Vidocq now took the tavern-keeper into his confidence, warned him that he had under his roof a very dangerous robber, and that this lodger was only waiting a favourable chance to rob his till. The first night that the receipts had been good the ruffian would certainly lay hands upon the money. The tavern-keeper was only too glad to accept the assistance of the police, and promised to admit them whenever required. One night, when Fossard had returned home early and gone to bed, Vidocq and his comrades were let in during the small hours, and the following trick was arranged. The tavern-keeper had with him a little nephew, a child of ten, precocious and ready to earn an honest penny. Vidocq easily taught him a little tale. The child was to go upstairs to Fossard’s door in the early morning, and ask Fossard’s wife for some eau-de-cologne, saying his aunt was unwell. The child played his part well; he went up, closely followed by the police in stockinged feet; he knocked, gave his message, the door was opened to him, and in rushed the officers, who secured Fossard before he was well awake.
In these later days of the First Empire the police, as we have seen, were more actively engaged in political espionage than in the detection of crime, and Paris was very much at the mercy of criminals. There were whole quarters given up to malefactors—places, particularly beyond the Barrier, which offered a safe retreat to convicts, thieves, the whole fraternity of crime, into which no police-officer was bold enough to enter. Vidocq volunteered to clear out at least one of them, a tavern kept by a certain Desnoyez, always a very favourite and crowded resort. Accompanied by a couple of police officers and eight gendarmes, he started off to execute a job for which his superiors declared that he needed a battalion at least. But on reaching the tavern he walked straight into the salon, where a Barrier ball was in progress, stopped the music, and coolly looked around. Loud cries were raised of “Turn him out!” but Vidocq remained imperturbable, and exhibiting his warrant, ordered the place to be cleared. His firm aspect imposed upon even the most threatening, and the whole company filed out one by one past Vidocq, who stationed himself at the door. Whenever he recognised any man as a person wanted or a dangerous criminal, he marked his back adroitly with a piece of white chalk as a sign that he should be made prisoner outside. This was effected by the gendarmes, who handcuffed each in turn, and added him to a long chain of
prisoners, who were eventually conducted in triumph to the Prefecture.
Vidocq’s successes gained him a very distinct reputation in Paris; he had undoubtedly diminished crime—at least he had reduced the number of notorious criminals who openly defied justice; it was decided, therefore, to give him larger powers, and in 1817 he was authorised to establish a regular body of detectives, the first “Brigade de Sûreté,” which was composed of a certain number of agents devoted entirely to the detection of crime. They were no more than four in number at first, but the brigade was successively increased to six, twelve, twenty, and at last to twenty-eight. In the very first year, between January and December, 1817, Vidocq had only twelve assistants; yet among them they effected 772 arrests, many of them of the most important character. Fifteen of their captives were murderers, a hundred and eight were burglars, five were addicted to robbery with violence, and there were some two hundred and fifty thieves of other descriptions. Such good work soon gained Vidocq detractors, and the old, official, clean-handed police, not unnaturally jealous, charged him with actually preparing crime in order that he might detect it. The police authorities were privately informed by these other employees that Vidocq abused his position disgracefully, and carried on widespread depredation on his own account. In reply they were told that they could not be very skilful, or they would have caught him in the act. Having failed to implicate Vidocq himself, they fell upon his assistants, most of them ex-thieves, who they declared now carried on their old trade with impunity. Vidocq soon heard of these accusations, and, to give a practical denial of the charge, ordered all his people invariably to wear gloves. To appear without them, he declared, would be visited with instant dismissal. The significance of this regulation lay in the fact that a pocket can only be picked by a bare hand.
Certainly Vidocq and his men were neither idle nor expensive to maintain; their hours of duty were often eighteen out of the twenty-four; sometimes they were employed for days together without a break. The chief himself was incessantly active; no one could say how he lived or when he slept. Whenever he was wanted he was found dressed and ready, with a clean-shaven face like an actor, so that he might assume any disguise—wigs, whiskers, or moustaches of any length or colour; sometimes, it is said that he changed his costume ten times a day. He was a man of extraordinarily vigorous physique, strong and squarely built, with very broad shoulders; he had fair hair, which early turned grey, a large thick nose, blue eyes, and a constant smile on his lips. He always appeared well-dressed, except when in disguise, and was followed everywhere he went, but at a slight distance, by a cabriolet, driven by a servant on whom he could rely. He always went armed with pistols and a long knife or dagger. His worst points were his boastfulness and his insupportable conceit.
M. Canler, afterwards chief of the detective police, tells an amusing story in his Memoirs of how Vidocq was fooled by one of his precious assistants. In choosing between candidates, the old thief sought the boldest and most impudent. One day a man he did not know, Jacquin, offered himself, and Vidocq, to try him, sent him to buy a couple of fowls in the market. Jacquin presently brought back the fowls and also the ten francs Vidocq had given him to pay for them. He was asked how he had managed. It was simple enough. He had gone into the market carrying a heavy hod on his shoulder, and, when he had bargained for the fowls, he asked the market woman to place them for him on the top of the stones on the hod. While she obliged him, he picked her pocket of the ten francs he had paid her. Jacquin acted the whole affair before Vidocq, whom he treated just as he had treated the owner of the fowls. When the séance was over, he had robbed Vidocq of his gold watch and chain.
After ten years of active work Vidocq resigned his post. He was at cross purposes, it was said, with his superiors; M. Delavau, the new prefect, had no sympathy with him, and was so much under priestly influence as to abhor Vidocq, who perhaps foresaw that he had better withdraw before he was dismissed. But the real reason was that he had feathered his nest well, and was in possession of sufficient capital to start an industrial enterprise—the manufacture of paper boxes. To this he presently added a bureau de renseignements, the forerunner of our modern private inquiry office, for which, from his abundant and varied experience, he was peculiarly well fitted. He soon possessed a wide clientèle, and had as many as 8,000 cases registered in his office. At the same time his brain was busy with practical inventions, such as a burglar-proof door and a safety paper—one that could not be imitated and used for false documents.
His private inquiry business prospered greatly, but got him into serious trouble. There seems to have been no reason to charge him with dishonesty, yet he was arrested for fraud and “abuse of confidence” in some two hundred instances; he was mixed up in some shady transactions, among them money-lending and bill-discounting. He was also accused of tampering with certain employees in the War Office, and his papers were seized by the police. Some idea of the extent of his business may be gathered from the description of his offices, which were extensive, sumptuously furnished, and organised into first, second, and third divisions, like a great department of State, each served by a large staff of clerks. A little groom in livery, with buttons bearing Vidocq’s monogram, ushered the visitor into his private cabinet, where the great “Intermediary,” as he called himself, sat at his desk, surrounded by fine pictures (for one of which, it was said, he had refused £2,800) and many other signs of luxury and good taste.