Rosie has disappeared. Every morning Mrs. Thompson cut down a big loaf for Peace’s pets, which he always saw fed himself. He was very careful, too, about their being cleaned, making it his rule to get down on his knees and scrub the stable flagstones himself.
Thomas once said to him jestingly while the stable was being built that “it was a good amusement for him—it kept him out of the public-house.” “The public-house,” said Peace, “is the ruin of all. I never go there. Keep out of it, my friend, if you would be a respectable man and do well.”
As a matter of fact he did go to the public-house. He would take one glass, never any more, though he would pay for any quantity for other people. He usually went to the Hollydale Tavern, Hollydale-road, and he never sat down. “He always stood up, near the door,” it was said, “as if he was ready to make a run for it.”
Meanwhile robberies went on night after night, and the magnitude of the depredations, together with the immunity of the burglar, was a matter of surprise to everybody. Letters appeared in the papers complaining of the inefficiency of the police, but all was in vain. Peace for a long time escaped discovery or capture. The wonderful way in which he disguised himself is most remarkable, and we doubt if it has ever been equalled by any other criminal, either great or small. We have already said that Peace was very careful in hiding his mutilated hand. That hand might have been to Peace what his heel was to Achilles. The tenant of No. 5 was more careful about keeping the missing finger from the not very prying eyes of the Peckhamites. He did not look like a man who was much given to the wearing of gloves, and anything new that way seemed to sit clumsily upon him, but upon the left hand he usually wore a glove, and to outward appearance he had the usual complement of fingers. He got over the difficulty by having one glove finger padded. When he had forgotten his glove, which was on very rare occasions, he pushed his left hand into his breast, and loitered about, but did not care to talk to anybody.
But, more important than the glove expedient, were his other measures to conceal his identity. He treated his hair in a variety of ways. After the Bannercross murder he eschewed beard and whiskers altogether, and in addition to getting rid of them he shaved his forehead, thus giving himself the appearance of a person with a bald head. In talking, the neighbours can now recollect how strangely he used to “lift up,” as it were, the whole front of his forehead, and let it quickly settle down again. When he elevated his eyebrows—he had not much in that direction to elevate, and these were usually “doctored” in various ways—it seemed to him as if the whole of the front part of his head went with them.
Indeed, this interesting old gentleman had begun to amuse his nearest neighbours by what they considered his little oddities and innocent eccentricities.
He was fond of wearing a wig, and he seemed unable to decide upon any given kind or colour of wig. At one time he would show the carefully-arranged locks of hair—not one awry—which always indicate the work of the peruke-maker—in the glossiest of black; then a few grey hairs would give him a venerable aspect, and anon he would fall in love with a pleasing brown, which the neighbours thought was a close imitation of the tresses of Mrs. Thompson. So much was he given to change that some people thought that the tenant of No. 5 was a trifle “cracked”—or, what Yorkshire people call, “silly”—in this respect.
Another method he had of disguising himself was the way in which he coloured his complexion. Peace had, no doubt, picked some walnuts in his day, and the singularly effective dye which exudes from the outer shell had not escaped his attention. It was walnut-juice he used to impart to his face that peculiar tinge which would enable him to pass himself off as a half-caste. Mrs. Cleaves, the lady to whom I have already repeatedly referred, includes walnuts among the articles she sells at her premises four doors off. “Mrs. Thompson” or “Mrs. Ward”—I forget which at this moment—used to ask Mrs. Cleaves to be good enough to save the walnut shells for her, and Mrs. Cleaves gave one or other of these “ladies” a basketful at a time, frequently wondering what the people at No. 5 could want with so many walnut shells. One day feminine curiosity got the better of her, and she asked Mrs. Thompson, who said Mr. Thompson had a secret of making “ketchup” from walnut shells, and that was what they used them for. Another day, the man Thomas, while he lived next door, observed his neighbour, “Mr. Thompson,” emptying some dark shell out of a black bottle, and he was curious enough to ask the mistress—by “the mistress” he meant Mrs. Thompson—what that stuff was. She replied that “he” had been trying his hand at pickling walnuts, and had spoilt them.
An intelligent young Peckhamite said that he and other lads had begun to notice something very peculiar about Mr. Thompson’s back hair. He sometimes wore a low hat which fitted loosely to his head, and the wind would occasionally “ruffle up” the hair at the back. They could then see that there were distinct colours, which were no doubt caused by the dyeing with walnut juice. He must have used it very freely about his face, chest, neck, hands, and arms, and well down his body, and on his legs, for when the police stripped him he looked even darker than the half-caste he professed to be. I am told that almost every morning he could be seen picking the shells of walnuts and throwing the nuts away.
Peace, as we have already seen, was as cunning as a fox, and in fact as far as scruples were concerned, he did not profess any. He would resort to any artifice for the purpose of carrying out his notorious practices. How “he obliged a friend,” is very well remembered by the inhabitants of Peckham to this day.