Families living in the city cannot, of course, know who they are taking into their midst as servants, and it frequently happens that these girls are the confederates of burglars. They come for the purpose of spying out the premises, and from time to time report the internal arrangements to their "men." At the proper moment, the burglar, who has thus acquired a sufficient familiarity with the house, is admitted by the girl. He performs his work sometimes without detection, but sometimes adds murder, or attempts at murder, to his crime. These men are well known to the police, but as they are to be deemed innocent until proved guilty, it is hard, if not impossible, to prevent their crimes. A servant girl is seen in the area, towards evening, with a broom in her hand; by her side is a man who is conversing earnestly with her. The policeman, as he passes along, recognizes him as a notorious burglar. That night the house is broken open and robbed, and perhaps some of the family murdered. The officer knows perfectly well who did it, but this knowledge goes for nothing in law. The man must be regularly tried, and proved guilty. Although the officer feels sure the man and woman are planning a burglary, when he sees them in the area, he cannot prevent it by arresting the man.
An incident in point has transpired of late, in illustration of this familiar danger. A gentleman's house, situate on Fifth Avenue, near Thirty-second street, was entered on the night of March 24th, by a brace of burglars, who were, as subsequent investigation proved, admitted at the basement, or servant's entrance, by one of the chambermaids.
The burglars succeeded in obtaining a considerable amount of plunder, but were alarmed by the unexpected awakening of some of the inmates of the house, and hastily departed. Suspicion fell upon the delinquent maid, who was examined, confessed her guilt, stated that the principal burglar was her sweetheart, and promised that if she was permitted to escape the deserved public punishment of her crime, she would see that the missing property was restored to its rightful owners. This 'arrangement' was accepted, the girl fulfilled her part of the contract, and every article that had been stolen was promptly restored. The chambermaid was dismissed, and any further prosecution of the affair was summarily closed. In this particular instance, it will be seen that matters terminated favorably, but it would be well if wealthy citizens would be warned against the 'family' risk to which their property is exposed, and led to adopt the most stringent precautions against these dangers, especially when summer pleasures will entice the majority of the votaries of gayety and fashion 'out of town,' leaving their dwellings almost wholly to the 'care' of not always reliable domestics.
A HAIR THIEF.
During the summer of 1868, a young lady residing in a respectable part of the city, was decoyed by an elderly woman, (under the pretence of being able to introduce the young lady to a cheap dressmaker,) into a low neighborhood, where she was seized by two men, dragged into a hovel, and there held by the ruffians, while the old hag who had decoyed her thither, with a pair of shears cut off the larger portion of her luxuriant hair—to fill, as she coolly informed her victim, 'an order from a wig-maker.' The screams and struggles of the poor dupe were of no avail, and when finally thrust out of doors by her tormentors, she was so frightened that she wandered mechanically along, up and down streets, until she met a policeman, who, on hearing her story, called a carriage and had her conveyed home, but was not able from her incoherent and inaccurate description, either to identify the place where the outrage was committed, nor the people by whom it was perpetrated.
[Illustration: The thieves' exchange—a drinking saloon where pawnbrokers go to buy stolen goods.]
THE THIEVES' EXCHANGE.
There is, in the Eighth Ward of the City, an "Exchange," where the light-fingered gentry congregate and interchange confidential intelligence, the news of their profession, and exchange the stolen goods temporarily in their possession. Attached to this is the wareroom of the proprietor, who is simply a receiver of stolen goods. There are many of these places in the city.
The agent of the New York Prison Association, in one of his reports, says:
When a burglar has successfully entered a store, and carried off a large amount of property, in the form of fine goods, this property itself is of no more use to him than the dust of the street. He does not want to wear lace or jewelry. He does not need watches or pencil- cases. He cannot eat cameos or vases. He, therefore, at once takes his plunder to his 'fence,' and receives from him, in money, such a price as is usually agreed upon. It is very difficult to ascertain, with any degree of exactness, what proportion of the value of the plunder is realized on the average by the thief; but from the best information we could obtain, we feel confident it does not exceed one sixth.