In this way he threw the police off their guard on many occasions.
On the night of the fatal occurrence Charles Peace, in an easy, careless, jaunty manner, walked leisurely through the streets of Manchester.
He had not at this time his friend Bandy-legged Bill with him, or indeed any other accomplice; but he was a self-reliant man, whose object was to pick up what he could without the aid of a confederate.
While walking through the streets in Manchester he occasionally went between policemen, who were exercising their brains as to the burglar who had “done” some houses there.
Peace laughed in his sleeve. He knew the real culprit, but said nothing.
He took his way towards the house he designed to work, and as he went along he passed two policemen on the road.
“I may tell you,” says he, in his confession, “I did not go to any house by accident; I always went some days, sometimes weeks before, carefully examining all the surroundings, and then, having ‘spotted’ a likely house, I studied the neighbourhood both as to the means of getting in and as to getting away.”
He walked boldly on until he arrived at the house which was to be the scene of his operation.
The house stood in its own grounds, which were inclosed by a wall, and in some parts a shrubbery.
When the sun shone, and nature was in her best mood, it was most picturesque and lightsome, but in the dead hours of the night it was singularly dreary. This, however, did not matter to Peace, who was bent upon “cracking the crib,” as he termed it.