Soon another man enters very drunk, and, seating himself, is soon similarly surrounded. In about a minute one of the girls leaves and whispers to the proprietor, who, emerging from behind his rampart, catches the unlucky visitor by the collar, and with the aid of a club compels him to ascend the steps again to the street. The man not having any money was an unwelcome guest, and they had no use for him.

Several others now enter, many of whom are personally known to the girls, and mutual glances of recognition pass between them. These pass on down to the further and privileged part of the place and are lost to view. The den is now pretty full and business is brisk. The bartender and proprietor are hurriedly passing out ordered drinks. The girls are flying around, executing orders and pocketing change. The piano-player bangs and thumps his hideously-wiry instrument. Glasses are clinking, chairs and tables moving, and altogether there is a discordant tumult well calculated to bewilder the coolest kind of a head.

Suddenly there is a scream—a piercing scream. Everybody starts and looks towards the spot from whence it proceeded. One of the girls quickly says, "Oh, it's nothing, Jimmy is only licking Hattie." The lover has only beaten the poor creature who is supporting him, and, strange as it may appear, she will think all the more of him for this brutality. It is a pretty generally known fact, so far as females of this class are concerned, that if a man occasionally severely beats his mistress, she regards it as a proof that he entertains for her an ardent affection. It is now getting late, and several of the girls are leaving for home with their new-made male friends, and indications point towards the place being closed for the night. The butcher comes forth from his "private room," followed by a number of the girls who have been his companions, and is led to the door and assisted out. We leave also, and as we ascend the steps to the street we discover our butcher in the hands of a policeman who is dragging him off to the station, where we shall leave him for the night.

Now, most of these girls live in what are called furnished rooms, and it is to those that they take their male friends when they leave the saloon, stopping on the way, of course, for "supper." In some cases the girls are panel thieves—but that is rare. In nearly all cases they have lovers and generally provide home comforts for their masters, but in all cases they are for hire. The nature of the business they follow demands their attention at night, so that they sleep nearly all the day. The great majority of them are veritable thieves. To drug a man who carries money, or ply him with liquor until he is unconscious and then rob him of all he has, is a very common proceeding, particularly when afterwards he is put out on the street and left, when the chances are more than a hundred to one that he neither recollects the place where he was nor the girl who stole his money or his valuables. The proprietor, if he can, divides the stolen amount with the girl—with the lover always. Many instances are known of half-intoxicated men leaving valuables with the bar-tender of some of these places, for supposed security, but when requested to be returned were met with a denial that the valuables were ever intrusted to him. With an air of insulted innocence the bartender declares that he never saw the articles or the man before.

We shall now return to our butcher acquaintance, and follow the incident to its ending. So we proceed to the Tombs the next morning, and there in the pen with the other prisoners we find our man. Upon his arraignment in court he tells the following story, which is the truth verbatim:

"I was wandering through Chatham street, when my attention became attracted by a bevy of gaudily-dressed girls, who asked me to while away my spare hours in a concert saloon. Smitten with the charms of the tempters I was loth to part with them, and after some preliminary conversation they enticed me to their lair. I had at this time about five hundred dollars in my possession, and after some hours carousal, they robbed and sent me away penniless. This is how it was done: I entered the saloon and was taken to a private room, when I called for some wine, of which we all partook. I may say here that the wine, so called, was really nothing but cider. The girls sat on the sofa in this room with me. We continued to drink and I was the recipient of more caresses than I ever was before in my life. After the lapse of perhaps three hours, some of the girls left me, and when I called for more wine, I found that my money was gone. I was not so drunk at this time that I could not understand that I had been robbed. I asked for the girls that had left, and was told that they had gone home. I paid ninety dollars for wine in this room, but they gave me sometimes cider and whisky mixed, and then when I became really unconsciously intoxicated they put me out, after having taken all my money from my clothes.

"I had made an arrangement to go home with two of the girls, but I suppose when they saw that some of their number had taken all my money, they left me. There was a sofa in this room and one of the girls intimated to me that I had assaulted her and wanted some money. Another said she could not afford to spend her time there unless she was paid. Another induced me to give her money to buy a hat, and then when I lost consciousness they robbed me of all I had, my watch and chain, scarf-pin, ring and the remainder of my money. Many times during the hours I was there, drinks and wine were brought in that I did not order, but the girls would insist that I had ordered it. Once in a while the 'madame' of the place would call in the room, and coming up to me would embrace me and tell me I was a jolly fellow. I could not now recognize any of the girls and do not know which saloon I went into. I live in this city."

As a matter of custom, detectives were placed upon the case after the discharge of the prisoner, but that was the last ever heard of the matter, as he was unable to identify any of the parties arrested.

The foregoing is only a sample of hundreds of similar cases constantly taking place, in some of which the sufferer, if he is a stranger, and has no friends, is oftentimes sent to the Island for ten days for being drunk, while the pretty waiter girl who has drugged, robbed and finally discarded him is never even arrested. There are many other cases, however, in which the pretty waiter girl does not fare so well, and after conviction has to serve out her time, thereby losing her lover and her liberty.

What has been written applies more especially to the concert-saloon waiter girl, and does not in the least pertain to that other class of girls who are found in what are called dance houses, of which latter there are not a few in this city. There are some very peculiar kinds of females to be found in dance houses and not to be met with outside the abodes of Terpsichore. The term, dance house, itself, is susceptible of various interpretations. It may mean anything from Harry Hill's, at Crosby and Houston streets, to an Italian gathering in Mott or Mulberry street. But the performances carried on are precisely alike in all. In the sporting dance house, a series of boxing matches, small theatrical sketches may be acted, a song or two interspersed, and some piano playing, winding up afterwards with a dance, in which all so inclined may indulge, taking either the regular girls employed in the house as partners, or others who have strayed in from the streets.

In the regular dance houses, such as the Haymarket on Sixth avenue, "ladies" are admitted free, but "gentlemen" are charged twenty-five cents admittance, and here regular dancing takes place, such as quadrilles, waltzes, etc. In the French Madame's on Thirty-first street, which is ostensibly a restaurant, the girls come in from the street, and while sipping black coffee, are ready to accept an engagement to dance the cancan, which is performed up-stairs in rooms paid for by those desiring to see the questionable performance. It is not infrequently danced by the females in an entirely nude state, with various other concomitants not to be mentioned here, but of such a nature as to horrify any but the most blase roue. There is also the well-known Billy McGlory's, in Hester street, near the Bowery, where general dancing is indulged in until an early hour of the morning, when a universal cancan takes place upon the public floor, and where each female boldly exposes just enough of her person to excite desire in the beholder. These girls dance in ordinary street costumes, and in many cases are paid by the proprietor for their services. It is a wild debauch, and needs but to be seen once, to be ever afterward remembered with disgust and loathing.

There are other places, not particularly dance houses nor yet concert saloons, such as the Empire, Star and Garter, Gould's, etc., which are used as general places of resort by all classes of males and Magdalenes. Here may be found the professional prize fighter, men about town, gamblers, merchants, clerks, politicians, bankers, officials of all kinds, and all classes of females, mistresses, nymphs du pave, inmates of assignation houses, all intent on fun and dissipation, and a desire to not only see the elephant, but pull it by the tail. Some of the girls-haunting these places have been pretty waiter girls, but find it more profitable to ply their trade as Cyprians. The bars are the chief sources of profit in these as in kindred establishments. Hence females are encouraged to visit them, for when they congregate in force men will follow, and men who enter these places do so for the purpose of finding congenial temporary mates and spending money for drinks.

Of the females who make these places their resort for the best part of the night, and participate in the recklessness and debauchery that has its ending only in an early death and the "Potter's Field," nothing remains to be said, except that they are the same as thousands leading similar lives in other cities of the world. The victims first of man's perfidy, through a too-confiding reliance on his promises, they become so afterwards as a matter of business and livelihood. Each has her lover, of course—what woman of the town has not?—and if she should happen to make a little money in the way of her questionable business, she divides it with him, for generally he has his eyes upon her during the entire course of the evening. Very few of them will leave any of these places with strange men without first notifying their lovers of where they are going and how long they will be away. In return for these services the lover sees to her, helps her to customers, prevents her being imposed upon by others of her sex when in the dance houses or concert saloons, and occasionally acts as her cavalier servante to various places for pleasure. There are many girls to be seen in these dance houses who are not over fifteen years of age—and they have lovers, too. In Billy McGlory's, one night, a desperate fight took place there over two rival claimants for the regard of a girl not yet entered on her teens.

It is considered one of the sights of the great city to visit these up-town resorts. Here all the young swells who desire to show country cousins the city, commercial travelers, chaperoned by city salesmen of various business houses, chorus girls from the theaters, and a mixed company generally, are to be found sitting around the various tables, drinking. The atmosphere is foggy with cigar smoke. The saloon is all ablaze with light. On the stage is some fourth-rate performer rendering a popular song. There is a long lunch counter, upon which is placed the materials for manufacturing all kinds of sandwiches. There is the flower girl, with her tray of fresh pansies and roses, casting a reflected bloom upon her otherwise pale face. There are the negro waiters ready to pounce upon the first glass that is half-emptied of its contents, so that its owner seeing no glass before him feels it incumbent to order again. There are crowds of females—girls and women in street costumes—some smoking cigarettes sitting poised on men's knees; others at the tables quaffing stimulants like their male companions. There are voices loud, mingled with the constant succession of orders for drinks shouted out unpleasantly by the waiters. There is the sound of clinking and jingling of glasses, the constant rapping on tables, boisterous laughter, an occasional oath, and once in a while an hysterical scream, as some unfortunate woman succumbs to the influence of rum. Above all this is heard at intervals, the sound of music, as it squeezes itself through the thick and sticky air. Men and women are continuously going and coming, and all this drags on until daylight appears, and the persons in the place, from sheer fatigue and exhaustion, seek some place to sleep until the next night, when the females go through the same scenes, with a new lot of the same kind of men. That is the up-town place as it is to-day. The stories one hears are the same as those told two thousand years ago. Woman's fall, man's perfidy, woman's frailty, man's inhumanity form the themes, with drunkeness, depravity and debauchery thrown in parenthetically.

Most of the proprietors of these up-town resorts are very prosperous and would not countenance theft of any kind, nor permit any woman guilty of it to come into their saloons if they knew them to be thieves. Persons and property are comparatively as safe here as they can reasonably be expected to be; but there are lots of persons who visit these places who are known to be professional thieves and pickpockets, and while apparently in the place for amusement, are really watching for some unfortunate who, under the influence of drink, attempts to find his way home alone. Such an individual is followed, and by one pretext or another is robbed. Danger lurks in all these places for the man who drinks. The temperate man is safe almost anywhere, but the temperate man is not in the habit of visiting such places as have been described, except—once in a while.



CHAPTER VI.

SHOP-LIFTERS.

Who they are and how they are made—Their Methods of Operating and upon whom—The Fashionable Kleptomaniac and her opposite—The Modern Devices of Female Thieves.

Many persons contend that certain kinds of criminals inherit their law-breaking propensities. There are others, less charitably disposed, perhaps, who strenuously insist that all criminals, without exception, are simply born with a natural desire to be bad, and would not be otherwise if they could; that they are prone and susceptible to the worst influences because they incline that way. There are others, again, who as strongly and vigorously urge that felons, of whatever grade, class or character, are made so by circumstances, in which poverty, idleness, inability to obtain work, temptation, and a thousand other things, conspire to be either the direct or indirect causes of the individual falling from the straight path and entering the crooked path of crime. But, from whatever motive, by whatever temptation, whether forced or led, certain it is that both male and female criminals have some peculiar ideas of crime, entertained, perhaps, for reasons only known to themselves. The chances of escape from detection are, no doubt, seriously weighed and carefully considered by the persons bent upon committing felony as a mode of livelihood, and, undoubtedly, some special line is selected, as the particular branch of the profession to be followed, in accordance with the physical and mental fitness of the man or woman to succeed in it.

In other words, they gradually become "specialists," like other professional persons in the respectable walks of life. It may be safely said, however, that a thief in one thing is a thief in all things. He would be callow, indeed, who would predicate that a professional burglar would hesitate to commit highway robbery because his weapon was a jimmy, or that a panel thief would turn up his nose at picking an inviting pocket. It is all in the line of business, and neither professional would lose caste. No doubt both men and women select the peculiar line of crime for which they imagine they are physically and mentally best adapted, and which, in each particular case, seems to offer the most facilities and immunities. For these considerations, shop-lifting has its obvious attractions and temptations for women.

For years past, the newspapers of our large cities almost daily have chronicled the arrests of men and women, in stores, who have been caught in the act of appropriating articles that have been temptingly displayed on the counters. Yet it is very doubtful if there has yet appeared one published account of the exact manner in which such goods have been stolen, or an explanation given of the finesse by which, in spite of the Argus eyes of the watchers, clerks, visitors and customers, the thief generally contrives to escape detection. It goes without saying that there are adroit and dexterous shop-lifters of both sexes, while the manner of conducting their operations is as diverse as can well be conceived.

The annual thefts of goods from the retail stores of this city alone aggregate an almost fabulous sum. It is very difficult to reach a reliable approximation of the total amount thus stolen, because store-keepers are naturally averse to having their losses from this source known. As a prominent Sixth-avenue gentleman once remarked, "If I should tell how much I annually lost through thieves, or suffered by shop-lifters, I would have the entire band occasionally paying me visits, thinking I had not provided myself with the usual safe-guards against them." Nevertheless, it can be stated as an absolute fact that not less than half a million dollars' worth of goods yearly disappear from the stores through shop-lifters, embracing all kinds of articles, from diamonds to penny fans.

The professional diamond and jewelry thief, however, is not to be confounded with the shop-lifter, for the former employs quite a different modus operandi in capturing his illicit goods. The diamond thief has been known to display the most fertile ingenuity in devising schemes to rob the unwary though generally alert jeweler. An instance is recorded of a thief entering a jewelry store, leaving his "pal" outside to look in through the window, asking to see some diamond rings. While pretending to examine them with severe criticism, and keeping the salesman engaged, he cleverly attached one end of the string, held by his confederate outside, to several of the most valuable, and quietly dropped them at his feet. His "pal" then quietly pulled them along the floor, out through the door, into the street and decamped. A search of the thief who remained behind disclosed nothing and, as proof was thus wanting, he had to be discharged.

The female shop-lifter is generally a woman well known to the police, as her picture will, in nearly every case, be found in the Rogues' Gallery at Police Headquarters. Usually, when she discovers that her actions are watched and her movements shadowed, she quietly folds her tent and proceeds to some other city where she is comparatively a stranger, and where, unsuspected, she can ply her nefarious occupation with less risk of detection and capture. She is often either the wife of a gambler, professional burglar, forger or other criminal; or she may be the wife of some reputable mechanic whose income is insufficient to supply her with the furbelows her vanity craves; or, again, she is one of those women who, having a natural aversion to labor, seek to support themselves by petty thefts.

The fact is notorious, and easily demonstrated by the records of the police courts, that "a shop-lifter once, a shop-lifter always." It is a lamentable psychological idiosyncrasy that, despite the most earnest and apparently sincere resolutions to lead an honest life, the female shop-lifter, intent on making a legitimate purchase, is incapable of withstanding the temptation offered by a display of fancy articles. She will usually attempt to purloin some trinket or other and be caught again. Perhaps the leniency with which crimes of this character have been treated by the authorities has tended to increase the number of persons engaged in committing them. For, heartless as man is at times, he detests the idea of prosecuting a woman for the commission of a petty theft, when the end, for her, means the penitentiary. In very many, perhaps the majority of, cases he will be satisfied if his goods are recovered, and permit the thief to go unpunished. This is very frequently the case with that class of shop-lifters called, by courtesy, the "kleptomaniac,"—the wealthy lady who steals what she could easily have purchased. This is a phase of female character only accounted for upon the Christian hypothesis that her thieving propensities are a disease, while they are really a manifestation of the same base desires which actuate less fortunate women who expiate their misdemeanor in the penitentiary.

Most of the rich kleptomaniacs are well known to the various store-keepers. A woman of this kind is watched from the moment she enters an establishment until she leaves it. Usually, a trusty employee or detective follows her from counter to counter, unobserved, noting all the articles purloined. When the fair and aristocratic thief enters her carriage and is driven to her palatial residence a bill of the goods so "lifted," addressed to the husband, follows her and, in nearly every case, is paid upon presentation and without questioning. Thus the transaction ends, until another visit from the lady occasions another bill. If the "blue-blooded" thief enters a store, however, where she is not known, and to the proprietor of which her "disease" is unsuspected, she often escapes with her "swag," like the unfortunate female who adopts stealing as a means of subsistence. There should be no distinction made between the wealthy and aristocratic female thief and her less fortunate sister, for the crime is the same in both cases; the only difference being that the latter cannot claim the possession of riches in extenuation of her guilt.

The frequency with which thefts by shop-lifters occur, and the amount of valuable goods stolen, has rendered store-keepers more suspicious and cautious, probably, than any other class of men in the world. Nearly all the large stores on Sixth avenue, Twenty-third street, Broadway, Fourteenth street, and others, where ladies do most of their shopping, and which are perfectly jammed with people nearly all day long, employ either male or female detectives (and in some instances both are used), who are constantly on the alert for the detection of female shop-lifters. Such stores as McCreery's, Lord & Taylor's, O'Neill's, Macy's, Simpson, Crawford & Simpson's, Hearn's, Altman's, Koch's, Kaughran's, Ehrich's, Denning's, Stern's and Le Boutillier's are examples. Some stores have had seats erected near the ceiling, where, secreted among shawls and other pendant goods, the detectives are securely hidden from the sight of all persons, and can thus watch the actions of every woman making a purchase. Other detectives are posted at the different entrances; while still others, having the appearance of buyers, are constantly walking and circulating through the various departments, on the lookout for thieves. During the holidays all these precautions are doubled, and some officers are even posted on the sidewalk, in front of the windows.

Before Christmas these stores carry enormous stocks of every kind of fancy goods, and their lavish display, added to their crowded condition at all times, renders theft easier than usual. So that, try as they may, the proprietors cannot prevent a certain amount of thieving, and thousands of dollars worth of goods are annually lost to each store by the depredations of shop-lifters. Even the small shops of Third and Eighth avenues, and Avenues A and B, are not free from the visits of this class of thieves, and no stores are exempt from the imposition of their tribute.

Before leaving home on a thieving excursion to the stores the female shop-lifter carefully and systematically prepares her clothing, and sees that it is in proper form and ready for business. This she does by first putting on a corset made especially for the purpose, with broad, strong bands which pass over the shoulders. Between her legs she arranges a large bag or receptacle made of some extremely strong cloth, which is suspended from the corset by a stout band running around the waist. Her dress or frock covers this, and in front of the dress is an opening or slit, nicely arranged in the folds so as not to be noticed, which leads into the suspended bag. Over this, in winter, is worn a sealskin sacque, cloth cloak, fur circular, or other garment, according to the means of the wearer. In summer she wears a light shawl, which completely hides the slit in the dress from view. She now takes her muff, which, to the uninitiated eye, has nothing to distinguish it, outwardly, from thousands of other muffs, but which is a master-piece of ingenious contrivance. It is covered with any kind of fur, just as honest muffs are, with the significant exception that, instead of being padded with cotton, the fur rests upon a framework of wire. Between the fur covering and the wire supporting frame, the space usually filled with cotton is left vacant, thus providing accommodation for quite a stock of valuable lace, articles of jewelry, gloves, or anything small and valuable. In the bottom of the muff there is a small slide, on the inside, worked by the hand of the wearer, who, after introducing the stolen article into the muff, presses back this slide and drops the plunder into the cavity between the frame and the fur.

With one of these muffs, shop-lifting is so easy as to be successfully practiced by novices, as not one store-walker in a thousand would suspect that his counters could be worked through a muff worn as these are when in action. Thus equipped, the expert female shop-lifter sallies out. Generally, she dresses rather expensively. Sometimes she uses a carriage, but more frequently walks, stopping to gaze in the store windows as she saunters along; and in no particular can she be distinguished from others of her sex, except, perhaps, that in some cases she is rather more richly and attractively clothed. Upon selecting a store that suits her, she walks boldly in, going at once, and without noticeable hesitation, to the lace or other department, before the counter of which she seats herself, adroitly arranging her dress and the slit. Asking the saleswoman to be shown some kinds of lace, she examines it critically, and, laying it down upon the counter, asks to see another kind, or some feathers, or something else, and so contrives to have several articles just before her, one covering the other, if possible. Having accumulated a number of articles upon the counter in an eligible position, she points to some things high up on a shelf behind the counter, thus getting the saleswoman's back turned towards her for an instant, when, with soft dexterity, she conveys anything that happens to be handily in the way through the slit in her dress into the bag between her legs. The goods examined and priced, "not suiting" her, and other customers coming up, she takes the opportunity of moving to another counter, where the same tactics are repeated, and so on, till she is satisfied with her haul or exhausted her stowage capacity.

The muff is worked in this way: The operator rests her hand, with the muff on it, on the goods which she proposes to sample, and a moment of diverted attention on the part of the salesman or saleswoman is ample for her to transfer to her ingenious warehouse such samples as she can conveniently and quickly pick up with one hand. The movement of concealing the stolen articles is instantaneously executed, and, however well the muff may be stuffed, it cannot be bulged out to attract attention. It is surprising to know the vast quantities of material these bags and muffs will contain. At police headquarters, once, in examining the contents of one of these bags, it was found to actually hold a piece of satin, several cards of lace, a camel's-hair shawl, two large china ornaments, a number of spools of silk, several elegant fans, expensive ostrich plumes, and numberless smaller articles, feathers, artificial flowers and some minor trinkets. Shop-lifters are the terror of the shop-keepers, for the thefts embrace everything of convenient character lying about. With one dexterous sweep they will frequently put out of sight a dozen small articles.

All the articles stolen are carried home, the trade-marks upon them destroyed, and then subsequently sold to some "fence" for about one-third their value, to finally be resold again over the counter of some other store in another city. It is seldom the female shop-lifter uses a male confederate, but it frequently happens that they travel in couples, one engaging the attention of the seller while the other fills her bag or muff, taking turn about until both have stolen sufficient for the day. Sometimes several trips are made to the same store, but generally one is enough.

It often happens that store-keepers make mistakes and wrongfully accuse respectable ladies of shop-lifting, and in such cases the over-zealous vender suffers greatly, both in loss of custom and, oftentimes, in heavy damages in a court of law. All stores are provided with what are called examination rooms. When a person is suspected of being a thief, some of the attaches of the store, or a detective, as the case may be, taps the person lightly upon the shoulder, and politely invites them into this examination room. Here their bundles and packages are searched and, if warranted, their clothing is personally inspected by some female attendant. Here is where some very curious scenes are enacted. The professional thief will resort to tears, expostulations, explanations, excuses of all kinds, finally begging to be allowed to depart. The discovery of the bag or the muff, however, invariably settles the case and the offender is marched off to jail.

In the case of a mistake, as stated, the store-keeper generally makes the explanations, excuses, and so forth, supplementing them afterwards by payment in a suit for damages.

Men shop-lifters—or, more properly, store thieves—pursue an entirely different method, and confine their operations to a far different kind of store. They go into the thieving business to make it pay, and are not tempted by the display of merely pretty things. They prefer to operate in the wholesale stores, and how ingeniously and systematically they accomplish their object, under the very eyes of people, borders on the marvelous.

It has often been said that the same amount of ingenuity, thought, care and planning, which is bestowed by criminals upon the perpetration of felony, if directed properly upon some legitimate business would render them successful and rich. Undoubtedly, this is true. What inventive faculties they must have to devise such a convenient contrivance as the shop-lifter's muff, the various burglar's implements, the safe-robber's tools, their delicate files, saws, etc., made from the best of steel, and thousands of other things used in various ways, including the store thief's satchel, must be manifest to the most ordinary comprehension.

As this latter article is used by the class of thief about to be spoken of, a short description of it will not be amiss. To all outward appearance it is a very unpretentious traveling-bag. It looks honest, and does not differ, apparently, from any other bag of its kind. A careful scrutiny hardly discloses any variation from the ordinary valise; but, nevertheless, it has a false side, so ingeniously arranged as to open and close noiselessly, being caught with a well-oiled spring or fastening. The hinges of this false side are made on the iron which, in ordinary satchels, contains the lock, and it opens upwards, when placed in the usual manner upon a table, instead of downwards—just the reverse of the honest one. It is the simplest thing in the world, then, for an expert, carrying a valise of this description by the handle, to place it over a piece of valuable cloth, open the slide, which works with a spring; at the precise moment slip the goods in, and, taking his valise by the handle, walk off undiscovered. To any one who may be watching, the action of the thief is the most natural one in the world, and if the goods themselves are not missed no one would ever suspect they were in the valise carried by the gentleman who merely let it rest for a second on the table. But it is captured all the same, although you cannot see it. It has changed from one place to the other under the magical "presto" of the thief.

The store thief saunters down-town to the dry goods district, watches the wholesale houses, notes the interior of the stores, and carefully makes his selection of some one suitable to his purpose. The next morning, bright and early, he attires himself like a country store-keeper, and, taking his satchel in his hand, he makes haste to reach the store he intends to work, appearing to the quietly-observant porter like an out-of-town buyer, just come off some early incoming train. Asking the porter or clerk, who, probably, about this time, is sweeping out, in expectation of the arrival of some of the salesmen or proprietors, if Mr. Smith, a salesman, is in, he is informed that none of the clerks or salesmen are down yet. Remarking in answer that he will wait a moment or two, as he has just arrived from Schenectady, he deftly places his gripsack upon the counter, over some valuable piece of goods, and saunters around the store, coming back to where his valise is, when, embracing a favorable opportunity, he slips the one, two or three pieces of cloth through the false portion of the valise, and, taking it by the handle in the usual careless manner, "guesses he will go to his hotel and have a wash and return later," and leaves the store not only undetected but entirely unsuspected. Very probably the theft remains undiscovered until the next taking of stock, when it is impossible to tell how the goods were lost, and in many cases some attache of the store is discharged, never knowing for what sin of omission or commission he was suspected. The success of this mode of theft is best shown by the infrequency with which such cases are ever brought to light or its perpetrator ever caught and arrested.



CHAPTER VII.

KLEPTOMANIA.

Extraordinary Revelations—A Wealthy Kleptomaniac in the Toils of a Black-mailing Detective.

In the issue of the New York World, bearing date Saturday, May 11, 1867, appeared a long article criticising, exposing, and severely condemning the methods of the city's detective police. "A detective," said the writer, "is presumed to be alike active, capable and honest, and were he such, he would be a public benefactor; but as he is too often either ignorant, indolent, or positively dishonest, he becomes a public pest. That detectives are in league with thieves; that they associate with them publicly and privately on the most intimate terms; that they occasionally 'put up' jobs with them by which the people are alike fleeced and astonished; that although the perpetrators of great robberies are generally known to them, the said perpetrators almost invariably escape punishment; that far more attention is paid to the sharing of the plunder, or the obtaining of a large percentage on the amount of money recovered, than to the furtherance of the ends of justice—all these statements are undeniably true."

Coming to specific charges, the writer said further on: "A handsome female, a Broadway shop-lifter, recently testified that although she had been desirous of reforming her life for a year past, she had been totally prevented from so doing by the extortions of certain members of the detective force, who threatened to reveal her former history unless she 'came down handsomely,' and in order to 'come down,' as they styled it, she was obliged to resort to her old disgraceful business."

The foregoing reference to a concurrent incident was presented to the reader as coldly and curtly as a historic hailstone, striking him but to glance off, and not like a real, breathing story, as it was, appealing strongly to his heart. The following facts, which have been kept inviolate in this office for nearly twenty years, and only brought to light here because those most concerned have passed away, will show what a stirring and pathetic narrative lay beneath the newspaper chronicler's dry words.

Early in the spring of the year above named, an elderly gentleman of undoubted respectability was shown into our private office. He was exceedingly nervous and flurried, and his wan, colorless face looked like an effaced page. In a tortuous, round-about way, he intimated that his married daughter was in great trouble, in consequence of the operation of a great weakness or defect in character which was apparently hereditary. Her mother, his wife, he said, an excellent, kind-hearted, conscientious, truthful woman, had occasionally manifested the kleptomania impulse and had been detected. Happily the crime had been committed under circumstances which obviated exposure; it had been charitably overlooked upon his paying the bill for the purloined goods. Up to the date of her marriage, he had not observed or otherwise become cognizant of the development of the unfortunate trait in his only daughter. Her husband was a noble-minded man who devotedly loved her, and whom she idolized. Two years after her marriage she was caught shop-lifting in an establishment where she was known. By a merciful stroke of fortune, the information and the bill were sent to the father instead of the husband. Great moral and religious influence had been brought to bear on her, and for several years there was cause to believe that she had overcome her weakness. Unfortunately there had been another lapse into temptation. At present she was suffering the tortures of the damned, but in what particular respect she had refused to explain to him. "Father, find me an active, bold and energetic lawyer," she had said in a paroxysm of tears, "and I will tell him what I cannot tell you."

The lady came to the office next morning, alone. She was pale as a lily, and she bore on her forehead that shadow of melancholy which tells all the world that a woman is suffering and unhappy. Her eyes were dark and soft as the darkest and softest violet, and she was dressed with the utmost simplicity. She was in a most desponding mood. She said nothing was worth striving for any more. There was no good under the sun for her. The splendor had gone from the grass—the glory from the flower. Life, affection, family ties, love of good name—all these had ceased to appeal to her.

In the sanctum sanctorum of a criminal lawyer's office the extremes of mental agony and poignant suffering are sometimes revealed in all their phases; but it would be hard to imagine any one suffering more than this fair, prepossessing woman, as she told how that sleepless and merciless vulture of remorse, aided by the machinations of a licensed fiend in human form, dogged her steps by day and made night horrible. The recital recalled the picture suggested by the lines:

"Lean abstinence, pole grief and haggard care, The dire attendants of forlorn despair."

With pale, quivering lips, she told the story of her humiliation. Primarily, some two years after she became a happy wedded wife, she was impelled by an irresistible impulse to take some article, almost valueless in itself, from the counter of a dry-goods store. She had been making several purchases and had plenty of money in her pocket at the time. Afterwards, as opportunity offered, the wretched larceny was repeated. Then came discovery, and her father's awakening to the realization that his daughter was a thief. He summoned a minister and some worthy Christian women—relatives of his—to talk to her and to urge her to seek strength from that source where it is never withheld when earnestly and penitently invoked. She became a church-member, zealous and earnest in the path of righteousness, partaking regularly of the Sacred Elements, visiting the sick, relieving the distressed, and comforting the afflicted. To use Milton's language,

"Such a sacred and homefelt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss,"

she had never felt till then. Under these happy conditions five years passed, and then again during the holiday season, temptation assailed her and was stronger than she. The person who discovered her theft was a detective. He did not arrest and expose her. He did worse. He followed her, obtained an interview and promised to keep her secret if she made it worth his while. She willingly gave him a sum of money, and expected to hear no more of him or of her transgression. But this newer edition of Fagin, who was as vile as the sewers, and who lied like a prospectus, dogged her movements and systematically shadowed her wherever she went, again and again demanding money and threatening her with newspaper publicity. She gave this rapacious vampire all the money she could procure, even borrowing from her father. The pawnbrokers had in safe keeping her diamonds, jewels, and some of her furs and laces. They had been pledged to furnish this licensed black-mailer with money, and still he was insatiate and unappeased. Her husband's suspicions meanwhile had been aroused. She spent so much money in occult ways that he had been impelled to ask her father what he thought L—— was doing with so much money. Fettered thus, with the torments both of Prometheus and Tantalus—the vulture gnawing at her vitals, and the lost joys mocking her out of reach—she had at last in sheer desperation been driven to request her father to procure her the assistance of a fearless lawyer.

It is not expedient to reveal the modus operandi used in emancipating this unfortunate lady from her worse than Egyptian bondage. But the reader may rest assured that through the co-operation of the police commissioners the shameless scoundrel was dismissed from the police force. Afterwards, he served a term in a Western state prison, and up to this hour has been heard no more of in New York.

CHAPTER VIII.

PANEL HOUSES AND PANEL THIEVES.

The Inmates—The Victims—The Gains—Complete Exposure of the Manner of Operations, and how Unsuspecting Persons are Robbed.

Some years since respectable New York was startled and horrified by the recitals of criminal life, which, in the fulfillment of a disagreeable public duty, the daily newspapers printed in their news columns. The stirring appeal for the suppression of the evil then made by the press to the moral sentiment of the community, was backed by the judiciary, by the money and influence of wealthy and patriotic citizens, by the various charitable organizations, and by the whole police force. Consequently, the foul Augean stable of vice and iniquity, for the time being, at least, was in a great degree cleansed and purified. The leaders of that foul army of vicious men and women were gradually rooted out and driven away from their noxious haunts. Some found a congenial haven in the State prison, a few reformed, and many died in want. The plague being temporarily stayed, and popular indignation a matter of record, New York, as is its invariable custom, permitted its vigilance to go quietly to sleep, with a fair prospect of it being rudely awakened to find history repeating itself. That this awakening cannot safely be much longer deferred, it is partly the mission of the present chapter to show. For it is useless to deny that we have in this city to-day, a condition of affairs very similar to that which aroused the indignation and called for the severe repressional measures of our immediate predecessors. Up-town, in many instances closely contiguous to the dwellings of people of the highest respectability, there are dens as vile and infamous as ever disgraced any civilized community. Hardly a street, however apparently exclusive and fashionable, can boast that it is free from gambling, prostitution or panel houses.

Some time since, a journalist connected with a prominent morning paper, took great pains to collect statistics concerning houses of prostitution in New York. The article in which the results of his investigation were given, estimates that over $15,000,000 was invested in that business, and that the yearly amount spent in those houses averaged over $10,000,000. In this chapter, however, the reader's attention is more particularly invited to the class of assignation and prostitution bagnios, known as panel houses.

The name "panel house" was originally derived from a false impression prevalent in the community, that the rooms occupied by the inmates were fitted with sliding panels in the walls and partitions, through and by means of which most of the robberies were committed. But, as will be seen hereafter, the term is a misnomer, so far as the fact is concerned. But they had to have some distinctive appellation, and "panel house" is a convenient generic term.

The proprietors of panel houses, in years gone by, were nearly all professional gamblers, a fact which is more or less true to-day, where the real, genuine house of that character exists, but there are hundreds of women who work the "panel game" upon their victims, who hire a simple room in some furnished-room house. If detected the entire house has conferred upon it the name of panel house, and is ever afterwards described and known as such in police and court records.

The real, Simon-pure panel thief is generally a young and pretty female, who has been initiated into the mysteries of the game by either a gambler or a lover, and of whom she is the mistress. It is the conception of a man's brain, needing the assistance of an attractive woman to carry out the scheme, and was probably originally devised by some broken-down gambler to secure enough funds wherewith to resume play. No woman would ever have dreamt of practicing such an intricate and bold robbery, for she could never have carried it out. There are many women engaged in these robberies who are neither young nor handsome, but they are adepts and make up in knowledge and experience what they lack in charms; but the most successful are young and attractive. They succeed better when they are winsome, for reasons which require no explanation.

Strange as it may appear, there are instances on record in which some of the professional females engaged in this panel game have preserved intact their virtue, so far as men generally were concerned, and have remained steadfast and true to their lovers, through all vicissitudes. They have solicited and accompanied men to their rooms, yet still have so contrived and maneuvered, as to have their male companion robbed without indulging in any of the other apparently necessary concomitants to the success of the undertaking. But these women are rare—very rare indeed. The fact of their occasional existence merely proves that the sole object of all women engaged in the nefarious game of panel thieving is robbery—first, last and all the time.

From the well-known dislike of the victims of this game to making their names and losses known by figuring prominently in a court of justice, panel-house thieves escape the punishment they justly deserve and thrive more successfully, perhaps, than other professional robbers. Besides, the game is practiced more particularly upon the most respectable element of the community. Men of families, strangers visiting the city, men of advanced years, and even clergymen are sometimes caught in the net. As may be imagined, people of this class prefer to lose their money rather than have their names made public, and so long as such victims are to be found, panel houses will thrive and thieves become rich. Instances are on record where as much as eight thousand dollars have been secured from a single victim, who, from his prominence in social and business circles, allowed the matter to drop, although he was acquainted with the thief.

A man and a woman are essential to the execution of the panel game. The woman's part consists in "cruising," a term applied to walking the streets to pick up men. The man has two parts to enact, as "runner" and "robber." The first role consists in being on the street watching his female decoy. If he sees a man partially under the influence of liquor, he informs the decoy, who places herself in the way of the obfuscated citizen. Or, in the event of the woman securing a customer herself, the "runner" observes it, and when she and her new-found friend proceed towards the house, the "runner" rapidly goes ahead and unobserved slips in first to make arrangements for the second role in the drama, and which in some cases has ended in a tragedy.

The foregoing more particularly concerns panel thieves, that is, "couples" who adopt the business on their own account. There are regular panel houses, by which is meant houses of ill-fame, with perhaps from ten to twenty girl inmates, where nearly every room in the house is perfectly arranged for systematically pursuing this kind of robbery, and where the moment a girl retires to a room with a gentleman, the proprietor is notified, and when the chance occurs, completely cleans the unconscious victim of every cent he may have about him. These houses, however, are not now as plentiful as they were immediately after the close of the war. The victims of these houses were many, for outwardly they did not differ from ordinary gilded palaces of sin, and, being situated in streets well known to contain respectable seraglios, were frequently visited in the orthodox way by gentlemen in search of the "elephant."

The game, however, is played in precisely the same way in all cases, whether by a "loving couple" on their own account or by one of the many girls in a regular house instituted for the sole purpose. And this is the way it is done: A pretty female, young, with entrancing eyes, an elegant form, richly and fashionably attired, is noticed daintily picking her steps on a street crossing. She is more frequently noticed in the act of crossing a street, as it affords her an opportunity of rendering herself still more attractive and seductive by practicing those apparently aimless little feminine arts that prove so fascinating to the coarser sex. The skirts are just lifted high enough to discover a beautiful foot; perhaps a glimpse of an ankle bewitchingly smothered in lace frills is revealed; while a warm scintillant glance of invitation is thrown at the interested beholder, who, perhaps, follows and engages her in conversation. More than likely he is agreeably surprised to find how lady-like and attractive her manners are, and by his own suggestion or her invitation he readily accompanies her to her home; not, however, without being previously warned that she is married, that her husband is very ugly and jealous, and a big, strong, quarrelsome fellow, to boot.

The room to which she conducts him is apparently an ordinary room, furnished in an ordinary way. It is, however, usually a front room, separated by folding doors from the room in the rear. It is in connection with these folding doors that mystery and danger lurk. These folding doors are a study. Some are so constructed that instead of opening in the center, one of them opens upon hinges which are placed on that portion of the doors where the lock is usually situated, so that it opens at the woodwork on the side. If a chance visitor to one of these rooms should have his suspicions aroused by any act of his companion, and should closely examine the doors, he would find a bolt on the inside securely fastened, but he would not be likely to see that it barely rested in the socket, and thinking everything was all right, his suspicions would be disarmed. As there would be but one other door in the room—that by which he entered—and as he locked that himself, privacy would apparently be insured.

In the folding doors are several minute holes, through which a person behind them can watch all that goes on in the front room. These holes, however, are frequently dispensed with, and a cough or other understood signal by the female gives the thief warning when all is ready for his entrance.

After the lapse of perhaps five minutes the female coughs or makes some understood signal, the door noiselessly opens at the side, a man enters unseen, secures the victims clothing, disappears into the next room, takes the money out of a pocket-book or pocket, replaces the pocket-book in the clothes, takes the watch, the studs out of the shirt, everything, in fact, of any value, and replacing the clothing, softly closes the door again. Now comes the scene: A knock is heard on the other door—that by which the victim entered. With a slight scream the female remarks, that the person knocking is her husband, and with great haste proceeds to dress, all the while telling her now frightened companion that he will kill him if he sees him, hurriedly assists him to dress and half pushing him, forces him out of the room, down the stairs into the street.

Another phase of this trick is when, in the absence of folding doors, the lock or bolt is so arranged that socket and bolt are both upon the door. Another is to fill the socket with some substance, a cork for instance, so that when the bolt is pushed forward, it fails to enter the socket.

An instance is related of an elderly man coming into one of these rooms, and casually remarking to his female friend, "I hope I won't be rapped out of this room by anyone, for I have been in two places to-night and was rapped out of both." That gentleman was robbed in the first house he entered, and must have remarked in the second one that he was "rapped out" of the first, for his companion in this last affair knew what had happened in the other cases, and that he would not have been treated in that manner unless they had secured his money. And so his remark being again overheard, he was unceremoniously "rapped out" of this third and last house. Here is a case from the records which probably illustrates the method as well as any other:

An elderly man, about sixty years of age, entered a panel-room with a dark-haired, flashily-dressed woman, who immediately requested him to bolt the door. This he did, but he might have saved himself the trouble, for the door was no more closed then than it was before. These bolts are very ingenious. The catch on the jamb of the door into which the bolt slides has three false screw-heads in it. In reality it is not attached to the door-casing at all, but is fastened to the body of the bolt by an unseen plate. Consequently, when the door is opened, the catch goes forward with the remainder of the bolt. This, of course, was not noticed by the man, as the gas was not turned up by the woman till after the door was closed. While the man was bolting the door the woman hurried to the dressing-table and hastily laid her hat on one chair and her cloak on the other. This action compelled the man to place his clothes on the couch or on one of the chairs by the folding doors. When all was ready, one of the operators scratched lightly on the door with his finger-nail, to warn the woman he was about to enter the room. The next moment the man boldly opened the door wide, removed the chair out of his way, and glided rapidly to the other chair, on which the man's clothes lay. At this moment the woman redoubled her fascinations, for the purpose of distracting the attention of her companion, in which intent she was eminently successful. The work of going through the man's pockets, and what is technically known as "weeding" his pocket-book, was quickly over, the chair was quietly replaced, the panel-door closed, and the thief appeared with a roll of bills in his hand. The whole thing was done in from twenty to twenty-five seconds. Immediately after the closing of the door the man went outside, and, knocking on the passage-door of the bedroom, said in a loud whisper.

"Jenny, here's Joe; hurry up."

"My God!" exclaimed the girl, jumping up, "you must get away as fast as you can. That's my lover. He's dreadful jealous, and would shoot you as soon as look at you."

It is needless to say that the victim required no urging. He jumped into his clothes as fast as possible, only too glad to get out of the way before the appearance of the terrible imaginary lover, and apparently without the slightest notion that he had been robbed.

The victims of these thefts have really no redress. It is so hard to find the guilty woman afterwards, or even to locate the house, for unless the pleasure hunter suspects some trap he pays no particular attention to the kind of house, its situation, or its number. In the case of a stranger he never seeks the thieves again, but "pockets his loss." If an elderly man, he does likewise. But if he be really an obstinate man, determined upon catching the thieves and prosecuting them, he will invariably be approached and his money and valuables will be returned to him upon condition that he withdraws his complaint. Convictions are very rarely obtained in any case from the difficulty of identifying the parties.

Many of these women never see a penny of the plundered money, the man, in most cases, retaining the whole of the loot. It sometimes happens that a victim discovers that he has been robbed before he leaves, and makes what is called in the vernacular a "kick"; if so, it also sometimes happens that he is unmercifully beaten by the lover and his pals, but it has occurred that when "the kicker" was a man about town, that he has gotten away with his assailant in a manner calculated to make the heart of a Sullivan beat with pleasure.

There is quite a different feature of this panel-game, but which more properly belongs to black-mail, in which, through the peep-holes in the doors, the face of the man or woman in the adjoining room is studied, waited for on the outside, followed to his or her home, and in a few days threatened with exposure, if the sum demanded is not forthcoming.

Couples have been known to ply the panel-game very successfully in some of the most prominent hotels in the city. The lady would make her conquest upon the streets in the ordinary manner and the game would be worked in two rooms of the hotel as already described. This enterprise was carried on successfully by a scoundrel and his wife at one time in one of the best hotels, and although it was generally known, there never was any one to complain against them. It was only by the proprietor specially employing several detectives that they were finally discovered, arrested and punished.



CHAPTER IX.

A THEATRICAL ROMANCE.

Kale Fisher, the Famous Mazeppa, involved—Manager Hemmings charged by Fast-paced Mrs. Bethune with Larceny.

A good many years since, at a fashionable boardinghouse in Philadelphia, a handsome Adonis-shapen young man, well and favorably known by the name of George Hemmings, became acquainted with a member of the fairer sex who had scarcely passed "sweet sixteen," and was accredited with a bountiful supply of beauty, named then Eliza Garrett. An intimacy at once sprung up between the two, which at length ripened into a mutual attachment.

A series of journeys were undertaken by Miss Garrett and Hemmings, and for some time they lived together enjoying all the pleasures and sweets of love; but for some cause the pair separated, and for a number of years saw nothing of each other. Meantime, many changes had occurred in the circumstances of both. Eliza had been transformed into Mrs. Bethune and lived in a fashionable part of Gotham, her reputed husband, John Bethune, Esquire, being a gentleman of wealth and sporting proclivities.

George Hemmings, who, by the way, was very respectably connected, had migrated from the "City of Brotherly Love" to "Gotham," and filled a position as superintendent in a dry-goods establishment.

It was whilst in this city, when "walking down Broadway" one afternoon, Hemmings' attention was attracted by a lady who seemed to have been previously pleased with his acquaintance, and in whom he recognized his former inamorata, Miss Garrett. A grand recapitulation of the pleasantries of by-gone days ensued, and the damsel informed her "once dear George" that she was now Mrs. Bethune, but prevailed upon him to accompany her to her home. Here a hearty welcome was accorded him, and, if his statement be correct, it is said that the intimacy of former times was renewed.

Matters continued in this manner, and Hemmings was induced to leave his former situation and take up his abode at the residence of Mrs. Bethune as general superintendent of that household, inasmuch as Mr. Bethune himself was occasionally absent from the city.

On one occasion, as Mr. Hemmings alleged, the beauteous Mrs. Bethune was violently assaulted by her better-half for some alleged indiscretion, and it was her early lover who played the part of Good Samaritan on the occasion, comforting her as well as he was able himself, and calling in a physician to bind up her wounds. During her sickness, the relationship between Hemmings and the lady seems to have been of the most intimate character. She gave him a pair of diamond ear-rings to pledge for four hundred dollars, which money was a portion of an amount which was to be called into requisition for the necessary engagements and other expenses incurred at the opening of a theatre in Pittsburg, the management to be assumed by Miss Kate Fisher, the well-known "Mazeppa" and equestrienne actress, and George Hemmings. A troupe was thereupon engaged, and the entire company, including Miss Fisher and Hemmings, started for Pennsylvania, where they intended to delight the inhabitants with the drama of the "fiery, untamed steed" order.

Soon after "Cupid George" departed for the West, Mrs. Bethune became a prey to the "green-eyed monster." She realized the temptations that would surely beset George as he basked in the smiles of the alluring and classically modeled equestrienne. Other troubles beset Mrs. Bethune at this juncture. Her husband asked her one day what had become of her diamond ear-rings, and she was seized with confusion and dismay. To disclose the truth would be to incur Bethune's jealousy, natural indignation and too probable violence, and so the convenient idea seems to have occurred to her that by accusing Hemmings of the theft of the jewelry, she would achieve a two-fold success; namely, the one of concealing her own frailty, and the other of snatching her beloved one from a hated supposed rival. Bethune, believing her story, obtained a requisition from Governor Fenton and procured Hemmings' arrest in Pittsburg, and he was accordingly brought to this city. The services of Howe & Hummel were called into requisition, and Hemmings brought into court for trial.

The greatest excitement was aroused amongst theatrical and sporting celebrities, and long before the opening of the court every seat was filled by eager and expectant spectators, and when the prisoner was called to the bar an immense throng surged to and fro to obtain a glimpse at his features, and those of the accusing beauty.

City Judge Russel presided, and the Hon. Robert C. Hutchings, afterwards Surrogate, conducted the prosecution.

Mr. Hutchings opened the case for the people in a fair and temperate speech, stating that he was instructed that he should be enabled to establish a clear case of larceny against the defendant, who then stood indicted for having, on the 19th of October, 1868, at the city of New York, feloniously stolen, taken, and carried away, one pair of diamond ear-rings of the value of $400, the property of one James A. Lynch.

Mr. Hutchings then called Mrs. Eliza Bethune, who, amidst breathless silence, was sworn, and testified that Hemmings was observed by her daughter purloining the ear-rings from her boudoir drawer on the day in question, and that immediately she was informed of the larceny she had sought out Hemmings and ascertained that he had fled to Pittsburgh. On inquiry, she had also traced the missing jewelry to a pawn-office kept by Mr. Barnard, at No. 404 Third avenue, where the articles were pledged by Hemmings. She also went to Pittsburg with Detective Young, and the pawn-ticket of the ear-rings was found on Hemmings, which she took from him. Mrs. Bethune further stated that the officer then handcuffed the prisoner and brought him on to this city.

The witness was then subjected to a rigid cross-examination by Mr. Howe, who propounded questions as follows:

Mr. Howe: Are you married to Mr. Bethune?

Mrs. Bethune (imploringly to Judge Russel): Am I compelled to answer that question?

Judge Russel: Mr. Howe, I have already ruled that these kind of questions are improper.

Mr. Howe (with pertinacity): Your honor, I desire to show that this witness is not the wife of Mr. Bethune; and I contend that, in justice to my client, the question should be answered.

Judge Russel: I rule it out.

Mr. Howe: I take exception to the ruling of the court, and will now put another question, namely:

Is Mr. Bethune your husband? (Sensation in court.)

Judge Russel ruled the question inadmissible, and exception was taken.

Detective John Young, of the Eighteenth Precinct Police, was next called, and deposed: I am connected with the Metropolitan Police of this city; I was sent with a requisition issued by Governor Fenton to Pittsburgh to arrest George Hemmings for grand larceny; I went there with Mr. and Mrs. Bethune; I took Hemmings into custody at the Pittsburgh Theatre; he made a violent resistance, and scuffled with me; I was necessitated to handcuff him in the cars; he became very abusive and threatening; in fact, so much so, that I was compelled to hit him on the head with the butt-end of my pistol; at the time of his arrest he had upon him the ticket of the ear-rings.

Alexander Barnard, a pawnbroker at No. 404 Third avenue, was the next witness, and said: I know the prisoner at the bar; he pledged me with two diamond ear-rings on the 20th of last October, which Mr. Lynch subsequently identified as his property.

Cross-examined by Mr. Howe: Hemmings has frequently pawned articles of jewelry with me; he pledged them in the name of Mrs. Bethune.

Mr. Howe here requested that the pawnbroker should be directed to produce his book in order that the jury might see the dates, the production of which the counsel insisted would entirely contradict Mrs. Bethune's testimony.

The book was subsequently produced, and Mr. Barnard testified, on further cross-examination by Mr. Howe, that Hemmings had pledged with him a watch belonging to Mrs. Bethune on the 17th of November, being nearly one month after the date the ear-rings were pledged.

Mrs. Lynch proved that the ear-rings were her property, and that she had loaned them to Mrs. Bethune.

Mrs. Bethune now took the witness stand, and she was asked by Mr. Howe how long she had known Hemmings, the prisoner at the bar?

Mrs. Bethune: About twelve years.

Mr. Howe: Where did you first become acquainted with him?

Mrs. Bethune: At Philadelphia; I was employed in the United States Mint, and we boarded together in the same house.

Mr. Howe: Did you subsequently come on to New York with him?

Witness (hesitatingly): I did.

Mr. Howe: Were you on terms of peculiar intimacy with him?

Mrs. Bethune: I was not (sensation in the court): we were friends.

Mr. Howe: Was it not at your solicitation that he was taken to live in the same house with yourself and Mr. Bethune?

Mrs. Bethune: Yes, it was; but I merely took him in out of charity, as he was poor and had no clothes (sensation in court).

Mr. Howe: Did you ever stay at the Washington Hotel in this city with him?

Judge Russel here interposed, and informed Mrs. Bethune that she need not answer that question.

Mr. Howe: Did you not visit him when he was employed at A. T. Stewart's store in this city?

Mrs. Bethune: I did; but I got him employed there.

Mr. Howe (aside): Compassionate woman (laughter). Now, Mrs. Bethune, through whom did you get him employed at that store?

Mrs. Bethune: Through Mr. Griswold, a gentleman of my acquaintance.

Mr. Howe: Did you not know at the time you had Hemmings in your house that he was a married man?

Mrs. Bethune: I did. (Sensation.)

Mr. Howe: Have you not been to the Whitney House with Hemmings?

The court also decided that witness need not answer that question, whereupon counsel took exception.

Mr. Howe: Have you not frequently been to the Chanler House in this city with Mr. Hemmings?

Question overruled.

Mr. Howe: Did you not receive visits from Hemmings in East Fourth street, in this city?

Mrs. Bethune: Am I bound to answer that question?

Judge Russel: I overrule that question, and you need not answer it.

Mr. Howe: Did you ever live in a house in Lombard street, Philadelphia, kept by a Miss Graham, and did you ever meet Hemmings there.

Mrs. Bethune (indignantly): I did not.

Mr. Howe: Did you ever introduce Hemmings to any person at Saratoga as your brother?

Mrs. Bethune (reluctantly): Yes, I have. (Sensation.)

Mr. Howe: How many times have you given Hemmings your jewelry to pledge that he might have money?

Mrs. Bethune: I never gave him permission to pledge any of my jewelry.

Mr. Howe: Do you mean to swear that he has never pledged any of your jewelry prior to the present occasion?

Mrs. Bethune: Yes, he has, but not with my consent. (Sensation.)

Mr. Howe: Was that whilst he was living in your house?

Mrs. Bethune: It was.

Mr. Howe: Why did you not have him arrested for so doing?

Mrs. Bethune: Because he cried, and I forgave him. (Sensation.)

Mr. Howe: Yes, you forgave your "BROTHER" (roars of laughter). Now, madam! will you swear that you did not give Hemmings your watch to pledge on the 17th of November last, nearly one month after he pledged the ear-rings?

Mrs. Bethune: I did not; I will swear that I never gave him anything to pledge after he pawned the ear-rings; I did not give him the ear-rings; I paid Kate Fisher the money with which to open the theatre, and not to Hemmings; I did not pay her in the Chanler House, in Hemmings' presence; I paid her on the street, the reason Hemmings went to Saratoga with me, was to take care of Mr. Bethune's horses (immoderate laughter); I will swear that I had not seen Hemmings since he took the ear-rings until I had him arrested; I did not arrest him right away, because I was sick; the ear-rings were not mine, they belonged to Mr. Lynch; I borrowed them from Mrs. Lynch.

Mr. Howe: What was your name when you became acquainted with Hemmings?

Mrs. Bethune: Eliza Garrett.

This closed the case for the prosecution, and Mr. Howe, for the defense, called Dr. J. Kennedy, who testified as follows:

I am a physician, and reside in East Tenth street in this city; I have seen the prisoner before. In October last, I saw him in a house in East Fourth street.

Mr. Howe: What were you doing at that house?

Dr. Kennedy: I was attending a lady there, professionally.

Mr. Howe: Would you know that lady again? Dr. Kennedy: I should. Mr. Howe (to Mrs. Bethune): Madam, will you oblige me by standing up and raising your veil?

The lady complied with Mr. Howe's request, and amidst breathless silence Mr. Howe, addressing Dr. Kennedy, said, "Doctor, is that the lady?"

Dr. Kennedy: It is. (Flutter in the court-room.)

Mr. Howe: How many times did you visit her?

Dr. Kennedy: Eight or ten times.

Mr. Howe: Was Hemmings in the room with her?

Dr. Kennedy: He was. (Sensation.)

Mr. Howe then applied for attachments against two witnesses who had been subpoenaed to prove that Mrs. Bethune had been at the Whitney House and the Washington Hotel with Hemmings, but Judge Russel declined to grant any time, and peremptorily ordered Mr. Howe to proceed with his defense to the jury.

Mr. Howe then arose and addressed the court. He said:

Gentlemen of the Jury: I approach the consideration of this case with some degree of embarrassment, which is necessarily forced upon me, from the fact, that whilst discharging, as I shall endeavor to do, to the best of my ability, my duties as an advocate to the young man accused of this larceny, I regret that I am called upon to animadvert in terms of censure and reproach, upon one who leaves a name which is dear and hallowed to us all—the originator of our being—a name that we all revere and respect when we view it in the beauteous and lovely purity which is thrown around it. But I think, gentlemen, it is not unfair when that name is divested of its purity, and becomes shrouded with that which is base and vile—when the guard which we naturally and intuitively throw around it is dispelled, and, instead of the beauteous statue of monumental alabaster, we see a black, foetid, loathsome thing before us, from which we shrink with indignation and horror, knowing it is that which drags our young men down to degradation, disgrace and death—I say, in entering upon this prisoner's defense, such is the distinction between pure and hallowed and virtuous women (against whom none dare point) and her who forgets herself—forgets the holy ties due to her sex, and her own self-respect: and who assumes the place of wife to a man without that sanction which God has instituted and commanded, and who, entrapping others, comes to court to-day—not the pure being to demand your respect—but one whom we can but contemplate with loathing and disgust, and who has proved herself utterly unworthy of belief. Gentlemen, I simply wish to direct your attention to the proven facts. I have thus ventured to allude to the distinction I have endeavored to draw, not for the purpose of warping your minds, or in any degree throwing an unfair prejudice around this case; but, in view of the solemnity of the oaths you have taken, to do justice between the People of the State of New York and the prisoner at the bar, and to see upon what testimony you are asked to consign an innocent, but foolish young man, for a long term of years to the state prison.

I find in the book before me, gentlemen, to my surprise—and when it will be handed to you I think you will agree with me and share my astonishment—that on the first day of October last Mr. Lynch has sworn that his diamond ear-rings were stolen. I find that from the first day of October until the 8th day of December—a long lapse of nearly two months—no steps are taken by those who are alleged to have sustained the loss, and nothing is done until the latter date. I will show you why this demand is made upon the Executive—a novel proceeding altogether, without any indictment being preferred in this office—and a journey is made to Pittsburgh, not by the officers alone, but as we have it on the sworn testimony of the woman in this case, that she, without her protector, without the man Bethune (who is with her now as her husband, and who professed to be so then), proceeded alone to Pittsburgh, and is subsequently followed by Mr. Bethune. That is the first era, the first of October. We next find Mrs. Bethune detailing to you that these ear-rings were taken (how she does not know), but only what she was told by a little girl whom we have not seen. So her story runs. It is pretty for the present; but I hope to destroy the poetry of it very shortly. That this man stole, not on the first of October, but on the 19th of October, and subsequently corrected to-day, by the lady of treacherous memory, to the date of the 20th. At all events, it is perfectly clear, now, according to her last amended allegation, that on the 20th of October she claims a larceny to have been committed. But a Mr. Lynch is supposed to be the owner of the earrings, and not Mrs. Bethune! It transpires that she had merely borrowed them for a while, as she tells you; and then on the 20th of October she learns the loss. Why, gentlemen, did not Mrs. Bethune tell you, that nearly a month after that and in November, she had met this man on the street with Miss Kate Fisher? That they had business transactions, that she knew him—the theatrical manager—that he was to open a theatre—that money was supplied by her for that express purpose? Did not she know within one month after this transaction the same state of facts which she deposes to-day? Why not have had the prisoner arrested on the street then?

No, gentlemen, I will give you my theory of this case; I will render to you what this man has told me, and if it be not a common-sense view of it, no logic—no metaphysics—then discard every word uttered and condemn this man. The pawnbroker throws additional light upon this transaction, and, gentlemen, if you will refer to the date in his book of the 17th of November (a month after his alleged larceny), you will find an important fact which I beseech you to hold, pointedly, in your own estimation. You will remember that she contradicts herself, and stated that she had had no transactions with Hemmings after the alleged larceny. One of the gentlemen on the jury put the very pertinent question (seeing the force of this), whether she had transactions with the prisoner after this alleged stealing. You will remember for yourselves, gentlemen, and I point to it without fear of contradiction, that at first she stated the ear-rings were taken on the 19th of October, but, seeing, with a woman's keen perception, the fatal error she had made in stating that admission, seeing that you, as common-sense men, would have at once said: "Why not have had him arrested then?" she quickly drew back, like a snail when the crashing foot is coming upon it, and drew the horns within the shell which covered it; and, yesterday, corrected the date. She changed the date and put it back from November to October. I congratulate her upon the change! For all the trickery and malice which were embodied in it, only enured to the prisoner's benefit. It was here sworn, to-day, that on the 17th of November last, her watch and chain (her watch and chain, gentlemen) not Mr. Lynch's, but Eliza Bethune's, was pledged in New York at Mr. Barnard's, the identical pawnbroker with whom the earrings were pledged. By whom? By Mrs. Bethune? Oh no! gentlemen! but by Hemmings, the man here. If he accomplished this ubiquitous feat, like the ghost in Hamlet, to be in two places at one time, he is one of the most wonderful performers of the modern day. (Laughter.) He could not be in Barnard's pawn-shop in New York pledging Mrs. Bethune's watch on the 17th of November, a month after the larceny, and be, as she would have you believe, with Kate Fisher performing in Pittsburgh. Why, look at that contradiction! I invoke that book (pointing to the pawnbroker's record), as in other temples I appeal to the Holy one, for my protection. In your hands I place it. Upon your altar do I offer it up; and I believe that you will grant my prayers, that this will be taken as the strongest evidence of the prisoner's innocence. Records cannot lie here. The testimony is that this man had subsequent transactions with Mrs. Bethune, supporting, beyond a doubt, my theory that she gave him the ear-rings to pledge. Now let us see. She tells you (and there are other circumstances of greater peculiarity still around this case)—she tells you that she became acquainted with this man some twelve years since; and although I was prohibited (perhaps properly) by the court from putting other questions, I think I am not saying too much, when I urge that I did elicit from that lady sufficient to justify any one of you in forming an opinion as to the immoral terms of intimacy subsisting between Hemmings and that lady who was upon the witness stand. I can only say that I think there is not one of you composing that jury who would be pleased to have a wife of yours detailing circumstances in any way similar. I think that not only jealousy, but indignation of the strongest character, would be aroused in each of you, and you would unhesitatingly brand her as an adulteress.

Now, gentlemen, we find they have known each other for twelve years, and what besides? Why, she takes him into her house; she gives him an apartment there. Nay, she does more, according to her confession. She saw that he was poor and had no clothes (to use her own expression.) I do not think, gentlemen, that she exactly meant that, when she said it, in its literal signification (laughter), but she certainly said that he had no clothes, and that she clothed him and she "took him in" (loud laughter). She went to A. T. Stewart's (kind-hearted charitable woman!) and saw Mr. Griswold. She interceded with Griswold and got Hemmings a situation in A. T. Stewart's. What relation was Hemmings to her, at this time, to induce her to take this kind and charitable interest in him? I, gentlemen, am not so charitable as she professed to be; neither do I think you will be, gentlemen. I apprehend that the motive which actuated the taking in, the clothing and the obtaining a situation at Stewart's, was another motive altogether (immoderate laughter). What it was, I will leave you to conjecture. Look a little further. Hemmings is no relation to her, and yet we find her taking him to Saratoga! In what capacity? Why, she tells you, to attend Bethune's horses at Saratoga (laughter). Yes, gentlemen, and this hostler, this stable boy, in the same breath, is introduced by this lady as what—a lover! oh, no, she dare not do that—but as a relation—a blood relation! She makes him, for that occasion, her brother at Saratoga! Well, so far, there is no impropriety, you will say; but coupled with several other facts—coupled with the act that that book (the pawnbrokers book) teems with the name of Bethune, as pledging jewelry pledged by Hemmings, and belonging to the lady, you must see the intimacy which unquestionably existed. She admitted to you that time and again he had pledged what? Why, he had pledged her studs, her brooches and God knows what all! What did she? Why not have him arrested then? Oh! well, she says, "he cried—my brother cried." (Loud laughter.) "I did not like to hurt my brother." She forgave him, and I will tell you why.

You know the quotation that "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Mr. Hemmings, who is a fine, healthy, fashionable, well-rounded and vigorous, and, some women might say, good-looking young man, had migrated from the city of New York to spend some time in Pittsburgh, and he was in dangerous proximity to a very enticing and attractive actress, Miss Kate Fisher. (Loud laughter).

Gentlemen, in the play of Othello, which many of you have doubtless seen and read, you will find the episode of the handkerchief, which you will remember belonged to Desdemona; being the gift of her husband, the Moor. You remember Iago (in that case it was a man, however,) instigated his wife to purloin the handkerchief, and to deposit it in the chamber of Cassio, if I am correct; and Cassio, unfortunately, not seeing the little trap that was prepared for him, wound that spotted piece of cambric around his knee to stop the blood flowing from the wound he had received in a drunken brawl. Upon Othello seeing that, he states, that not being jealous, he "was perplexed in the extreme," and the sequel was the murder about which we have so often heard. I say, gentlemen, if ever there was the play of Othello reduced to private life and reacted, it is here. These ear-rings are the handkerchief, and Mrs. Bethune is the Iago. (Laughter.) This young man tells me, that in accordance with ancient usage and time-honored customs existing between this gentleman and lady, she had given him, as she narrated here, money to enable Kate Fisher to open a theatre at Pittsburgh, and that Hemmings was to be the manager. She had given them, from time to time, money obtained from Barnard's pawn office, through the instrumentality of the unfortunate Hemmings.

That is the history; that is all before you, and it cannot be gainsayed. Then why the arrest this time more than at the others? It explains itself. You have it in testimony that these ear-rings were the property of Mr. Lynch, and that Mrs. Lynch had loaned them to Mrs. Bethune. Hemmings alleges, and I believe with truth, that Mrs. Bethune, whilst riding in a coach with him, and after a "love encounter" (laughter) gave to him these jewels to hypothecate in the place to which he had been a frequent visitor for Mrs. Bethune. He goes to this pawnbroker's not in his own name, but, as the pawnbroker tells you (and I point to that fact as one of the strong points in the defense), that he panned them with him, telling him at the time that they belonged to Mrs. Bethune. Would a thief who stole your property or mine go to a place where he was known, that is if he stole them with the intention of keeping them? There was no larceny here, no dishonest motive about the transaction. Would he go to the pawnbroker to whom he was known and say, "Here is some property; it is not mine, it is Mrs. Bethune's?" On the contrary, you know, gentlemen—you must know—that there are a thousand other pawnbroker's establishments in New York City; and if this had been a felonious taking of these ear-rings, Hemmings could have gone to Simpson's across the way from this court house, or to another place at the Battery, or east, west, north or south, upon any corner in New York to a strange pawnbroker, who did not know him, had there been any felony about the transaction. Another point is, that a felon who steals invariably covers up his crime. The Prosecution brought out this fact, and I appeal to it as their own destruction, why in the name of Heaven did this man, if he intended to appropriate these ear-rings to his own use, carry about him the evidence of his guilt? Why, they told you when they got to Pittsburgh, after the altercation, that he produced the pawn-ticket! Did that look like stealing?