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Why
But do not be misled. Even if the
criminal succeeds in escaping arrest
he is by no means so well paid as
you think for what seems to he only
a few minutes of effort. The truth
of the matter is that the crime
whose actual commission takes only
a few minutes usually involves
weeks, months and even years of the
most careful preparation.
That robbery of the Illinois bank,
where George Mason nearly lost ills
life, was accomplished between dusk
and daylight, but my companions
and I had given the greater part of
six months to laying the careful
plans which made it possible.
The famous Manhattan Bank rob
bery was the result of several years
hard work, and so was Ned Lyons's
theft of $200,000 from a bank at
Milford. N. H
It was seven years after its invit
ing possibilities were first noted be
Core the Wolfeboro (N. H.) National
Bank’s vault was finally entered by
a band of clever burglars.
I never knew of a "successful”
crime—one where the robbers got
the plunder they were after and es
caped arrest, at least for the time
being—that did not Involve the ex
penditure of a large amount of
time, money and effort in advance.
In fact, as a rule the crimes which
are done the quickest are the ones
which take the longest to prepare
for.
And there is another reason why
crime is far from being the royal
road to wealth it sometimes seems
For every crime the resourceful
criminal succeeds In committing
there are a dozen attempted crimes
to which he has given freely of his
time and money, but which for one
reason or another he was never able
to carry out. The police and the
public, of course, never heai of these
crimes that die ‘'aborning”: only
the underworld knows how many of
them tail or are delayed for years in
spite of the most careful planning.
Some of the most interesting ex
periences of my criminal career
have to do with crimes which, to mv
keen disappointment at the time I
never succeeded in committing
Once, for example. I travelled from
New Orleans to Toledo, Ohio, and
spent two weeks planning the rob
bery of a wealthy farmer Just as
we almost had our hands on his fat
roll of bills, something happened
that frightened u * away and left us
without a penny to show for all our
trouble.
It was Chauncey Johnson, the ex
pert bank sneak, of whom I have
frequently spoken, who telegraphed
How the Crime Which Requires Only a Few
Minutes to Commit Is the Result of Weeks
and Months of Careful Planning, and How
Even the Most Skilful Thieves Often Get
Nothing for All Their Pains.
me to come and help him carry
through what looked like a
very profitable robbery. Hav
ing the greatest respect for
Chauncey’s judgment and skill,
I welcomed the opportunity to
be associated with him, and,
accordingly, took the first train
for Toledo.
Chauncey, as I learned, had
for several weeks been trailing
n wesltlhy old farmer who was
an active speculator in live stock
and lands. He was in the habit of
coming to one of the leading banks
once or twice a week to deposit or
withdraw large sums of money.
"It will be easy,” said Johnson,
“for us to devise some scheme of
getting that roll of bills—either by
changing satchels with him or by
actually snatching it out of his
hand. He’s near-sighted, quite hard
of hearing, and none too quick to
think or act—I know, for I’ve been
sticking to him closer than a brother
for ten days now.”
But it did not prove so easy as
the optimistic Chauncey would have
had me believe. For two weeks we
haunted that bank and shadowed
that poor old farmer without finding
Ing to tap my friend on the shoulder.
There was nothing I could do to
prevent the impending trouble, and
if I stayed in the bank any longer I,
too, might be arrested. Accordingly
I walked leisurely out and crossed
the street to await developments.
I didn’t have long to wait. Out of
the bank Chauncey came, on the
dead run, with the detective close
behind.
Chauncey was not good at sprint
ing, and the detective overhauled
him before he had gone two blocks.
I followed along on the opposite side
of the street prepared to hunt up a
lawyer for Chauncey as soon as I
saw him led away to the police sta
tion.
Besides my sympathy for my
son, posing as cattle buyers, and all
the time studying the interior ar
rangement of the bank and the hab
its of its officials.
Every night Moore and his com
panions would gather in his room
at the hotel and painstakingly re
hearse every detail of the robbery
as they planned it.
"There isn’t a chance of a slip,”
Moore declared, when . he and the
others (jad rehearsed their parts for
A Shout Went Up from the Threatening Mob as the Jail Door
Swung Open and the Sheriff Appeared with His Hand
on the Shoulder of a Man in Cowhide Boots, Wearing a
Broad Brimmed Straw Hat and Clutching in One
Hand a Battered Carpet Bag and in the Other an Old-
Fashioned Green Cotton Umbrella. Could This Rather
Feeble Old Farmer, Who Stood There Trembling and Bewildered Before Them, Be the
Desperate Bank Robber the Lynchers Were Seeking?
friend 1 felt no little regret at hav
ing our plans • for making some
money ruined in this way after I
had gone to the trouble and expense
of coming such a long distance.
But right here the cloud of mis
fortune which had gathered so un
expectedly began to show a silver
lining with a suddenness that fairly
took my breath away.
Instead of my friend’s being
seized by the collar and dragged off
to the police station I was amazed
to see the detective and he enter
into earnest conversation.
After talking several minutes the
detective pulled out a handful of
cigars and handed them to Chaun
cey. Then the two men shook hands
like old friends, the detective started
back toward the bank and Chauncey
set off in the direction of the rail
road station.
What did it all mean?
1 followed Chauncey to the station
and bought a ticket to Chicago, as
he did. He gave no sign of recog
nizing me until the train had gone
forty or fifty miles. Then he came
into the oar where 1 was sitting and
sat down beside me.
"Well,” said I, eager to have the
mystery explained, “how on earth
did you manage to get away from
that detective?”
"Oh.” said Chauncey, with a
chuckle, “that was quite simple. I
pretended to be very indignant and
demanded to know what he meant
by interfering with me when I had
an arrangement to pay his chief of
police ten per cent of all the money
I was able to make in Toledo.”
“But do you really know the chief
of police?” 1 inquired innocently.
"Certainly not,” said Chauncey,
-but that was the first excuse 1
could think of.
"You could have knocked me over
with a feather when I saw the ef
fect it had on him. He actually apolo
gized for Interfering with a friend
of the chiefs and assured me that
such an unfortunate mistake would
never happen again!”"
Miscarriage of his plans once came
near putting Langdon Moore at the
end of a lynching party’s rope.
With a party of Western bank
sneaks he had selected the Exchange,
National Bank in Anderson. Ind., as
a propitious place for staging a bold
daylight robbery.
There was every reason to be
lieve the haul would yield a cool
$100,000, so the robbers left no stone
unturned to make their arrange
ments perfect to the smallest detail.
For six weeks they lived in Ander
the thousandth time. Accordingly,
noon the next day was fixed as the
time for the descent on the bank.
While Carroll and Pete O’Brien
stood guard in the street outside, a
shrewd thief named Bennett was to
enter the bank and engage the
cashier in conversation.
Moore was to follow Bennett in
side and act as a screen for Billy
O’Brien, who would drop to his
hands and knees, crawl around into
the vault and fill his pockets with
money.
Everything went Just as the rob
bers had planned until O’Brien
crawled out of the vault and started
to make his exit through a side door.
In his hurry he let a bag of gold
slide out of his pocket. It fell to
the floor with a resounding crash
that burst the sack open and sent
the coins scattering in every direc
tion.
The cashier, startled by the un
usual noise, peered over the wire
cage, just in time to see O'Brien tak
ing to his heels, leaving behind him
a trail of gold. Rushing to a window,
he gave the alarm.
As he stood there shouting for
help he was amazed to see the two
“lookout" men running down, the
street, closely followed by the man
with whom he had been doing busi
ness a moment before, and also by
the well dressed, silk-batted stranger
who had been waiting his turn at
the wicket. This last was Moore,
who never failed to look the well-
to-do business man.
“Stop thief!” shouted the cashier
at the top of his lungs.
It was market day In Anderson
and at the cashier’s shouts a hun
dred sturdy men started in pursuit
of the fleeing robbers. By the time
the four of them were captured it
was not too late to start horsemen
on the trail of Billy O’Brien, who,
with his pockets stuffed with rolls
of bills, bags of specie and pack
ages of securities, was making slow
progress in the opposite direction.
The five thieves were promptly
lodged in jail. Four of them took
their arrest very much to heart and
laid the blame for it on Moore, for
no reason except that he had been
the leader of the party.
But Moore, a born philosopher,
wasted no time in listening to the
incriminations of ihis companions.
Instead, he proceeded to cultivate
the acquaintance of the sheriff, who
lived with his family in the front
part of the jail. It was not long be
fore Moore and the sheriff discov
ered that their fathers had been
born and bred on neighboring farms
in a little New England town.
“Come down and have supper
with us,” said the sheriff, convinced
that no New Englander could be as
bad as the evidence painted him.
While Moore was enjoying the
sheriff's hospitality trouble was
brewing down in the village square.
Indignation over the attempt to
rob the bank ran so high that when
some hot-headed man suggested
lynching there was a loud chorus
of approval.
Ropes were quickly procured and
the mob started up the hill to the
jail, its thirst for quick vengeance
growing with every step.
The sheriff heard the shouting
and rushed to the door.
“We want those bank robbers,"
was the cry that greeted him. "Bring
’em out one at a time—the leader
first.”
The sheriff had no deputies and
he saw that it was useless to at
tempt to resist such a mo'b. He re
luctantly turned back into the
house.
“Come, Moore,” he said with a
brave attempt at the proper official
gruffness, “you’ll have to come out
or they’ll be in here and take you.”
“I’ll be with you in one minute,”
said Moore coolly, disappearing into
the cell room in the rear, where his
four companions, terrified by the
threatening shouts outside, were al
ready on their knees begging for
mercy.
Quickly Moore exchanged his
fashionable suit for the rough garb
of an old farmer, who lay in one of
the cells sleeipng off the effects of
a debauch. The sheriff could hardly
believe his eyes when his transformed
prisoner reappeared.
A loud shout went up from the
mob as the jail door swung open
again and the sheriff walked out
with his hand on the prisoner’s
shoulder. But the shouting sub
sided when they saw that the pris
oner was dressed like a farmer—
cowhide boots and a broad brimmed
straw hat, clutching in one hand a
battered carpet bag and in the other
an old-fashioned greet cotton um
brella.
Could this rather feeble old man
who stood there trembling and be
wildered be the desperate bank rob
ber the lynchers were seeking? The
crowd waited in silence for some
explanation of the mystery.
“Friends,” said Moore, dropping
his bag and umbrella, “you’re
barkin’ up the wrong tree. I never
stole nothin’ in my life, and I’ve
got two good fists here to prove It.
Come on, one at a time, and I’ll
show ye that this old Gettysburg
veteran’s fightin’ blood ain’t all
dried up yet.”
The old man’s drawl, his thin,
piping voice and the business-like
way he squared his shoulders and
put up his fists were too much for
the crowd's over-wrought emotions.
Some one in the front ranks raised
a loud guffaw, and in a second
everybody wag laughing.
Moore’s clever ruse had come at
the psychological moment and the
mob’s desire for vengeance came to
an end even more suddenly than it
had begun. Rather shamefacedly
the crowd began to scatter for home
by twos anir threes.
So strong was the sentiment
Moore had created that he was re
leased the next morning, while his
faint-hearted companions were held
for trial and narrowly escaped
prison sentences.
Moore escaped with his life and
liberty—but what had he to show
for all his labor and all the risks
he ran? Not one penny. His ex
perience is another striking illus
tration of the fact that crime, no
matter how carefully planned, can
not be made to pay.
SOPHIE LYONS.
Is It Foolish to Try to Dodge the Deadly Microbes?
By PROF. JOHN ADAMS, LL.D., OF LONDON
A MERICA has become intensely hygienic.
Time was when Englishmen claimed
pre-eminience for the frequency with
which they used the bath, and for the low tem
perature of the water. Now the Americans
tell stories among themselves of the scarcity
of baths at English hotels, and even go the
length of referring to the Englishman’s weekly
tub.
The American desire for a separate bath
room is only one symptom of a widespread
distrust of each other’s ailments. Infection
and contagion are so much feared that regu
lations are being made and enforced all over
the States for the protection of the healthy
citizen against the unhealthy.
On the railway cars it is now illegal to pro
vide a common drinking cup for the use of all
comers. Each passenger in an ordinary car
must provide his own drinking cup. while on
the Pullman cars the colored porter supplies
each passenger who applies for it with a paper
drinking cup This consists of a flat paper
bag which is carefully enclosed in a transpar
ent tissue paper envelope, so that there can be
no contamination by the porter’s fingers.
In towns and cities the danger of contamina
tion from one’s fellows is avoided by having
the drinking fountains so arranged that they
spout gently upwards. The drinker has only
to bend over and suck up the flowing water.
It is true that where water is somewhat scarce
the town authorities cannot afford to have It
flowing all the time. A tap is accordingly
provided, and sometimes it is difficult for the
inexpert drinker to avoid squirting water up
his nostrils and all over his face. But, after
all, the application of water to the face is itself
hygienic.
Perhaps one of the main causes of the in
creasing prominence given to hygiene is the
conspicuous success that has marked the
Americans' efforts to clean up Cuba and other
places into which they have been more or less
unwillingly lured. Their brilliant success in
the foreign field has without doubt encouraged
the Americans in their persistent attempts to
save themselves from contaminating each
other.
The world is full of honest admiration of
bow the Americans have fought yellow fever
and other disagreeable things, but one wonders
whether the lesson of this success is to estab
lish a sort of isolation in communion.
Can we escape from each other? Are we
taking the best means to escape? It seems a
little comical to take all these elaborate pre
cautions about separate drinking cups, and
yet to allow the colored porter to handle the
ice that is to be put into the tank.
There is, however, another possible line of
advance. Instead of dealing with the drink
we may deal with the drinker. We may defy
the microbe either by eluding him or by fight
ing him. We may use our separate cups and
thus prevent the microbe from entering the
system, or we may so fortify the system that
it will successfully resist the attacks of its
microscopic foes.
It has been found by experiments (performed
with the consent of the subjects concerned)
on United States soldiers that the human sys
tem can be inoculated against typhoid fever,
and that persons thus inoculated can drink
contaminated water without any fear of evil
consequences.
Already men about to set out an engineering
or other expeditions into lands where the water
supply is under suspicion are having them
selves inoculated, and are prepared to take
the risks of drinking whatever water presents
fective for seven years.
Itself The inoculation is said to remain ef-
A still more striking example of American
f6ar of other people’s ailments is to be found
in the “nine-foot sheet” law enforced in certain
districts. This insists upon every sheet on a
hotel bed being big enough to cover com
ple.ely all the blankets, and thus prevent all
possible contact with the “vestigia” of any
previous occupant of that bed. All this gives
us v very uncomfortable feeling and makes
our flesh creep.
Btt, after all, it is fundamentally right, and
must he of interest to us in England, for in
thesl: matters we are likely to follow America's
lead. We are not yet so afraid of each other
as are the Americans, but we are moving in
that direction, and it is worth our while to con
sider how to secure maximum safety with mint
muOi interference with individual liberty.
Pay
No. 23 of a Series of Remarkable
Revelations by Sophie Lyons, (
•“THE QUEEN OF BURGLARS’ 7
SOPHIE LYONS.
Copyright, 1913, by Star Company.
fHE cashier is positive that
he wala not out of the
bank more than five min
utes, That was time enough, how
ever, for the thieves to make their
way to his desk and carry off $30,000
worth of cash and securities.”
“The safe was locked, and there
was no sign of life in the office
when the watohman made Mb usual
rounds at midnight. But when he
JOturned at 1 o’clock he found that
Imrglars had drilled their way into
the strong box and made their es
cape with its contents, including
$1 ,200 In cash and diamonds valued
at $16,000.”
These are quotations from the
newspaper accounts of crimes in
which I myself took part. I find
♦ hem in the yellowed pages of an
old, scrap book which I have kept all
these years as a melancholy remind
er of the days before I had learned
my lesson—that crime does not pay.
All of you must have read similar
statements In the newspapers, and
doubtless you have frequently said:
“Just think of getting away with ail
that money in the twinkling of an
eye!” Perhaps, even,
you have been tempt
ed by such state
ments as these to
envy the criminal
and to think that his
way to wealth is a
far easier and much
quicker one than
the workaday road
you are travelling.
the opportunity we wanted At last
one morning our patience reached
Its limit, and we determined to make
the attempt then or never.
It was a busy day at the bank, and
the old farmer reached there just as
long lines were beginning to form
at the various windows. Chauncey
Johnson followed and took up a po
sition directly behind him There
were ten or a dozen other men be
tween the farmer and the little
wicket where the receiving teller
did business.
I followed scon after and seated
myself at one of the little tables pro
vided for the bank's patrons. I was
already known In the bank as a
wealthy widow, and to carry out this
role I produced a bundle of worth
less checks and began inJustrlously
scribbling my indorsement on them.
Between the strokes of my pen I
let my eyes wander over to where
Chauncey stood pressing his way
along in the line Just behind the un
suspecting farmer I knew that if he
succeeded In getting hold of the
farmer's money he would at once
try to smuggle It into my hands.
I had not been sitting there long
when my attention was attracted by
a man who kept walking up and
down in front of the receiving tel
ler's window.
I noticed that he never took his
eyes off Chauncey. This close scru
tiny made me jump to the conclu
sion that he was a detective and
that he was just on the point of
making up his mind to ask my friend
what business brought him to the
bank
With a great show of deliberation
I folded up my checks and walked
over to a point where Chauncey
could see me by turning his head
ever so slightly.
As l did so. 1 raised one hand to
the collar of my jacket and kept
sliding it carelessly up and down
the edge of the lapel.
That, let me explain, is the signal
used by criminals the world over to
let one another know of the dan
gerous proximity of a detective. 1
suppose it had its origin in the way
detectives have of seizing their
prisoners by the lapels or collars of
their coats
But Chauncey. the careless man.
had no eyes for me or my signal
He was too busy watching the
farmer, who by now had his big roll
of “yellowbacks” clutched in one
hand
To my dismay I saw the detective
take up his stand almost at Chaun
cey’s side. From his actions I knew
that in another instant he was go-
Copyright, 1913 by the Star Company Great Britain Rights Reserve!
Crime Does Not