immediately. I looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was my
opinion that they had been cleaned. There was a smell of sulphur
and rosin about 'em, you know, which cleaned gloves usually have,
more or less. I took 'em over to a friend of mine at Kennington,
who was in that line, and I put it to him. "What do you say now?
Have these gloves been cleaned?" "These gloves have been cleaned,"
says he. "Have you any idea who cleaned them?" says I. "Not at
all," says he; "I've a very distinct idea who DIDN'T clean 'em, and
that's myself. But I'll tell you what, Wield, there ain't above
eight or nine reg'lar glove-cleaners in London," - there were not,
at that time, it seems - "and I think I can give you their
addresses, and you may find out, by that means, who did clean 'em."
Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and I went
there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that man; but,
though they all agreed that the gloves had been cleaned, I couldn't
find the man, woman, or child, that had cleaned that aforesaid pair
of gloves.
'What with this person not being at home, and that person being
expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry took me
three days. On the evening of the third day, coming over Waterloo
Bridge from the Surrey side of the river, quite beat, and very much
vexed and disappointed, I thought I'd have a shilling's worth of
entertainment at the Lyceum Theatre to freshen myself up. So I
went into the Pit, at half-price, and I sat myself down next to a
very quiet, modest sort of young man. Seeing I was a stranger
(which I thought it just as well to appear to be) he told me the
names of the actors on the stage, and we got into conversation.
When the play was over, we came out together, and I said, "We've
been very companionable and agreeable, and perhaps you wouldn't
object to a drain?" "Well, you're very good," says he; "I
SHOULDN'T object to a drain." Accordingly, we went to a publichouse,
near the Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room upstairs
on the first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half,
apiece, and a pipe.
'Well, sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half-andhalf,
and sat a-talking, very sociably, when the young man says,
"You must excuse me stopping very long," he says, "because I'm
forced to go home in good time. I must be at work all night." "At
work all night?" says I. "You ain't a baker?" "No," he says,
laughing, "I ain't a baker." "I thought not," says I, "you haven't
the looks of a baker." "No," says he, "I'm a glove-cleaner."
'I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard them
words come out of his lips. "You're a glove-cleaner, are you?"
says I. "Yes," he says, "I am." "Then, perhaps," says I, taking
the gloves out of my pocket, "you can tell me who cleaned this pair
of gloves? It's a rum story," I says. "I was dining over at
Lambeth, the other day, at a free-and-easy - quite promiscuous -
with a public company - when some gentleman, he left these gloves
behind him! Another gentleman and me, you see, we laid a wager of
a sovereign, that I wouldn't find out who they belonged to. I've
spent as much as seven shillings already, in trying to discover;
but, if you could help me, I'd stand another seven and welcome.
You see there's TR and a cross, inside." "I see," he says. "Bless
you, I know these gloves very well! I've seen dozens of pairs
belonging to the same party." "No?" says I. "Yes," says he.
"Then you know who cleaned 'em?" says I. "Rather so," says he.
"My father cleaned 'em."
'"Where does your father live?" says I. "Just round the corner,"
says the young man, "near Exeter Street, here. He'll tell you who
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they belong to, directly." "Would you come round with me now?"
says I. "Certainly," says he, "but you needn't tell my father that
you found me at the play, you know, because he mightn't like it."
"All right!" We went round to the place, and there we found an old
man in a white apron, with two or three daughters, all rubbing and
cleaning away at lots of gloves, in a front parlour. "Oh, Father!"
says the young man, "here's a person been and made a bet about the
ownership of a pair of gloves, and I've told him you can settle
it." "Good evening, sir," says I to the old gentleman. "Here's
the gloves your son speaks of. Letters TR, you see, and a cross."
"Oh yes," he says, "I know these gloves very well; I've cleaned
dozens of pairs of 'em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great
upholsterer in Cheapside." "Did you get 'em from Mr. Trinkle,
direct," says I, "if you'll excuse my asking the question?" "No,"
says he; "Mr. Trinkle always sends 'em to Mr. Phibbs's, the
haberdasher's, opposite his shop, and the haberdasher sends 'em to
me." "Perhaps YOU wouldn't object to a drain?" says I. "Not in
the least!" says he. So I took the old gentleman out, and had a
little more talk with him and his son, over a glass, and we parted
excellent friends.
'This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the Monday
morning, I went to the haberdasher's shop, opposite Mr. Trinkle's,
the great upholsterer's in Cheapside. "Mr. Phibbs in the way?"
"My name is Phibbs." "Oh! I believe you sent this pair of gloves
to be cleaned?" "Yes, I did, for young Mr. Trinkle over the way.
There he is in the shop!" "Oh! that's him in the shop, is it? Him
in the green coat?" "The same individual." "Well, Mr. Phibbs,
this is an unpleasant affair; but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield
of the Detective Police, and I found these gloves under the pillow
of the young woman that was murdered the other day, over in the
Waterloo Road!" "Good Heaven!" says he. "He's a most respectable
young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it would be the
ruin of him!" "I'm very sorry for it," says I, "but I must take
him into custody." "Good Heaven!" says Mr. Phibbs, again; "can
nothing be done?" "Nothing," says I. "Will you allow me to call
him over here," says he, "that his father may not see it done?" "I
don't object to that," says I; "but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I
can't allow of any communication between you. If any was
attempted, I should have to interfere directly. Perhaps you'll
beckon him over here?' Mr. Phibbs went to the door and beckoned,
and the young fellow came across the street directly; a smart,
brisk young fellow.
'"Good morning, sir," says I. "Good morning, sir," says he.
"Would you allow me to inquire, sir," says I, "if you ever had any
acquaintance with a party of the name of Grimwood?" "Grimwood!
Grimwood!" says he. "No!" "You know the Waterloo Road?" "Oh! of
course I know the Waterloo Road!" "Happen to have heard of a young
woman being murdered there?" "Yes, I read it in the paper, and
very sorry I was to read it." "Here's a pair of gloves belonging
to you, that I found under her pillow the morning afterwards!"
'He was in a dreadful s
tate, sir; a dreadful state I "Mr. Wield,"
he says, "upon my solemn oath I never was there. I never so much
as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life!" "I am very sorry," says
I. "To tell you the truth; I don't think you ARE the murderer, but
I must take you to Union Hall in a cab. However, I think it's a
case of that sort, that, at present, at all events, the magistrate
will hear it in private."
'A private examination took place, and then it came out that this
young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate Eliza
Grimwood, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or two before
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the murder, he left these gloves upon the table. Who should come
in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood! "Whose gloves are
these?" she says, taking 'em up. "Those are Mr. Trinkle's gloves,"
says her cousin. "Oh!" says she, "they are very dirty, and of no
use to him, I am sure. I shall take 'em away for my girl to clean
the stoves with." And she put 'em in her pocket. The girl had
used 'em to clean the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left 'em
lying on the bedroom mantelpiece, or on the drawers, or somewhere;
and her mistress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had
caught 'em up and put 'em under the pillow where I found 'em.
That's the story, sir.'
II. - THE ARTFUL TOUCH
'One of the most BEAUTIFUL things that ever was done, perhaps,'
said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as preparing us to
expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong interest, 'was a
move of Sergeant Witchem's. It was a lovely idea!
'Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, waiting at the
station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, when we were talking
about these things before, we are ready at the station when there's
races, or an Agricultural Show, or a Chancellor sworn in for an
university, or Jenny Lind, or anything of that sort; and as the
Swell Mob come down, we send 'em back again by the next train. But
some of the Swell Mob, on the occasion of this Derby that I refer
to, so far kidded us as to hire a horse and shay; start away from
London by Whitechapel, and miles round; come into Epsom from the
opposite direction; and go to work, right and left, on the course,
while we were waiting for 'em at the Rail. That, however, ain't
the point of what I'm going to tell you.
'While Witchem and me were waiting at the station, there comes up
one Mr. Tatt; a gentleman formerly in the public line, quite an
amateur Detective in his way, and very much respected. "Halloa,
Charley Wield," he says. "What are you doing here? On the look
out for some of your old friends?" "Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt."
"Come along," he says, "you and Witchem, and have a glass of
sherry." "We can't stir from the place," says I, "till the next
train comes in; but after that, we will with pleasure." Mr. Tatt
waits, and the train comes in, and then Witchem and me go off with
him to the Hotel. Mr. Tatt he's got up quite regardless of
expense, for the occasion; and in his shirt-front there's a
beautiful diamond prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound - a very
handsome pin indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had
our three or four glasses, when Witchem cries suddenly, "Look out,
Mr. Wield! stand fast!" and a dash is made into the place by the
Swell Mob - four of 'em - that have come down as I tell you, and in
a moment Mr. Tatt's prop is gone! Witchem, he cuts 'em off at the
door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. Tatt shows fight like a
good 'un, and there we are, all down together, heads and heels,
knocking about on the floor of the bar - perhaps you never see such
a scene of confusion! However, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being
as good as any officer), and we take 'em all, and carry 'em off to
the station.' The station's full of people, who have been took on
the course; and it's a precious piece of work to get 'em secured.
However, we do it at last, and we search 'em; but nothing's found
upon 'em, and they're locked up; and a pretty state of heat we are
in by that time, I assure you!
'I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had been
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passed away; and I said to Witchem, when we had set 'em to rights,
and were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, "we don't take much
by THIS move, anyway, for nothing's found upon 'em, and it's only
the braggadocia, (2) after all." "What do you mean, Mr. Wield?"
says Witchem. "Here's the diamond pin!" and in the palm of his
hand there it was, safe and sound! "Why, in the name of wonder,"
says me and Mr. Tatt, in astonishment, "how did you come by that?"
"I'll tell you how I come by it," says he. "I saw which of 'em
took it; and when we were all down on the floor together, knocking
about, I just gave him a little touch on the back of his hand, as I
knew his pal would; and he thought it WAS his pal; and gave it me!"
It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful!
'Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap was tried
at the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know what Quarter
Sessions are, sir. Well, if you'll believe me, while them slow
justices were looking over the Acts of Parliament, to see what they
could do to him, I'm blowed if he didn't cut out of the dock before
their faces! He cut out of the dock, sir, then and there; swam
he was took - an old woman having seen him climb up - and Witchem's
artful touch transported him!'
III. - THE SOFA
"What young men will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves and break
their friends' hearts,' said Sergeant Dornton, 'it's surprising! I
had a case at Saint Blank's Hospital which was of this sort. A bad
case, indeed, with a bad end!
'The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, of Saint
Blank's Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give information of
numerous robberies having been committed on the students. The
students could leave nothing in the pockets of their great-coats,
while the great-coats were hanging at the hospital, but it was
almost certain to be stolen. Property of various descriptions was
constantly being lost; and the gentlemen were naturally uneasy
about it, and anxious, for the credit of the institution, that the
thief or thieves should be discovered. The case was entrusted to
me, and I went to the hospital.
'"Now, gentlemen," said I, after we had talked it over; "I
understand this property is usually lost from one room."
'Yes, they said. It was.
'"I should wish, if you please," said I, "to see the room."
'It was a good-sized bare room down-stairs, with a few tables and
forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats.
'"Next, gentlemen," said I, "do you suspect anybody?"
'Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were sorry to
say, they suspected one of the port
ers.
'"I should like," said I, "to have that man pointed out to me, and
to have a little time to look after him."
'He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I went back
to the hospital, and said, "Now, gentlemen, it's not the porter.
He's, unfortunately for himself, a little too fond of drink, but
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he's nothing worse. My suspicion is, that these robberies are
committed by one of the students; and if you'll put me a sofa into
that room where the pegs are - as there's no closet - I think I
shall be able to detect the thief. I wish the sofa, if you please,
to be covered with chintz, or something of that sort, so that I may
lie on my chest, underneath it, without being seen."
'The sofa was provided, and next day at eleven o'clock, before any
of the students came, I went there, with those gentlemen, to get
underneath it. It turned out to be one of those old-fashioned
sofas with a great cross-beam at the bottom, that would have broken
my back in no time if I could ever have got below it. We had quite
a job to break all this away in the time; however, I fell to work,
and they fell to work, and we broke it out, and made a clear place
for me. I got under the sofa, lay down on my chest, took out my
knife, and made a convenient hole in the chintz to look through.
It was then settled between me and the gentlemen that when the
students were all up in the wards, one of the gentlemen should come
in, and hang up a great-coat on one of the pegs. And that that
great-coat should have, in one of the pockets, a pocket-book
containing marked money.
'After I had been there some time, the students began to drop into
the room, by ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk about all
sorts of things, little thinking there was anybody under the sofa -
and then to go up-stairs. At last there came in one who remained
until he was alone in the room by himself. A tallish, good-looking
young man of one or two and twenty, with a light whisker. He went
to a particular hat-peg, took off a good hat that was hanging
there, tried it on, hung his own hat in its place, and hung that
hat on another peg, nearly opposite to me. I then felt quite
certain that he was the thief, and would come back by-and-by.
'When they were all up-stairs, the gentleman came in with the