These and other matters contrived to make "SirRichard" nervy. His sons were devoting more timeto pleasure than to business, and the knowledge thatthe authorities were doubling their efforts to catch himwas ever-disturbing. But he could not remain inactive,for his brain was always teeming with plans for swindles,and he entered details of several in his diary, some ofwhich he put into execution.

Amongst his acquaintances in London was a widowof fortune. She was in the late fifties, but despitethat was not averse to marrying again, especially aman with a title, and "Sir Richard's" advances werenot repulsed. Mrs. MacCormack had been left tenthousand a year by her husband, and the lady maintaineda costly establishment in the neighbourhood155of London. Douglas was fascinated by her money.He knew that once she was his wife he would be ableto get complete control of her and her fortune. Shewould obey him implicitly, and he could live at his ease,make his sons handsome allowances, and thoroughlyenjoy life.

He therefore proposed to Mrs. MacCormack, whoaccepted "Sir Richard" with an emotion akin toenthusiasm, and immediately began to prepare to gothrough the marriage ceremony a second time. ButDouglas insisted upon the engagement being kept asecret, pointing out that it was only for her sake thathe did so.

"You will be accused of marrying me for my title,dear," he said in a sympathetic tone, "and that wouldhurt me terribly. Thank God, no one can accuse meof marrying for money. Your fortune may be large,but I think that it does not exceed the rent-roll of myScottish estates."

Mrs. MacCormack was touched by his kindly forethought,and really kept the secret, although she wasanxious to impress her acquaintances with the factthat she was about to become "Lady Douglas."

It was settled that the marriage should take placeat St. George's, Hanover Square, and "Sir Richard"told the widow that the Archbishop of Canterburyand the Bishop of London had promised to assist atthe ceremony if their engagements permitted. At thelast moment it happened that both these prelates weredetained elsewhere, at least Douglas said so, and tothe rector was given the honour of officiating.

On the morning of the ceremony "Sir Richard"dressed himself with extreme care in the room he hadtaken at the fashionable West End hotel. It was eleveno'clock when he descended, and he was due at St. George'sat twelve. A carriage was to take him there with hisbest man, who was his eldest son Philip, and the young156rogue was posing for the occasion as a friend and nota relative of the bridegroom-baronet.

Now, Philip Douglas, who was keenly interestedin his father's matrimonial adventure, had out of merecuriosity made a few inquiries about Mrs. MacCormack,and he learnt that it was really true that she had tenthousand pounds a year, but on the day of the ceremonyhe discovered by sheer accident that under the provisionsof her late husband's will she was to be deprived ofevery penny if she married again. So at half-past elevenPhilip Douglas dashed into the hotel, seized his fatherby the arm, and drew him into a corner. There he confidedto the old sinner the information that he was goingto marry a woman, ancient and ugly, who would bepenniless the moment the knot was tied. "Sir Richard"gasped, and then burst forth into imprecations againstthe widow for her "deceit." With tears in his eyeshe said she had not been honest with him, and when hehad regained his composure he and his son drove awayto catch the train back to Ascot. Mrs. MacCormackarrived in due course at St. George's, Hanover Square,but the "baronet" never appeared, and she reachedhome in tears and feeling that she was the laughing-stockof London. Douglas entered all the details ofthe misadventure in his diary, and he severely censuredthe widow for not having been "honest" enough totell him the truth.

For some reason, however, the "baronet" went topieces after the abandonment of his wedding. Moneysuddenly became scarce, and creditors more persistent.A sheaf of debts contracted by his sons took him bysurprise, but they had to be paid, and Douglas wasleft with only a few pounds in hand.

In the midst of the crisis he remembered having heardabout a benevolent clergyman of the name of Hamilton,who had a large fortune, which he was in the habit ofsharing with the poor. Douglas decided that he would157get a slice of it, and to achieve his purpose he became aclergyman again. This time he was supposed to bean elderly priest who had fallen upon evil times, andto play the part properly he took lodgings in a slumhouse owned by a friend and humble confederate.From there he wrote to Mr. Hamilton asking him tocall upon a sick and poverty-stricken fellow-clergyman,who had no friends and no hope left in this world.

The appeal was cunningly worded, and the settingof the stage for the comedy was perfect. Douglasknew that if only Mr. Hamilton called he would be ableto work upon his feelings to the extent of two hundredpounds at least. Anxiously he waited for a reply, andhis joy was great when the owner of the house informedhim that a clergyman was approaching.

The sham priest instantly returned to bed, and assuminga pained look prepared to receive the visitor. Heheard the knock at the front door, and braced himselffor the interview. Presently footsteps sounded on thestairs, and then the door opened and a clergyman entered,whose expression seemed to indicate a generous andcredulous disposition.

Douglas was murmuring a prayer when the clergymancame to his side and looked down at him. Then heopened his eyes.

"You—you are the saintly Mr. Hamilton?" heasked in a quavering voice.

"No," was the startling answer. "I am InspectorAllen, and I hold a warrant for your arrest, Sir Richard."

It was a neat capture. The impostor was unable toextricate himself, and at the ensuing Sessions he andhis sons were sentenced to imprisonment, and afterthat catastrophe nothing more was heard of the venerableswindler until a newspaper recorded his death in 1858.

159

CHAPTER XII
THE ENTERPRISING MRS. CHADWICK

There had been a sensational forgery in acertain Canadian town, and when the policeannounced that they had captured the criminala huge crowd sought entrance to the Court where thecase was to be tried. Those who managed to squeezethemselves in were astonished when they saw a slim,fair-haired girl, with dark, alluring eyes, standing inthe dock, for Lydia Bigley, aged sixteen, was the forger!

The magistrates could hardly believe the evidencefor the prosecution. It seemed incredible that such abeautiful girl could be an expert forger, but the policehad accumulated all the facts, and there could be nodoubt that the demure maiden who looked so modest,and who occasionally favoured the bench with a sweepingglance from beneath her long eyelashes, was theperson who had tried to raise five thousand dollarsby imitating a wealthy acquaintance's signature on acheque.

The large-hearted men who judged Lydia did not intendto send her to gaol if they could help it, and after abrief consultation amongst themselves they acquittedher on the ground that she must have been insanewhen she committed the crime with which she had beencharged.

It was a remarkable decision, and it did more creditto the magistrates' hearts than to their heads, but Lydia'smagnetic eyes may have had something to do with160Lydia's first escape from prison. For years afterwardsthose fascinating orbs were busy at work. There wereto be greater triumphs in store for her ere she was runto earth. The girl developed into an extraordinarywoman. When she stepped out of the dock with analluring smile her brain was busy evolving a methodby which she could live luxuriously without having towork, and she deliberately chose a life of crime. Fora year or two, however, she contented herself with blackmail.It was always easy for her to persuade somerich man that she had lost her heart to him, then gethim into a compromising position, and afterwardsproceed to levy blackmail as the price of her silence.The money so obtained did not provide her with morethan her current expenses, and she was anxious tolaunch out as a society woman.

She did not, of course, confine herself to Canada.The rich country of the United States presented apromising field to her, and in turn she visited manyof the principal cities, where she posed in turn as thedaughter of a British general, the widow of an earl,the niece of a former American president, and so onuntil she had at one time or another claimed closerelationship with many of the mighty ones of the earth.

MRS. CHADWICK

All this, however, only prepared her for the greatand final swindle, and a very brief career as a "societyclairvoyante" in an Ohio town was merely an incident.Lydia was much more ambitious now. It took an immenseamount of hard cash to coax fashionable dressesand fascinating hats out of the shops, and she simplyloved both. In the hour of her desperation, when twoformer victims declined to part with any more cash, andher clairvoyance business was closed by the police, sheremembered her first exploit in criminality, and decidedto chance her luck again as a forger. But she was notgoing to be content with a small sum now. She wasthe most popular woman in the district where she161temporarily resided. She set the fashion, and was determinedto live up to her proud position.

Up to this time Lydia had not found a man sufficientlyrich to make it worth her while to marry. She hadhad numerous affairs with married men, and not afew bachelors had actually proposed to her, but therewas something against every one of them, and it wasnot until she met handsome and popular and well-to-doDr. Leroy Chadwick, of Cleveland, that she consentedto change her name. But if she had been dangerousas Lydia Bigley, she was doubly so as Mrs. Leroy Chadwick,because her status as the wife of the respectedpractitioner gave her almost unlimited opportunitiesfor swindling, and she took full advantage of them.

Her extravagance knew no bounds. She boughton credit thousands of pounds worth of jewellery andfurs. If she met a girl she liked she would take herto Europe for a pleasure trip. Once she brought fouryoung ladies with her to London, Paris, and the principalItalian and German cities. The trip cost four thousandpounds, but it was none of her cheapest experimentsin trying to get rid of money. For instance, she andher husband occupied a large house standing in itsown grounds, which she insisted upon refurnishing,regardless of expense. A little later she decided tohave it redecorated throughout, and she agreed to paya fantastic price to the contractors on the understandingthat they began and finished the work while she waswatching a performance at the local theatre! Theymanaged to keep their word, and Mrs. Chadwick's housebecame for the time being a show place.

Another of her fads was a habit of giving costlypresents on the slightest provocation. To impress alocal piano dealer with her importance she walked intohis showroom one day and counted the number ofinstruments he happened to have in stock. Therewere twenty-seven of them all told, and Mrs. Chadwick162promptly gave him a list of twenty-seven of her friends,and told him to deliver one of his pianos to each withher compliments. Although somewhat taken abackat such an order, and hearing that Mrs. Leroy Chadwickalways paid for her eccentricity, the piano dealer darednot doubt her word, and promised to deliver the instruments.Again she ordered a dozen costly clocks, oneof which was made of gold, works and all. She keptthe latter for herself, and gave away the others. Herservants came in for many of her gifts, and she deckedout her cook with so many costly clothes that the gooddame grew too big for her job, and gave notice on theground that the work was undignified, and tended toruin her wardrobe!

Of course, these ventures in extravagance could nothave been accomplished without a considerable amountof ready money. American tradesmen are not all"mugs," and no matter how beautiful Lydia Chadwickmay have been, had she not been in a position to payher tradesmen, they would have spoiled her little schemesby pressing for the settlement of their accounts.

Dr. Chadwick could not, however, keep pace withher expenditure, and she fell back upon forgery, andnow she began her greatest exploit, which, before itlanded her in the dock of an unsympathetic criminalCourt, enabled her to handle nearly a million dollars.

One day she drove in a costly carriage, with coachmanand footman in attendance, to the bank, andwith impressive dignity walked in and requested themanager to advance the modest sum of fifty thousandpounds. Naturally the official asked for security.Mrs. Chadwick yawned and opened her purse bag.

"I presume you have heard of my uncle, Mr. AndrewCarnegie?" she asked sarcastically.

The banker declared that he knew a great deal aboutthe millionaire, whose name will for ever be associatedwith Pittsburg iron and free libraries.

163"Well, then," said the lady, with her nose in the air,"here are two notes signed by him. You can see theyare worth £150,000. Perhaps you consider them sufficientsecurity for such a paltry sum as I want you tolend me for a few weeks."

They were, of course, ample security, but the manager,a shrewd business man, determined to take no risks.He, therefore, politely hinted that while he would notdare to doubt the genuineness of the signature of thefamous millionaire, "just for form's sake," he wouldlike to have a responsible person swear that the writingwas Mr. Carnegie's. He rather expected Mrs. Chadwickto be offended, but she merely told him that the gentlemanwho had delivered the notes to her that morningwas still in town. "And as he is Mr. Carnegie's NewYork lawyer I think he ought to know his handwriting."

The lawyer was fetched, and he not only identifiedthe signatures, but added the overwhelming testimonythat he had been present himself when Mr. Carnegiehad drawn up and signed the notes. After that therewas nothing to be done but to credit Mrs. Chadwickwith fifty thousand pounds, and deposit the precioussecurities in the safe.

A month later the whole of the money had evaporated.Clamouring tradesmen had had to be satisfied, advancesfrom money-lenders liquidated, and scores of personsto be impressed by large orders for various goods, forwhich cash was paid. Meanwhile the Carnegie notesrested securely in the strong room of the bank, for itwas some time ere the manager was to know that theywere worthless forgeries, and that Mrs. Chadwick didnot know Mr. Carnegie, neither had she ever seen himin her life!

Mrs. Chadwick certainly displayed a very masculineability in her criminal exploits. It was a stroke ofgenius to carry a bunch of important-looking papersto one of the leading banks, and hire a special safe by164the year, for the rent of which she obtained a receipt.Armed with this she was able to persuade quite a numberof rich and fashionable Americans that she had a millionpounds worth of securities in the safe which she didnot wish to dispose of because the markets were low,and to sell out would have been to invite a heavy loss.She varied her story as occasion demanded, one of herfavourite yarns being that the securities were bequeathedto her on the condition that she did not sell them outright.She could, however, promise very large interestto those who trusted her, and it was an offer to paytwenty per cent that induced one millionaire to handher his cheque for two hundred thousand dollars and notask for anything more than a written receipt.

Her swindle was, of course, only a copy of the Humbertfraud, and, considering that she put it into operationa year after the sentence on the famous MadameHumbert, it is extraordinary that she should have beenable to find victims. The only explanation that hasbeen advanced is that of hypnotism. Mrs. Chadwickhad undoubtedly "hypnotic eyes," but it is doubtfulif they alone charmed nearly a million out of some ofthe most astute business men the land of dollars hasproduced.

But her story of a vast fortune in a bank safe wasgenerally believed. When she informed a keen-wittedNew York millionaire that if he advanced her twenty-fivethousand dollars she would repay him twice asmuch within the year—the safe, she declared, was tobe opened on a certain date, and the contents distributedas she decided—he actually took her word, and partedwith the money he was never to see again. And thisdid not happen long ago. The date of the transactionwas 1904, and that same man must have read all aboutMadame Humbert's trial and conviction less than twelvemonths previously.

It is not necessary to give further particulars of165this "safe" fraud. Mrs. Chadwick simply took thecash, and had a "high old time," and day and nighther mansion was filled with guests. Her tradespeoplewere delighted. The fact that she paid them cash,and that most of them were too wary to take "shares"in the "safe" exploit, proved that some people atany rate ultimately benefited by the woman's amazingimposture.

One of her most fiendish exploits was to invite a well-knownfinancier to dine with her and a few friends.This gentleman had declined to advance money onthe strength of the mythical securities, and she hadresolved to get even with him. She therefore retainedfriendly relations with him and unsuspectingly heaccepted her invitation. When he arrived Mrs. Chadwick'sonly other guest was a pretty young girl, thedaughter of a New York physician.

The dinner was a pleasant affair, but towards theclose the financier became sleepy, greatly to his surprise,as he did not suspect that his hostess had purposelydrugged both him and her only other guest. Anyhow,in the early morning, when he woke up, he found himselfstretched on the floor, and a moment later Mrs. Chadwickappeared, and tearfully explained that in his"excited condition"—she meant intoxicated, but refrainedfrom using that vulgar word—he had grosslyinsulted her girl friend. The long and the short of itwas that he had to pay ten thousand dollars in blackmail,and of this sum the woman gave her girl confederatetwo hundred.

But at last the morning dawned when a certain victimof hers set out for the Wade National Bank in Cleveland,and presented the manager's receipt for the hire of thesafe, together with the key and a written order fromMrs. Chadwick that the bearer was to be permittedto open the safe and take from it the valuable securitiesshe had deposited there. Her emissary was a creditor166to the extent of eighty thousand dollars, and he wasnaturally very anxious to recoup himself for his outlay.Mrs. Chadwick had instructed him to select sufficientstocks and shares to realize his account plus twentythousand dollars for interest, and then to send the restto a firm of stockbrokers in New York with instructionsto realize.

It must have been a very dramatic moment when thecredulous creditor turned the key in the lock and thesafe door opened on its hinges, and he must have feltpleased with himself when he saw the pile of important-lookingdocuments which seemed to him to be valuableshare certificates. But a moment later he realizedthat he had been grossly swindled, for the papers provedto be worthless.

The bubble had burst! Mrs. Chadwick was from thatmoment known as the Madame Humbert of America.How her creditors howled! How they were chaffedand ridiculed! A few would not reveal themselvesonce they guessed that there could be no redress. Nevertheless,stern measures were adopted, and a warrantwas issued for the impostor's arrest.

Mrs. Chadwick had taken up her quarters in anexpensive hotel in the early part of December, 1904.She intended to pass Christmas there, and the managementhad already consulted her as to her ideas of areally Christmasy entertainment. She was paying onehundred dollars a week for her rooms, and she hadarrived with a fortune in jewels, and half a dozen personalservants. She was the uncrowned queen of thehotel, where the other visitors stood in groups anddiscussed her wonderful personality in awed accents.

She was destined, however, to spend that Christmasin gaol. One evening when Mrs. Chadwick, resplendentin a marvellous Parisian creation, and wearing jewelswhich must have cost fifty thousand dollars at least,was chatting at the dinner-table, the manager came to167her and respectfully intimated that a couple of gentlemenwished to see her. She graciously answered thatshe would receive them in her drawing-room. Visitorswere every-day occurrences with her, and these, shethought, were local celebrities, who had come to enlisther support for their Christmas charities.

Without the slightest suspicion that anything waswrong she entered her luxurious drawing-room, andwith a smile inquired the strangers' business. NowAmerican detectives have a habit of being brutallyfrank, and they lost no time in informing her that shewas their prisoner, and that the charge against herwas that of having obtained nearly a million dollarsby fraud.

The news stunned her, and for a moment or twoshe stood motionless. Then she collapsed in a faint,and it was some time before the two detectives couldget her downstairs and into the waiting cab.

Mrs. Chadwick had started her criminal career witha triumph over the soft-hearted Canadian magistrateswho had so obligingly decided that she was too prettyto be evil, and, recalling that triumph, she resolved tofight for her liberty with her eyes and not her tongue.When she was brought into the dock she fainted again,knowing that she looked quite bewitching when in thatstate, and that her forlorn condition must wring pityfrom even her worst enemies. But her programmedid not work out as she expected it would. Insteadof a host of sympathetic men crowding round her andproffering good-natured advice, she was roughly broughtto by a couple of hard-featured wardresses. Then shewas installed in the dock again, and compelled to listento the story of her life as told by a prosecuting lawyer,who was quite unaffected by Mrs. Chadwick's "magneticeyes." He mercilessly raked up her past, recountedhow she had ruined scores of men and women, how shehad been one of the most dangerous blackmailers in168America, and how she had adopted Madame Humbert's"safe" swindle, with disastrous results for scores ofimpressionable men.

It was a formidable indictment, and the recital ofit blotted out at once the beauty of the prisoner. Shewas shown to be an utterly unscrupulous impostor, awoman who had declared war against society, and whohad repaid her husband's love by making his namea byword throughout the land.

She had, of course, a clever lawyer to plead for her,and every possible effort was made to secure an acquittal,but there was no question of insanity now. She wastoo clever to be an imbecile, and the judge had not theslightest hesitation in giving her ten years' imprisonment.

When she had been convicted, and before she totteredfrom the dock into the oblivion of the gaol, the interestingfact was mentioned that she had been in the habitof wearing a belt containing ten thousand dollars, withthe object of taking to flight if her liberty was everthreatened. The celerity with which the police hadacted, however, resulted in the capture of this little"nest egg" for her creditors, although it is to be fearedthat each of them received a very small proportionof the amount he lost through his faith in the word ofthe greatest female impostor since Madame Humbertwas convicted. It should be recorded that her husbandhad nothing whatever to do with her frauds. He was,in fact, one of her victims and when he married her hehad no idea that she was then an ex-convict.

After the failure of her attempt to secure a new trialMrs. Chadwick was sent to the Ohio State Penitentiaryat Columbus, and there she died on Oct. 10th, 1907, atthe age of forty-eight.

169

CHAPTER XIII
THE MILLION DOLLAR RANCH GIRL

One summer day a beautiful Mexican girl wassitting motionless on horseback gazing acrossthe ranch of which her adopted father wasthe owner, when a young man, tall, of good appearance,and pleasant address, came up and respectfully raisedhis cap. The girl instantly smiled a welcome, for inthat remote region strangers were few, and it was thecustom of the country to welcome and entertain them.But this young man had no desire to be taken to theranch house. He wanted to have a chat with thebeauty, and as he was handsome and ingratiating theimpressionable girl readily consented to give him halfan hour of her time.

James Addison Beavis, for that was the stranger'sname, told a wonderful story to the dark-eyed damsel,who listened as if spellbound.

"This is not the first time I have seen you," he saidin a pleasing, confidential manner that was delightfullyintimate and brotherly. "I have often watched yougalloping about on the ranch, but I wanted to be quitecertain that you are the person I have been looking forfor years before I spoke."

"Looking for me!" she exclaimed in wonderment.

"Yes," he said quickly, and dropped his voice. "Doyou know that your real name is Peralta, and that withmy help you will soon be the owner of lands in Arizonaand New Mexico worth one hundred million dollars?"

170She gasped. Could it be possible? She was half-Spanish,half-Mexican, and therefore hot-tempered andromantic, and it was easy for her to persuade herselfthat she was something better than the adopted daughterof a Mexican ranch-owner, who had taken her intohis house out of pure charity. Dolores felt that shehad been meant for something better.

Beavis, who was a cute man of the world, and possessedof an eloquent tongue, sat beside her on thetrunk of an old tree, and explained why it was that ahuge tract of land was awaiting an owner, land whichwould make its eventual possessor a multi-millionaire.He said that hundreds of years ago a Spanish kinghad made over the rich lands of Peralta to a certainSpanish nobleman, whose descendants had enjoyedthe revenues, until, owing to various misfortunes, thereseemed to be a lack of heirs. The property had thenbeen taken charge of by the United States Government,and its revenues had been, and still were, accumulating,but he had been inspired to make an independent research,and he could now prove by legal documentsthat Dolores was the only living descendant of the lastowner of the huge estate. He promised to produce thenecessary birth and marriage certificates which establishedhis contention that Dolores Peralta was the legalproprietor of an estate half the size of Great Britain.

Dolores herself had only a vague idea as to how shehad become an orphan, but the fascinating and persuasiveBeavis had the whole story at his finger-ends.He declared that when she was an infant her parentshad been drowned whilst crossing a river, and thatDolores had been rescued by an Indian squaw, whohad later on abandoned her. After passing throughvarious hands she had come into the keeping of theMexican who had adopted her, and with him she hadspent the last fifteen of her eighteen years, passing ashis daughter, and generally understood to be his heir.

171But now that she was told by Beavis that she hadonly to trust her affairs to him to become worth£20,000,000, the ranch seemed but a poor and sordidaffair and unworthy of her. She wanted to obtain herrights and to take her place in society, and the more shelistened to Beavis the more inclined she was to give himnot only charge of her affairs, but also the keeping ofher heart. For Beavis was an expert talker, and Doloreswas not the only victim of his honeyed tongue.

They made a compact there and then that Beaviswas to go ahead with the task of obtaining the propertyfor her. Dolores had, of course, no money to advancefor expenses, but this did not worry Beavis. He wentto New York, and obtained an interview with Mackay,the famous millionaire, who earned the name of "TheSilver King." Mr. Mackay was so impressed that headvanced sufficient capital to enable Beavis to proceedto Spain to prosecute his inquiries.

Of course, the whole affair was a barefaced swindle.There was certainly a Peralta estate awaiting a claimantand it was worth twenty million pounds, but Dolores,the girl of the ranch, was not a Peralta at all. Beavis,however, meant to get that huge fortune, even if hehad to share it with the girl. It was in his opinion astake well worth risking much for. He was an expertforger, and his knowledge of human nature was immense.Besides that he had the great gift of patience, and hewas willing to spend years if necessary perfecting hisplans before putting them into execution.

It was easy enough for him to forge birth, marriageand death certificates, as well as a deed of gift conveyingthe property to the Peralta family, but he wanted somethingelse besides documents. Dolores, who was inreality of obscure birth, looked the aristocrat to the life.She was undeniably beautiful, and her carriage was thelast word in haughty aloofness, though the girl was acharming companion when with those she liked. Beavis172had found her delightful, and whilst he was prosecutinghis inquiries in Spain he never forgot the beauty ofthe lonely ranch.

Day after day he toured the curiosity shops of Madrid,delving into dusty cellars and examining everything,picture, paper, or curio, which bore the stamp of age.Only Beavis would have devoted so much time to asingle detail when practically his case was ready, buthis perseverance was rewarded when he came upon twoancient miniatures which were strikingly like Dolores.They represented two Spanish ladies who had existeda hundred years earlier, and they might have beenmother and daughter, judging by their resemblanceto one another, but they interested the impostor forthe reason that their features were exact replicas ofDolores'.

From the moment they became Beavis' by purchasehe called them miniatures of two of Dolores' ancestors,and he exhibited them as her great-great-grandmotherand a remote aunt. They were Peraltas, and bore thePeralta cast of countenance—at least Beavis said so,and he professed to be the only living authority on afamous Spanish family which had come upon evil days.

Every week he heard from Dolores, and it ought tohave been obvious to him that the girl was thinkingless of the twenty millions than she was of her "gallantknight errant." She was really more concerned withhis welfare than with the prospect of becoming therichest woman in the world. Beavis smiled as he readher somewhat artless compositions. It was the moneyhe was after, and he was too clever an adventurer andimpostor to have any time for love-making, althoughDolores was undoubtedly a beauty.

Thanks to the financial help of "The Silver King,"Beavis was able to do his work thoroughly in Spainbefore returning to the United States, and when hearrived in New York he brought with him a pile of173documents bearing on the Peralta family. The twominiatures occupied a prominent place, and the forgeddeed of gift, so skilfully executed that Beavis confidentlyhanded it over to experts for examination,was also to the fore. Those who had heard of Beavis'activities were greatly excited, for it is not often thata claimant comes forward to an estate worth in Americanmoney one hundred million dollars.

But before he came into Court on behalf of Doloresthere was one important thing to be done. Beavishad devoted years of labour to the task. He was goingto risk a year's imprisonment, and he considered itonly right that, to make assurance doubly sure as faras his reward was concerned, Dolores should becomehis wife.

It was a casual remark in a New York restaurantthat decided him to propose to her. A friend, whowas a world-renowned handwriting expert, and whohad pronounced the forged deed of gift to be genuine,laughingly tried to estimate the number of proposalsthe heiress would have when it was known who andwhat she was. That night Beavis took the train to thetown nearest the ranch, where by arrangement Doloresmet him to hear all about his adventures.

The meeting was a strange one. Beavis was fullof the subject which engrossed him day and night,and he wanted to go at once into details, but Doloresseemed to be uninterested in everything and everybodyexcept him. She wished to know how he was, and ifhe was well and happy, and as she sat beside him herdark eyes constantly travelled in his direction, andthere were tears in them sometimes.

Dolores was, as a matter of fact, desperately in lovewith Beavis. At the back of her brain there was ashrewd suspicion that there was no Peralta estate, andthat she was only his partner in a gigantic swindle,but she loved him, and that was sufficient for her.174It was of no importance if the Peralta property wasa myth. Beavis had won her heart, and she had spentmonths of anxiety, fostered by a growing jealousy, becauseshe feared that in the luxurious cities of Europehe would meet a girl who would make him forget thewild beauty of the ranch.

Beavis quickly realized the situation, and with amerry laugh and a few compliments asked her to marryhim. He was not prepared for her answer. No soonerhad he spoken than she flung herself at his feet, andpassionately announced her intention of devoting therest of her life to his welfare.

It was a real love romance within a sordid, miserablefraud. Beavis, who prided himself upon his knowledgeof men and women, could not understand the love hehad aroused in the breast of this veritable child ofnature. He, who would have sold himself body andsoul for money, was astounded that Dolores should behappier as his fiancée than as the prospective ownerof twenty million pounds. She would look boredwhen he spoke of their future splendour when they cameinto the Peralta money, but if he referred, howeverobliquely, to her as his wife her face would light upand her manner change at once into that of a happy,delighted girl.

The old ranch-owner offered no objection to thematch, and the marriage promptly took place in aremote town, none of those present being aware thatthis ceremony was to be the prelude to one of the biggestlaw cases in the history of the United States. Beaviswas not in love with his bride. He wanted her money,but Dolores was enchantingly happy, and had shenot known that she would have displeased her husbandby the suggestion she would have asked him to retirefrom the Peralta case and let them find and make theirown happiness in a little ranch away from the povertyand crimes of cities. But to Beavis nothing mattered175except the Peralta millions, and the day after the marriageceremony he took his lovely bride to New York,where they established themselves in one of the leadinghotels, there to await the opening of the suit beforethe Court of Claims.

The smooth and persuasive tongue of the bridegroomand the beauty and naturalness of the bride carriedall before them in New York. Beavis had certainlydone his work well, but when level-headed lawyers,suspicious by nature, met Mrs. Beavis they immediatelycapitulated. There is no other explanation of theextraordinary number of adherents they made fortheir cause.

They entertained lavishly, using the money whichtheir guests had subscribed for the presentation ofDolores' case before the Courts. It might have beensupposed that the ranch girl would have been at adisadvantage in such society, coming as she did fromthe heart of prairie-land, but because she insisted uponbeing herself she scored social triumph after socialtriumph.

The impostor was, of course, the happiest man inNew York. It seemed impossible that he should fail.In fact, everybody agreed that the trial would be themost formal of affairs. His cleverness and Dolores'beauty were irresistible, and he would have to be ahard-headed, unfeeling judge who could resist theappeal her eyes made.

Backed by some of the leading business people inNew York, his case, presented by a firm of lawyersjustly renowned for its ability, and with his wife to cheerhim on, Beavis went into Court certain that he wouldleave it one of the richest men in America. Doloresand he sat side by side whilst counsel argued beforethe judges and endeavoured to prove that the adopteddaughter of the Mexican ranch-owner was the descendantof the Counts of Peralta, who had originally come from176Spain. Beavis gave his evidence with confidence and,of course, courage. When a man is playing for such astake as twenty millions he requires both in abundance.

The end of the first day of the case foreshadowedan easy victory. Beavis was overjoyed, and Doloreswas happy just because he was. By now, however,she had seen enough of the documents to guess thatthe whole claim was bogus. She was the daughterof nameless parents, and, no matter what the Courtdecided, she would never know who her forbears reallywere. It did not matter much to her, yet becauseshe loved the impostor she became even more anxiousfor success than he was, and she knew that if anythingwent wrong it would break her heart.

Had the estate not been so enormous the UnitedStates Court of Claims would not have so doggedlyresisted Beavis' claim, but the officials realized thatit would be best for all concerned if the question ofownership was decided once and for all. Because ofthat they took the precaution to despatch an expertin pedigrees and old documents to Madrid, to go overthe ground that Beavis had covered and to inquireespecially into the history of the all-important deedof gift.

The claimant was not aware of this, if he had beenit might have disturbed the serenity with which hefaced the Court. But everything was going his way,and there was always his lovely and devoted wife towhisper that they were winning and that their suspensewould soon be ended.

It is doubtful if there has ever been a case wherean impostor has failed by such a narrow margin asBeavis did. The Government officials had been receivingregular reports from their emissary in Spain, and eachone strengthened rather than weakened the claimant'scase; accordingly, the presiding judge was actuallydrawing up a judgment in favour of Dolores when at the177eleventh hour a report came from Madrid which pointedto the fact that the Government agent had discoveredthat Beavis' deed of gift was a barefaced forgery.

Once that was known there was, of course, no chancefor the impostor. It naturally followed that the historyof all the other documents presented by Beavis wasinquired into, and then the system of wholesale forgerycame to light. Step by step his progress in his greatestimposture was traced. His numerous birth, deathand marriage certificates were shown to be worthless;the dealer who had sold the miniatures to him wasproduced, and gave damaging evidence, and the impostorwas left without a leg to stand upon.

The case came to a dramatic finish, the judge announcingunexpectedly that it was dismissed. The Courtgasped. Beavis pretended to be astonished, and heglanced around with a smiling face, but his eyes weresearching for detectives, and he identified two in themen who now stood by the door of the Court. Theyposed as ushers, but the impostor realized that theirbusiness was never to let him out of their sight untilthey had clapped him into a cell.

Poor Dolores was most affected by his arrest, whichBeavis chose to regard as an official blunder and onewhich he would soon put right. The girl who lovedhim, however, knew that it would be a long time erehe was free again. He would have to pay the penaltyfor his gigantic imposture, and as she thought of theyears of separation her tears flowed.

As in the case of the claim to the Peralta estate,Beavis bore himself well at the criminal trial. It was,of course, easy for the prosecution to prove his guilt,and the leading citizens who had backed him felt particularlyfoolish when they understood how they hadbeen tricked. It was, perhaps, only human that Doloresshould find herself without a friend when the judgesentenced her husband to a long term of imprisonment.178The society that had fawned upon and flattered hernow gave her the cold shoulder. But the lonely wifedid not mind. She had determined to work hard andwait patiently until the man she loved returned to her.

Some years ago when an English nobleman wassentenced to five years' penal servitude his wife tookup her residence as near as possible to the gaol in whichhe was incarcerated. Dolores Beavis went one better.She toiled so that she might have the means to starther husband in business when he came out of gaol;and to achieve her object she underwent toil and troubleand insult.

When, later, he was removed to another gaol shewould give up her employment and follow on foot,afraid to spend any of her savings on railways, anddenying herself sufficient food in order that the precious"nest-egg" might not be diminished.

Beavis knew what she was doing for him, and theknowledge of it changed his nature. Money ceasedto be his god. He had not appreciated Dolores whenhe had her all to himself, but whilst he sat in his lonelycell and remembered that she was outside the gloomygaol working herself to the bone for him his naturesoftened, and he fell in love with her. Better menhave inspired less devotion; fewer have known suchlove as Dolores bestowed upon the man to whom shehad surrendered her heart.

Once Beavis, maddened by inaction, determined toescape, and he managed to communicate his intentionto his wife. She implored him not to make the attempt,which would be certain to fail, and which would thereforeresult in an addition to his term of imprisonment.He took her advice, and a day later found that one ofthe party of convicts who had planned a simultaneousdash for freedom was a spy in the pay of the governorof the prison, so that there never had been the slightestchance of success.

179But even the longest sentence must come to an end,and after a period of separation which had seemed likeeternity to both of them Beavis walked out of theprison gates a free man. The first person he saw wasDolores, dressed simply in black and looking morebeautiful than ever. Without a word they went awayarm in arm to begin life anew.

Beavis had a sense of humour, and he must haverealized the funny side of the scene when Dolores proudlytold him that she had scraped together the large sumof forty-eight dollars! To the man who had once refusedto think of anything under a million this was adescent from the sublime to the ridiculous, yet theimpostor, who had paid for his sins, could find himselfregarding her fortune with enthusiasm, and he couldspend hours debating as to the best way to lay it outwith advantage to themselves.

It was Dolores who decided their future. She hadbeen brought up on a ranch and away from the crowdedcentres, so she voted for a small farm in a remote cornerof the great United States, and Beavis willingly submitted.The Peralta estate and its twenty millionpounds seemed like a dream now, and he would nothave troubled to devote even an hour to a similarscheme even if it promised to produce twice as much.

Thus it was his wife's love that saved James AddisonBeavis from himself, and made his name unfamiliarto the police. His one great adventure in crime hadmet with disaster, and ever afterwards he was contentwith the fortune the labour of his hands earned for him.

181

CHAPTER XIV
JAMES GREENACRE

According to his own description of himself,James Greenacre was a very respectable grocer,a lenient creditor, and one of the most popularresidents in the parish of Camberwell; and to provethe latter statement he pointed to the fact that he hadbeen elected one of the overseers of the parish by asubstantial majority.

But the plain truth is that, during the greater partof the fifty-two years which comprised his span of life,Greenacre was a hypocritical scoundrel who preachedvirtue and practised vice and whose egregious vanityfound an outlet in seconding the notoriety-seekingeccentricities of politicians of the Daniel Whittle Harveytype. Greenacre presided at Harvey's meetings whenthe latter was Radical candidate for Southwark, andthere is a certain grim humour in the fact that three yearsafter Greenacre was executed for murder his politicalconfrère was appointed commissioner of the metropolitanpolice. Greenacre was prospering when anoffence against the inland revenue entailed unpremeditatedemigration to America, and after a brief sojournin New York and Boston he returned to London in1835 and began the manufacture of "an infallible remedyfor throat and chest disorders." He was struggling tomake this venture pay when he met Hannah Browne.

Greenacre had regained his reputation for solvency182when he astonished his numerous friends by hintingthat he would not mind undergoing the ordeal of matrimonyif a woman with plenty of money could be foundfor him. He said that, as he was a rich man, it would beonly fair if the other party to the contract brought a fairfortune into the common pool. In fact, with him marriagewas a business deal and nothing else, and he madeno secret of his opinion.

James Greenacre.Sarah Gale & Child.

There were plenty of girls and matrons in Camberwellwho would not have objected to becoming Mrs. JamesGreenacre, but they all lacked the necessary qualificationfor the partner of the prosperous quack and politician,and their dreams of wealth soon faded. Greenacre, however,kept a sharp lookout, and one evening he casuallymade the acquaintance of a widow named HannahBrowne. She was between thirty-five and forty andever since childhood had toiled laboriously. Even ashort spell of married life had brought her no relief,for the late Mr. Browne had had an incurable objectionto work, and his unfortunate wife had been the breadwinnerfor both of them. But Mrs. Browne was apparentlya cheerful and free-from-care person when shewas introduced to the avaricious rascal. If she was notexactly a beauty, she had features which were pleasing,and she possessed sufficient womanly tact to make themost of Greenacre's weak points. She flattered him asmuch as she could; dwelt on his popularity and hisfearlessness as a politician—he was a stentor of thestreet-corner—and, doubtless, predicted that one dayhe would be a Member of Parliament. He swallowed theflattery, large as the doses were; but, while he liked Mrs.Browne for the sensible woman that she was, he did notforget the qualification he demanded from the personwho aspired to become his wife. He had been particularlytouched, however, by her references to his fame as apolitician, for Greenacre was a self-styled champion ofthe people, and in Camberwell his voice was often raised183in denunciation of those eminent statesmen with whoseviews he did not agree. It was a time of general unrestin home affairs, and four years previously the greatReform Bill of 1832 had started the movement whicheventually was to give the electors the complete controlof Parliament.

Mrs. Browne resolved to marry the grocer and sharehis savings, and to impress Greenacre she invented a storyof house property which she, a helpless widow, founddifficult to manage. She told him she had been leftsome houses by Mr. Browne and that these with hersavings made her fairly well off. Greenacre succumbedto the temptation; proposed and was accepted.

It was now late autumn, Christmas was approaching,and Hannah Browne complained of feeling lonely. Heronly relative, a brother, who lived near Tottenham CourtRoad, had his own interests, and she was without a realfriend. The widow's object was to get the marriageceremony over as quickly as possible, for every day's delayincreased the danger of Greenacre's discovery of herlies. She was confident that once she was his wife shewould be all right. He might be angry; perhaps threatenher; but his standing in Camberwell would compelhim to accept her as his wife and give her the shelterof his house, and she and Time would do the rest. Anyhow,the risk was small compared with the benefits to begained by a successful issue to her plot. She had hadenough of hard work, poverty and loneliness. So allthrough the courtship she lied and lied, and the mercenaryrogue believed her because he wanted thosehouses and meant to have them at any price.

Urged by him Hannah Browne named a day for thewedding—the last Wednesday of the year, 1836—and tocelebrate her decision Greenacre invited her to dine withhim on Christmas Eve at his own house. He promisedher that his housekeeper, Sarah Gale, would prepare ameal which would do credit to the occasion, and Hannah184gladly accepted, delighted as she was at the success of herscheme to secure a well-to-do husband.

What would her brother and his family say now?She glowed with gratification when she pictured theiramazement when she told them that she was the wifeof a prosperous trader and property-owner! The yearsof humiliation would be wiped out by her second marriage.Her first had been a failure, but the second wouldmore than compensate for it.

In the early part of the day before Christmas she metseveral acquaintances, in whom she confided her secret,bubbling over with pride as she told it. They congratulatedher and passed on, probably not giving the subjectanother thought. Hannah Browne had always beenambitious, and her tale of a rich husband was receivedwith disbelief. Nevertheless, those casual meetings onChristmas Eve proved of more than ordinary interestsome three months later. She had already intimatedto her brother that James Greenacre was to be her husband,and the grocer had met his future brother-in-lawonce. Greenacre, however, was in a far better positionthan Gay, and did not trouble to cultivate his acquaintance.On his part, Gay was only too pleased to learnthat some one was willing to take his sister off hishands, and he felt indebted to Greenacre and did notresent his indifference to him after their first meeting.

But something very important happened between thefixing of the date of the ceremony and the dinner atCarpenters Buildings, Camberwell, and that was thediscovery by Greenacre that Hannah Browne was actuallypenniless. It came to him with all the force of aknock-down blow, and he perspired as he thought hownear he had been to entering into a contract to provideanother man's daughter with board and lodging for life.He trembled as he estimated how much that would havecost him; but when his surprise and nervousness went a185fierce hatred of the deceiver took possession of his smalland mean soul.

Hannah Browne had lied to him. She was penniless;indeed, she had been compelled to borrow small sums ofmoney from casual acquaintances on the security of herforthcoming marriage to him. The respectable grocerand popular overseer went black with rage. His housekeeper,who had contemplated the marriage with dismaybecause it was certain that it would lead to the disinheritanceof her child, of whom her employer was thefather, fed his anger with the fuel of innuendo and jeers.She blackened Hannah's character, declared that thewidow would make him the laughing-stock of Camberwell,and, if he declined to marry her, would most likelyeither try blackmail or sue him for damages.

The ambitious street-corner politician winced at theprospect of the public ridicule her disclosures would earnfor him; the greedy grocer shrank from having to payout real red gold for breach of promise.

"She's coming to dinner to-night," whispered SarahGale, the tight mouth and the small glittering eyes tellingtheir own story of insensate hatred of the woman whohad been selected to supplant her.

Greenacre looked into the face of his temptress, andinstantly realized that if he wanted an accomplice in anycrime here was one whom he could trust, even with hislife.

"I don't want to see her," he said, turning away fromthe woman. "When she calls send her away. She'llguess by that that I've found everything out."

"She will not go away quietly," said Sarah Gale."And if I give her a message like that she'll force herway in. What'll the neighbours say if they find awoman screaming outside your house on Christmas Eve?Better let her in. You can give her a good talking to.She deserves something for them lies she's been tellingyou."

186He would have laughed to scorn the suggestion thathe was a criminal, if the accusation had been made atthat moment. Perhaps, he had been guilty in the pastof giving short weight to his customers, and now and thenin his anxiety to strike a bargain he may not have dealtfairly with his friends, but these were venial sins, and hebelieved himself to be a thoroughly respectable citizen;yet greed of gold was going to turn him into a calculatingand cold-blooded criminal that very night.

When Hannah Browne arrived wearing her best clothesshe was admitted by Sarah Gale, who must have smiledgrimly when she saw the visitor's pleased expression.

The table was already prepared, and nothing remainedbut to serve up the banquet. But Greenacre, who hadintended not to speak until after dinner, was unable torestrain himself, and Hannah had not been two minutesin the room when he burst into a torrent of angry words.

The widow started to her feet, listened for a fewmoments in silence, and then laughed mockingly. Nowthat the truth was known she only jeered at him, boastingof her success in having thrown dust in his eyes for solong. She answered him with threat for threat, andswore that she would make him keep his promise tomarry her. Greenacre was provoked to madness, and,losing control of himself, he picked up a rolling-pin, andin a fury struck her with it. As she dropped to thefloor Sarah Gale stole into the room on tiptoe, and,coming to the murderer's side, stood looking down atthe corpse, elated by the knowledge that Greenacrewould never be able to get rid of her now; in factwould be in her power all his life. He could not speakor move. The blood on the floor hypnotized him. Hewas a murderer, and if he were caught he would behanged by the neck until he was dead. He shudderedconvulsively at the thought.

The woman touched him on the shoulder.

"Why should anyone know?" she said, in a whisper187that sounded like a croak. "Let us get rid of the body.Hannah had no real friends. There'll be no one tomake awkward inquiries."

Her voice roused him and he pulled himself together.The fear of the hangman was the greatest terror of all,and now dread of the consequences transformed himinto a cunning, calculating villain.

With the help of Sarah Gale he divided the bodyinto three parts—head, trunk and legs. Each meanta separate journey to a different part of London, forhe believed that if he hid the remains in three placesfar apart from each other discovery and identificationwould be impossible. One or possibly two of the ghastlyparcels might be unearthed, but it was out of the questionthat all three would be found and put together. Forseveral hours the guilty couple laboured to removeall traces of the crime, and Christmas Day dawnedwith the parcels ready for disposal.

Wrapping the head in a silk handkerchief, he journeyedby omnibus into the city; from there he wentto Stepney, and, reaching the Regent's Canal, he tooka walk along the bank until he came to a more thanusually deserted spot. Here he flung the head intothe water, taking care to retain the silk handkerchief,for even in the hour of danger and stress he couldremember that it had cost him several shillings.

No murderer ever spent a more ghastly Christmasthan James Greenacre did, but he was by now quitecallous. The second journey enabled him to disposeof the legs by flinging them into a ditch in ColdharbourLane, not very far from his house. The disposal ofthe trunk, however, was the most difficult of all. Itmade a very heavy parcel, and Greenacre, with extraordinarydaring, did not pack it in a box and attemptto get rid of it that way. He wrapped it up in clothand paper, and, carrying it himself into the street,found a passing carter, who gave him a lift until he188was a couple of miles from Camberwell. Then themurderer took a cab, and, after two or three incidentswhich would have unnerved most men, he reached alonely spot in Kilburn which he considered would makean ideal hiding-place.

The threefold task completed he returned home quitesatisfied with himself. If the worst happened and thethree parcels were found, the finder of the trunk atKilburn would never dream of inquiring at Stepney forthe head, or at Camberwell for the legs. He argued thatthe public would make three mysteries out of the threeparts and never think of associating all with one crime.

Greenacre began the new year with a feeling of reliefand security. His mistress, Sarah Gale, instead ofbeing able to hold a threat over him, found herselfcompelled to keep silent for her own sake as well as his.She was his accomplice, and, therefore, equally guiltyin the eyes of the law. Thus she had the best of reasonsfor forgetting the Christmas Eve tragedy, and the respectablegrocer, quite unperturbed, went to residein another London suburb and continued to deal outhis "amalgamated candy" to the credulous and eloquentlydescribe its healing qualities.

Despite his first mistake, however, Greenacre hadnot abandoned the idea of marriage, and he speculatedin an advertisement in the "Times," taking precautionsto disguise his real intentions. He advertised to theeffect that he required a partner with at least threehundred pounds to help him to place on the marketa new washing-machine, of which he was the soleinventor. Of course it was a lie. Greenacre wishedto get into correspondence with a woman of means,and, in his opinion, this was the surest way, for anyfemale who answered his advertisement would possessat least three hundred pounds, and the chances werethat the majority of correspondents would make a moredetailed reference to the means they possessed.

189A lady with considerable savings did reply to theadvertisement, and Greenacre promptly changed hisletters from business communications into ardentprotestations of respect and admiration. Encouragedby the lady's failure to resent the freedom of his language,he boldly asked her to marry him, but, fortunatelyfor herself, she promptly rejected his offer.

But, meanwhile, something had occurred elsewherewhich was to have a fatal result for the murderer.On December 28th, 1836, the trunk of Hannah Browne'sbody had been found at Kilburn. There was nothingto identify it, and it was ordered to be preserved for acertain time in case anyone with a missing friend orrelation should come forward and recognize it. Theonly clue—and that a very tiny one—was that theremains were wrapped in a blue cotton frock, whichhad evidently been worn by a child.

Ten days afterwards a lock-keeper on the Regent'sCanal pulled the head of a woman out of the water.A preliminary examination showed that it bore bruiseswhich must have been inflicted before death. Themost important discovery, however, was that the headhad been roughly sawn from the body. Now, the trunkfound at Kilburn bore similar traces of sawing, and thatdrew the attention of the Stepney police to the coincidence.They took the head to Kilburn, and there itwas seen that it fitted the trunk exactly. It was nowpossible to have the body identified, but, although scoresof persons came and viewed the legless corpse, it remainedunnamed.

Two months were to pass before the body was to becompleted. A basket-maker was cutting osiers inColdharbour Lane when he saw a parcel floating in theditch at his feet. He recovered it and examined thecontents—two legs. These he conveyed to the police,who immediately placed them in the mortuary where therest of Mrs. Browne's remains were.

190In this way Greenacre's plans were confounded.He had staked everything against the possibility ofthe three parts ever finding their way into the sameroom, but within three months of the crime the completebody lay awaiting identification.

The police were not a highly-organized force in theyear that witnessed the death of William IV and theaccession of Queen Victoria. Out-of-date methods prevailed,and the most celebrated of the detectives werenow old men, the remnants of a system that was soonto be swept away. But the treble discovery arousedthe authorities. The mangled remains of the poorwoman were proof positive that there was a dangerousbeast at large in London, and the police concentratedtheir efforts on the task of finding someone who couldidentify the corpse, certain that once the woman's namewas known the arrest of her murderer would followspeedily.

However, the days went, and failure seemed certainwhen Gay, Hannah Browne's brother, called to viewthe body. He had not seen his sister for over threemonths, and he was getting anxious about her. Atfirst sight of the corpse he declared that it was hissister's and that when he had last seen her she was goingto dine with James Greenacre on Christmas Eve.

"Did she keep that appointment?" asked theofficer in charge of the case.

"No, she didn't," answered Gay. "At least, Mr.Greenacre came to me late on Christmas Eve and saidthat Hannah had not turned up. He explained thatshe probably had been afraid to call and dine with himbecause he had found her out in some lies."

"Then this Mr. Greenacre will be unable to help usto trace her movements last Christmas Eve?" saidthe detective.

"I suppose so," said the brother of the murderedwoman. "He and Hannah quarrelled. He thought191she had a lot of money, and when he learnt that shewas penniless he told her he'd never see her again."

Gay's conduct hitherto had not been creditable.He had accepted with complacence Greenacre's accountof his quarrel with his sister and had not troubled toconfirm it by a little independent investigation, and hisfeeble excuse was that he was afraid that if he tooktoo much interest in Hannah she would insist on hiskeeping her, and, as he found it difficult to provide forhis own and his family's wants, he did not wish to besaddled with additional expense.

The detectives now turned their attention to JamesGreenacre, and several interesting facts instantly cameto light. The people next door said that they had beendisturbed on Christmas Eve by the sound of a scufflein Greenacre's house, and the latter's unexpected removalhad caused some talk. Then the tenants whohad taken his old house had commented on the smellof brimstone when first looking over it. In theiropinion it had been thoroughly fumigated, and thiswas confirmed by a woman who had seen Mrs. Galegiving the house a most drastic cleaning a few daysafter Christmas, an unusual devotion to work whichhad excited remarks.

There was no hurry on the part of the detectivesto arrest Greenacre. They believed that he did notknow that suspicion had fastened on him. His demeanourwas one of unruffled confidence, and the semi-publiclife he led favoured those whose duty it was to shadowhim and rendered it easy for them to carry out theirinstructions. But Greenacre was fully aware of theirdesigns on his liberty, and with considerable clevernesshe nearly succeeded in outwitting them, for the unruffledgrocer by day spent his nights preparing forflight, and he was arrested only a few hours before hewas on the point of leaving England for America. Hehad booked his passage, and already some of his luggage192was on board the ship, but it was quickly recoveredby the police, and a thorough examination was madeof his property.

The investigation produced a plentiful crop of clues.Several incriminating articles were found, the principalone being the missing part of the blue cotton frockwhich had been used to cover the trunk of HannahBrowne's body. In addition to this and other unmistakableevidence, his sudden resolve to leave the countrytold against him. He was not the man to realizeproperty at a heavy loss and decamp to America withouta very strong reason. It was proved that when hehad heard of the identification of the body of his victimhe had hastily sold his property and his business,binding the purchasers to secrecy so that he might getaway unobserved.

Greenacre did not waste time in denying that hewas with Hannah Browne on the night she died. Heknew that the evidence against him was very strong,and he thought it wiser to concoct a story of an accidentaldeath, due to horseplay—an explanation, whichwas, of course, instantly rejected. Then he offeredanother version, which made the woman's death theresult of an accidental blow by himself which was nevermeant to be fatal. This admission gradually led upto the truth, and then the whole story, as told here,was disclosed.

The most remarkable feature of Greenacre's conductafter his arrest was his concern for the woman whohad been his mistress as well as his housekeeper. Shewas the mother of his four-year-old son, but, hitherto,Greenacre had treated neither with especial kindness,and it was her arrest which developed his latent lovefor her. When he was informed that she, too, had beentaken into custody and would be placed in the dockwith him to answer the capital charge, he swore thatshe was entirely innocent. When he was disbelieved193he raved and carried on like a madman, expressing hiswillingness to take all the blame for the crime if thewoman was set free; but the authorities were adamant.On no consideration would they agree to release SarahGale; the woman was held a prisoner; and when sheand Greenacre met again they stood side by side in thedock.

The trial was one-sided, Greenacre's statement concerningthe death of Hannah Browne constituting, inreality, a confession. The defence, such as it was,struggled feebly to win the sympathies of the jury.The male prisoner's alleged respectability was dweltupon by his counsel, who endeavoured to prove thata man of his character and disposition could not havebeen guilty of such a horrible crime. As Greenacre,however, had admitted that he had dissected and disposedof the body this plea was rejected, for only themost hardened of criminals could have cut a humanbody up and carted it in sections about London. Inthe circumstances, he never had a chance of escaping,and the verdict of the jury was everybody's opinion,including that of the presiding judges, Tindal, Coleridgeand Coltman.

The woman was found guilty of murder, too, butthe law was satisfied with the execution of the actualmurderer, and Sarah Gale's punishment was transportationbeyond the seas for life. Undoubtedly she tooka very prominent part in the crime, and but for herreadiness to aid and abet Greenacre the latter wouldnot have murdered the woman who had tried to trickhim into marriage and paid for her failure with her life.

James Greenacre was executed publicly on May 2nd,1837, and a contemporary account of the scene makesit difficult to believe that thirty-one years were to passbefore such a spectacle became impossible.

"The Old Bailey and every spot which could194command a view of the spot were crowded to excess,"wrote an anonymous journalist. "From the hourof twelve on Monday night up to the moment the executiontook place, the Old Bailey presented one livingmass of human beings. Every house which commandeda view of the spot was filled by well-dressed men andwomen, who paid from five shillings to ten shillingsfor a seat. A great number of gentlemen were admittedwithin the walls of Newgate, by orders of the sheriffs,anxious to witness the last moments of the convict.During the whole of Monday night the area in frontof Newgate was a crowded scene of bustle and confusion,and the public-houses and the coffee-shops were neverclosed. The local officers connected with the watchhad plenty of business on their hands in consequenceof the thefts that were committed, and the broils andpugilistic encounters of many a nocturnal adventurer.Divers windows were broken and many heads felt theforce of a constable's truncheon. The language of thevast multitude was vile in the highest degree, andsongs of a libidinous nature were chanted. At oneperiod of the night the mob bid open defiance to thewhole posse of watchmen and constables, and notonly rescued thieves, but broke the watch-house windows.Vehicles of every description drove up in quick succession.The passengers, seemingly having theircuriosity gratified by the gloomy aspect of the walls,retired to make way for another train. Occasionallya carriage full of gentlemen, and, we believe, in someinstances accompanied by ladies, mingled for a momentamidst the eager crowd.... All who had procuredplaces in the windows commanding a view of the placeof execution made sure of their seats by occupyingthem several hours before the dismal preparationscommenced. There was not at any time of the nightless than two thousand persons in the street. Severalpersons remained all night clinging to the lamp-posts.195The occupier of any house that had still a seat undisposedof informed the public of the vacancy by announcingthe fact on large placards posted on the walls, andforthwith the rush of competitors was greater than onany former occasion."

Inside the gaol the condemned man was being exhibitedto the curiosity-mongers who had sufficientinfluence with the sheriffs to obtain the right to inspectand torment the convict, and an hour before his deathGreenacre was cross-examined by an amateur theologianand caused "great grief" to the company by hintingthat Christ was not divine.

The contemporary report continues:

"The culprit having been pinioned, Mr. Cope handedhim over, with the death-warrant, to the sheriffs tosee execution done upon him. About five minutesbefore eight the procession was formed and began tomove towards the gallows.... On his appearanceoutside he was greeted with a storm of terrific yellsand hisses, mingled with groans, cheers and otherexpressions of reproach, revenge, hatred and contumely....As the body hung quivering in mortalagonies, the eyes of the assembled thousands wereriveted upon the swaying corpse with a kind of satisfaction,and all seemed pleased with the removal ofsuch a blood-stained murderer from the land."

In the condemned cell Greenacre wrote a euphemisticautobiography and "An Essay on the Human Mind"—boththese productions were added to the archives atNewgate—and between outbursts of piety and blasphemyhe boasted of his popularity with the fair sex—he saidhe had been married four times—and seemed to beconcerned for the future of Sarah Gale. She survivedhim by fifty-one years, eventually dying in 1888 inAustralia, a venerable, white-haired matron who hadoutlived her sins.

197

CHAPTER XV
CATHERINE WILSON

Amongst female poisoners Catherine Wilsontakes a leading place. She had an activecareer as a professional murderess extendingto ten years, perhaps even longer than that, but wedo know that she committed murder in 1853, and shewas not brought to justice and executed until 1862.A very long career, indeed, for a woman whose ignorancewas only equalled by her cunning, and whose gauntand unfavourable exterior was in keeping with a blackheart and a diseased brain.

The first time the public heard the name of thispoisoner was in the month of April, 1862, when shestood in the dock in Marylebone Police Court, andwas charged with having attempted to murder a Mrs.Connell by administering poison to her.

Mrs. Connell had been living apart from her husband,and, having found a lonely and companionless lifeirksome to her, she began to long for a reconciliationwith the man who had wooed and won her not so manyyears previously. Of course, to effect this it was necessaryto find a sympathetic woman who would be ableto approach Mr. Connell and delicately and tactfullysound him as to his views regarding a reunion with hiswife. For some unexplained reason Mrs. Connell askedCatherine Wilson to act as intermediary, and to prepareher for the task Mrs. Connell invited the widow to havetea with her. She opened her heart to her guest, did198not conceal the fact that she had a little money of herown, and volunteered other information, while thehard-faced creature with the eyes of a tigress sat oppositeand planned her death.

The conversation was abruptly ended by a cry ofpain from Mrs. Connell. She had not noticed thatalthough Mrs. Wilson was only a guest she had pouredout the last cup of tea for her, and she thought thather illness was the result of worry and overstrain.

Of course Mrs. Wilson instantly became sympatheticallyattentive. The hard eyes even moistened asshe helped Mrs. Connell upstairs and laid her gentlyand tenderly on her bed. Then she ran off to the nearestchemist's shop and brought back a bottle of medicine,but when Mrs. Connell took some of it her sufferingsbecame intensified. Catherine Wilson soothinglyoffered some more of the "medicine" she had broughtfrom the chemist's, and Mrs. Connell, writhing in heragony, again tried to drink it, but spilt a little of iton the bed-clothes. The "medicine" was so strongthat it actually burnt holes in the linen!

Mrs. Connell did not die, though she suffered a greatdeal, and at one time nearly succumbed.

The matter was too serious to be allowed to rest,and, as she had been told by Mrs. Wilson that it wasthe chemist's fault for giving her such medicine, shecalled on him for an explanation. The chemist,astounded and angered by the charge, quickly provedthat the medicine he had sold was perfectly harmless,and when the police were sent for he demonstratedconclusively that if anything noxious had been addedto the contents of the bottle the only person who couldhave done it was the woman who had conveyed it fromhis shop to Mrs. Connell.

After that there was only one thing to do, and thatwas to arrest Catherine Wilson, who had disappeareda few days previously. Her flight was in itself almost199a confession, and for six weeks she managed to evadethe detectives who were searching for her, but by chanceshe was recognized by an officer when he was off duty,and he took her into custody.

After several appearances at the Marylebone PoliceCourt she was committed for trial, and, under closesupervision, she calmly awaited the day of the greatordeal.

And while she is in prison we can trace her historyup to the spring of 1862.

It was towards the close of the summer of 1853 thata widower of the name of Mawer advertised for a housekeeper.He lived in the pleasant town of Boston, inLincolnshire, was prosperous, and he would have beenquite happy but for gout, an enemy with which he wasdaily fighting, using as his principal weapon a poison—colchicum—which,taken in small doses, is often prescribedby doctors. In large quantities it is, of course,fatal.

Catherine Wilson was one of the applicants for thepost, and she was successful in obtaining it. She calledherself a widow, and, perhaps, there had been a husbandonce who may have been her first victim. Mr.Mawer, however, thought her a respectable, hardworkingwoman, and she certainly proved unremitting in herattentions to him.

Within a few months they were intimate friends,and the housekeeper was so assiduous and helpfulthat Mr. Mawer's gout became much better. He toldCatherine Wilson that it was entirely due to her, andto prove his gratitude he informed her that he haddrawn up a will bequeathing everything to her. Itwas a fatal disclosure, for had he not disclosed to herhis testamentary dispositions there can be little doubtbut that he would have lived much longer than he did.The poisoner began her fell work at once, tempted bythe prospect of gain, and as she had the poison already200in the house there was no way of escape for the unfortunateman.

In October, 1854, he died, poisoned with colchicum,as the doctor discovered; but, as Mr. Mawer was knownto have used that poison to counteract the gout, nosuspicion was attached to the "heartbroken" housekeeper.

Mr. Mawer's fortune was not as large as the womanhad imagined it to be. Still, it amounted to a fewhundred pounds, and the murderess, who had goodreasons for not wishing to remain too long in Boston,packed up and came to London.

She did not come alone, for when she took lodgingsat the house of a Mrs. Soames, at 27 Alfred Street,Bedford Square, she was accompanied by a man ofthe name of Dixon, whom she described as her husband.And packed away in her trunk was a large packet ofcolchicum, which had been left over after Mr. Mawerhad been disposed of. There was enough of the poisonto kill half a dozen persons. Perhaps if Mr. Dixonhad been aware of that he might not have been soanxious to caress this human tigress.

But Catherine Wilson soon discovered that she hadvery little use for Dixon. He did not make enoughmoney to please her, and when the last of Mr. Mawer'slegacy had been spent she began to look about herfor a fresh victim. Dixon was clearly in the way,particularly so since that Saturday night when he hadreturned home intoxicated and had struck her. Thewretched man had no money, and Wilson had growntired of him. Besides, their landlady, Mrs. Soameswas by now Wilson's intimate friend, and she had learnedthat Mrs. Soames was by no means dependent on lettinglodgings and that she had moneyed relatives and friends.Before she could attack Mrs. Soames it was necessaryDixon should be removed.

One day Dixon was taken ill, a curious wasting illness201accompanied by terrible pains in the chest. Wilsonhastened to assure everybody she knew that her "husband"had always suffered from consumption, although,as she had to confess, outwardly he appeared to bevery strong and healthy. After administering a fewsmall doses of colchicum the monster finished off witha strong dose, and then the "widow" tearfully imploredthe doctor not to cut her "dear one" up because duringhis lifetime he had expressed a horror of that "indignity."

But the doctor would not give a death certificatewithout a post-mortem examination, for, Mrs. Wilsonhaving insisted that the cause of Dixon's death wasgalloping consumption, the medical man was curious.His curiosity deepened when on opening the body hefound the lungs absolutely perfect. Consumption thenwas not the reason. But what was? The doctors werepuzzled, yet in some extraordinary manner CatherineWilson wriggled out of danger, and Dixon was buried.No one accused her, and even if the doctor had hissuspicions he never gave a hint of them.

The "widow" went about in mourning, and as shewas quite alone in the world now Mrs. Soames wassweeter and more sympathetic than ever, and nightafter night the two women sat in the cosy little roomMrs. Wilson rented, and there exchanged confidences.The poisoner had a long series of skilful lies ready toimpress her friend, but Mrs. Soames, who had nothingto conceal, disclosed the story of her life, and addedparticulars of her friends and relations.

When she told Mrs. Wilson after breakfast one morningthat she was going out to receive from her step-brothera legacy which had been left her by an auntthe poisoner once again experienced that irresistibledesire to take human life. But here there seemed tobe no reason why she should run the risk of committinga cold-blooded crime. By killing Mrs. Soames she202could not become possessed of her property, for thelandlady had children, and she also had several malerelatives who would have interfered at once had Mrs.Soames died and made a comparative stranger hersole heir.

Mrs. Soames was paid the money and returned home,where her married daughter had tea ready for her.They drank it alone, but as they were finishing Mrs.Wilson came to the door and asked the landlady tocome upstairs with her. The request was compliedwith at once.

What happened at the interview we can only conjecture.Probably Mrs. Wilson first congratulated Mrs.Soames on the receipt of the legacy. Then she mayhave invited her to join her in a drink to her continuedprosperity. Whatever did happen it is certain thatfrom the time of that secret interview Mrs. Soameswas never the same woman again.

The landlady could not get up next morning at herusual time. This was remarkable, because she wasnoted for her early rising, and she was not happy unlesssuperintending the work of her house. Mrs. Wilsonwas, of course, deeply concerned for her friend, andshe asked the daughter to be permitted to look afterher mother.

Without waiting for permission the depraved creatureappointed herself the only nurse, and she would notallow anyone else to give the patient her medicines.All the special food, too, passed through her hands,and when compelled by sheer exhaustion to take a littlerest Wilson did not return to her own bedroom, butsnatched a couple of hours sleep in an arm-chair in Mrs.Soames's room.

On the fourth day of her illness Mrs. Soames hadceased to vomit, and was not suffering any pain. CatherineWilson pretended to be delighted, though reallyshe was puzzled by the marvellous recovery the landlady203had made. By sheer luck she had managed toresist the poison her "nurse" had been giving her.Of course she did not suspect this, nor could she gatherfrom the concerned look on Wilson's face that the truthwas that the murderess of Mr. Mawer and Dixon wasgoing to give her a large dose of colchicum that veryday and kill her.

Bending over the patient, Wilson offered her anotherdose of medicine, and the trusting woman took it withgratitude, for she had told her "friend" that her recoverywas due to her nursing. But within a few minutesthe landlady was screaming in agony again, and anhour later Catherine Wilson was silently weeping bythe window while the doctor, who had been summonedin haste, announced that Mrs. Soames was dead.

The same doctor had attended Dixon, and althoughthe symptoms were similar in both cases he did notsuspect Catherine Wilson of murder. Mr. Whidburn—thatwas his name—was studiously correct, and,as in the case of Dixon, he refused to give a medicalcertificate without a post-mortem examination. Hemade the examination himself, and then certified thatdeath had occurred from natural causes. Mrs. Soames'snearest relation received the certificate, and the murderesswas safe. She surprised the family, however,by a demand for the payment of ten pounds which shesaid her late landlady owed her, and when she adducedproof in the shape of a signed promise to pay by Mrs.Soames the money was handed over. Nothing wassaid as to anything Mrs. Wilson may have owed Mrs.Soames. Later it was known that she had borroweda fairly large sum from the kind-hearted landlady,and it was suspected with good cause that the promissorynote for ten pounds was a forgery. But thesewere of no importance when later the gravest of allcharges was made against the poisoner.

The death of Mrs. Soames resulted in another change204of address for Catherine Wilson, and she went somedistance away from Bedford Square, engaging roomsin Loughborough Road, Brixton.

The poisoner was well off, and did not stint herself,and it was assumed by her new acquaintance that thelate Mr. Wilson had dowered her with sufficient goodsto enable her to live independently of the world.

It may be noted here that a few weeks before thedeath of Mrs. Soames, Wilson had spent nearly a fortnightshopping with a friend from the North, Mrs.Atkinson. One day Mrs. Atkinson had had the misfortuneto lose a purse containing fifty-one pounds.It was a terrible blow, and Mrs. Wilson was so grievedfor her that she offered to lend her all the spare cashshe had. The offer was refused—as Wilson had knownit would be—and Mrs. Atkinson had returned homewithout having breathed a word against her old friend.But when Catherine Wilson came back after seeingMrs. Atkinson off from King's Cross she was in funds,and the following day she made an extensive purchaseof clothes for herself. Picking the pocket of her bestfriend was the smallest of sins to a woman who couldtake human life without a moment's hesitation.

It was the custom of Mrs. Atkinson to come to Londononce a year, and generally during the month of October.She and her husband lived in Kirkby Lonsdale, inCumberland. Mr. Atkinson was a tailor, while hiswife ran a millinery and dressmaking establishmenton her own account. Strict attention to business andfrugal living were the sources of the prosperity of theAtkinsons, and, on her annual visits to London Mrs.Atkinson never came provided with less than a hundredpounds with which to buy stock. She carried thenotes concealed about her person, and, of course, hersevere loss in 1859 made her more careful than everwhen she came to London in the October of 1860.

Mrs. Atkinson's visit to the Metropolis was exceedingly205well-timed from Wilson's point of view. Allthe money she had obtained during the previous twelvemonths had vanished, and she was behind with herrent. Her new landlady, fiercely practical, was demandingpayment every day, and her affairs were sobad that, beyond the paltry breakfast she extractedfrom the landlady, she often saw no food during awhole day. It would not have done to have disclosedthe true state of affairs to her friend from the North.That might have frightened her away. She invitedher to stay with her, and then she told her landladythat her prosperous friend would lend her the moneyto pay all her debts. In the circumstances the landladywas only too pleased to see Mrs. Atkinson in herhouse. Mrs. Atkinson left Kirkby Lonsdale in perfecthealth, and looking forward with zest to her stay inLondon. A keen business woman, she, nevertheless,knew how to combine business with pleasure, and,having said good-bye to her husband, she departedin excellent spirits. Mrs. Wilson met her at the terminus,and after a substantial tea—for which, of course,the visitor paid—they went by omnibus to LoughboroughRoad, Brixton, and, as the landlady afterwardstestified, Mrs. Atkinson arrived there in the bestof health, light-hearted and jolly. She must havebeen a sharp contrast to Catherine Wilson, whosecountenance was repulsive, and whose manner was thesecretive one of the poisoner.

The women went about everywhere together, Mrs.Atkinson paying all expenses. On this occasion thevisitor had brought a hundred and ten pounds in noteswith her, for business had been good and her customerswere increasing. The hungry eyes of Catherine Wilsongleamed at the sight of the notes, and her bony fingerslonged to clutch them. Every day saw the numberof notes grow gradually less as Mrs. Atkinson was buyingstock, and the poisoner knew that unless she hurried206there would not be enough money left to make it worthher while to add to her list of crimes.

On the fourth day Mr. Atkinson was busy in his shopat Kirkby Lonsdale when a telegram was handed tohim. He read it anxiously—for telegrams were anovelty—and nearly collapsed under the blow. Themessage was from Loughborough Road, Brixton, London,S.W., and it said that his wife was dangerously ill.Flinging all business on one side the unhappy manhastened to London, arriving only in time to watch herdie. She was unconscious when he entered the room,and passed away without a word to him.

The broken-hearted husband was stunned by theblow, and his poor wife's "friend" was prostrated.Mrs. Wilson, he was informed, had taken to her bedupon being informed of her dearest friend's death,and her grief was so intense that she was with difficultyinduced to give a brief account of Mrs. Atkinson'slast day on earth.

The doctor assured Mr. Atkinson that no one couldbe more surprised than he was at the fatal terminationof Mrs. Atkinson's illness. An extensive practice hadbrought him into contact with death in many shapes,but there was nothing like this in all his experience.He advised a post-mortem examination to ascertainthe cause of death, and the husband of the murderedwoman seemed inclined to sanction that course whenCatherine Wilson came forward with a pathetic storyof a dying request from Mrs. Atkinson that she, herbest friend, would see to it that her body was not"cut up."

In the most natural manner the poisoner told herlie, and Mr. Atkinson, to whom every word of his wifewas sacred, withheld his approval, and no examinationtook place.

Now, Mr. Atkinson was well aware that his wife hadbrought a hundred and ten pounds to London with her,207and he searched for the notes amongst her effects.When he failed to discover a single one he turned toMrs. Wilson for an explanation. Had his wife paidall the money away? It was most unlikely that shehad. But he was even more astounded when Mrs.Wilson informed him that his wife had arrived in Londonwith only her return ticket and a few shillings.

"Didn't she write and tell you what happened?"said the poisoner, who was dressed in black, and carrieda pocket handkerchief with which she dabbed her eyesevery other moment.

"No, I didn't get a single letter from her," said Mr.Atkinson. "I was a bit surprised, but I thought shewas too busy to write."

Catherine Wilson knew this, for she had destroyedtwo letters which Mrs. Atkinson had written to herhusband, the unfortunate woman having entrustedthem to her to post. She now pretended to fathomthe reason for Mrs. Atkinson's silence.

"She was so tender-hearted, Mr. Atkinson," shesaid, with a catch in her voice, "that she wouldn'ttell you the bad news. I'm sorry to say that she wasrobbed of all her money at Rugby."

"Rugby!" exclaimed Mr. Atkinson, in astonishment."What was she doing at Rugby? I don'tunderstand you."

"She was taken ill in the train," said the woman,lying glibly, "and when it stopped at Rugby she gotout. Soon afterwards she became faint again, andwhen she recovered she found she had been robbed.Then she came on here and told me, and I've beenlending her money to get about. She was hoping themoney would be recovered before she had to tell you.Oh, she was goodness itself, and I have lost my dearestand only friend."

She sank into a chair, sobbing as though her heartwas breaking, and Mr. Atkinson, who had been seized208with a suspicion, engendered by a memory of the lossof the purse containing fifty-one pounds the year before,dismissed his thoughts as unfair to the woman whowas mourning so whole-heartedly over the loss of thewife he loved. He did not dwell any longer on thedisappearance of the notes. After all, his wife wasdead, and all the money in the world could not bringher back to him.

He journeyed home again, and Catherine Wilsonwaited only for a week to go by before she paid herdebts, added to her wardrobe, and proudly exhibiteda diamond ring which she said Mr. Atkinson had givenher as a small token of his gratitude for her care ofhis wife. It had been the property of the late Mrs.Atkinson, but the poisoner had stolen it before thebody of her victim was cold.

It may well be asked how Catherine Wilson couldcommit so many cold-blooded murders unchecked.It seems to us that it ought to have been impossiblefor a healthy woman to die in agony and yet be buriedwithout a coroner's inquest. But that is what happenedsixty-one years ago, and we must be thankfulthat nowadays a person of the Catherine Wilson typewould have an extremely brief career.

The cases described do not comprise all her crimes.There were two other persons she attacked with herpoisons who happily escaped with their lives, and therewas an old lady in Boston who died in such circumstancesthat it is practically certain Catherine Wilson poisoned her.She had been friendly with her, and her sudden deathbenefited Wilson to the extent of over a hundred pounds.

Such is the history of the woman who was arrestedfor attempting to poison Mrs. Connell. The periodbetween committal for trial and the proceedings atthe Old Bailey was a protracted one, but the prisonermaintained a sullen demeanour whilst under the careof the prison authorities.

209Occasionally she protested her innocence, but shewas crafty enough not to say much, and when sheentered the dock at the Central Criminal Court shewas still a human enigma to all who had come in contactwith her.

That she appeared confident of a favourable verdictwas obvious, and it had to be admitted that whilstthe prosecution had plenty of surmise and suspicionthey had very little legal proof. The defence reliedalmost entirely on the absence of motive and the factthat no one had actually seen the prisoner place thepoison in Mrs. Connell's medicine. There were a greatmany suspicious circumstances which the prosecutionrightly demanded an explanation of, but the prisoner'scounsel pointed out that his client must be assumedto be innocent until her guilt was proved. It was nopart of his duty to incriminate her or assist the prosecution.The judge summed up in a way which indicatedthat in his opinion the prosecution had not establishedbeyond all doubt the guilt of the prisoner, and the jury,realizing that if they made a mistake and sent an innocentwoman to the gallows they could not undo it,decided to be on the safe side. They, therefore, returneda verdict of "Not Guilty," and Catherine Wilson,poisoner, forger and thief, left the dock with a smileon her hard face and a glint of triumph in her eyes.

How she must have laughed in secret at her victory!What fools she must have thought the twelve goodmen and true were! Her character was vindicated,and she was safe. She was to suffer a severe shock,however.

A few days later an amiable-looking man stoppedher just as she was leaving her lodgings.

"Excuse me," he said politely, one hand in his pocketwherein lay an important legal document, "but areyou Mrs. Catherine Wilson?"

"Yes," said the poisoner, who feared no one after210her Old Bailey triumph. "What do you want withme?"

"I am a police officer," he answered, producing thepaper, "and I must ask you to accompany me to thestation. I have a warrant for your arrest on a chargeof murder."

"Murder?" she gasped, terrified for a moment.Then she laughed. "Whose murder?" She mightwell ask that question seeing that there were severalwith which she could have been charged.

"That of Mrs. Soames, of 27 Alfred Street, BedfordSquare," he answered, glancing at the warrant.

The police had not been idle during that long remandfollowing the mysterious poisoning of Mrs. Connell.They had delved completely into Catherine Wilson'spast, and when they had compiled a list of her crimesthe authorities decided that they would arrest her againand charge her with Mrs. Soames's death. They couldhave added others, but, knowing with whom they weredealing, they thought it better to keep the cases ofMr. Mawer and Mrs. Atkinson in reserve. Should herfirst trial for murder result in acquittal they wouldcharge her with having caused the death of Mrs. Atkinson,and so on, until they had removed this dangerto society.

But the prosecution made no mistake this time,and Catherine Wilson was in the coils from the momentshe listened to the outline of the case against her atthe Police Court.

Further facts were brought forward at the Old Bailey,and so skilfully did the authorities present their casethat when the jury returned their verdict of guilty, andMr. Justice Byles was passing sentence, he could say:"The result upon my mind is that I have no moredoubt that you committed the crime than if I had seenit committed with my own eyes."

With a smile of contempt the poisoner left the dock211and when she was led forth to die in public, and twentythousand persons watched her last moments, shepresented the same cool, sneering manner, absolutelyindifferent to her fate, quite unafraid of death, andwithout a word of sorrow or repentance for her terriblecrimes.

213

CHAPTER XVI
PIERRE VOIRBO

The case of Pierre Voirbo, the murderer ofDésiré Bodasse, an old man who had beenhis friend, is one of the most remarkable ofFrench crimes. It established the reputation of Macé,the famous detective, who devoted a book to explaininghow he succeeded in tracing the murderer from thefirst clue—a pair of human legs—to the last, when,by a simple experiment, he located the very spot wherethe murder had been committed. If Macé had not beenan exceedingly clever man Voirbo must have escaped,for he took every precaution to cover up his tracks,and was undoubtedly assisted by luck. But the strongarm of the law triumphed in the end.

Voirbo was by trade a tailor, and by inclination adevotee of pleasure. He worked when he felt inclined,and if he could borrow or steal he preferred either as asource of income to the small profits derived from themaking and repairing of clothes. He frequented low-classcafés, and gambled whenever he could, and, inaddition, he had a pretty taste in wines. Yet for allhis laziness and dissipation it was often remarked thatPierre Voirbo seemed never to be without money. Heneglected his work until customers became few andfar between, but he was never behindhand with hisrent, and he could afford to employ an old woman tokeep his rooms tidy.

The time came, however, when Voirbo thought of214marriage. The hero of many conquests, he had notreally been attracted by the opposite sex until he meta good-looking girl with a dowry of fifteen thousandfrancs. Then he found the good looks and the dowryirresistible attractions. He considered himself notwanting in appearance and ability, though he wasactually below the medium height, had black hairand eyes, and a thin, cruel mouth. Eyes and mouthbore witness to his dissipation, but the girl evidentlywas blinded by love, for she agreed to marry Voirbo.When her parents were told they gave their consenton the condition that the bridegroom-to-be broughtinto the marriage settlements at least ten thousandfrancs. Voirbo instantly expressed his ability to providethat amount, and he was thereupon formallyacknowledged to be the girl's fiancé by her parents,who did not know that, so far from being in possessionof ten thousand francs, the tailor owed many thousandsalready, and had not a hundred francs to call his own.Voirbo, however, believed that he would be able toraise the money. Penury had sharpened his wits andendowed him with self-confidence.

A vague idea now occurred to him of borrowingthe money, exhibiting it to the girl's parents, and thenreturning it when he got his hands on his wife'sdot.It was a pretty scheme, but its weak point was that,owing to his reputation, there was no one in the countrywho would lend him a franc, and after a little considerationhe abandoned the scheme.

But he was determined to have the girl's marriagedot no matter what the cost. Fifteen thousand francsmeant a fortune to him. It would last a long time,and when it was gone it would be quite easy to deserthis bride, and seek another elsewhere. It was, indeed,a pretty plan he conceived, though he knew that thefirst obstacle—raising that sum of ten thousand francs—wouldprove the most difficult of all.

215Amongst his friends was an old man, Désiré Bodasse,a worker in tapestry, who had been Voirbo's companionin more than one midnight spree. Bodasse, however,had never opened his purse to pay. It was Voirbowho always paid for their food and drink, the spindle-leggedlittle man, with the dry cough, chuckling tohimself as he saw the young fool throw his money away.Bodasse boasted that for every franc he spent he savedthree, and he naturally despised anyone who spent hismoney on others. Voirbo, however, had taken a fancyto Bodasse, and was very often seen in his society,while everybody marvelled at the strange partnershipbetween two men who were so dissimilar.

It was to Désiré Bodasse that Voirbo went with thestory that he must raise ten thousand francs at once.The younger man painted a glowing picture of thewealth of his future wife exaggerating her fifteenthousand francs until it became adot four times as great.Bodasse listened with a thin smile on his thinner face,and when Voirbo's outburst was over congratulatedhim sarcastically.

The tailor ignored the sarcasm, and, after a pause,boldly asked Bodasse to lend him ten thousand francs.He knew that the old fellow had that sum and morein the box under his bed, for Bodasse had been savingfor years, and was a rich man, and, Voirbo argued,the time had come when Bodasse could show that hewas not ungrateful for the entertainment he had enjoyedfor years at his expense.

The worker in tapestry, however, was not the manto part with his money. It was all he lived for; itwas all he thought about; and in a few curt wordshe gave Voirbo to understand that if his marriagedepended on the success of his application he had betterforget all about it at once. In short, he would notlend him ten francs, much less ten thousand.

There was no one else to whom he could apply, and216Bodasse's refusal filled Voirbo with dismay, but hehad to pretend to be indifferent after the first shockof disappointment was over, and an hour later bothmen appeared to have forgotten the incident whenthey sat in a café and drank wine to one another'shealth. But Voirbo's brain was on fire. He had regardedthe capture of the girl's fifteen thousand francsas a certainty, and he could not bear to admit to himselfthat he was going to lose her fortune after all. Wherecould he raise ten thousand francs? Besides his ostensibleoccupation of tailor he was one of the numerous agentsof the Paris secret police. He had used his officialposition in the past to blackmail inoffensive citizens,but he knew that it would take him more than a yearto raise ten thousand francs by that method.

Bodasse, unconscious of his companion's thoughts,continued to drink at Voirbo's expense, while the latterwas rapidly summing up to himself the risks he wouldhave to run if he murdered the man sitting oppositehim. He knew all about Bodasse's life—the fellow'smiserly habits; his lack of friends because he had beenafraid that if he made many they might cost him money;his unpopularity in the neighbourhood in which helived, and the well-known fact that his greatest wishwas to be left alone. Voirbo recalled, too, that Bodassewas in the habit of disappearing from human sight forweeks at a time, when he either shut himself up in hisroom or went into the country. In the former casehe was wont to provide himself with sufficient foodto last out his spell of seclusion, and if letters camethey were pushed under his door so that he might notbe disturbed by having to open it. With murder inhis heart, Voirbo thought over this, and came to theonly possible conclusion—the murder of Désiré Bodassewould be about the easiest crime to commit andthe chances of escape would favour him.

The bottle of wine finished, Voirbo suggested an217adjournment to his rooms, where he had often providedBodasse with food. The old miser agreed withalacrity, and shortly afterwards they were in an apartmentat the top of a high house. From outside themurmur of traffic faintly reached their ears, and fromthe stairs came occasional voices, but, for all that,the two men were quite alone, and Bodasse was absolutelyat the mercy of the younger and stronger man.

The temptation was irresistible. Voirbo looked atthe small body and wizened face, the thin, scraggyneck and the lustreless eyes. Life seemed to be half-wayout of his body already, and it would be easy tolet the other half out too. Bodasse was sitting withhis back towards Voirbo, who had risen and was walkingirresolutely about the room.

Suddenly the fellow found the courage to put histhoughts into acts. A heavy flat-iron, such as tailorsuse, was lying handy. He picked it up, poised it fora moment, and then brought it down upon the oldman's head with a fearful crash, which sent him in aheap on the floor. There he finished him by cuttinghis throat. The first act in the drama was accomplished.

Until the murder was done Voirbo had not thought oflocking the door, but now he ran to it and turned thekey. There were at least a dozen persons in the buildingat the time, for it was let out in apartments, butVoirbo, with extraordinary self-possession, proceededto make arrangements for disposing of the body. Hecould not carry it out as it was, and, therefore, likemany other murderers, he decided to divide it intoseveral pieces. The head is, of course, the most importantpart of the body, because it is the easiest toidentify. Get rid of the head and identification isrendered a hundred times more difficult. Voirbo gaveit his special attention, and he disposed of it by fillingthe eyes and mouth with lead and dropping it into theSeine. The rest of the body was carted away in pieces,218but on his second journey he had a very narrow escape,and disaster would have resulted early on had he notformed his plans with the utmost thoroughness. Heundoubtedly proved himself efficient in small mattersas well as in large, as his unexpected meeting with thepolice showed.

With a hamper and a large parcel, both containingportions of the murdered man's body, he left the houseone dark December night, with the intention of pitchingthem into the Seine at a spot where there would be noone to notice him. The hamper and the parcel wereheavy, cumbrous and conspicuous, but Voirbo knewthat on such a night there would be few pedestrians,and any who noticed him would think that he had beendoing his Christmas shopping, and was taking theChristmas dinner and some presents home to his family.Owing to the weight of his double burden progresswas slow, but Voirbo was not nervous. Nobody gavehim a second glance, and he had the satisfaction ofmeeting more than one late shopper carrying big parcelstoo.

But just as he was congratulating himself on completesuccess he was horrified to see two policemencoming straight towards him. His legs trembled, andfor a moment he thought of dropping hamper and parceland taking to flight, but before he could make up hismind the two officers of the law had stopped in frontof him, and one was actually resting a hand on thehamper.

"Who are you, and what's inside your parcels?"said one of the policemen suspiciously.

There had been numerous robberies in the districtlately, and the police had received special instructionsto keep a sharp look out for midnight marauders. Infact, these two officers were looking for a burglar ora street robber. They never thought of aiming ashigh as a murderer.

219With difficulty Voirbo found his voice.

"I—I couldn't get a cab at the station, messieurs,"he said, with a smile, "and so I've been compelledto carry home my purchases. This parcel containstwo hams. You can feel how heavy it is! The hamper—seethe label. It arrived for me by train."

The officers examined the label on the hamper. Itapparently had been addressed at a distant suburband consigned to Paris. The label certainly lookedgenuine enough, and the explanation of hams in theparcel accounted for its unusual weight.

The policemen consulted in whispers. They hadbeen impressed by Voirbo's frankness, and eventuallythey permitted him to pass on. Had they examinedthe contents of either hamper or parcel they wouldhave been able to arrest there and then as cruel a murdereras France has ever known. It was characteristicof Voirbo's cleverness that he should have labelledthe hamper before emerging into the open with it.

Gradually he got rid of the rest of the body, the lastexpedition being to the well of an apartment houseclose by, where he left the legs of his victim.

As an agent of the secret police Voirbo was conversantwith police methods, and also had access to their offices.He knew that he would be one of the first to hear ifthe authorities had been advised of either Bodasse'sdisappearance or the discovery of any portion of hisbody. For some days after the crime he frequentedthe police offices, and what he saw there convinced himthat he could never be brought to account for his crime.Discovery was impossible, and he was quite safe.

But so thorough was he in his methods that he didnot stop at disposing of the body and robbing his victim.It was necessary to make the people in the house whereBodasse had lived believe that the old tapestry workerwas still alive, though invisible behind the locked door.Accordingly, Voirbo, having filled his pockets with220Bodasse's savings—they amounted to about thirtythousand francs, mainly in the form of Italian bondspayable to bearer—proceeded to impersonate hisvictim.

For days and nights after Bodasse was murderedthe woman who lived in the room underneath heardfootsteps over her and, well aware that Désiré Bodassenever received visitors, told her friends that the oldman, though he had not been seen for some days, washiding in his room as usual. Whenever letters camefor him they were pushed under the door, and, of course,opened and read by Voirbo. The murderer, however,would not remain in the room all night, and when darknessfell he left, having first placed a lighted candlenear the window so that anyone who looked up wouldsay that Bodasse was at home. Each candle burnedfor three hours before spluttering feebly out.

Every night for a fortnight the lighted candle wasseen and commented on, and, furthermore, the shadowof a man's head was occasionally seen across the blind.The neighbours gossipped about him, telling one anotherthat Monsieur Bodasse was at home. No one expectedto see him in the flesh for weeks, for it was understoodthat he had given way to one of his fits of solitude andwould resent a call.

Voirbo, confident, triumphant, careless, and revellingin his own cleverness, went to his prospective father-in-lawand told him that he was now ready to producethe ten thousand francs which he required as evidenceof his position. This promise he carried out, and,the girl'sdot being brought into the common fund, themarriage was fixed to take place a few days later.

"My rich friend, Père Bodasse, will attend me," hesaid proudly to the family into which he was marrying.He spoke, of course, after the murder of the old man."He is a bit of a miser, but I expect a handsome presentfrom him."

221They little knew he had already murdered and robbedBodasse.

The family, impressed by Voirbo's fortune, expressedthemselves as most anxious to make the acquaintanceof Monsieur Bodasse, and they were looking forwardto that honour when, on the day of the wedding, Voirbotold them that Bodasse had meanly run off to the countryto avoid buying him a wedding present.

"He will not get himself a new coat, the old miser!"he added in angry contempt. "And that is why heis not here. He knows his clothes are too shabby.I have spent much money on him in the past, but neveragain."

It was, however, a small incident, and in no wayspoilt the happiness of all concerned. There was abanquet at an hotel, and afterwards the married coupleleft for a short honeymoon. They were not to returnto Voirbo's apartments, for he had given them up andhad taken a house elsewhere.

With his wife's fortune he had now over forty thousandfrancs and the newly married couple set up housekeepingon an ambitious scale, because Voirbo declared that hecould earn quite a large income from his trade, so,when the honeymoon finished, realizing that it wouldbe risky to parade his prosperity, he settled down towork. He had taken measures to conceal the stolenproperty, and, secure and confident, he lived from dayto day, expecting that in time Bodasse's disappearancewould lead to an inquiry, but utterly fearless of theconsequences to himself. And all the time his youngand pretty girl-wife never suspected that there wasanything wrong.

The third week of that new year—1870—was drawingto a close when Voirbo heard that the legs he had throwninto the well belonging to the restaurant in the RuePrincesse had been found. He received the news calmly,and offered no comment until he was told that Macé,222then in charge of the police department of the quarterwhere the remains had been discovered, was commissionedto unravel the mystery. Now Voirbo knew Macé,and had never had a good opinion of his ability.

"He'll never solve it," he said, with a laugh thatreflected his own satisfaction.

He felt that he was lucky not to have one of the leadingdetectives on the case. He feared the proved, triedmen who had unravelled the dark mysteries of thepast. But as for Macé, well, he was young and inexperienced,and Voirbo was prepared to make him apresent not only of the legs, but of the rest of the body,if it could be found. Nevertheless, curiosity, mingledwith some anxiety, induced Voirbo to pay a visit toMacé's office. He was, of course, able to stroll in wheneverhe liked, because he was in the police service himself,and, naturally, his interest in the mystery of theRue Princesse excited no suspicion. There was nothingremarkable about his inquiries. All Paris was rousedby the discovery of the legs, and Voirbo was as anxiousas anyone to hear the latest news.

On the occasion of his first visit he was told the resultof the medical examination, and how he must havegrinned in secret when he was informed that two doctors,experts in the art of identifying human remains, hadgiven it as their opinion that the legs belonged to awoman. Their thinness, the size of the feet, and thefact that they were clothed in stockings, gave rise tothis mistake, which caused the police to spend a longtime looking for the body of a woman.

The one clue they had was the letter "B" markedbetween two crosses. That was all the detectives hadto go upon, and for days the police inquired if anyonehad missed a girl whose Christian or surname beganwith B. And Pierre Voirbo continued to laugh at them!

Macé worked day and night on the mystery. Duringthe previous three months eighty-four women had been223reported as missing, and after the most careful examinationinto each case the detective selected three asbeing most likely to help in the solution of the puzzle.Great was his amazement to discover all three aliveand well!

Meanwhile other parts of the body of Bodasse werepicked up, though, as Macé was searching for a woman,all these parts were not assumed to belong to the legs.Half a dozen mysteries seemed likely to be manufacturedout of one, when Macé had the good fortune to thinkof submitting the legs to another expert. It was onlyby chance that he did this, but when Dr. Tardieu unhesitatinglyaffirmed the legs to be those of a man thedetective realized that he had been working on thewrong lines altogether.

The fixing of the sex was a most important andvaluable matter, although even now the mystery seemedquite unfathomable. Macé, however, was determinedthat the murderer should be brought to justice. Hemeant to devote all his time and ability to the task.

His first examination of the cloth in which the legshad been wrapped before being cast into the well hadconvinced him that the parcels had been made up bya tailor. They bore certain marks, and the string usedas well as the cloth confirmed him in this opinion.He started at the house in the Rue Princesse, makingdiligent inquiries as to whether a tailor had ever residedthere, but was informed that a tailor had never beenone of the tenants. The detective was not satisfied,and he got the old woman who acted as concierge tochat to him about the tenants, past and present.

The woman, glad of an audience, entered into aminute account of the habits of the scores of men andwomen she had met in that house. Most men wouldhave been bored to distraction, and would have endedthe interview abruptly, but Macé listened patiently,only interrupting when the old woman casually mentioned224a girl of the name of Dard, whose claim on famewas that, although she was now on the variety stage,she at one time lived in the house as a humble seamstress.

The detective looked up at the mention of the word"seamstress." Here, then, was somebody who hadworked for a tailor. It was but a slight clue, yet itmight be worth something.

The old woman gabbled on.

"She gave me a lot of trouble, monsieur," she said,in a croaking voice. "Some one was always bringingher work, and their dirty boots meant that I had towash down the stairs after them. There was one man, too,who always carried water from the well upstairs for her.He used to spill it, making more work for me."

"What was the name of the man?" asked the officerquietly.

The woman did not know; but before he left theRue Princesse the detective had established the facts,that Pierre Voirbo was the man's name, and that hehad lived close by, and was a tailor by trade.

All trivial clues, and based on conjecture, but Macéconsidered them worth his trouble. He felt that hewas getting on, and when he discovered that PierreVoirbo had had a friend named Bodasse—MademoiselleDard told him this—who had not been seen for a longtime, he congratulated himself, recalling the initialon the stocking.

But there yet remained the difficulty of identification.Step by step he delved into Voirbo's life, and simultaneouslyset going the inquiries that ended in thefinding of an old lady who was Bodasse's aunt. Shewas instantly taken to the Morgue to view the stockingwith the initial on it, and, greatly to the delight of thepolice, immediately identified it as belonging to hernephew. She had the best of reasons for her statement,for she had marked the stockings herself. It appearedthat, as Bodasse suffered from cold legs, he had had225the upper part of a woman's stockings joined to the feetof a man's socks. This accounted in a measure forthe mistake of the doctors who had certified the humanlegs to be those of a woman.

The aunt said that she had not seen her nephew fora month, but had not felt alarmed on this account.She was used to his ways, and she illustrated them byrelating how once when Bodasse had been unwell hehad entered a hospital under a false name so that hemight receive care and attention free of cost to himself.

Madame, however, was of further use, as she wasable to describe the appearance of Bodasse's friend,Pierre Voirbo. She gave information as to his habits,and Macé quickly had the story of the marriage, theten thousand francs, the change of address, and allelse of importance that concerned Voirbo at his finger-ends.There only remained now the task of provingthat Désiré Bodasse had disappeared on a certain date,and the detective went to the apartment house whereBodasse had lived.

Here he met with a most unexpected rebuff. Theconcierge actually informed him that Monsieur Bodassewas at home at that very moment! The night beforeshe had seen a light in his room, and had noticed hisshadow across the blind. If her word was doubted,she added the indisputable evidence that that verymorning she had seen Bodasse in the street!

The witness was undeniably respectable, and Macéhad to accept her word, and, now that Bodasse was notthe victim, he had to pursue his investigations elsewhere;but before he left he deposited a letter with theconcierge to be handed over to the old miser when hereturned.

But Macé never forgot Pierre Voirbo. The manmight be innocent, but there was suspicion enoughto justify his being kept in sight. Even if Bodassewas not the man whose legs they had found in the well,226it was just possible that Voirbo had got rid of the miserfor the sake of his savings. For that reason he wasshadowed, and, when, after a long wait and no sign ofBodasse's return, the police determined to break intohis room they discovered that whoever had inhabitedit recently it had not been the tenant, for a robberyhad taken place.

The mystery became complicated, and yet simpler.Who was the mysterious person who had walked aboutBodasse's room, and who had come every night to lightthe candle? The bed had not been slept in for weeks.It was, therefore, obvious that the thief had not remainedthere all night.

Macé had one answer only, and that was PierreVoirbo. The fellow had a very bad record, and hisassociation with the secret police did not earn for himany prestige in the eyes of the law. He was a dissipatedloafer, ready to betray friend and foe alike, and Macéwas well aware that Voirbo was quite equal to murderingBodasse for much less than ten thousand francs.

Yet the detective hesitated and it was only aftertracing Italian securities belonging to the murdered manto Voirbo's possession that Macé decided to arrest him.Time had been lost in investigating certain clues suggestedby Voirbo himself, but there could be littledoubt now that they had been merely blinds to distractsuspicion from himself. Voirbo must have realizedthat his position was growing worse every day. He hadbegun by affecting to despise Macé, but by now heknew that the young officer had proved himself to bea past-master in the art of detection.

By a coincidence the very morning appointed byMacé for Voirbo's arrest saw the suspected man walkinto the detective's office, apparently quite unconsciousof his fate. He had come, as usual, to offer his opinionon the great mystery, and to accuse more innocent men.Macé kept him waiting for half an hour, and when he227eventually turned to speak to him Voirbo dropped acard from his pocket-book. Macé picked it up for him,and as he did so saw at a single glance that Voirbohad booked a passage on a ship leaving France, andhad given a false name.

Ten minutes later Voirbo was under arrest. He sworethat he was innocent, and reviled Macé horribly. Butthe detective was unmoved, although there was muchto be accomplished before legal proof was forthcoming.

A visit was paid to Voirbo's wife, an innocent girl,whose heart was broken when she learned the truth.She produced the box where her and her husband'smarriagedots were kept. Macé opened it, and showedthat it was empty. He had robbed his wife as wellas Bodasse.

The officer, however, was determined to find thesecurities Voirbo had stolen from Bodasse's room, andhe began a thorough search. When he reached thecellar he found two casks of wine. A strict examinationof these revealed a piece of black string tied to abung above the head of one of the casks. Macé drewit out, and at the end found a thin metal cylinder,neatly soldered. Inside were the missing securities.

Another experiment remained. Voirbo was takenby the police to the room where it was suspected thecrime had been committed. Here Macé had him forciblyseated in a chair, and in his presence the detectivetested the slope of the floor by pouring water on it.The water instantly dribbled towards the bed, finallysettling in a particular spot. The boards were takenup, and congealed blood found.

Macé had argued that during the murder of Bodassemuch blood had been spilt, and that some of it musthave sunk between the boards at a point where theslope had brought it to a standstill. Voirbo had washedthe top of the boards, but had forgotten to washunderneath.

228This simple experiment had such an effect uponVoirbo that he instantly confessed to the crime, tellingeverything without reservation. He did not, however,go to the guillotine, for before his trial, and after oneabortive attempt to escape, he cut his throat in prison.The knife with which he took his own life was smuggledinto the gaol concealed in a loaf, and although Macéstrove valiantly to discover the person who had sentit to Voirbo he never succeeded.

229

CHAPTER XVII
EMANUEL BARTHÉLEMY

Emanuel Barthélemy was a villain of themelodramatic type. Throughout his stormyand adventurous life he appeared to be fullyconscious of the fact that he was acting a part. Hewas theatrical in everything he did; yet the touch ofrealism was seldom lacking, and he lived and died withoutfear. He was tall, strongly-built, with a large head,thick hair, an expressive cast of countenance; dark,flashing eyes, and a mouth that was eloquent of thevillain's vile, savage temper. Barthélemy was a revolutionaryby profession, utterly unprincipled; killingbecause he loved it as a sport, and the times in which helived provided him with numerous opportunities togratify his propensity for murder. His luck was extraordinaryuntil he ran counter to the English law, and,although he escaped the death penalty once in England,on the second occasion he stood his trial for murderhe was sentenced and executed.

Barthélemy was a Frenchman, and in the early partof the nineteenth century he took part in many revolutionsin France. Louis XVIII, who had been restoredto his kingdom by the victory of Waterloo, was findingit difficult to maintain his dynasty, and Barthélemy wasone of those who objected to his reign. His objectiontook the extreme form of shooting dead an unfortunategendarme in cold blood. This was Barthélemy's firstbig venture, and he was sentenced to the galleys for life230as a punishment, being lucky to escape with his life.But the murderer did not serve his sentence. In 1830the political party he favoured succeeded in gaining theupper-hand, and Barthélemy's callous crime was dulyconsidered to be a "political offence," and accordinglyhe was released, along with thousands of genuine victimsof the ruthlessness of the Bourbons.

This was, indeed, a matter for much satisfaction andenjoyment, and Barthélemy, nothing daunted, threwhimself into the fray again. He became a sort ofunofficial police spy, and for years haunted the caféswhere out-at-elbow politicians talked treason and otherthings.

When a new Chief of Police was appointed the spy losthis situation, and was compelled to join an active organizationwhich was opposed to the ambitions of LouisNapoleon, but in 1848 there was again a revolution, andLouis Napoleon became Napoleon III. The new emperortreated his defeated opponents with ferociouscruelty, and with hundreds of other refugees Barthélemyfled to England to live in exile for the remainder of hislife.

From the moment of his arrival in London he took aleading part in the counsels of the French colony. Therefugees never abandoned their hope that Napoleon IIIwould be driven from the throne of France. Day afterday in poverty they fed on hope and ambition, andBarthélemy was ever the loudest and most swashbucklingof the optimists. It was observed that he was neverwithout funds, although he came of a poor and humblefamily, but he was so outspoken against the new orderof things in his native country that those who whisperedthat he was a paid spy in Napoleon's service werelaughed to scorn.

In the course of time some of the refugees formed asmall colony near Englefield Green, Egham, Middlesex,where they established a sort of country-house for the231more respectable of the French exiles—men who reallydesired to serve their country, and who believed thatNapoleon III was ruining it.

By some means Barthélemy found his way into thehouse at Egham, though his aggressive manner andsomewhat uncouth ways were abhorrent to the majority,who were for the most part ex-officers of the FrenchArmy and Navy. However, his whole-souled hatredof the Emperor of the French was a passport to theirsociety, and they tolerated him until he became intolerable.

Barthélemy was by nature and instinct a bully, andhis favourite "argument" when anyone had thetemerity to persist in contradicting him was a blowfrom his heavy fist. He had a powerful voice, too, andfew persons could talk louder and longer than he, but,like all bullies, it was the easiest thing in the world forhim to lose his temper.

His readiness to murder on sight, however, made hima hero in the eyes of the riff-raff amongst the refugees, butthe better class regarded him with distrust, and only putup with his "eccentricities" because the movementwas short of men.

Amongst the colony at Egham there was an ex-navalofficer of the name of Cournet. He had served hiscountry well without enriching himself, and in characterand disposition he was the reverse of Barthélemy,though Cournet, when provoked, was fierce and short-tempered.Still, he was, as a rule, polite and courteous,and he never originated a quarrel. The numerousrevolutions in France had involved him as principal inno fewer than fourteen duels, and on every occasion hehad hit his man. He was, therefore, a duellist of renown,and his reputation amongst the exiles was second to none.Barthélemy did not like this, and he resolved to deposeCournet from his leadership. To do this he had to forcea duel upon the ex-officer, and one night at Egham, when232Cournet was in his mildest humour, Barthélemy sprangto his feet and swore that the older man had grosslyinsulted him. In the circumstances he considered thatCournet ought to give him the "usual satisfaction onegentleman owes to another," and that meant a duel.But Barthélemy had forgotten one thing. He hadchallenged Cournet, who, accordingly, had the rightto name the weapons. Now, Cournet was an expert withthe pistol, and Barthélemy considered himself equallyexpert with the sword. As the challenged party, however,Cournet selected pistols, and Barthélemy had toabide by his choice.

The duel was fixed for the following day, and Barthélemypassed a night of terror. He saw himself an easytarget for the ex-officer's pistol. In fact, he was perfectlycertain that he was going to his death, and he did notwant to die.

His partisans meanwhile published abroad amongstthe French colony in London the news of the quarrel.It divided them into two camps, each clamorous for itschampion's superiority. Bets were made as to theresult, and at about the time the duel was to take placea crowd of refugees assembled in Leicester Square to hearthe result, just as in the past the race for the Derby hascaused crowds to assemble outside the offices of sportingpapers to await the name of the winner.

The duel was to determine who was the unofficialleader of the Frenchmen driven into exile by NapoleonIII. Cournet's friends, however, were never uneasy asto the result. They knew that their man would andmust win, but, unfortunately for their principal, theyforgot to take measures to prevent his opponent fightingunfairly. Barthélemy and his intimates actually tamperedwith his pistol, the weapon which had won forhim fourteen similar contests. To lessen the chancesof discovery they arranged that Cournet's pistol shouldgo off the moment the trigger was touched, but not in233the direction intended by its owner, and then whenBarthélemy presented his weapon at his opponent itwould misfire, proving that his pistol was defective too.The misfiring, however, would not forfeit his turn toshoot, and at the second attempt Barthélemy wouldhave no difficulty in making the pistol do his bidding.These were the final arrangements, and they werecarried out without a single flaw.

The duellists assembled on Englefield Green, andCournet won the right to the first shot. To his astonishmentand anger the charge in his pistol exploded, andthe bullet went harmlessly into the air. The ex-officerwas not, however, afraid. He stood rigid whilst Barthélemylevelled his weapon. It misfired, and Barthélemyhad to devote a little time to setting it right. Thenhe remembered that the episode provided him with achance for a theatrical display. In the best mannerof the stage hero he offered to forego his shot if Cournetwould consent to continue the duel with swords. Theex-officer instantly rejected the offer, pointing out thatif Barthélemy missed he would be entitled to anothershot, and then, he grimly added, he would not missagain. Barthélemy knew quite well that his opponentspoke only the barest truth, and without another moment'sdelay he levelled his pistol and shot Cournet dead.

It was murder, and murder of the most brutal anddisgraceful type, but none of the seconds realized that.From first to last they had treated the English lawagainst duelling with the utmost contempt, althoughthey knew that according to the law of the land theywere all murderers.

But they regarded themselves as a French colonyowning the laws of France only, and, leaving poorCournet lying stark and stiff, the seconds and Barthélemywent off to London with the intention of celebratingthe victory in the Soho Cafés frequented bytheir fellow-countrymen. However, they were not at234liberty for long, for at Waterloo Station they were metby detectives who took them into custody.

That was in 1852, not many years after the abolitionof duelling in England, and, in the circumstances, it wasconsidered wiser by the authorities to place Barthélemyonly on trial for the murder of Cournet.

When the case came on at Kingston-on-Thames allthe facts mentioned above were cited by the prosecution.It was clearly proved that the contest had not been aduel at all, but a cold-blooded murder on the part ofthe prisoner and his accomplices. The tampered pistolswere produced, and the whole of Barthélemy's villainylaid bare; indeed, Counsel for the prosecution had theeasiest of tasks. When the jury retired there wasconsiderable surprise in Court, for no sensible personhaving heard the evidence should have wished for timeto consider his verdict.

The Surrey jury, however, were evidently of opinionthat the case "wasn't so simple as it looked," and theyspent some time in their private room, eventuallyreturning to astound a packed Court by declaring theirverdict to be one of manslaughter. Of course, therewas no help for it, and instead of the scaffold Barthélemyreceived a nominal sentence, and was free again shortlyafterwards.

The verdict of the jury—which in plain languagemeant that, in their opinion, the duel had been fairlyfought—greatly enhanced Barthélemy's reputationamongst his countrymen. The better-disposed, however,avoided him, but in the purlieus of Soho it was consideredan honour to stand the "hero" of Englefield Green adrink, or, when funds permitted, to offer him dinner.Barthélemy was undisputed king of the bullies now, andhe thoroughly enjoyed his triumph. For some monthshe was lionized, and he did considerable entertainingin return, providing plenty of food and wine, particularlythe latter.

235It was said that his object was to make certain menspeak freely and without thinking, and it was remarkablehow well informed the Paris secret police were of themovements and doings of the principal members of theFrench colony in London about this time. But ifBarthélemy was suspected of being their agent therewas no proof against him, and the majority of those whoknew him unreservedly accepted him as a pure-mindedand high-souled patriot.

But gradually Barthélemy's funds ran out, and hisborrowing powers showed signs of appreciable decline.The aggressive theatricalism of his manner remained,and he began to be something of a lady-killer. Butmost of the time he was vulgarly hard-up, and he detestedpoverty.

Some time in the year 1854 he came into the life of atall, handsome girl who spoke French with an Englishaccent. Who this girl was has never been discovered.She came on to the stage, as it were, with Barthélemyto take part in a tragedy that was to cost the villain hislife, and when the drama was over she was never seenagain, although the police of half a dozen countriesdevoted weeks to searching for her.

The girl was undoubtedly pretty, and she fell in lovewith Barthélemy, and, according to him, she told hima moving and pathetic story of neglect and ill-treatmentby her own father. Her father, she declared, was Mr.George Moore, a well-to-do mineral water manufacturer,who lived at 73, Warren Street, Fitzroy Square, in thedull and dreary neighbourhood of Tottenham CourtRoad. She said he had promised to make her a comfortableallowance, but had failed to keep his word, and sheimplored Barthélemy to see that justice was done her.

Whether the murderer's statement was an inventionor not we have no means of knowing, but he did callon Mr. Moore, and he took the girl with him, and thevisit culminated in a terrible tragedy.

236When the servant opened the door to the visitorsshe noticed that the lady wore a thick mantle and washeavily veiled. They passed upstairs to Mr. Moore'sprivate room and were cordially received, for afterwardsthree siphons of lemonade were found on a table withthree glasses. It may be mentioned that in additionto Mr. Moore and his female servant the only otherresident in the house was a young grandchild of thetenant's.

For a few minutes Mr. Moore and his visitors chattedamicably—it was never known what passed betweenthem—Barthélemy gave his version, but he was, amongstother things, a professional liar, and his word cannotbe accepted. Mr. Moore undoubtedly received them inthe friendliest manner, and he must have had a goodreason for doing so. Who was the mysterious girlheavily veiled? What part did she take in the conversationthat led up to the double murder?

Barthélemy's version was that he politely requestedMr. Moore to deal fairly by his own daughter, whomhe intended to make his wife. Of course, as is thecustom in France, the Frenchman pointed out that thebride must have a dowry. It was essential to the successof the matrimonial adventure that the wife should bein a position to support her husband. In this case thehusband-to-be was the type that does not like work.

Perhaps Barthélemy's statement was true except inone particular. The mysterious lady may not havebeen the daughter of the manufacturer, but it is crediblethat Barthélemy may have planned the whole affair inorder to blackmail Mr. Moore. No doubt he inducedthe girl to pose as the injured daughter, and it is conceivablethat he coached her into acting the part ofthe grief-stricken woman whose mother was betrayedand deserted.

Mr. Moore listened to the demand for a settlement onthe girl who said she was his daughter and then curtly237declined to pay a penny. Barthélemy threatened himwith loss of reputation and its twin, respectability.What would his friends think of him? The older manlaughed contemptuously. He was not going to yieldto a pair of blackmailers, and he told them to clear outof his house as quickly as possible.

All three by now would be on their feet, Barthélemyand Mr. Moore face to face, the former's eyes flashing,his pose theatrical; and the girl in the backgroundwatching, her face hidden by the heavy folds of herveil. The two men would be exchanging angry words,their tempers rising every moment until it would seemthat they must be overheard by anybody in the street.But the blackmailer did not wish matters to go as far asthat, and he suddenly ended the altercation by smashingMr. Moore's head in with a blow from a loaded stick.

The unfortunate merchant collapsed in a heap on thefloor, but he was by no means unconscious, and heshouted for help until his servant realized that hermaster was in danger. Throwing open the front door,she screamed in terror until the whole street was roused.A policeman came running towards her, and she gaspedout what she knew.

It was obvious that the murderer would not attemptto leave by the front door, and as the only other meansof exit was by way of the backyard and over certain wallsthe officer—Collard by name—who had served in thearmy and was a very brave man, without thinking ofthe risk or waiting for assistance, dashed round to theback of the house to intercept the Frenchman and hisfemale companion. A small crowd guarded the frontof the building, all of them valiantly prepared to takeany risk because there were fifty of them to share it.

Meanwhile Barthélemy, realizing that he had killedMoore, and that the whole neighbourhood was roused,sought desperately for a way of escape. In the crisishe thought only of himself, and, without a word to the238girl, he rushed from the room, darted downstairs andinto the yard, climbed a wall at the back and jumpedover, to find himself in the arms of the policeman.

The two men rolled and struggled in the road, theofficer undismayed by Barthélemy's superiority inheight and strength. Collard more than held his own,but Barthélemy, as in the case of his duel with Cournet,was not going to fight fairly. He drew his pistol themoment he was able to release one hand, and with thegreatest deliberation fired twice into the body of hisopponent.

There were several eye-witnesses of the crime, butno one appears to have attempted to detain the murderer,and Barthélemy would have got away if, just as Collardhad fallen back with a groan, more police had not arrivedon the scene. The Frenchman was speedily overcomeby them and disarmed.

It had been a breathlessly exciting time from beginningto end, and it was not until Barthélemy was being takento prison that it occurred to his captors to search forhis female companion. She had not left the houseby the front door, for there had been some one on guardthere all the time, and now the police entered, expectingto find her hiding in one of the rooms at the top. Everypossible exit was closed before the search began, butdespite the protracted efforts of the officers of the lawto locate her she was not found. In the room wherethe interview with Mr. Moore had taken place theydiscovered lying near the body of the murdered man awoman's mantle, the very one which she had worn whenadmitted by the servant, as the latter confirmed.

How had she escaped? If she had gone by the backway she could not have failed to attract the attentionof the crowd which had assembled when Collard hadtackled Barthélemy. Besides it was almost impossiblefor a girl to climb the wall unaided.

The authorities quickly discounted the theory of239escape by the back, and in the end it was generallybelieved that the girl had come prepared for the tragedy,and that she had dressed herself in such a way that bydiscarding her outer garment she would look absolutelydifferent from the person who had entered with Barthélemy.She must, therefore, have slipped off hercloak, and mingled with the crowd in the hall, unobservedin the general excitement.

It was a most extraordinary feature of the case thatthe girl was never seen again. Not a trace of her couldbe found, and the united exertions of the English andContinental police failed to furnish a clue to her identity.It was conjectured that the girl had left England withina dozen hours of Barthélemy's arrest. As the onlyperson who could have told the story of Mr. Moore'smurder and the reasons which led up to it, she wouldhave been a most valuable witness, but, as she did notcome forward, the tragedy remained enveloped inmystery.

Collard, the brave policeman, was in a dying conditionwhen taken to the hospital, and as his end was approachingit was deemed advisable that he should give hisversion of the struggle in the presence of Barthélemy.The prisoner was conveyed to the hospital where Collard,barely conscious, denounced him as his assassin.

The Frenchman stood with arms folded, and steadilysurveyed Collard's face. It was merely a pose, ofcourse, but it was a carefully prepared one, for Barthélemynever admitted that the unlucky officer hadany ground for disliking him! He described the firingof his revolver as an accident, and declared that when aman is trying to make his escape he is justified in usingany weapon to further his ends.

The policeman briefly told how he had tried to arrestBarthélemy, and when the statement had been takendown in writing and read over to the dying man Barthélemywas removed.

240Collard died a couple of hours later, and when hisdeath was notified the authorities decided to placeBarthélemy on trial for the murder of the policeman,and not for the crime of having killed Mr. Moore. Thereason for this was that no one except the girl who hadvanished had seen the murder of Mr. Moore, whereasthere were several persons who had been spectators ofthe second murder.

The police now began to investigate Barthélemy'slife, and by the time the prisoner came to stand his trialat the Old Bailey were certain that the motive for themurder of Mr. Moore was robbery and nothing else.The mineral water manufacturer was in the habit ofkeeping a fairly large sum of money in the house, andBarthélemy had evidently brought his female companionwith the object of using her as a bait to drawMr. Moore's attention away from himself. If themerchant should become engrossed in the girl Barthélemywould be able to slip out of the room unobserved andcommit the theft. This was what he intended shouldhappen, but apparently Mr. Moore's suspicions had beenunexpectedly aroused before Barthélemy could act,and in a vain effort to save himself, and also to obtainthe plunder, Barthélemy had committed murder, onlyto find himself compelled to take a second human life.This was the official version of a tragic interview, but,as it was based entirely on conjecture, it was not universallyaccepted.

To say that Emanuel Barthélemy enjoyed his trialfor murder at the Old Bailey is not an exaggeration.He revelled in the role of first villain in a piece whichdrew all London. As the hero of the duel at Eghamand the subsequent trial at Kingston, he was alreadysomething of a celebrity. His achievements in Franceas a revolutionary were the subject of common gossip,and that they did not belie the character of the manwas obvious from the attitude of studied bravado he241maintained throughout the trial. He always referredto the double murder as "the affair," and while hepolitely expressed regret that "the affair" should havecaused inconvenience to the policeman Collard, yethe could not in justice to himself, admit that there wasanything in his conduct deserving of censure. Hehad only fired in self-defence, and no one ought to blamehim for that.

The decision of the authorities to make the murderof Collard the only charge provided the defence withtheir one chance. Counsel for the prisoner ingeniouslyargued that at the worst Barthélemy had been guiltyof manslaughter only. He had fired at Collard with theobject of facilitating his escape. There had been noquarrel between the prisoner and his victim; they wereperfect strangers, and the policeman's death was reallyan accident, as Barthélemy had only intended to injurehim.

Barthélemy held his head high all through the trial,and there was plenty of the "flashing eye" businessand gesture of contempt interludes to enliven the proceedings.He took up the attitude of one who does notfear death, and, considering that this was his third trialfor murder and that he had escaped twice, he had somereason for assuming that he was not meant to die uponthe scaffold.

The Old Bailey jury, however, proved somewhatmore sophisticated than the Kingston jury, and, withouthesitation, they rejected the subtle theories of counselfor the defence. The fact could never be obscuredthat Collard had been murdered by Barthélemy, andtheir immediate and unanimous verdict was that theprisoner was guilty. The usual sentence of deathfollowed, and Barthélemy received it with a mockingbow. He did not care, and he was not afraid.

He knew that there was no chance of a reprieve, andwhile he awaited execution he conducted himself quietly,242giving no trouble to the prison authorities. He declaredhimself an atheist and declined to receive a priest ofhis own nationality. When the chaplain managed tospeak a few words of admonition he answered with alaugh:

"I don't want God to save my soul. If there is aGod let him save my body by opening the prison doors.That's all I ask."

As the time grew shorter, however, Barthélemybecame anxious about something, but it was not hissoul. Sending for the Governor he declared that theonly cause of uneasiness was a fear lest after his deathhis clothes should be exhibited at Madame Tussaud's!The Governor reassured him by promising him thatthey would not, and once more the convict's mind wasat rest, and he faced eternity calmly.

Calcraft was the executioner, and Barthélemy madehis acquaintance with a cynical smile.

"I have one thing to ask of you—do it quickly,"he said, on the morning of his execution, January 22nd,1855.

The grim-visaged executioner nodded. Barthélemywas undoubtedly a type of murderer not often met witheven by a man with Calcraft's experience.

When the Frenchman stepped on to the scaffold hesurveyed the crowd with a cool stare, slightly contemptuousof their interest and excitement. In his opiniondeath was not worth all this display. He was treatingit with the indifference it merited.

"Now I shall know the secret," he said, as the ropewas placed around his neck. A few minutes later hewas dead.

243

CHAPTER XVIII
WILLIAM PARSONS

The so-called "gentleman criminal" has flourishedin all ages and in all climes, and therehave been many remarkable scoundrels whohave utilized their social position to rob their fellows.One of the most notorious was William Parsons, theson of a baronet, and the nephew of a duchess, who waseducated at Eton, served as an officer both in the armyand navy, and, after a career during which he experimentedin every kind of fraud, ended on the gallows.

Parsons began early in life to plunder and swindle, andhis first victim was his own brother. When the twoboys set out for Eton each possessed a five-guinea piece,given them by their aunt, the Duchess of Northumberland,and when William had spent his he stole hisbrother's. The theft was discovered, and the thiefreceived such a severe thrashing that he had to keepto his bed for a fortnight. It was a punishment whichwould have convinced most persons that "the way oftransgressors is hard," but Parsons quickly forgot whenthe pain had gone and began to thieve again. Thehead master of Eton received many complaints fromboys whose pockets had been picked. Gold and silverwatches and other jewellery disappeared as if by magic,and despite the precautions taken to shadow Parsonsthe thefts continued. He was thrashed again andagain, but all to no effect, and, finally, it was decidedto remove him.

244He had an uncle living at Epsom, named CaptainDutton, and to him he was sent. There was no publicityabout the "removal"—which was really expulsion—forSir William Parsons, the boy's father, was highlyesteemed, and everything was done to spare his feelings.Captain Dutton received the young prodigal with muchkindness, generously ascribing his escapades at the greatpublic school to a boy's natural propensities for fun."Boys will be boys," said the officer, and prepared togive his headstrong nephew the run of his house.

It was understood in the family that Parsons wasto inherit the estate of his uncle, who was by no meansa poor man. But Parsons was not one to wait fordead men's shoes.

From the moment he arrived at Epsom he plungedinto every kind of vice. The gallant captain had anaccount at a jeweller's, and Parsons, learning this,ordered an immense quantity of plate, which he disposedof in London for a tenth of its value. If any moneywas left lying about the house the young thief's fingersimmediately closed round it. In vain his uncle censuredand forgave. Parsons was irreclaimable, and eventuallyCaptain Dutton kicked him into the street, and closedhis door against him for ever.

WILLIAM PARSONS

A family conference was now held, and it came to theconclusion that Parsons had better be sent to sea, andaccordingly he took a voyage in H.M.S.Drake to theWest Indies, holding the rank of a midshipman. Ashe was so well related, he was given a good time by hisfellow-officers, and although there were rumours concerninghim on board he managed to return home withhis name still on the books of the ship, and withoutbeing in irons. This was, undoubtedly, a remarkableaccomplishment for him. But long before his returnhe had decided that he did not care for the cramped lifeof a sailor. He wanted to live in the very best style,and have his fling in the gayest circles in London. He245had already acquired a fondness for gambling, and onhis arrival in England from the West Indies he tookall his savings to a gambling hell in London, and in afew hours lost every penny.

He did not despair, for he was aware that there was anidea in his family that he had reformed. His periodof service in the navy had convinced his relations thathe had indeed turned over a new leaf. The Duchessof Northumberland was staying at her London mansion,and Parsons, utterly penniless, paid her a visit, hopingto induce his good-natured aunt to come to his financialrescue. With apparent contrition he apologized forthe indiscretions of his youth, and swore that he nowfound virtue more attractive than vice. It ended, ofcourse, in an appeal for funds, and the duchess handedhim five hundred pounds so that he might appear insociety as befitted his relationship to her. That nightthe five hundred pounds became nearly two thousandas the result of the most daring gambling on Parsons'part. He took the most reckless chances, and everytime came out on top. He was naturally wildly delighted.Here was the quickest and easiest road tofortune, and he persuaded himself that in a few weekshe would be worth many thousands of pounds. Butthe sequel was absurdly conventional. Parson wascleaned out within a couple of days.

Each time he became "dead broke" he called on theDuchess of Northumberland, but with each succeedingvisit her presents of money became uncomfortably less,and he had to supplement her grants in aid by purloiningvarious small articles of jewellery which he found onher dressing-table. The duchess, however, possessedso much jewellery that the thefts passed unnoticeduntil one evening, whilst chatting confidentially withher in her boudoir, he slipped into his pocket a miniatureset in gold, which her Grace valued highly—so highly,indeed, that when she discovered her loss she offered246a reward of five hundred pounds for its recovery. Itwas a purely sentimental valuation, but it placedParsons in a most awkward position. Five hundredpounds would have been a godsend to him, and yet hedared not surrender the miniature, for he was well awarethat his aunt would never forgive the theft, and, accordinglythe young thief was compelled to sell it to a jewellerof doubtful reputation, who gave him fifty pounds forit.

Having for the time being exhausted his resources inLondon, Parsons was driven to the desperate expedientof going home. The family seat was just outside thetown of Nottingham, but he found it so dull that hebecame a regular frequenter of the assembly rooms atBuxton. A few minor thefts provided funds for a week,and the son of the well-known Nottinghamshire baronetwas received everywhere. No one thought of suspectinghim of being a thief, and when he stole a pair of shoeswith gold buckles, and disposed of the gold to a jewellerin Nottingham, Sir William averted exposure when thegold buckles were traced to his son by negotiating inprivate with the original owner. For the sake of theheart-broken father the victim of the theft did notprosecute, and young Parsons was bundled off to London,Sir William having no further use for him.

Perhaps if Parsons had not been saved from punishmentso often he would not have adopted crime as aprofession. But to a person of his temperament thegame must have appeared to be worth more than theproverbial candle, because when he won he was paid,and when he lost there was always a kind-heartedrelative or friend to pay for him. He was not at allembarrassed by his narrow escape at Nottingham. Itwas only a minor episode in a career in which he hadcome unscathed out of many tight corners.

On his return to London he happened to meet a ladysome ten years older than himself, but whose burden247of years was eased by the possession of a considerablefortune. She was not bad-looking, and being withoutnear relatives she was an easy victim to the unscrupulousfortune-hunter. When Parsons was introduced to heras the son of Sir William Parsons, and the nephew ofthe Duchess of Northumberland, the socially-ambitiouslady simply "threw herself at him."

She longed to shine in high society, and the momentParsons understood her weakness he played up to itfor all he was worth. He promised to introduce her tohis aunt, and swore that her Grace would instantly fallin love with her and chaperon her, for, of course, anyonewho entered the charmed portals of society vouched forby the Duchess of Northumberland would encounterno difficulties in her way.

The lady accepted all his statements without demur,but she proved somewhat coy whenever money wasmentioned, and Parsons had to ask her to marry himbefore she would consent to advance him a portion ofher fortune.

They became engaged in secret, Parsons pointingout that it must be kept quiet until he had time toapproach his aunt, the duchess, diplomatically andbreak the news to her, for the lady was the daughterof a man who had made his money in trade, and in thosedays that was considered a bar to entry into society.She was satisfied with his explanation, and she pouredthousands of pounds into her "lover's" keeping to holdin trust for her. At the same time he was making loveto a girl whom he had met at his aunt's house, and heactually bought her presents with the money he hadextracted from the too-confiding lady who fondlyimagined that she would soon be his wife.

When he had robbed her of every penny it was possibleto obtain without arousing the suspicions of her guardians,Parsons, realizing that it would be better for hishealth and comfort to vanish from London for some248months, returned to the navy and secured an appointmenton H.M.S.Romney.

There were a gallant set of officers on board, not toowell endowed with this world's goods, but quite willingto hazard what they possessed at the gaming-table.Well aware of this, Parsons, who deemed it only properto combine business with pleasure, took with him somemarked cards and loaded dice. Every evening theofficers played, and from the very beginning Parsonswon. Cynically contemptuous of the intelligence ofhis opponents, he did not condescend to the usual trickof allowing them to win now and then. He simplytook all he could get until it became painfully obviousthat the only man on board who never lost was WilliamParsons, and it was generally agreed that there couldbe only one reason for that.

The captain accordingly took Parsons aside andinformed him that they all had decided not to playwith him in future. The scoundrel shrugged his shoulders,but, of course, had to accept the decision, for thecaptain was the autocrat of the ship. But worse wasto follow, for before the voyage was at an end the officersadded to their first decision another one which preventedanyone addressing Parsons except when duty compelled.

The studied contempt of his brother-officers did notaffect him. He had long since lost all sense of decency,and his only anxiety was that there might be unnecessarydelay before he reached land again.

Once more he found himself in London, and determinednever to enter the navy again. The standard of honourat sea was too high for him, and the blunt sailors hada way of expressing their opinions which was decidedlyuncomfortable.

He plunged again into the life of a gambler, but withall his experience could not win except on those rareoccasions when he was able to persuade the company249to play with the dice or cards he produced. Wheneverthis occurred he swept the board, but he was by nowtoo well known, and it happened that it was only in thesemi-public gambling saloon where trickery was impossiblethat he was allowed to play, because his fellow-gamblersknew that the dice could not be loaded orthe cards marked.

One night he lost five thousand pounds to an armyofficer, and as he had only fifteen hundred pounds onhim paid that amount on account. The officer, whowas somewhat the worse for drink, shortly afterwardsleft the house, and Parsons followed him, robbed himof the money, returned, and lost it again at cards. Itwas a favourite trick of his to rob those he paid, andthe astonishing thing about it all is that he was neverdetected.

Gamblers were fond of drinking and few of themwere sober by midnight. Parsons, however, kept hiswits about him, for he owed so much that he could notafford to handicap himself as the others did. And yetwhen he won a considerable sum he never had the senseto stop. On three occasions his winnings exceededtwo thousand pounds, and within twenty-four hourshe was penniless again.

Meanwhile he could live fairly comfortable on creditas it was known that the Duchess of Northumberlandhad named him for a large sum in her will, and it wasexpected that her Grace's decease would free him fromall his liabilities.

Now, Parsons had been disinherited once—by hisuncle, Captain Dutton, of Epsom—and that ought tohave been a warning to him, but he never learned evenfrom his misfortunes, and he was destined to receivenothing from his aunt.

It all came about owing to the sudden necessity forhim to pay a visit abroad. London was swarming withhis creditors, and to avoid them he went to Jamaica.250But money was scarce there, too, and he found the localtraders had a not unnatural preference for cash when itcame to bargaining, and Parsons accordingly forged aletter, purporting to be signed by his aunt, guaranteeingto be responsible for any sum up to seventy poundswhich her nephew might borrow.

When he had raised the sum mentioned, Parsonsdecamped, and some time afterwards the duchess wasrendered furious by a demand from the Jamaicanmerchant for repayment. She disowned the forgery atonce, and cut Parsons' name out of her will. She hadintended to bequeath him twenty-five thousand pounds,and now she transferred the legacy to his sister, wellaware that her family would take every precaution toprevent the "black sheep" touching any of it.

But the disinherited rascal was unperturbed, and itseemed that he had checkmated misfortune when hemet and married within a very short time a young ladywith a fortune in her own right of twelve thousandpounds, with more to come.

The newly-married couple set up in a luxuriously-furnishedhouse in Poland Street, in the West End ofLondon, and Parsons, anxious to obtain a better standingin society, purchased a commission in a crack regiment.He did not, however, lose his fondness for the gaming-tables,and when his wife let him have four thousandpounds he gaily informed her a fortnight afterwardsthat he was without a penny. She came to the rescueby allowing him to mortgage her securities, which hedid thoroughly, actually raising money twice on thesame documents.

Parsons had purchased a commission in the armywithout any intention of ever doing any fighting, butgreatly to his annoyance his regiment was ordered toFlanders, where there was every chance of his makingthe acquaintance of powder and shot. His family weredelighted, hoping that active service would "steady"251him. But the seasoned criminal disappointed themagain, and in Flanders he perpetrated frauds speciallysuited to the situation he found himself in.

When it was necessary to reclothe the whole of hisregiment, Parsons was fortunate enough to secure thecontract, and on behalf of the regiment he bought agreat quantity of cloth. By some means he managedto get it all to London, and there he disposed of it atabout half the rate he had bought it at, and in a few dayshad spent all the money in riotous living.

This offence was, however, of too serious a nature topass unnoticed, and in due course it was reported tothe Commander-in-Chief. The Duke of Cumberland,who was then the head of the British Army, dismissedhim from the service and confiscated the sum of moneyhe had paid for his commission, ordering it to be devotedto replacing part of the losses sustained by his innumerablefrauds.

It is astonishing that more drastic measures were notadopted, but no doubt the wealthy and powerful Northumberlandfamily brought all their influence to bear.Besides, Sir William Parsons, the thief's father, waswell known in Court circles, and it may have been thatit was on his account that the career of his son was notbrought to a swift conclusion at the hands of the commonhangman.

Now that he was a cashiered officer he could no longer,of course, associate with decent people. His companionsfrom henceforth were dishonest servants andprofessional criminals. The lowest class gambling-housesbegan to know him well, and he was addressedaffectionately by individuals who would not have beentolerated by his father's domestics.

Mrs. Parsons had not unnaturally returned home toher parents, who had informed her husband that if heattempted to molest her they would shoot him like adog, and, as Parsons knew that there was no more252money to be had from her, he was only too glad to besaved the trouble and expense of keeping her.

But he was not the man to live meanly, and he formedmany plans, the success of which would set him upagain as a gentleman of means and leisure. Everydecent door was closed against him, and he had todepend now wholly and solely on fraud to provide himwith food and shelter.

Parsons took another house and furnished it entirelyon credit. The plate was massive and costly, and ofsuch value that the goldsmith who supplied it was thefirst of the tradesmen to get anxious about the paymentof his account. But when, shortly after delivering it,he nervously called at the house in Panton Square, hewas surprised to find it uninhabited. There was nosign of life about it, and inquiries confirmed his impressionthat the owner had gone away for a time. Buthe could see that the furniture remained, and, therefore,he was not greatly perturbed. The gentry were fondof going into the country, and as Parsons had boastedof his estate in Nottinghamshire the goldsmith returnedto his shop satisfied that he would be paid one day.

Other creditors rang at the front door, and failed togain admission, and when their suspicions were arousedthey kept a watch on the house, but they never caughta glimpse of their debtor. Yet Parsons was actuallyliving there. He used to enter and leave by a smalldoor in the stable-yard, and he seldom went out unprovidedwith a piece of plate or some other portablearticle which was destined to find its way into a pawnbroker'sshop.

The comedy was brought to a sudden terminationby the impatience of the landlord, who was desirousof seeing his rent. The law, which kept the other creditorsat bay, permitted him to force an entrance, but whenhe did he discovered that he was too late. Parsons haddisposed of the furniture, leaving only the heavy curtains253to act—in every sense of the word—as a blind. Thecreditors never received a single penny.

By now Parsons had a friend, a certain man namedWilson, who had been a footman until dishonesty ledto his dismissal. Wilson had served for some yearsin a family of position, and he had managed to pick upsome of their mannerisms, which he imagined justifiedhim in thinking that he could pose as a gentlemanhimself. He was tall and good-looking, and could talkglibly of several well-known personages as though theywere personal friends, whereas the truth was that hehad only waited on them.

In conjunction with this scoundrel, Parsons devised ascheme whereby he would be able to recover some of thetwenty-five thousand pounds which he had lost bythe forgery of his aunt's name. The money was nowbound to come to his sister, who was generally referredto as the "wealthy Miss Parsons," and, as at the timewe are speaking of marriage gave the husband instantpossession of his wife's fortune, Parsons suggestedthat Wilson should carry off his sister, forcibly marryher, and then pay over ten thousand pounds of his wife'sfortune to him.

It was a pretty idea, and the ex-footman enteredinto it with enthusiasm. He knew that Miss Parsons'entire fortune was considerably more than twenty-fivethousand pounds, and he would have paid doubleWilliam Parsons' commission if the latter had insistedon more generous terms.

The preliminary plans were settled in an old public-housein the Haymarket, not far from the lodgingsoccupied by the girl, who did not suspect that her ownbrother wished to sell her to a debased ruffian. Elopementswere common enough in those days, and theforcible abduction of an heiress was considered legitimatesport in certain circles. William knew his sister'smovements, and there seemed no reason to fear failure254when he bought over Miss Parsons' maid with a promiseto pay her five hundred pounds when the marriagehad taken place. The sum offered was an immense fortuneto a lady's maid, and she eagerly accepted the bribe.

All that remained now was to hire the coach and theswiftest horses, arrange for the unscrupulous clergymanto be ready at an out-of-the-way spot, and then to takethe unsuspecting girl to her doom.

From first to last Parsons exhibited much cunning inthis affair, and had it not been for the carelessness ofhis confederate his plan might have succeeded.

But Wilson lost his head when Parsons persuadedhim to believe that marriage to his wealthy sister wascertain. The ex-footman could not keep his mouthclosed, and he drew attention to himself by his extravagantpurchases for the great event. He was buyinghalf a dozen expensive "ruffled shirts" in a West Endshop one day when, in the presence of several customers,he boasted of his forthcoming marriage to "the greatheiress, Miss Parsons."

The small audience stared when they heard this, andenvied the well-dressed "gentleman" his good fortune,but, unhappily for him, just as he was speaking a ladyhad entered who knew him. She overheard his referenceto Miss Parsons, and she glanced at him with more thanordinary interest. Great was her astonishment whenshe recognized her ex-footman, Wilson, the man shehad discharged for dishonesty.

Steps were instantly taken to acquaint Miss Parsonswith the statements Wilson was making about her, andshe thought it prudent to change her lodgings, and tohire an ex-pugilist to follow and protect her wherevershe went. But there was no danger from the momentWilson had made that very stupid and incautious remarkfor the conspirators got frightened and separated,though not before Parsons had savagely attackedWilson for his indiscretion. The result of the attack255was the disfigurement of the footman's face for the restof his life.

Although he was now always short of ready money,Parsons took good care to see that his wardrobe wasin first-rate condition. He never dressed shabbily,always appearing as a man of fashion. London, however,was not so remunerative as it had been: hischaracter was too well known, and the set he mixedin was too poor to be worth the robbing. He, therefore,decided on a sort of provincial tour, and he went downto Bath with the intention of finding a vain and silly girlwith money, who would be attracted by his appearanceand his titled relations.

The baronet's son speedily found a victim in thedaughter of a well-to-do doctor. He represented himselfto be a bachelor—of course, the truth was that his wifewas still alive—anxious to marry and settle down inquiet luxury, as befitted his birth. The girl readilyresponded to his honeyed words, and in her father'shouse the engagement took place, and was approvedof by the doctor, who had heard of Sir William Parsons,Bart., of Nottingham.

Parsons began to borrow. In hundreds at first andthen in thousands, and very soon the girl's private fortuneof three thousand pounds, which she had inheritedfrom her mother, had been lent to Parsons, and lost byhim in the gaming-houses.

Her father advanced more, and when he had drainedthe family dry Parsons announced that he was calledaway to see his father to arrange for his marriage, andhe took his departure from Bath with the cordial goodwishes of the doctor and his daughter, who were destinedneither to see him nor their money again.

From Bath he went to Clifton. It was then a smallvillage where a few of the wealthy Bristol merchantshad country-houses. He arrived in the early summer,and speedily got an introduction to a rich shipowner256who had two daughters. Parsons discovered that thetwo girls were wildly jealous of each other, and hethereupon made each one the object of his attentionswithout letting either know that she had a rival. Therewas plenty of money in the family, but on the firstoccasion Parsons delicately hinted that a loan of twohundred pounds would be acceptable the hard-headedold merchant only advised him to write to his father,offering to bear the expense of the communication.

This was not what Parsons wanted, and he determinedto use the girls to extract the money from their father,whom he termed "the old miser." Accordingly, hetook the elder girl out for a walk, and boldly explainedthat he was temporarily without means owing to afamily lawsuit, and he hinted that if she wished to marryhim she must help to relieve his pecuniary embarrassment.The girl promised to do her best, and, confidentthat she would keep her promise not to divulge to herfather or sister what he had said, he met the youngergirl, and put his situation before her in similar terms.

A few days later he found that the two girls wereactually vying with one another as to which of themcould find the most money for her lover, unaware thatthey were both referring to the same individual.

By some extraordinary means they got over fivethousand pounds for him, and Parsons supplementedit with a forged order purporting to be signed by thegirl's father, ordering his manager to pay the bearer athousand pounds. Parsons presented the order inperson, received the money, packed his belongings, andthe same night left for London. When the fraud wasdiscovered the old man was for instant exposure, buton reflection, and persuaded by his daughters, he decidedthat the disgrace and ridicule that would follow forthem when Parsons was arrested was too big a priceto pay for revenge, and they never published the storyof their foolishness and gullibility.

257But Parsons' end was approaching. His good fortunecould not last for ever, and he met his match in a countrygirl, who resented his advances after she had found himwith another woman and refused to act as his accomplicein the passing of counterfeit banknotes. She denouncedhim in a temper, and he was arrested. It was characteristicof the fellow that when in prison awaiting trial heshould rob a fellow-prisoner of his small stock of cash.

For the offence of possessing imitation banknotesParsons was transported, but he managed to earn thegood graces of the governor of the colony whither hewas sent, and he was back again in England within twoyears, paying the expenses of his journey by an audaciousrobbery at the expense of the official who had shelteredhim in his house.

And now having tried nearly every variety and formof crime, and being without funds, Parsons turnedhighwayman as a last desperate resource.

It was the most precarious of all professions, butthere was ever the temptation of netting a large sumof money. His first essay resulted in a gain of abouteighty pounds, and his second ten pounds less. Themoney was not much use to Parsons, and he would haveabandoned the profession there and then had he notheard that a certain nobleman intended to carry athousand pounds from London to a house a few milesto the north of Turnham Green.

Parsons resolved to waylay the coach and capturethe money, but his plans were upset by his own arrest,and after five months in prison at Newgate he wasexecuted on February 11th, 1750, the king rejectinga petition presented to him by the prisoner's powerfuland influential relations.

259

CHAPTER XIX
ADAM WORTH

When the American Civil War was going nonetoo well for the Northern States, PresidentLincoln, who was determined not to introduceconscription until he was absolutely compelled to,offered a special bounty of one thousand dollars (about£200) to every fit man who would volunteer to serve"for the duration of the war." We all know now thateven the generous bounty failed to solve the recruitingproblem, and that conscription had eventually to beresorted to, but for a time that thousand dollar offerelicited numerous responses, and amongst the men itbrought into the army was a young clerk of the name ofAdam Worth.

Worth was just under twenty, smooth-tongued, clever,self-willed, born to command, and, if physically small,his muscles were as strong as fine steel, while the dark,glittering eyes and the prominent nose were traces ofhis German-Jewish ancestry. He received his thousanddollars, donned the uniform of the Northern Army, andthen deserted, to re-enlist later in another regiment andreceive another bounty.

Such was the beginning of the greatest and mostsuccessful criminal career the world has ever known.In his school days Adam Worth had been cheated byanother and a bigger boy offering him a new penny fortwo old ones. When the child was told of the loss hehad sustained he resolved he would never be "done"260again, and he certainly recovered those two penniesmillions of times before he died.

Does crime pay? Those who really know are certainthat it does not, but there are a few who doubt. Well,here is the story of a man who stole in all quite £500,000,and who must have averaged close on twenty thousandpounds a year during his active life. We shall see whathappened to him.

Satisfied for a while with the second bounty, AdamWorth took part in several of the later battles of thegreat Civil War. There is no record that he distinguishedhimself, but, on the other hand, he performedhis duties satisfactorily, and participated in the rejoicingswhich followed the triumph of the North. Along withthousands of others, he was discharged from the armywhen hostilities ceased, and as one of the men who hadfought for his country was assured of remunerativeemployment. But Adam Worth's ideas of money weretoo big to be honest, and he quickly drifted into thesociety of thieves. He turned pickpocket, and achievedsome very neat thefts. Then he took part in a robberyfrom a bank. He directed the operations, and theirsuccess confirmed what most of his associates wereslowly realizing—that Adam Worth and success wenthand in hand. Gradually they began to treat himwith respect; afterwards they looked up to him astheir leader. New methods were needed, and Worthsupplied them.

"It's just as easy to steal a hundred thousand dollarsas a tenth of that sum," he said to his criminal associates."The risk is just as great. We'll, therefore, go out forbig money always."

ADAM WORTH

He introduced the system of utilizing the proceeds,or part of them, of one robbery to help to bring off thenext. Hitherto the average thief was accustomed tospend his ill-gotten gains in dissipation, and then lookabout for a way of filling his empty pockets. Adam261Worth changed all that. He realized that crime mustbe capitalized if it was to be successful and to pay largedividends. One robbery, for example, brought in aboutten thousand dollars, and he distributed only half ofthis amongst his followers, the balance being held inreserve for another bank burglary, and the reserve wasfrequently added to.

Worth's foresight was justified immediately. He haddespatched confederates all over the United States toseek out likely banks to rob; and, when one of themreported that the Boyston Bank, in Boston, was justthe thing they were looking for, Worth journeyed fromNew York to inspect. He was delighted with what hesaw, for it seemed to him the bank was built purposelyfor him. With proper care it would be the easiest jobof his life, and he saw to it that every care was taken toensure success.

Next door to the Boyston Bank was a barber's shop.It did a good business, and had Worth not possessedconsiderable monetary reserves he would never havebeen able to induce the proprietor to sell out. Thecrook, however, offered him a generous sum down "onthe nail," explaining that he was the representative ofa New York company which was going to introduce intoBoston a patent bitters which would sweep all otherpatent bitters out of the market. The money and theexplanation were accepted, and within a few days thenecessary alterations had been made.

The shop window was packed with bottles—whichprevented anyone seeing into the shop—and a woodenpartition at the end of the shop effectively screened thatpart from observation should a stray "customer"appear. One of the gang, dressed as a shop assistant,was always on view during the day, but at night heassisted Adam Worth and two other men to dig a tunnelunder the shop and into the bank next door. For aweek they worked, taking particular care that no trace262of their operations could be seen. The excavated earthwas carefully piled up behind the wooden partition andwatched as though it was gold. Thousands of Bostonianspassed the window of the New Patent Bitters Co.unconscious of the fact that one of the most sensationalbank robberies of the century was being carried out,for when the gang had finished their tunnel they enteredthe vaults of the bank, broke open three safes, andgathered a rich harvest of gold and silver and notes,worth in all close on one million dollars.

The four burglars at once fled to New York, and therethey divided the spoils, later scattering when theyheard that the Boston police were after them. One ofthe thieves went to Ireland, another to Canada,Worth and the fourth member of the gang, Bullard,sailed for England to open up a new and sensationalchapter in the story of crime.

Of course, they could not go by their own names.Bullard called himself Charles Wells, and Adam Worthtook the name of Harry Raymond. He made it notoriousbefore he finished with it.

The two American crooks put up at one of the besthotels in Liverpool, intending to take things lazily for afew weeks, but Adam Worth's restless nature would notpermit him to keep his hands off other people's propertyeven when he was possessed of forty thousand pounds—hisshare, after expenses had been paid, of the raid onthe bank at Boston. His confederate fell in love witha barmaid at the hotel, and spent most of his time in hercompany, leaving Worth to wander about the city, everon the look out for a likely crib to crack.

It was typical of the man that he should regardCharles Bullard's love-making with contempt, becauseit caused him to neglect business. Bullard could seeno reason why they should take any more risks untiltheir money was gone, but Worth looked upon crimeas a profession which must be pursued day after day,263no matter how large the profits. Anyhow, he leftBullard to himself. Whenever possible Worth preferredto work on his own, for that meant more for him.

At last he found what he wanted. There was a pawnbroker'sshop in one of the principal streets of the citywhich, judging by its window display, must be bulgingwith jewellery. Adam Worth decided to burgle it, andto secure a wax impression of the key of the front doorhe called three times within a fortnight to pawn certainarticles. He was disguised, of course, for he had toengage the pawnbroker in conversation in order toget an opportunity to press the bit of wax concealedin his left palm against the key, which the pawnbrokersometimes left lying on his counter. On the occasionof his third visit Worth secured the right impressionand it cost the unfortunate tradesman twenty-fivethousand pounds, for that was the value of the goodsmissing when he arrived at his establishment onemorning and found that it had been entered theprevious night.

Worth now decided to visit London. Liverpool was notbig enough for a man of his capacity, and, in addition,he was growing rather tired of Bullard, who had marriedthe beautiful barmaid. He advised the newly-marriedpair to make Paris their headquarters, and they tookhis advice. Then Worth came to London and renteda costly flat in the centre of Piccadilly. He had nowover sixty thousand pounds in hand, all of which hedevoted to his profession.

His flat became a regular meeting-place for all thenoted thieves of England and the Continent, as wellas those select crooks who came from America to interviewthe greatest of them all. Worth had his ownstaff of well-trained servants, all of whom could betrusted, and with his large funds he was always in aposition to finance any big job. Thieves came to himfor advice and help. Was there a bank official to be264bribed or a skeleton key to be made? Adam Worthsolved both problems. Did a particular job requirethe services of an expert burglar or forger? AdamWorth had a large supply of either on hand. He knewwhere to find the right man for every job, and in returnfor his services he received a goodly percentage of theprofits.

The London police were amazed at the long series ofburglaries which began with Adam Worth's arrivalin London. Each one of them was carried out so neatlythat they were plainly the work of a master. Butwho was the master? Could it be possible that theAmerican gentleman who lived such an open life in thevery centre of fashionable London was actually theleader of a gang of burglars? If he was, surely one ofhis gang would betray him? The police could obtainno proof, and Adam Worth kept them so busy investigatinghis depredations that they had very little timeto devote to his personality.

He planned the robbery of the French mail betweenBoulogne and Folkestone that resulted in a loss to thePost Office of thirty thousand pounds. Adam Worthprovided keys to fit the vans and the boxes containingthe registered parcels, and on another occasion actuallysent a couple of expert train thieves down to Doverwith an exact duplicate of the registered mail bag,everything being on a par with the original, even to theminute figures on the seal. That robbery brought inabout twenty thousand pounds, and it was only oneof many. Indeed, every case Adam Worth touchedturned to gold. Everybody who knew him regardedhim as their mascot, and his own personality did therest.

He was generous to his followers in good and badtimes. When any of them were down on their luckthey came to Worth, and were helped with presentsof money running into hundreds of pounds. In this265way he bought them body and soul, keeping a registerof their names and abilities, and calling them up foractive service when he required them.

All this went on from that luxurious flat in Piccadilly.Now and then Adam Worth took a trip abroad, intendingto rest, but he always came back to London with moremoney than he had gone away with. It was quiteimpossible for him to resist temptation.

Amongst Worth's most trusted followers was anAmerican, Charles Becker, the very greatest forgerwho ever lived, not even excepting the famous "Jimthe Penman." Worth retained Becker as his principalforger, and at his London headquarters the mastercriminal got Becker and three other men together,where a great campaign was planned. Coutts's Bankwas selected as the principal victim, and Becker, withmarvellous skill, forged a number of letters of creditpurporting to be issued by the London bank.

Worth supplied the four men with plenty of moneyto begin their tour, advancing sufficient cash until theycould pass their letters of credit, when they wouldreturn the money with interest. The gang got as faras Smyrna without mishap, and all seemed to be goingwell. But one evening when they were gambling attheir hotel they were pounced upon by the local policeand taken to prison. They had no chance at theirtrial, and they were sentenced to seven years' penalservitude, and lodged in a horrible prison at Constantinopleto serve their time. But Charles Becker, notto mention the others, was too valuable to Adam Worthto be allowed to pass seven long years in a Turkishprison. Worth disappeared from Piccadilly for a time,turning up in Constantinople in the guise of an Americanmillionaire making the grand tour. A few monthspassed, and Adam Worth's friends were still on the worseside of the prison walls, but the master-criminal wasonly taking his own time to achieve success. Had he266hurried he might have bungled his plans. Turkishofficials are easy to bribe, but the right ones must beselected, and everything must be done with dignifiedslowness.

Worth had thousands of pounds in his trunk, andthese he distributed judiciously amongst the heads ofthe police and the principal official of the prison.

When his task was completed he departed fromConstantinople, and the same evening three out of thefour members of his gang escaped from prison. Thefourth man happened to be weak and ill, and he couldnot get away in time. The three convicts enduredmany hardships following their escape. They had togo into Asia in order to reach Europe by a roundaboutroute, but while travelling through Asia Minor theyhad the misfortune to fall into the hands of bandits, whoheld them to ransom, although it was apparent thatthey were penniless convicts. The brigands, however,permitted one of them, Joe Elliott, to go to Englandand communicate with their friends, and a month wasallowed for the payment of the ransoms. Of course,Elliott went straight to Adam Worth's flat in Piccadilly,and when he told his story Worth drew a cheque for acouple of thousand pounds, and sent Elliott with thecash to release his comrades. A few weeks later theywere all back in London again to take a "breather"before resuming their attacks on the banks.

All this leads up to the theft of the famous Gainsboroughpicture, "The Duchess of Devonshire," forif Charles Becker had not escaped from the Turkishprison the circumstances would not have arisen whichinspired Adam Worth to steal it. Becker, soon afterhis return to London, forged a series of cheques, theproceeds of which were taken to the Continent to beexchanged for French and German banknotes. Butone of the men commissioned by Worth to act as hisagent in the disposal of the notes was arrested and267brought back to England to face the serious charge offorgery. This person, who passed under the nameof Thompson, was an intimate friend of his chiefs, andWorth swore that he would get him released on bailpending his trial. Of course, the American crook wouldthen have decamped, and if necessary Adam Worthwould have recompensed the man who went bail forthe money he would forfeit.

But the English law requires a householder of goodreputation to bail a prisoner, and Worth was not in aposition to command the services of one. There wasnothing to do but to see if he could not compel a wealthyand well-known Londoner to bail out Thompson.

He was racking his brains for a way out of the impassewhen happening to be walking down Bond Street withan English thief, Jack Phillips, known to his intimatesas "Junka" they were impeded by a crowdof fashionable folk who were entering an art gallery.The two thieves inquired what was the attractionwhich had filled Bond Street with carriages, and theywere told that the famous Gainsborough was on viewin Messrs. Agnew's art gallery, they having bought ita few days previously for the sum of ten thousandguineas.

"Why, that's the very thing, Junka," whisperedWorth, with glittering eyes. "We'll steal the pictureand offer to return it to Agnew's if they will stand bailfor Thompson. They won't dare refuse, for they'llrealize that we could easily destroy the picture if theydid."

Phillips argued, for the plan struck him as preposterous,but Worth insisted, and he brought Joe Elliott,the man who had been captured with the other escapedconvicts by the Turkish bandits, into the conspiracy.

Three nights later there was a fog, and Phillips,Elliott, and Worth went to Bond Street, where Phillips,who was very tall, stood under the window of the room268where the picture was, and Adam Worth, who was smalland wiry, climbed on to his shoulders, and in a fewmoments was in the gallery. It was the work of acouple of minutes to cut the picture from its frame,roll it up, and pass it down to Phillips, while Joe Elliottkept guard fifty yards away to notify the movementsof the policeman on duty.

The programme was carried out without the slightesthitch, and the next morning London and the worldwas provided with one of its greatest sensations. Thatwas May 26, 1876, and despite the efforts of the bestbrains of Scotland Yard, backed by a huge reward,Messrs. Agnew did not see their valuable picture againfor twenty-six years. Then Adam Worth, a prematurelyaged man, broken in health and penniless, returned thepicture through the Pinkertons for part of the originalreward. He wanted the money to provide his twochildren with a home and to ensure a little peace forhimself before he died.

But a great deal happened between that May morningin 1876 and Adam Worth's sudden death in 1902. Thetheft of the picture proved useless, because Thompson,the prisoner, was released and allowed to leave thecountry owing to a flaw in the indictment. He hadbeen extradited on the wrong charge and had, therefore,to be set at liberty. When he heard this Worthhad the canvas concealed in the false bottom of a trunkand taken to America, and during the ensuing quarterof a century it rested in furniture depositories in Boston,New York and Brooklyn. There it remained whilstAdam Worth rose to the greatest heights a professionalcriminal has ever reached, and there it was when he fellinto the depths.

Two years after the theft of the Gainsborough, Worth,with several trusted followers, robbed the express trainbetween Calais and Paris of bonds worth thirty thousandpounds. The money was needed, as by now Worth269had bought a beautiful steam yacht, which he calledtheShamrock, and in addition to maintaining it and acrew of twenty men, he turned racehorse owner andtook out a licence to race in England. He was at hiszenith now, and hundreds of persons who met the well-dressed,spruce little man with the engaging personalitynever suspected for a moment that they were in thepresence of the King of Crooks.

Adam Worth adapted himself to any circumstancesthat arose, but behind the smooth face there was anevil soul, always planning attacks on society, alwayson the lookout to thieve and burgle and forge. Andthe stately yacht rode at anchor in the harbour atCowes, and its owner raced his horses, gave dinner-parties,went to the opera, and lived the life of a manwhose wealth frees him from many of the sordid caresof life.

The marvel of it is that it lasted as long as it did.Adam Worth was always taking risks. Frequently hewould go for a pleasure trip in his yacht and every porthe touched had reason to regret the visit, for it meantthat some one lost thousands of pounds. Each visitwas celebrated with a burglary or a successful raid on alocal bank by means of a forged cheque.

His feats were many, and it is difficult to know whichof them to select here, for volumes could be writtenabout the master-criminal. On one occasion he wascarrying twenty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds—stolen,of course—to America to sell, when a numberof thefts were committed on board the ship. Worthwas innocent, for he never stooped to robbing cabins,but he was afraid lest he should be searched and hisstolen goods found upon him. He, therefore, left theship at the earliest possible moment, and boarded a trainfor a distant part of America. But even then he leftnothing to chance, and he concealed his booty in thecarriage, deciding it was too dangerous to carry about.

270Sure enough he was arrested and, when he had provedhis innocence of complicity in the thefts aboard ship,was released. Then he set to work to track down thecarriage in which he had hidden his diamonds, and aftersome trouble found it in a siding. Late that nighthe forced his way into the carriage, and recovered thevaluables. It is safe to say that not another thief inthe world would have carried out such a programmeso successfully.

But it was in the diamond fields of South Africathat Adam Worth, alias, Harry Raymond, was at hisbest. He was driven to visit Africa by the uncomfortablefact that the English police were watchinghim very closely; indeed, they had gone so far as toplace a detective outside his house day and night toreport every visitor. This was unbearable, and Worth,who required more money, sent for an old friend, CharlesKing, and together they travelled to Cape Town.

Worth was after a really big thing this time, and hetold his companion that he was not going to be satisfiedwith anything under one hundred thousand pounds.His first plan was to take what he wanted by simplyturning highwayman. He discovered that every weeka consignment of diamonds was sent from the De Beermines in a coach, which was driven by an armed Boer,assisted by a guard. Along with King and another man,Worth delivered the attack, but the old Boer driverwas not to be cowed, and he drove them off with hisrifle.

The failure of the plan sent King out of the countryin a panic, and the other man decamped too. ButAdam Worth was not dismayed. He knew that if hepersevered he must win in the long run, and now,although he would have to act entirely on his own, hebecame convinced that there was another and a betterway to rob the weekly parcel of valuable stones.

As has been described, the diamonds were brought271from the mines to the Cape Town post office in a coach,but they were not kept in the post office longer than ittook to make a note of the address, for every week thesteamer was waiting in the harbour to convey theprecious packet to England. It was, however, absolutelynecessary to the success of Worth's plans for thatparcel to remain at least one night in the post office inCape Town. How could he manage that? It was astiff problem to tackle.

He provided himself with the duplicates of the postoffice keys, particularly of the safes in which the registeredletters were kept. This in itself was a greatachievement, but it would take too long to tell the fullstory of how he ingratiated himself with the postmasterand secured the wax impressions. That was only halfthe work. It was more important that he should preventthe coach reaching Cape Town in time for the steamer.Worth went over the route taken by the coach, and hewas delighted to find a spot where it had to cross a deepstream by means of a ferry. This was the crook'sopportunity. He hid in the neighbourhood until itwas dark, and then he cut the rope which held the ferryto the bank. When the coach arrived from the diamondfields the ferry had floated a long way down the stream,and when it was recovered and the stream crossed thedriver must have known that only by a miracle couldhe catch the mail that week. The miracle did nothappen, and the steamer had already sailed when thecoach arrived.

The parcel of diamonds had to be left in the safeat the post office, to which Adam Worth had a perfectkey, and when he had first opened the safe he hadseen twenty thousands pounds' worth and more ofvaluables, and had refused to touch them. Whatwas the use of twenty thousand pounds to a man whowanted five times that amount, and who could obtainit by waiting a few days?

272The authorities did not regard the delay to the coachas serious, and no extra guard was placed upon the safein which the parcel reposed, and at the proper timeWorth had only to enter the building, open the safe,and take out a collection of diamonds worth a hundredand fifty thousand pounds. It was a theft which canbe described as a masterpiece in its own line.

Once in possession of the diamonds Adam Worthwas in no hurry to convert them into cash. He knewthat everybody leaving the country would be undersuspicion, and so he trekked inland, posing as a merchantin ostrich feathers. Before he left Cape Town he buriedthe diamonds, and it was many weeks ere he and aconfederate—who came from America purposely to helpto smuggle the diamonds out of the country—returnedto recover them. When it was deemed safe Worthand his friend took them to Australia and eventuallyto England.

This "scoop" did not lessen Worth's appetite forplunder. Other burglaries were quickly organized,and Charles Becker was busily employed forging chequeson banks in England and France. One of these resultedin a friend of Worth's being arrested and convicted,and Worth himself avenged his confederate by robbingthe banker who had given evidence of so much moneyas to bring about his ruin.

But the day came when Adam Worth was caught.He and another thief were robbing the registered mailin Belgium when Worth's comrade made a stupidmistake, and his chief was arrested. He received a sentenceof seven years' penal servitude, and he served thetime, although he was twice offered his freedom if hewould reveal the whereabouts of the Gainsboroughhe had stolen several years previously. Worth, however,would not trust the word of those who made theoffers, and it was not until he emerged from prison,wrecked in health and financially crippled, that he273turned to the Pinkertons, the famous American detectiveagency, and consented on terms to surrender the famouspainting.

He was then approaching the sixties, and there canbe no doubt that he had lost his nerve. For nearlyforty years he had warred against society with only onedefeat, but that defeat finished him. With the moneythe Agnews paid for the return of the picture, "LittleAdam "—as he was affectionately known to his friends—providedhis family with a home.

All his life he had been devoted to his relatives, andhe worshipped his wife and children. They neverknew that he was a professional criminal, and evento-day they are unaware of the real character of thehusband and parent beside whose grave they mournednineteen years ago.

Adam Worth had his good points, for his motto wasthat thieves should be honest amongst themselves.He never resorted to violence, and he never betrayeda friend, and we know that he was good to his familyaccording to his own lights. He was a danger to society,however, and all we can wonder at now is that he waspermitted to plunder it with impunity for so manyyears. But genius will overcome any difficulty, andthe genius of Adam Worth was something which raisehis doings out of the commonplace.

Yet, when all is said and done, the King of Crooksrealized before he died that crime does not pay.

275

CHAPTER XX
THE SECRET PRINCESS OF POSEN

A pretty, fair-haired girl, who looked not morethan eighteen, sat in a forlorn attitude in thepark near the Imperial Palace at Posen.Passers-by glanced at her curiously, and whenever shelifted her soft blue eyes they saw that they were wetwith tears. When a stranger paused as if to addressher the girl instantly froze, and there was somethingabout her small mouth that caused him to change hismind.

Presently, however, a tall, elderly man of distinguishedappearance came strolling towards her, and simultaneouslythe girl's tears began to fall faster than ever.Sobs were choking her when he came opposite her, andhe would have had to be hard-hearted to have passedon without noticing her. But Count Renenski, millionaire,patriot and statesman, had a generous disposition,and the sight of beauty in distress claimed his sympathyat once. With a courteous bow he asked if he could beof assistance, and the girl, surveying him through hertears, made room for him on the seat. She was so timidand frightened and appealing that she seemed like agazelle, and the count, a noted philanthropist, thoughthe had never seen so dainty a vision.

"I am Count Renenski," he said kindly. "Won'tyou let me help you? I do not suppose you have everheard of me before, but I think I can be of use."

She laid one small hand on his arm.

"You have a face that tells me I can trust you,"276she murmured, her form still trembling, "and I will tellyou all, but first you must swear not to reveal what Iam going to say."

He gave the promise readily, his curiosity piqued byher tragic manner of expressing herself.

"I feel safe with you," she whispered in a caressingvoice. "God has been good to me this morning. Ihave found a friend, count. When I tell you that myname is Anna Schnieder it will convey nothing to you,because that is only the name I was given to concealmy true position. I was comparatively happy untiltwo years ago. Until then I thought I was merelythe daughter of an honest shoemaker and his wife,though I was puzzled that they were able to give me afirst-class education. Then I discovered that some onewas providing everything for me. Judge of my astonishmentwhen by accident I learned that that some onewas His Majesty the German Emperor."

The count stiffened perceptibly, and his eyes distended.He was one of the leaders of the National Polish partywhich demanded to be freed from the intolerable tyrannyof Germany. He had been one of the Polish aristocratswho had refused to attend the Kaiser's receptions inPosen, the capital of Prussian Poland, and he was keenlyinterested in all that referred to the man he and hiscountrymen loathed.

"Yes, go on," he said under his breath. "Youcan confide in me. I never betray a trust."

"I am sure you never have," she said, giving himanother appealing glance. "But to proceed. I amnaturally quick-witted, and I was able to put two andtwo together. I began to recall incidents of my childhood,and after a while I got my foster-mother—forthat is all she is—to answer certain questions. Withinan hour I knew the truth. I, Anna Schnieder, wasin reality Her Royal Highness Princess Anna of Prussia,the daughter of His Majesty the Emperor."

277Count Renenski started to his feet. Was the girlfooling him? He sharply scrutinized her features,but she bore it bravely. There was certainly somethingaristocratic about her. He sank on to the seat again,and indicated he was listening.

"The year before the Kaiser married the Kaiserinhe was in Posen"—the count ejaculated that he rememberedit—"and there he met and fell in love witha Polish girl of the name of Vera Savanoff."

"The Savanoffs!" cried the count in amazement."Why, I knew the family well. And there was a girltoo—several girls, in fact. I have often wonderedwhat became of them. But proceed, mademoiselle,"he added with a courteous inclination of the head. "Iwill not interrupt you again."

Encouraged by his attention, the girl proceededto amplify her story. She told of a mysterious marriagein a Polish church—long since destroyed—betweenthe then Prince William of Prussia and Vera Savanoff,and how after the ceremony the girl had disappeared.She had been taken to a castle in the Black Forest,and there the Kaiser had visited her regularly for fiveyears. Then a child had been born, and that child waschristened Anna Schnieder. Meanwhile William hadmarried a Princess of the Blood Royal, and was thefather of a family, but no one suspected that in thesight of God the Kaiser had only one legal wife, andthat she was Vera Savanoff. When after the birth ofher daughter poor Vera died mysteriously the Kaisersuddenly lost all interest in his first romance, and Annahinted that William II connived at her death.

It was an amazing story, and would have been unbelievablehad she not produced proofs. The countwas still trying to understand it all when she thrustinto his hands a bundle of papers which she had carriedconcealed under her blouse.

"These are some of the proofs," she said frankly.278"I know it is difficult to credit my story—sometimesI can hardly believe it myself."

The papers included a certificate of marriage betweenPrince William of Prussia and Vera Savanoff, signedby the officiating priest, but without witnesses' signatures.Another certificate showed when Anna Schniederhad come into the world. But the most importantdocuments were two letters from the Crown Prince ofGermany couched in intimate terms. One of themcontained the sentence, "I am sorry Father treatedyou so badly. Surely he must know it was not yourfault."

The letters completely convinced the count of thegenuineness of the fair damsel's amazing and romanticstory. He knew the handwriting of the Crown Princeof Germany very well, for he had lately been in correspondenceon the subject of the treatment of Polishconscripts in the Prussian Army. The prince, whowas then doing all he could to gain popularity, and soweaken his father's position, had planned to win thesympathies of the Poles by a pretence of affection forthem, and Count Renenski, as an influential aristocrat,had been selected by him as the person most likely tofurther his objects.

When he had once more reaffirmed his promise notto reveal what she had told him, Anna consented toaccompany him to his residence. She hastily dried hereyes, and her recovery was marvellously quick, forshe was all smiles five minutes later as they were leavingthe park. She had insisted upon the count takingcare of the papers for her.

"I am only a weak girl," she said with delightfulhumility, "and when the Kaiser learns that I knowwho I am he will set his agents to work to try to get holdof my papers. But I am so happy now that I havefound a brave friend."

The count owned a magnificent castle in Posen, where,279as he was a bachelor, his widowed sister kept housefor him. The lady received Anna graciously, and Annaon her part was relieved to find that the count's relativewas a small, inoffensive creature, who evidently thoughtthat her brother could do no wrong. When she sawhim pay the utmost deference to the young lady heregarded as a princess, she followed suit, and Annabecame a sort of uncrowned queen of the mansion.

It was not surprising that the count, who was oversixty, should soon begin to feel tenderly disposed towardshis protegé. She was heart and soul a Pole, she toldhim.

"I want to vindicate my mother's fair name," shecried, "and she was a daughter of Poland, the land Ilove."

When the count asked her to marry him she gave atearful consent, but only on the condition that whenshe had the right to call him husband he would help herto prove to the world that she was the legitimate daughterof the German Emperor. Count Renenski willinglyagreed, because he saw in the affair a chance to discreditthe Kaiser.

It was arranged that the count should settle a sumequivalent to fifty thousand pounds on his bride, andhe instructed his lawyers accordingly. He also gaveher jewellery worth thousands of pounds, much of itfamily heirlooms, and he placed a thousand pounds toher credit at a bank in Posen. He declared that the mostfascinating of sights was Anna in the act of drawinga cheque, for she revelled in the unusual luxury, andher joy was childlike and beautifully innocent andinfectious.

The wedding was fixed for the tenth of July, 1910,and a week before Anna went to stay with a femalecousin of the count's at a house twenty miles from Posen.It was arranged that they were not to meet again untilshe arrived in the state carriage belonging to the family280at the ancient church where the ceremony was to beperformed.

But Count Renenski never saw her again. On theeighth of July she told her hostess that she was goingto drive into Posen to do some shopping, and as the oldlady was indisposed she went alone. That night shetook train to a remote German village, and with hertravelled the family jewels of the Renenskis and thesum of three thousand pounds, most of which she hadborrowed from the count's cousin.

It was some little time before the disappointed andenraged nobleman would confess that he had beenswindled by as clever a German adventuress as hadever appeared in Poland, but it is doubtful if he everlearnt that Anna Schnieder had purposely plantedherself on that seat in the park to wait until he camealong, or that she had looked up his history and haddiscovered amongst other things that he was in thehabit of taking a morning constitutional, and, knowinghow generous and impulsive he was, had invented a yarnabout an ill-treated Polish mother and a brutal Germanfather, and, as the count's hatred of the Kaiser wascommon knowledge, she had not found it difficult tofool him.

He came to the conclusion that all the papers she hadshown him were forgeries, but, as a matter of fact, onlythe certificates came under that head, for the lettersfrom the Crown Prince were genuine enough, thoughthe words he had used bore quite a different interpretationto that which Renenski had given them. Annahad been at one time a waitress in a certain Bonn beer-housewhere she had made the acquaintance of theCrown Prince, and had become one of his earliest friends.He had taken her about the country, and had evenaffronted Berlin society by appearing with her in abox at the Apollo Theatre, and drawing attention toboth of them by shouting at the performers. The281scandal had been reported to the Kaiser, who had orderedPolice-President von Jagow to make short work of Anna,and the police had accordingly forcibly carried heraway from the hotel where she was stopping, and hadthreatened her with imprisonment if ever she wentnear the prince again.

Anna had, of course, written to the Crown Prince,and he had in response sent her the two letters whichshe found so useful in her career as a brazen-facedadventuress. For the prince had regaled her with manystories of his father's escapades in the days when thepresent ex-Kaiser was a very young man, and Anna,being clever and unscrupulous, had treasured upmemories of these anecdotes with a view to makinguse of them later.

Count Renenski made a guarded complaint to Berlin,and when the matter was referred back to Posen, andthe German Chief of Police there called upon him toobtain fuller particulars, the count, having in the meantimeremembered that he had pledged his word inwriting to Anna that on their marriage he would startan anti-Prussian campaign, thought it more discreetto withdraw the charge, although by so doing he lostthe only chance he had of recovering the very valuableRenenski family jewels.

By now Anna was at Homburg in the guise of awealthy German baroness who had just lost her husband.She spent the count's money freely, and her jewellerywas the talk of the place. She certainly looked exquisitelylovely in black, and her dainty youthfulnessmade her a welcome addition to the society of thefamous German resort. It was impossible to imaginefor a moment that such an innocent-looking beingcould utter a lie, and, as she had plenty of ready cash,there was never any suspicion that she was an adventuress.

Men were such fools where a pretty face was concerned!282How she laughed as she recalled the count'slove-making! But sometimes she sighed, too, becauseshe knew that he would have made a good husband.Anna, however, had a husband already, a great, lumberingperson with an enormous appetite, who followedthe occupation of a brewer's drayman!

That was the reason why she had fled from Posenbefore the marriage day. She had often had reason tocurse the mischance that had caused her when a villagemaiden to accept Ernst Rippelmayer, but she had notthen known what she was capable of, and Rippelmayerowned his own cottage, and was considered a safe andsteady man.

It happened that amongst the hotel guests was aColonel Bernstorff, a distant relative of the late GermanAmbassador to the United States. He paid Annasome attention, because, having only a small income, hewas desperately in need of financial reinforcements,having wasted the fortune his first wife had broughthim.

In order to impress Anna, or the Baroness von Hotenfeld,as she called herself, he pretended to be very welloff, and whenever she accompanied him to any entertainmenthe spent money with the freedom of a manwho has more than he knows what to do with. Theysoon proceeded from the formally polite stage to theconfidential, and before the Homburg season was overit was understood that they were engaged.

For various reasons Colonel Bernstorff could not marryat once, but it was agreed that six months later theyshould become man and wife. This suited Anna allright, and when she parted from him she went on toCrefeld, where she intended to see if she could swindlesome of the officers of the garrison out of a big amount.She wanted it badly, for she had been afraid to ask thecolonel for a loan, because she had no desire to givehim a chance to break their engagement. Bernstorff283belonged to a well-known German family. He was amember of several exclusive Berlin clubs, and he hadthe entrée to the Royal Palaces. She knew that whenthey were married she would be presented at Court,and once that happened there was no reason why sheshould not, with the secret aid of her old friend, theCrown Prince, become quite a personage in society.

But meanwhile she must "raise the wind" somehow,and so to Crefeld she went, where at the time a battalionof the Prussian Guards was stationed. It includedamongst its officers several rich young noodles, and itwas to lay siege to the latter that Anna, with her mostfascinating gowns, started for the town.

She undoubtedly had an alluring manner, and shortlyafter her arrival her apartments were frequented byseveral of the officers. Anna, still maintaining herbogus rank of baroness, provided all sorts of gamblinggames, in which she declined to take part, declaringthat she had never played for money in her life. Occasionallyshe would back the luck of a young officer,and when he won she was rewarded with a pair of glovesor some similar trifle. Anna would accept the giftwith as much gratitude and delight as though it were athousand guinea bracelet, but all the time she waswaiting to achieve her object. The officer she was"shadowing" had just come of age, and she knew thathe had a large amount at his bankers which he was doinghis best to get rid of.

One night he lost all his ready money—a considerablesum—and as he was anxious to go on Anna lent him athousand marks (fifty pounds) with which to continue.But his luck was terrible, and eventually he rose fromthe table thousands to the bad. It was nothing to him,however, and after a touching interview with "adorableAnna," as he called her, he was assisted to his carriageby his servant. Next day he called and left a chequefor the amount the impostor had lent him.

284The adventuress had been waiting for this, and shecleverly altered the carelessly-drawn cheque from athousand marks to one hundred thousand. It waspromptly honoured by the Berlin bank, and as soon asAnna had the whole amount she prepared for flight.But an hour before her train was due to leave she wasarrested at the station. The Berlin bank had on secondthoughts telegraphed to the officer asking for confirmationof the cheque. He had replied denying that hehad recently drawn one for such a large amount, andAnna's capture followed.

It was not very difficult for the police to find proofof many of her swindles. She had imposed upon scoresof tradespeople, and had obtained a lot of money byfalse pretences from elderly and infatuated Huns. Avery heavy indictment was presented against her, butit was for the forgery of the cheque that the judgesentenced her to three years' penal servitude.

Anna was stunned by her misadventure. She hadhitherto been so successful as an impostor that it seemedas if she was immune from failure, but now she was aconvict, destined to pass three long years in a horribleGerman prison, and when she heard that she was tobe sent to the women's convict establishment at WestGradenz she nearly collapsed, for it was one of the worst,the severe discipline frequently driving weak-mindedconvicts insane. There was no appeal, however, andone grey October morning she found herself handcuffedto another convict, and passing through the gloomyportals of the ghastly prison. It was a rule that eachnew-comer should be inspected by the governor, andAnna was in due course brought before that all-powerfulofficial, the man who was to have the power of lifeand death over her until she had served her sentence.

She had been roughly thrust into a bare hall withwhite-washed walls, and she was staring ferociouslyat the hard earth floor when her companion whispered285that the governor was there. Then she started up, andwas petrified when she realized that the governor wasColonel Bernstorff.

He recognized her instantly, but with admirable self-controlgave no sign. His appointment to this importantpost had been unexpected, and he had striven to obtainit so that he might be able to marry his fascinating sweetheartat once. And now she was a convict in his charge!

He tried to ignore her, but somehow she had completelywon his heart, and a few days after her arrivalhe made a pretext for seeing her alone in his office. Bynow Anna, who had guessed that he would not be ableto resist her, had compiled a moving story of persecutionat the hands of her father, the Kaiser, and when thegovernor asked for an explanation she confessed, amidsobs, that she was the victim of a political intrigue.Except for certain additions occasioned by the new situation,it was the story she had duped Count Renenski with.

The governor was persuaded to believe her, despitethe fact that he had in the prison archives the papersrelating to her conviction, and he used all his family'sinfluence to get her a pardon. When this was grantedhe married her, and, resigning his position, took herfor a long tour, Anna declaring that they need notbother about money, as she would shortly receive amillion from her real father, the Kaiser. But thehoneymoon lasted only three weeks, for Anna wasarrested on a charge of bigamy, and it was only whenColonel Bernstorff was confronted by her real husbandthat he admitted he had made a fool of himself. Hethereupon abandoned the impostor to her fate, andshe was eventually sent back to complete her originalsentence, plus one of five years, for bigamy, and whenthe war ended she was still in the gloomy prison ofWest Gradenz.

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