The History and Romance of Crime 11

The History and Romance of Crime 11

Vidocq was detained between Bicêtre and La Force for nearly two years,

and no doubt rendered useful service as _mouton_, the French slang word

for a spy who worms himself into the confidence of his fellow prisoners

and denounces them. In this way he came upon the addresses of numbers

of escaped convicts who were in prison under false names, and was able

to give constant information of plots in progress for carrying out new

crimes. His reports were closely examined and compared with others,

so as to obtain corroboration or the reverse. They were so generally

accurate that M. Henri realised the value of this unofficial assistant,

and came to the conclusion that such a man would be more useful when

free. He was at length released from his probationary detention. To

keep up the deception and to screen him from possible suspicion and

discovery by the comrades he had betrayed, he was removed from La

Force in the ordinary way, handcuffed and under escort, but en route

to Bicêtre was permitted to escape. He went at once into hiding, and

posed amongst his friends as extraordinarily successful in avoiding

recapture. Of course, he carried his life in his hands and would have

been instantly sacrificed to the vengeance of those he betrayed,

had he been found out. But no one doubted him. He enjoyed unlimited

confidence, and was always in high favor with the thieves and bandits,

among whom he constantly lived. He was at home in all the lowest dens

of Paris, and was a trusted member of the criminal fraternity, all of

whom he knew intimately, their favorite haunts and whereabouts and the

schemes in which they were engaged. He was frequently invited to join

in their depredations and seldom refused, but always carefully avoided

taking part in them by failing at the appointed rendezvous or inventing

some flimsy excuse for holding aloof. The strange fact is emphasised

by Vidocq, that the dangerous classes are singularly simple and

unsuspicious. They seemed to take arrest almost as a matter of course,

and seldom paused to inquire, when once in custody, how or through whom

they had been taken. No one blamed Vidocq, who was their friend, often

their hero and model for imitation.

 

Meanwhile robberies of every description continued to be perpetrated,

and Vidocq was more and more in demand. He made it his business

to undertake a series of rounds through Paris and the immediate

neighborhood, and regularly visited the worst quarters, ever on the

alert to discover and check projected crimes. He was taken on by the

Prefecture as a salaried agent at the rate of 100 francs per month,

with a specially apportioned reward for every arrest, according to its

importance. This salary was saddled with a condition that he should

produce a certain number of criminals at regular intervals; and his

enemies declared that he was capable of any base perfidy in order to

make up his required quota of arrests, and that he heartlessly betrayed

people, to whom he was under obligation--as in the case of the tanner

with whom he lodged, and whom he secretly denounced as a fabricator

of false money. A medical man who attended him was implicated in this

charge, and both were arrested and sent to _travaux forcés_. He was

accused also of instigating crimes of which he gave information, and

saw to it that their perpetrators were taken in the act or with clear

evidence. It may be claimed that in criminal matters all is fair that

may conduce to arrest, although this savors of the argument that “the

end justifies the means.” Vidocq, at least, had no scruples, and would

lay traps and be guilty of any treachery in order to bring an offender

to justice. He had no reason to be proud of the manner in which he

routed out the house of Madame Noel--commonly known as the mother of

the robbers--which was a certain refuge and receptacle, where they

could always find shelter and assistance. Mother Noel provided for

all their wants. She always knew where they could find work, each one

on his particular “lay.” She had blank passports on hand, and could

fabricate papers for any one in want of them. Vidocq visited the house

and acted the part of a convict recently escaped, still bearing the

marks of his chains, with closely cropped hair, worn out and wearied,

his feet lacerated, his whole air that of one hunted and proscribed.

He won the woman’s sympathy instantly, and was made warmly welcome. He

was given a bath, his wounds were dressed and he was put to bed in a

very private room. He soon wormed himself into her confidence, gained

all the knowledge he required, and eventually broke up this refuge and

receptacle so useful to the thieves of Paris.

 

The way by which he contrived to come upon the secret store of a

notorious receiver of stolen goods was more excusable. This man’s

operations were well known to the police, but they had failed to

bring his crime home to him. Vidocq met him one day and claimed his

acquaintance, calling him by a name different from his own. The

receiver declared it was all a mistake, but Vidocq persisted, adding

that he knew the man was wanted by the police. Whereupon the other

said: “Let us go to the nearest police station, where I shall easily

find someone who can speak positively upon my identity as a resident of

this quarter.” It was an incautious move, for Vidocq, on reaching the

station, still refused to believe that the man was not the person he

had declared him to be, and called upon him with an air of authority

to produce his papers. None were forthcoming, and Vidocq begged that

he might be searched, when twenty-five double napoleons and three gold

watches were found upon his person, somewhat suspicious property. The

man was now detained until he could be taken before a magistrate, and

the articles found in his pockets were wrapped in his own handkerchief.

Vidocq, armed with this, visited the receiver’s house, saw his wife

and showed the handkerchief, which she recognised at once. “I thought

you ought to know,” went on Vidocq, noticing that she was greatly

perturbed, “that your husband has been arrested. Everything found on

him has been seized, and he believes that he has been betrayed. I

come from him to beg you to have all the property, you know what I

mean, removed, as these premises are to be searched immediately, and

something compromising may be found.” The woman, thoroughly alarmed,

begged Vidocq, whom she looked upon as a friend, to go out and bring

back three hackney coaches. When they arrived they were loaded up with

articles of every description, timepieces, candelabra, Etruscan vases,

cloths, cashmeres, linens, muslins, etc. At the proper moment the

police surrounded the coaches, and more than enough was at once found

to convict the receiver.

 

One of the most remarkable robberies in Paris was that of the

collection of old coins and medals from the Royal Library, now known as

the National Library in the rue Richelieu. This collection is reputed

one of the finest in the world, and, besides a couple of hundred

thousand coins, contains a great number of cut gems and antiques,

dating back into the earliest times. Cameos, crystals, agate goblets,

bronzes, ivories, sacrificial cups of massive gold, choice medallions,

tankards richly chased by artists whose names have not survived, and

so on, are among its treasures. The news of the robbery was received

with dismay at the Prefecture. An immediate inspection made by the

police showed how cleverly the thieves had gained admission to the

cabinet containing the collection of medals. They gained access to a

neighboring house, and ascended to the roof and slid over the slates to

a garret window in the library. They broke through this, reached the

back stairs and slipped down into the principal salon. A solid oak

door at the north end of the salon shut off the medal room, but the

thieves sawed through it, and entered the inner room, which was lighted

by a large window opening on to the rue Richelieu. It was easy enough

to break into the cases, sweep up a large number of the precious coins

and lower them to the confederates in the street below.

 

With close examination of the premises the detectives were satisfied

that only one of three famous burglars could have accomplished the

theft. The work had been executed most cleverly. The panel in the door

had been cut out by a skilled hand. The saw, left behind, was a very

perfect tool. The candle in the dark lantern, also abandoned, was of

the finest wax, and the rope used was of the best quality. Only the

most expert thief would have expended so much care and capital upon the

enterprise. The three men indicated were Fossard, a notorious convict,

who should have been in the _bagne_ of Brest, but had recently escaped

and was at large; a friend of his, Drouillet by name, ex-convict at

liberty, and Toupriant, believed to be then in England.

 

Light was suddenly thrown upon the mystery of the theft by the arrest

of the first of these men. Vidocq met him in the street, and remembered

his face, as of one who had passed through his hands on a previous

occasion. This was hardly enough to justify arrest, but the astute

police officer whom Vidocq informed took the responsibility. The man

seemed so confused, and his replies were so unsatisfactory, that he

was carried at once to the Prefecture, where he was at last definitely

recognised by various officials. The fact that this man, Fossard, was

in Paris strengthened the suspicion that he had been concerned in the

robbery of the medals, and he was at once questioned, after the French

manner, to extract some confession. It was all to no purpose. Fossard

stoutly denied all knowledge of the theft. The police next tried to

bribe him in hope of recovering at least a part of the stolen property,

the intrinsic worth of which was nothing to its sentimental value,

which was estimated at a million francs. Fossard persisted in his

denials, and was at length committed to Bicêtre to take his place in

the next chain departing for Brest. He waited there for several months,

in such an abject condition and so destitute of means that his comrades

subscribed a sum to provide him with sabots and a pair of trousers

for his long march. But a clandestine letter of his was intercepted,

in which he begged a friend to forward him 25,000 francs ($5,000) to

Brest, for his use on arrival at the _bagne_. He was therefore clearly

in funds.

 

The effrontery of a woman who posed as the Vicomtesse de Nays paved the

way to further discovery. This pretended great lady, who was really

the associate of thieves and the wife of one of Fossard’s friends,

was on the best of terms with the Prefecture, and quite an intimate

friend of the Prefect. She passed as a charitable person with many

protégés, whom she was eager to befriend by obtaining places for them

and supplying them with funds when temporarily in distress. At one of

her visits to the Prefecture she pressed the prefect to honor her with

his company at dinner, and it was quite by accident that he discovered

that his fellow guests included some of the most notorious criminals

in the capital. Happily for his reputation he discovered that she was

well acquainted with Fossard; and, yet more, that she had taken places

for herself and maid in the diligence for Brest, where, no doubt, she

was to carry him substantial aid. Other valuable news was forthcoming,

namely; that a number of the stolen medals had been melted down into

ingots, and that some of them were in the possession of the so-called

Vicomtesse de Nays. Others were traced to the Drouillet above mentioned

as a possible thief, and others to Fossard’s brother, a clockmaker of

Paris. Arrests followed, and the clockmaker confessed that his brother

and Drouillet had committed the robbery and had melted down a portion

of the booty and thrown the rest into the Seine--where, as a matter

of fact, it was subsequently fished out. More stolen property was

unearthed in the clockmaker’s cellars.

 

When the case came up for trial both the Fossards were sentenced, the

elder Etienne, to _travaux forcés_ for life, the younger to ten years.

Drouillet was sentenced to twenty years. Madame de Nays was brought to

Paris and her domicile searched, but no fresh proofs of her complicity

in the robbery were forthcoming, and she was released; but it was clear

that her kindness to the young men she patronised was repaid, both in

the shape of information and assistance in the planning of robberies. A

pretty incident is related of the recovery of these valuable treasures.

A well-known savant who was called in by the Prefecture to identify

them was so overcome by emotion when he saw them again that he burst

into tears and kissed them repeatedly, especially the seal of Michael

Angelo, the cup of the Ptolemies and the “Apotheosis of Augustus,” the largest cameo in the world.