Traced and Tracked; Or, Memoirs of a City Detective

by James M'Govan

“And you let him off, money and all,” I added, in deep disgust.

“Begorra, if you’d felt the weight of the money, like me, you’d wish it far enough away,” he returned, busy with his handkerchief; “a steam hammer’s nothing to it.”

“I am happy to say that there was no money in the box,” said the robbed man, who was little the worse of his fall. “Nothing but a number of metal tokens used as checks at the theatre.”

“Tokens?” groaned M^cSweeny, clenching his fists. “I’d like to give him some more.”

A few words of explanation followed, which considerably relieved my concern over the loss of the thief; and then the robbed man accompanied us to the Central to report the case, and get a look at the handwriting of the note sent us in warning. He readily recognised the note-paper as of a kind used in the theatre, but could make nothing of the handwriting. However, the fact that the warning had come from some one employed in the theatre was a clue of a kind, and with the promise to give us every help in following it out, he took leave.

Meantime, Yorky had gone with his plunder no farther than a lighted stair at the foot of Broughton Street, which had stood conveniently open when he dashed round the corner of Barony Street. There he quickly wrenched off the lid, plunged his hand into the box to empty big handfuls of silver and gold into his pockets, and found instead only lead. The fact that he was alone draws a veil over the scene which followed. I have no doubt that his words flowed rapidly over his immediate disappointment, and his disgust may be inferred from the fact that he left the box and tokens entire in a corner of the stair. But a deeper rage was to come. Yorky remembered that the first information had come from The Gander, and the fact that we had been in waiting for him, and dummies or tokens substituted for the money the treasurer had been said to carry, seemed to the quick-witted Yorky to point to a plot to trap him. If he could bring that plot home to The Gander he resolved to put a knife in him. I have stated, however, that Nature had favoured The Gander with a look of dense stupidity, and, though Yorky took the first opportunity of seeking his society, and suspiciously sounding him on the subject, he made nothing of it. Bob Slogger he could not get at, for he was already in our hands for a separate offence.

The suspicious manner and queer questions of Yorky alarmed The Gander quite as much as the failure of his plot disappointed him.

“If I don’t have him laid by the heels soon he’ll shove a knife into me,” was his acute thought, which shows how sharp-witted folks can read each other through every fence of face and words.

I took Yorky on the Monday, and we kept him for a day or two on suspicion, but, as the street had been dark and we had but a momentary glimpse of him, he had to be let off for want of evidence. Meantime, The Gander’s wits had been at work on a plot which, I must confess, was quite worthy of the object.

When Yorky was set at liberty he was greeted by The Gander, who, with many demonstrations of satisfaction, and to celebrate the occasion, proposed that they should adjourn to Yorky’s den in the Canongate and there consume a bottle of brandy at The Gander’s expense. No proposal could have been more welcome. Yorky had a weakness for drink at all times, but when some one else paid for that drink it was to him perfect nectar. They had the garret all to themselves, as Yorky’s wife, in anticipation of a long sentence on her husband, had fled to her native clime. The drinking began, and from the first Yorky managed to appropriate the lion’s share. He was not easily affected by drink, but his ideas were getting a little cloudy by the time the brandy was finished, and readily assented to The Gander’s proposal to go for more. Into this second supply The Gander poured a strong dose of laudanum, and, as Yorky swallowed the whole, he was soon insensible. The Gander and he were of about a height and build, but, of course, in appearance and features they were not at all alike. As soon as it was quite certain that Yorky had succumbed, his amiable friend stripped him and tumbled him into bed. He then exchanged his own shabby and paste-spotted clothing for Yorky’s trousers, jersey, and pilot jacket. Then, taking from his own pocket a short-haired red wig which he had got from some of the theatricals, he drew it over his scalp, and then with a little rouge did up the point of his nose to resemble the fiery organ of the slumbering thief. Having fastened about his throat the red cotton handkerchief used by Yorky as a scarf, and topped the whole with the greasy and battered grey felt hat, The Gander softly left the den, locking the door after him and taking the key with him. It was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon, but not nearly dark. The Gander got down to Leith Street in his strange disguise, and when near the foot, at that part where Low Calton branches off towards Leith Wynd, he stopped a suitable gentleman and asked the time by the clock. Quite unsuspicious in the broad daylight, the gentleman took out his watch, and in a moment it had changed hands. The grasp had been made at it with such force by The Gander, that the gold Albert attached to the watch was snapped, and half of it left dangling at the owner’s button-hole.