“I was only just in time. Then they went down to Charing Cross Station, and so back to Hammersmith. The old gentleman went into the house with Miss Junniper, and stayed an hour or two, and then took his leave. Next day Miss Junniper did not go out. The boxes arrived, and towards midday an oldish lady—a middle-aged, poorly-dressed, shabby-genteel lady—called and stayed several hours. But no Burbidge, and nobody at all like him. I began to feel disappointed. The third day Miss Junniper went out again to rehearsal; the old gentleman met her as before, and the two drove in a cab to the City. I followed them to Leadenhall-street, where they went into the offices of the White Star Line. I did not go upstairs with them, and somehow I lost them when they came out. I ought to have guessed then what I did not think of till late that night. Of course, the old gentleman was Burbidge himself. He was an actor, and a nipper, therefore, at disguises. He’d been play-acting all along. He was the mechanic at Shrivelsby, the shabby-genteel old lady, and the old man most of all. I won’t tell you how I cursed myself for not thinking of this sooner. It was almost too late when I did. My gent. had left the villa (to which they had returned), and he did not come back next day, nor yet the day after; and I was nearly wild with the chance I’d lost. He’d got ‘the office,’ that’s what I thought, and I was up a tree. But the third day came a telegram for the young lady. I saw the boy deliver it and go off, as though there was no answer. Then she came out, and I followed her to the telegraph-office. I saw her write her message and send
it off. I’d have given pounds to read it, but I couldn’t manage it; the clerk—it’s their duty—wouldn’t let me. I was countered again, and I was almost beat, and thinking of writing home to say so, when I saw Miss Junniper’s message in the compartment where she had been writing. She’d done it with a hard pencil, which showed through. There was the address as plain as ninepence—no mystery or circumlocution—‘Burbidge, King’s Head Hotel, Kingston.’ I was there the same evening, just before his dinner. I asked if Mr. Burbidge was there. Sure enough. He wasn’t a bit afraid of being took, I suppose, so far off the line of pursuit, so he’d stuck to his own name, and was not even disguised. He gave in without a word. The tickets were on him, and in his bag upstairs a lot of the cash he’d stolen; likewise a wardrobe of clothes—the old gentleman’s suit, and all the rest.”
Our American cousins are, as I have said, well served by their official detectives, but private agents do much of the business of pursuit and detection, and of these semi-official aids to justice one firm has gained a world-wide celebrity. Some account of the chief and first of the Pinkertons may be introduced here.
Allan Pinkerton began life as a cooper, and was doing a thriving business at Dundee, some thirty-eight miles north-west of Chicago, about 1847. The times were primitive; barter took the place of cash payments in the absence of a currency. To remedy this inconvenience, a bank was started in Milwaukee, which throve and had many branches, doing such a good business that its notes passed everywhere, and were extensively counterfeited. A gang of the forgers had been discovered by Allan Pinkerton on a small island in the Fox River near Dundee. Wanting poles and staves for his trade, he had gone to cut them in the woods, when he came upon the embers of camp-fires, and signs that the island was secretly frequented by tramps and others. Pinkerton informed the sheriff, and active steps were taken by which a large confederacy of horse thieves, “cover-men,” and counterfeiters was broken up.
The trade still flourished, however, and some of the reputable citizens of Dundee begged Allan Pinkerton to do further service to his town in trying to check it. A suspicious stranger had just come to Dundee, asking for “old man Crane”; this Crane was known as a “hard character,” the associate of thieves and evil-doers, and an agent, it was thought, for the distribution of bogus notes. The villagers generally gave him a wide berth, and when the counterfeit money reappeared in the shape of many forged ten-dollar bills, this “old man Crane” was credited with being the centre of the traffic. Any friend or acquaintance of his came equally under suspicion, and Allan Pinkerton was set to discover what he could about this new arrival. He proved to be a hale, strong man, advanced in years, who rode a splendid horse. Pinkerton found him waiting at the saddler’s, where some repairs were being made to his saddle, and easily got into conversation with him. The stranger wanted to know where “old man Crane” lived, and when informed, casually mentioned that he often had some business with him. Pinkerton seemed to understand, and the other suddenly asked, “Do you ever deal, any?” “Yes, when I can get a first-rate article,” promptly replied Pinkerton. Whereupon the stranger said he had some that were “bang up,” and pulled out a bundle of notes, which he handed over for Pinkerton’s inspection, believing him to be a “square man.”
The stranger proved to be one John Craig, who had long been engaged with a nephew, Smith, at Elgin, in the fabrication of false notes. Pinkerton said afterwards that he had never seen anything more perfect than these spurious notes; they were exact imitations, almost without a flaw. They were indeed so good that they even passed muster at the bank on which they were counterfeited, and were received over the counter, and had been paid in and out more than once without discovery. Craig, who appears to have been a singularly confiding person, went on to tell Pinkerton, of whom he knew nothing, that “old man Crane” had once acted extensively for him, but was now slackening off, and that a new and more enterprising agent was much required. Then he offered Pinkerton the job to work the entire “western field,” and said he could supply him with from 500 to 1,000 forged bills, for which he need only pay 25 per cent. of their face value.
Pinkerton agreed to these terms; he was to raise the necessary cash and meet Craig by appointment in Elgin, the place of rendezvous being the basement of the Baptist chapel. Craig said that he never carried any large quantity of the notes about with him; it was too dangerous. His regular place of residence, too, was near the Canadian frontier at Fairfield, Vermont, whence he could quickly make tracks if threatened with capture. He kept two engravers of his own constantly employed in counterfeiting and printing; he showed Pinkerton other samples, and seemingly gave himself quite away. After this, they parted in Dundee, but the “trade” was soon afterwards completed in Elgin town. Pinkerton proceeded on foot, taking with him the necessary cash provided by his friends in Dundee. He met his new confederates at the Baptist chapel and received the forged bills in exchange for the good money.
Allan Pinkerton, in telling this story, frankly admits that he was sorely tempted to take up the nefarious traffic. He had in his hand a thousand ten-dollar notes, representing a couple of thousand pounds—spurious money, no doubt, but so admirably counterfeited that they were almost as good as gold. He would have no difficulty in passing them, and with this capital he might lay the foundation of his fortune. Pinkerton put aside the evil thought, but he never forgot how nearly he had yielded, and always sympathised with those who had been seduced into crime.
