About a couple of years ago, two maiden sisters, Grace and Blanche ——, were charged at Bow Street with theft. To all appearances they were highly respectable members of the community. Grace was seventy-four; Blanche had only seen sixty summers. They visited Shoolbred's, apparently wanting to buy some Prayer-books and Bibles. They looked at many, but none suited them. They left without purchasing anything, no suspicions being aroused on the part of the attendants. But Detective Butler and Constable 173 D, who had taken great interest in the old ladies' movements, saw Grace hand a Book of Common Prayer, a hymn-book, and ladies' companion to her sister. Shoolbred's manager identified the articles as the property of the firm, but declined to prosecute on account of the old ladies' ages. Grace admitted the theft, but said she did not know what she was doing. A small fine was inflicted.
Even so astute a tradesman as Bernard Quaritch has been victimized by the book-thief. These are his own words: 'A little dark man, of about forty-five years of age, with a sallow complexion, apparently a Dutch or German Jew, speaking in broken English in an undertone, introduced himself, showing me a business card, "Wunderlich and Co." The following day the pretended Wunderlich selected books from my stock to the amount of £270, and said he would come again and select more. At the same time the little dark, sallow man saw, but refused to buy, a very sweet little "Livre d'Heures," with lovely miniatures in camaïeu-gris, bound in black morocco, with silver clasp. The price of this lovely MS. was 50 guineas. Since then this mysterious little dark man has disappeared, and my very sweet little "Livre d'Heures," with its lovely miniatures, has disappeared also.'
In 1891 Messrs. Sotheran and Co. discovered that a number of rare books had been abstracted from their Strand shop, including a first edition of Burns's 'Poems,' 1786; Shakespeare's 'Poems,' 1640, first edition, with portrait by Marshall, and eleven extra leaves at the end; Heywood's 'Thyestes of Seneca,' 1560; and Piers Plowman's 'Vision and Crede,' 1561—all choice volumes. The Burns was valued at £30, and this was traced a month or two after its sudden disappearance to a bookbinder, who offered it to Mrs. Groves, who, however, wisely declined to lend money on it. Subsequently the book was sent to Mr. Pearson, Exmouth, who, knowing it had been stolen, at once communicated with the prosecutors. Two of the other books were traced to New York, and were returned to the firm at cost price. The enterprising bookbinder received twelve months' hard.
Mr. Waller, the bookseller, formerly of Fleet Street, relates a rather amusing incident connected with Thackeray: 'I think it was a book of "Services" in four small volumes, two of which he already possessed, and one, completing the set, he saw in my window. He came in, said he wanted that book, and gleefully told how he had picked up the third a few minutes before in Holywell Street. He dived into his pocket to show me his precious "find." It was not there! Between Holywell Street and Fleet Street someone had relieved him of it, in the belief, apparently, that it was an ordinary pocket-book with valuables in it!'
A by no means uncommon person is what may be described as the conscientious thief, or the man who steals one book and replaces it by another, which he considers to be of equal value. But a much cleverer dodge was that of a wily villain who selected a book from the stock of a firm of booksellers in the Strand, asking one member of the firm to charge it to him, and then selling it to the other partner at the opposite end of the shop a few minutes later! This can scarcely be described as book-stealing, for there is no proof that the 'book-lover' did not intend paying for the article ultimately. In this case the assumption was distinctly against his doing anything of the sort.
It will be seen from the foregoing facts that the book-thief hesitates at no class of book. But would he draw the line at stealing a book which deals with thieves? The late Charles Reade appears to have thought that he would not, for he has inscribed not only his name, but the following somewhat plaintive request, 'Please not to steal this book; I value it,' in a volume which Mr. Menken once possessed. The book in question is entitled 'Inventaire général de L'Histoire des Larrons,' Rouen, 1657. This singular work gives at length the stratagems, tricks, and artifices, the thefts of and assassinations by thieves, with a full account of their most memorable exploits in France. One cannot help wondering if a copy of this extraordinary book has ever been stolen from a book-collector, and of the remorse which must have overtaken the thief when he discovered the character of his prize. That indeed would be a strange irony!
