Reprinted Pieces

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On the other hand, the Detective Force organised since the
establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and
trained, proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business
in such a workmanlike manner, and is always so calmly and steadily
engaged in the service of the public, that the public really do not
know enough of it, to know a tithe of its usefulness. Impressed
with this conviction, and interested in the men themselves, we
represented to the authorities at Scotland Yard, that we should be
glad, if there were no official objection, to have some talk with
the Detectives. A most obliging and ready permission being given,
a certain evening was appointed with a certain Inspector for a
social conference between ourselves and the Detectives, at The
Household Words Office in Wellington Street, Strand, London. In
consequence of which appointment the party 'came off,' which we are
about to describe. And we beg to repeat that, avoiding such topics
as it might for obvious reasons be injurious to the public, or
disagreeable to respectable individuals, to touch upon in print,
our description is as exact as we can make it.

The reader will have the goodness to imagine the Sanctum Sanctorum
of Household Words. Anything that best suits the reader's fancy,
will best represent that magnificent chamber. We merely stipulate
for a round table in the middle, with some glasses and cigars
arranged upon it; and the editorial sofa elegantly hemmed in
between that stately piece of furniture and the wall.

It is a sultry evening at dusk. The stones of Wellington Street
are hot and gritty, and the watermen and hackney-coachmen at the
Theatre opposite, are much flushed and aggravated. Carriages are
constantly setting down the people who have come to Fairy-Land; and
there is a mighty shouting and bellowing every now and then,
deafening us for the moment, through the open windows.

Just at dusk, Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced; but we do
not undertake to warrant the orthography of any of the names here
mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector Stalker. Inspector
Wield is a middle-aged man of a portly presence, with a large,
moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his
conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger, which is
constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes or nose. Inspector
Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman - in appearance not at
all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster, from the
Normal Establishment at Glasgow. Inspector Wield one might have
known, perhaps, for what he is - Inspector Stalker, never.

The ceremonies of reception over, Inspectors Wield and Stalker
observe that they have brought some sergeants with them. The
sergeants are presented - five in number, Sergeant Dornton,
Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, and Sergeant
Straw. We have the whole Detective Force from Scotland Yard, with
one exception. They sit down in a semi-circle (the two Inspectors
at the two ends) at a little distance from the round table, facing
the editorial sofa. Every man of them, in a glance, immediately
takes an inventory of the furniture and an accurate sketch of the
editorial presence. The Editor feels that any gentleman in company
could take him up, if need should be, without the smallest
hesitation, twenty years hence.

The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton about fifty
years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt forehead, has
the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army - he might have
sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the Reading of the Will. He is
famous for steadily pursuing the inductive process, and, from small
beginnings, working on from clue to clue until he bags his man.
Sergeant Witchem, shorter and thicker-set, and marked with the
small-pox, has something of a reserved and thoughtful air, as if he
were engaged in deep arithmetical calculations. He is renowned for
his acquaintance with the swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced
man with a fresh bright complexion, and a strange air of
simplicity, is a dab at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, a light-
haired, well-spoken, polite person, is a prodigious hand at
pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. Straw, a little
wiry Sergeant of meek demeanour and strong sense, would knock at a
door and ask a series of questions in any mild character you choose
to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as
innocent as an infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking
men; of perfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence; with
nothing lounging or slinking in their manners; with an air of keen
observation and quick perception when addressed; and generally
presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked of habitually
leading lives of strong mental excitement. They have all good
eyes; and they all can, and they all do, look full at whomsoever
they speak to.

We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are very
temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by a modest
amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell mob.
Inspector Wield immediately removes his cigar from his lips, waves
his right hand, and says, 'Regarding the swell mob, sir, I can't do
better than call upon Sergeant Witchem. Because the reason why?
I'll tell you. Sergeant Witchem is better acquainted with the
swell mob than any officer in London.'

Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in the sky, we
turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in well-chosen
language, goes into the subject forthwith. Meantime, the whole of
his brother officers are closely interested in attending to what he
says, and observing its effect. Presently they begin to strike in,
one or two together, when an opportunity offers, and the
conversation becomes general. But these brother officers only come
in to the assistance of each other - not to the contradiction - and
a more amicable brotherhood there could not be. From the swell
mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of cracksmen, fences, public-
house dancers, area-sneaks, designing young people who go out
'gonophing,' and other 'schools.' It is observable throughout
these revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the Scotchman, is always
exact and statistical, and that when any question of figures
arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, and looks to him.

When we have exhausted the various schools of Art - during which
discussion the whole body have remained profoundly attentive,
except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over the way has
induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly towards the window in
that direction, behind his next neighbour's back - we burrow for
information on such points as the following. Whether there really
are any highway robberies in London, or whether some circumstances
not convenient to be mentioned by the aggrieved party, usually
precede the robberies complained of, under that head, which quite
change their character? Certainly the latter, almost always.
Whether in the case of robberies in houses, where servants are
necessarily exposed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever
becomes so like guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be
cautious how he judges it? Undoubtedly. Nothing is so common or
deceptive as such appearances at first. Whether in a place of
public amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a
thief - supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other -
because each recognises in the other, under all disguise, an
inattention to what is going on, and a purpose that is not the
purpose of being entertained? Yes. That's the way exactly.
Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged
experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or
penitentiaries, or anywhere? In general, nothing more absurd.
Lying is their habit and their trade; and they would rather lie -
even if they hadn't an interest in it, and didn't want to make
themselves agreeable - than tell the truth.

From these topics, we glide into a review of the most celebrated
and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed within
the last fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in the discovery
of almost all of them, and in the pursuit or apprehension of the
murderers, are here, down to the very last instance. One of our
guests gave chase to and boarded the emigrant ship, in which the
murderess last hanged in London was supposed to have embarked. We
learn from him that his errand was not announced to the passengers,
who may have no idea of it to this hour. That he went below, with
the captain, lamp in hand - it being dark, and the whole steerage
abed and sea-sick - and engaged the Mrs. Manning who WAS on board,
in a conversation about her luggage, until she was, with no small
pains, induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the
light. Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he
quietly re-embarked in the Government steamer along-side, and
steamed home again with the intelligence.

When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a
considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their
chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seat. Sergeant
Witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand on each of
his legs, then modestly speaks as follows:

'My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my
taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn't to tell what he has done
himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, consequently, as
nobody but myself can tell it, I'll do it in the best way I can, if
it should meet your approval.'

We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very much, and we
all compose ourselves to listen with great interest and attention.

'Tally-ho Thompson,' says Sergeant Witchem, after merely wetting
his lips with his brandy-and-water, 'Tally-ho Thompson was a famous
horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. Thompson, in conjunction with
a pal that occasionally worked with him, gammoned a countryman out
of a good round sum of money, under pretence of getting him a
situation - the regular old dodge - and was afterwards in the "Hue
and Cry" for a horse - a horse that he stole down in Hertfordshire.
I had to look after Thompson, and I applied myself, of course, in
the first instance, to discovering where he was. Now, Thompson's
wife lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that
Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the house -
especially at post-time in the morning - thinking Thompson was
pretty likely to write to her. Sure enough, one morning the
postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs. Thompson's door.
Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We're not always sure
of postmen, though the people at the post-offices are always very
obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not, - just as it
happens. However, I go across the road, and I say to the postman,
after he has left the letter, "Good morning! how are you?" "How
are YOU!" says he. "You've just delivered a letter for Mrs.
Thompson." "Yes, I have." "You didn't happen to remark what the
post-mark was, perhaps?" "No," says he, "I didn't." "Come," says
I, "I'll be plain with you. I'm in a small way of business, and I
have given Thompson credit, and I can't afford to lose what he owes
me. I know he's got money, and I know he's in the country, and if
you could tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very much
obliged to you, and you'd do a service to a tradesman in a small
way of business that can't afford a loss." "Well," he said, "I do
assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was; all I
know is, that there was money in the letter - I should say a
sovereign." This was enough for me, because of course I knew that
Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she'd write to
Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the receipt. So I said
"Thankee" to the postman, and I kept on the watch. In the
afternoon I saw the little girl come out. Of course I followed
her. She went into a stationer's shop, and I needn't say to you
that I looked in at the window. She bought some writing-paper and
envelopes, and a pen. I think to myself, "That'll do!" - watch her
home again - and don't go away, you may be sure, knowing that Mrs.
Thompson was writing her letter to Tally-ho, and that the letter
would be posted presently. In about an hour or so, out came the
little girl again, with the letter in her hand. I went up, and
said something to the child, whatever it might have been; but I
couldn't see the direction of the letter, because she held it with
the seal upwards. However, I observed that on the back of the
letter there was what we call a kiss - a drop of wax by the side of
the seal - and again, you understand, that was enough for me. I
saw her post the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into
the shop, and asked to see the Master. When he came out, I told
him, "Now, I'm an Officer in the Detective Force; there's a letter
with a kiss been posted here just now, for a man that I'm in search
of; and what I have to ask of you, is, that you will let me look at
the direction of that letter." He was very civil - took a lot of
letters from the box in the window - shook 'em out on the counter
with the faces downwards - and there among 'em was the identical
letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post
Office, B-, to be left till called for. Down I went to B- (a
hundred and twenty miles or so) that night. Early next morning I
went to the Post Office; saw the gentleman in charge of that
department; told him who I was; and that my object was to see, and
track, the party that should come for the letter for Mr. Thomas
Pigeon. He was very polite, and said, "You shall have every
assistance we can give you; you can wait inside the office; and
we'll take care to let you know when anybody comes for the letter."
Well, I waited there three days, and began to think that nobody
ever WOULD come. At last the clerk whispered to me, "Here!
Detective! Somebody's come for the letter!" "Keep him a minute,"
said I, and I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw
a young chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by
the bridle - stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he
waited at the Post Office Window for the letter. I began to pat
the horse, and that; and I said to the boy, "Why, this is Mr.
Jones's Mare!" "No. It an't." "No?" said I. "She's very like
Mr. Jones's Mare!" "She an't Mr. Jones's Mare, anyhow," says he.
"It's Mr. So and So's, of the Warwick Arms." And up he jumped, and
off he went - letter and all. I got a cab, followed on the box,
and was so quick after him that I came into the stable-yard of the
Warwick Arms, by one gate, just as he came in by another. I went
into the bar, where there was a young woman serving, and called for
a glass of brandy-and-water. He came in directly, and handed her
the letter. She casually looked at it, without saying anything,
and stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What was
to be done next?

'I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy-and-water
(looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I couldn't see
my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings in the house, but
there had been a horse-fair, or something of that sort, and it was
full. I was obliged to put up somewhere else, but I came backwards
and forwards to the bar for a couple of days, and there was the
letter always behind the glass. At last I thought I'd write a
letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see what that would do. So I
wrote one, and posted it, but I purposely addressed it, Mr. John
Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas Pigeon, to see what THAT would do.
In the morning (a very wet morning it was) I watched the postman
down the street, and cut into the bar, just before he reached the
Warwick Arms. In he came presently with my letter. "Is there a
Mr. John Pigeon staying here?" "No! - stop a bit though," says the
barmaid; and she took down the letter behind the glass. "No," says
she, "it's Thomas, and HE is not staying here. Would you do me a
favour, and post this for me, as it is so wet?" The postman said
Yes; she folded it in another envelope, directed it, and gave it
him. He put it in his hat, and away he went.

'I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter.
It was addressed Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post Office, R-,
Northamptonshire, to be left till called for. Off I started
directly for R-; I said the same at the Post Office there, as I had
said at B-; and again I waited three days before anybody came. At
last another chap on horseback came. "Any letters for Mr. Thomas
Pigeon?" "Where do you come from?" "New Inn, near R-." He got
the letter, and away HE went at a canter.

'I made my inquiries about the New Inn, near R-, and hearing it was
a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line, about a
couple of miles from the station, I thought I'd go and have a look
at it. I found it what it had been described, and sauntered in, to
look about me. The landlady was in the bar, and I was trying to
get into conversation with her; asked her how business was, and
spoke about the wet weather, and so on; when I saw, through an open
door, three men sitting by the fire in a sort of parlour, or
kitchen; and one of those men, according to the description I had
of him, was Tally-ho Thompson!

'I went and sat down among 'em, and tried to make things agreeable;
but they were very shy - wouldn't talk at all - looked at me, and
at one another, in a way quite the reverse of sociable. I reckoned
'em up, and finding that they were all three bigger men than me,
and considering that their looks were ugly - that it was a lonely
place - railroad station two miles off - and night coming on -
thought I couldn't do better than have a drop of brandy-and-water
to keep my courage up. So I called for my brandy-and-water; and as
I was sitting drinking it by the fire, Thompson got up and went
out.

'Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn't sure it WAS Thompson,
because I had never set eyes on him before; and what I had wanted
was to be quite certain of him. However, there was nothing for it
now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I found him
talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. It turned out
afterwards that he was wanted by a Northampton officer for
something else, and that, knowing that officer to be pock-marked
(as I am myself), he mistook me for him. As I have observed, I
found him talking to the landlady, outside. I put my hand upon his
shoulder - this way - and said, "Tally-ho Thompson, it's no use. I
know you. I'm an officer from London, and I take you into custody
for felony!" "That be d-d!" says Tally-ho Thompson.

'We went back into the house, and the two friends began to cut up
rough, and their looks didn't please me at all, I assure you. "Let
the man go. What are you going to do with him?" "I'll tell you
what I'm going to do with him. I'm going to take him to London to-
night, as sure as I'm alive. I'm not alone here, whatever you may
think. You mind your own business, and keep yourselves to
yourselves. It'll be better for you, for I know you both very
well." I'D never seen or heard of 'em in all my life, but my
bouncing cowed 'em a bit, and they kept off, while Thompson was
making ready to go. I thought to myself, however, that they might
be coming after me on the dark road, to rescue Thompson; so I said
to the landlady, "What men have you got in the house, Missis?" "We
haven't got no men here," she says, sulkily. "You have got an
ostler, I suppose?" "Yes, we've got an ostler." "Let me see him."
Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was. "Now
attend to me, young man," says I; "I'm a Detective Officer from
London. This man's name is Thompson. I have taken him into
custody for felony. I am going to take him to the railroad
station. I call upon you in the Queen's name to assist me; and
mind you, my friend, you'll get yourself into more trouble than you
know of, if you don't!' You never saw a person open his eyes so
wide. "Now, Thompson, come along!" says I. But when I took out
the handcuffs, Thompson cries, "No! None of that! I won't stand
THEM! I'll go along with you quiet, but I won't bear none of
that!" "Tally-ho Thompson," I said, "I'm willing to behave as a
man to you, if you are willing to behave as a man to me. Give me
your word that you'll come peaceably along, and I don't want to
handcuff you." "I will," says Thompson, "but I'll have a glass of
brandy first." "I don't care if I've another," said I. "We'll
have two more, Missis," said the friends, "and confound you,
Constable, you'll give your man a drop, won't you?" I was
agreeable to that, so we had it all round, and then my man and I
took Tally-ho Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to
London that night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a
defect in the evidence; and I understand he always praises me up to
the skies, and says I'm one of the best of men.'

This story coming to a termination amidst general applause,
Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on his
host, and thus delivers himself:

'It wasn't a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man accused of
forging the Sou'-Western Railway debentures - it was only t'other
day - because the reason why? I'll tell you.

'I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory over
yonder there,' - indicating any region on the Surrey side of the
river - 'where he bought second-hand carriages; so after I'd tried
in vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a letter in
an assumed name, saying that I'd got a horse and shay to dispose
of, and would drive down next day that he might view the lot, and
make an offer - very reasonable it was, I said - a reg'lar bargain.
Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine that's in the livery
and job business, and hired a turn-out for the day, a precious
smart turn-out it was - quite a slap-up thing! Down we drove,
accordingly, with a friend (who's not in the Force himself); and
leaving my friend in the shay near a public-house, to take care of
the horse, we went to the factory, which was some little way off.
In the factory, there was a number of strong fellows at work, and
after reckoning 'em up, it was clear to me that it wouldn't do to
try it on there. They were too many for us. We must get our man
out of doors. "Mr. Fikey at home?" "No, he ain't." "Expected
home soon?" "Why, no, not soon." "Ah! Is his brother here?"
"I'M his brother." "Oh! well, this is an ill-conwenience, this is.
I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I'd got a little turn-out to
dispose of, and I've took the trouble to bring the turn-out down a'
purpose, and now he ain't in the way." "No, he ain't in the way.
You couldn't make it convenient to call again, could you?" "Why,
no, I couldn't. I want to sell; that's the fact; and I can't put
it off. Could you find him anywheres?" At first he said No, he
couldn't, and then he wasn't sure about it, and then he'd go and
try. So at last he went up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft,
and presently down comes my man himself in his shirt-sleeves.

'"Well," he says, "this seems to be rayther a pressing matter of
yours." "Yes," I says, "it IS rayther a pressing matter, and
you'll find it a bargain - dirt cheap." "I ain't in partickler
want of a bargain just now," he says, "but where is it?" "Why," I
says, "the turn-out's just outside. Come and look at it." He
hasn't any suspicions, and away we go. And the first thing that
happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who knows no
more of driving than a child) when he takes a little trot along the
road to show his paces. You never saw such a game in your life!

'When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a standstill
again, Fikey walks round and round it as grave as a judge - me too.
"There, sir!" I says. "There's a neat thing!" "It ain't a bad
style of thing," he says. "I believe you," says I. "And there's a
horse!" - for I saw him looking at it. "Rising eight!" I says,
rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there ain't a man in the world
knows less of horses than I do, but I'd heard my friend at the
Livery Stables say he was eight year old, so I says, as knowing as
possible, "Rising eight.") "Rising eight, is he?" says he.
"Rising eight," says I. "Well," he says, "what do you want for
it?" "Why, the first and last figure for the whole concern is
five-and-twenty pound!" "That's very cheap!" he says, looking at
me. "Ain't it?" I says. "I told you it was a bargain! Now,
without any higgling and haggling about it, what I want is to sell,
and that's my price. Further, I'll make it easy to you, and take
half the money down, and you can do a bit of stiff (1) for the
balance."

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