Rogues

Front matter

ROGUES ROGUES BY R. H. SHERARD UonBon CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY ylo hia JJricnb RICHARD WHITEING THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. REGINA V. BACKHOUSE ------ 1 II NO. 75, DUCHKSS STREET - - - - 13 III. THE TRUST-MONEY - - - - - - 27 IV. THE FIRST BREACH - - - - - - 41 V. MT MISERABLE WEAKNESS - - 51 VI. PEARLS BEFORE SWINE- - - - - 65 VII. RUINED - - - - - - 68 VIII. INCOHERENT - 81 IX. MORE ROGUERY - - - - 91 X. BLACK JOE AND ' THE YARD ' - - - 101 XI. DEEPER DEPTHS ... - - HO XII. WHAT ROGUES! WHAT ROGUES.1 ... - ROGUES

Chapter I. Kegina

V. BACKHOUSE. About four years ago, I was in the enjoyment of many of those things which make a man's life a happy one. I was a widower, and had only one child, a son, who at that time was twenty years of age. I was earning a comfortable income at the bar, and stood well in professional and social repute. My only recent sorrow had been the violent death of my dear brother Richard, who had been foully murdered at Trouville. His murderer had never been discovered, nor could any reason be assigned for the crime. I have always suspected that he came by his end at the hands of a vulgar garrotter, for he was found strangled one morning on the boarded walk that leads from the Hotel des Roches Noires to the Casino. His watch and a valuable ring had been stolen, but the other things which he had in his pockets at the time had been left untouched.

Amongst these was a formal will, by which he constituted me his sole heir. There was little consolation in this — if, indeed, I could have found consolation for the fearful sorrow of his loss under such circumstances — for poor Richard Wilson left nothing behind him but some trifling debts, which I very gladly paid. I might also have complained about my son. His con duct was far from satisfactory, and I was bitterly disappointed in my early hopes about him when he grew up. ROGUES. 2 Always of an indolent disposition, he manifested in the first years of his manhood a very strong repulsion for all work. The solicitor to whom I had articled him was loud in his complaints about his apprentice's idleness and want of care. His studies he totally neglected, made frequent absences from his office, and wasted his valuable time in frivolous and mischievous amusementsabout town.

But nothing is easier for a man than to find reasons for complaint against his lot. Mine, all things considered, was not one that with fairness I could grumble at ; on the contrary, and especially when I compare it with what I have since undergone, I had every cause to congratulate myself on the ease, comfort and carelessness of the life I was then leading. My chambers were in Lincoln's Inn, and it was here one morning that my clerk handed me a brief from Messrs. Spedding and Co., my earliest and most constant patrons. Messrs. Spedding and Co. made a speciality of criminal cases, and had a great reputation amongst the dangerous classes. ' It does not seem at all a good business,' said my clerk, as he laid the manuscript on my table. ' I hardly liked to take it, as I know, sir, how you object to speak in losing cases ; but I did not care to refuse it without your permission, as I know how glad you are to oblige Mr. Spedding.

So I marked it double your ordinary fee for work of this kind, half for the trouble and half to compensate for the verdict, which is certain to go against your client.' A very short study of the brief for the prisoner in Regina v. Backhouse sufficed to show me that my employe's opinion was a right one, and that there was little or no chance of my eloquence being expended to any good purpose. William Backhouse — he had many ahases, which it is unnecessary to mention — had been discovered one night in the back-garden of a house in Putney. He had been found to be equipped with all the tools necessary for house-breaking, and had aggravated the charge against him by opposing a violent resistance to the policeman who had interfered with his arrangements. The only favourable point was that no previous conviction was known to be re corded against him.

This, however, was but a slight extenu ation, as he was a man of fifty-one, and juries are not as a rule inclined to believe that a man of a stainless past can turn to house-breaking at this advanced age. I knew, more over, that the judge who was to sit on this case at the approaching sessions (the trial having been fixed to take place at the Old Bailey) had, of all English judges, a wonderful way of counteracting any sentimental appeals that might be addressed to the jury under his presidency. Pact and fact only was taken into consideration in his short summing up; and in this case the facts were entirely against my client. So little chance, indeed, did there appear to me of my being able to get a favourable verdict, that, but for my regard for the solicitors who had sent me the brief, I should certainly have washed my hands of William Backhouse and of all connected with him.

On the other hand, the case was a very easy one, and could be thoroughly ' got up ' in a very short time and with little study. The fee was also a good one. I decided that it would be foolish to put it into the pocket of one of my too numerous rivals, and that after all more than three-fourths of the criminals arraigned are condemned. I was noting down the few points I could urge in Mr. Backhouse's favour— and very few they were — when Mr. Spedding called on me. He had come to consult with me about another case in which I also held the prisoner's brief. It was a murder case, and the details were sufficiently complicated to hold out some hopes of success. I had also firm faith in the innocence of the woman charged with the crime, and had prepared what I considered a very strong defence. Mr. Spedding, however, came to tell me that the girl had that morning confessed her guilt to him, and was resolute in her determination to plead guilty.

The solicitor had in vain urged on her the suicidal folly of such a course, and had 1—2 ROGUES. 4 wasted more than two hours in endeavouring to persuade her to profit by the chances of a trial. She had expressed great remorse, and had said that while she should be prepared to undergo a just retribution for her sin, she had hopes that her youth and her penitence might secure her a recommendation to mercy. ' What rubbish !' I cried ; ' why, the girl is mad ! What jury in England would couple a recommendation to mercy with a guilty verdict in such a case ? Remorse is a very pretty thing no doubt, but British judges and juries have a way of thinking that it ought to be displayed before the crime instead of after. She's a dead woman if she pleads guilty.' ' I got sick of telling her so,' answered Mr. Spedding, 'but she fancies it is her only chance.

There is no hope of her changing her mind, especially as her trial comes off in a week. It's a thousand pities. Such a strong defence as we have, too ! I was certain of an acquittal. Our only hope is to get a verdict of manslaughter. Plead her youth, her penitence, her stainless past, and try to knock the premedi tation out of the charge.' After some conversation on this subject, Mr. Spedding asked me my opinion on the Backhouse case. I told him what I thought about it. He smiled at my pessimistic views, but agreed that it was indeed very bad. ' What sort of man is he in appearance ?' I asked ; ' some burly ruffian, I suppose. Bill Sikes every square inch, eh ? The sort of prisoner that is condemned the moment he appears at the bar.' ' Oh no,' answered Mr. Spedding, ' he looks anything but a burglar.

A most gentlemanly man. He has an excellent appearance, polite manners, and speaks remarkably well. He seems to have had a very good education, and knows several foreign languages.' ' Unfortunately,' I answered, ' all the foreign languages in the world won't, I fear, talk down Police Constable Maxwell's evidence, and polite manners are only looked at with sus picion in a man who enters people's back-gardens at night armed with a jemmy, etc. The jury will see a swindler or a forger behind the burglar. Still, his appearance may help. Did he favour you with any observations or suggestions ?' ' None that I thought worthy of being taken into con sideration. He talked some nonsense about our telling the jury it was all a lark, a bet, or something. Such a defence would, of course, have been too ridiculous, especially con sidering how he fought with the police when he was taken.' ' And his past ?' I added ; ' I see that no witnesses as to character are to be called.' ' He refuses to give me any information on his past life, and will not help us in this respect at all.

But I doubt if his history would be an edifying one. A respectable man does not take to house-breaking at that age. No, our only plea is the one of first offence. You must go for a mitigation of the sentence. If you can get him off with five years' penal servitude I shall consider that you have done very well, and that he has every reason to be grateful to you.' ' Well, that is an encouraging remark,' I answered, ' I utterly despaired of more. These assizes are nothing to look forward to with pleasure. Two certain condemnations, and two other doubtful cases. I shall lose all my reputation.' ' Not with us, Mr. Wilson,' said Mr. Spedding, holding out his hand ; ' certainly not with us. And we have always plenty for you to do.' ' By-the-bye,' he added, turning round as he reached the door, ' are you going to the Whissendine sale ?

There is that lovely Corot. It will be put up this afternoon.' ' Don't tempt me,' I cried, ' I am ruining myself with my hobby. I couldn't afford even the frame at present.' He laughed at this, but it was true, nevertheless. For some years I had had a mania for collecting works of art, and had spent money extravagantly on my little gallery. It contained many beautiful and valuable pictures, doubtless, but it had also absorbed not only my small private fortune, but the surplus of my income for many years past. I had a rich collection of pictures, but a very small balance at my ROGUES. bankers. However, I was earning a good income, was com paratively young, and had very few other claims on my purse. I considered that this justified me in satisfying my taste. When it occurred to me that I might fall ill, and perhaps by some untoward accident be prevented from pursuing my vocation and thus lose my income entirely, I consoled myself with the thought that my gallery was worth, and would always realize, a considerable sum, and was in that respect as good as money in the bank.

Friends, it is true, had pointed out the fallacy of this argument from a commercial point of view, urging that money invested is productive, that a picture is not, and that thus a picture bought for a thousand pounds costs its owner an additional fifty pounds for each year that he keeps it. To this I used to reply that it brought me more than fifty pounds' worth of enjoyment, and was therefore an excellent speculation. The fact remained, nevertheless, that in all but artistic enjoyment I was un doubtedly poor. This made my son's irregular conduct all the more dis tressing. It was with the greatest difficulty I could satisfy his repeated demands for cash. It would certainly have been wiser to refuse him what I knew too well was spent in dissipation, but then he was my only son. I could not be hard on him, and I always hoped that sooner or later he would grow tired of his pleasures and definitely abandon them.

Thenagain, it gave me satisfaction to see him always well dressed. He had excellent taste, and made a good figure in his fashionable attire. Nor had I any direct proof that he spent my money in vicious pleasures, a strong sus picion only. According to his own account he was member of several athletic and social clubs, and this I knew entailed great expense. For these many reasons, I could not find it in my heart to refuse him what he asked, though it caused me frequent anxiety and occasional annoyance. Mr. Spedding had been hardly gone ten minutes when Robert, my son, came into my rooms. I could see at once, from his manner, what was the object of his visit. Now, I had made a very strong resolution to refuse him any further supplies that month, and so I put on a stern expression, feeling, nevertheless, in the drawer of my table for my cheque-book. ' I say, papa,' he cried, not at all disconcerted by my serious face, ' you must give me a cheque to-day !

I want it awfully.' ' Yes,' I answered, ' but I want awfully to know what you are doing out of your office at this hour ?' 'Oh!' he cried, 'didn't I tell you? I am invited to a lawn-tennis party down at Richmond this afternoon. At the Walkers'.' ' But you don't want a cheque to pay your ticket down there, I suppose.' ' No. I have to pay some debts — my tailor ; and then there are some bets I lost, and ' ' Debts ! tailor ! bets !' I cried. ' Why, how much do you want ?' ' Twenty pounds, at least,' he answered. ' Twenty pounds !' I cried. I then proceeded to deliver a very severe lecture on his extravagance and general bad conduct. He took it all with an excellent grace, professed repentance and a sincere in tention to amend when once he was out of these scrapes, and finally got me to sign him a draft for the amount.

I gave it to him with a sigh. It was just the fee I was to receive for defending Rose Smedley against the charge of murder — the price, perhaps, of a woman's salvation. This, with all the moral to be extracted therefrom, I did not fail to point out to him ; but he was now very much less attentive than before, and hurried off as soon as I had ceased speaking. From my window I could see him cross the street and jump into an elegant Forder cab that was in waiting. I am sorry to say that a much over-dressed young person was also in waiting for him in the cab, with whom he drove off gaily. On the following day I received another visit from Mr. Spedding. He came to make me a somewhat unusual ROGUES. proposition. It appeared that he had that morning received a letter from William Backhouse in prison, in which the burglar begged to be allowed an interview with the barrister who was to defend him at his trial.

He added that he had some important disclosures to make, and that he could and would make them to me alone. On receipt of this request, Mr. Spedding had gone round to Newgate, and had, in vain, pointed out to the prisoner the irregularity of any such pro ceeding. ' I told him,' added the solicitor, ' that any disclosures he might wish to make should be made to me ; that counsel could not be troubled or disturbed about such matters. But it was throwing words away. He desires to see you, and insists that what he has to tell you is of sufficient im portance to excuse his importuning you. I told him that all I could do would be to express his wish to you. He gives us a great deal too much trouble, I think.' ' It is an extraordinary request,' I replied; 'but I am not unwilling to comply with it ; I am anxious to see the man before the trial, and to judge how far his appearance will assist me in my defence.

Will you kindly apply to the prison authorities for the necessary permission ?' ' That I have already done. I thought that if the governor refused it, I should not need to trouble you about the matter at all. You will be conducted to Mr. Backhouse's apartment whenever you choose to present yourself at the door of the hotel — the Queen's Hotel.' Having some time to spare that afternoon, I determined to utilize it for this interview, and accordingly set off at once to the Old Bailey. In less than a quarter of an hour after leaving Lincoln's Inn I found myself in Mr. Back house's cell. I cannot say that I at all agreed with Mr. Spedding as to the man's favourable appearance, and any hopes I had had of turning his face to profitable account were dashed down as I looked at him for the first time.

In my eyes he had a decidedly sinister look, which was but intensified by the air of respectability under which he evidently tried to conceal it. His eyes were small and close together, and their ugliness was increased by the entire absence of lashes. His hair, sparse and gray, was parted down the middle and carefully plastered down on each side. But the most repulsive feature in his face was his chin, which was of extraordinary strength and development. He looked the sort of man who could lift cannon-balls up with his teeth, or dangle fantastically thereby from swinging trapezes. His body was small and slight, but his arms were of great length, and his hands were equipped with abnor mally long fingers. ' No, I'm not a beauty to look at, I know,' he said, in terpreting rightly the depreciative glance I cast at him as I entered his cell. ' But that has nothing to do with it,' he added, bringing me a stool to sit down upon. ' What I want to know is whether you are a gentleman — a real gentleman, now.' ' I hardly understand you,' I answered. ' Oh, you'll understand me right enough as we go on,' he replied. ' What I mean is, are you the sort of man to keep a promise ?' ' Undoubtedly — if I pledge my word.

But I warn you, I am not inclined to make any rash promises.' ' No more you shall.' So you are the barrister who is to defend me, are you ? What chance have I of getting off ? Devil a chance, I see by your looks. Well, so much the worse. It can't run to more than five years, I suppose ?' I could see by his manner as he spoke, and by the rapid and searching glances he cast on me, that he was trying to judge from my appearance whether he could trust me or not. It annoyed me considerably to be the subject of such specu lation in such a man, and I interrupted him with an im patient gesture, saying: ' You have not called me here, I suppose, to talk about these things. My time is precious.' ' I wish mine was,' he replied. ' Well, I won't keep you long. Now, supposing I had a bit of property hidden away somewhere — a nice bit of property — and supposing that I, ROGUES. 10 being frightened lest it should get stolen during my absence — a five years' absence it is to be — was to ask you, as a gentleman of honour, to take care of it for me in case of my being sentenced ' ' I should refuse any such trust,' I exclaimed decisively; ' you can put the bit of property into your solicitor's hands, or ask a banker to take care of it !' ' Solicitor's hands !' he cried. ' Oh !

I know all about that. No, that would never do. I should never see a farthing of it again. As to a banker, no banker would accept a deposit made in that way. And what means have I of communi cating with a banker ? No, sir, it must be you or nobody else. You cannot refuse me, sir,' he added. ' Why should you ? What trouble will it give you ? Will you not have some satisfaction in keeping it for me and in knowing that when I come out of gaol I shall have the means of leading an honest hfe ?' ' It does not seem to have kept you out of mischief before,' I answered. ' Oh, you refer to the burglary. I give you my solemn word of honour, sir — and httle as you may think it worth, I value it as much as you do yours — that I did not go out to rob that night, I cannot explain my motive for wishing to break into that house, but it was not to rob — at least, not as you think.

Do you believe me ?' ' Well, yes. It sounds strange, but we will consider that you entered Mr. Wolfe's garden with burglar's tools, but with the purest of motives. I am afraid the jury won't understand their purity.' ' And I don't care a rush whether they do. I am pre pared to be sentenced. I don't mind that, though it is a hard punishment at my time of life. But what I do mind — and the thought of it nearly drives me crazy — is that, when I come out of gaol, I may be penniless. My money is hidden, where it may be found any day, and of course — finders, keepers— if it is found it will be lost. There is enough to keep me decently and quietly for the rest of my years. If I lose it I shall have no resource but crime. I do not want to become a thief. I have been an honest man all my life. Yes, sir, an honest man.

Now, if you would be so kind as to get it the day I am sentenced and to keep it for me — not in a bank, mind, that is not safe — till I eome out, I shall be certain of being able to end my days as I have lived till now, as an honest and respectable citizen. Mr. Wilson, will you do this service for a poor afflicted man?' The ' poor afflicted man ' looked such a consummate villain as he made this request, that I had half a mind to refuse it then and there. But then, I reflected, how unjust it was to judge him by appearances, I remembered that his position and surroundings had doubtless prejudiced my mind against him, and I considered that perhaps, after all, he was as innocent of criminality as I myself. But before answer ing definitely, I determined to put to him a few questions. ' Where does this money come from ?' ' It's my own.

My savings.' ' How much is it ?' ' About two thousand seven hundred pounds ' A large sum ! How is it you carried such a sum about with you? One usually invests.' ' I don't. I did not care to run the risk. I spend a pound a week on myself. There was enough there to keep me sixty years. I have no friends, no relations, to whom I could leave money, and I don't see much good in post humous charity.' ' But what guarantee have you ?' I began. ' Of your honesty ? None except your looks and your word. But I feel certain that my money would be as safe in your hands as in the Bank of England, nay, safer; and, knowing it is in your hands, I should be easy. I am terribly uneasy now.' ' Well, ' I said, ' and supposing you should die in prison, what should I have to do with your money then ? ' ' You might keep it for yourself — I have no friends, no family.

It would be a comfortable sum, even for you.' ' Decidedly a comfortable sum for me,' I thought, as I ROGUES. 12 remembered my terribly meagre balance. This last reflec tion decided the matter. ' I accept your offer,' I said. ' It is an extraordinary one, my dear sir, but I accept it. I should be sorry to stand in your way. Where is the money ?' I spoke this eagerly, and he looked at me with somewhat of suspicion. But after a minute's pause his face cleared. He put his hand into his breast-pocket and drew out a sealed envelope, which he gave me, saying : ' Promise me not to open this until after my trial, and only then if I am sentenced. Of course, if I am acquitted I can take care of my money myself. It is safe till then.' ' I promise,' I said, taking the envelope. ' Thank you. Well, then, if I am condemned, open the envelope as soon after the trial as convenient.

You will find in it the fullest particulars as to where my money is hidden. I would beg you then to lose no time in going to take it. But how glad I should be to be able to fetch it myself ! You don't think I have any chance, do you, sir?' I shook my head. ' I will do my best for you,' I said ; ' but you must not hope for a favourable result.' The evidence is too much against you. But, perhaps,' I added, with rising curiosity, ' if you were to explain to me your motives you say it was not to steal.' ' No, sir,' he replied decisively, ' that I cannot do. Not if it was to save my neck.' ' Very well,' I answered. ' Is there anything else ?' ' No, thank you. Yes, stay. Is Mrs. Wolfe to be called as a witness ? The wife, you know, of the man ' 'Yes, I know ; the wife of the person in whose garden you were found.

Yes, she has been subpœnaed. She saw you in the garden. She and the policeman are the two witnesses against you.' ' And she means to speak against me ?' he cried bitterly. ' She means to help to send me to prison. Ah ! it's in credible.' ' Do you know anything about her ?' I asked, growing more and more curious. ' Tell me. It may do you good. I may be able to do something then in the cross-examination. Don't be so blind to your own interests. Tell me the whole truth.' He had mastered his rage, and answered me with a laugh. 'The truth, the whole truth, eh? Not likely. Not a word, sir. Not to save my neck. Certainly not to save myself five years' penal servitude. No, you must excuse me. Do not think I mistrust you, but I cannot tell you a word. And do not think I shall be disappointed or ungrateful if you fail. to get me off.

It's a dead certainty, I know. Only don't let me get more than five years, I couldn't stand more. Why, think, I shall be fifty-six when I come out. Even at that rate, I shall have little life left before me, and I have so much to do— so much to read, before my death. All Russian literature. I have not read one Russian book yet, though all other European literature I know pretty well.' Was this man fooling me ? I felt inclined to believe it. Was the whole thing a foolish mystification, a purportless practical joke ? It seemed to me very probable. He knew ' all other European literature,' and yet how vulgar was his method of expressing himself. If I had been a psychologist I might have found in him an excellent study. But I was at that time a busy man, and so, having heard all I wanted or cared to hear, I took my departure, after repeating my promise and bidding him be of good heart. ' You shall have plenty of time for Russian literature,' I said, with a laugh, as I closed the door.

Chapter II. No

75, DUCHESS STREET. When next I saw Mr. Backhouse he was standing in the dock of the Central Criminal Court. He was carefully and neatly dressed, and behaved with much decorum and polite- ROGUES. ness. I saw at once that both judge and jury were surprised at his appearance, though, as I had feared, it did not seem to prepossess them in his favour. He looked much too re spectable. I felt very discouraged and out of spirits that day, for that morning my client Rose Smedley, who had pleaded guilty, had been condemned to death, and not a word of recommendation had been spoken in her behalf. I had also been able to judge from the way in which Lord B passed sentence on her, that she was irrevocably lost. William Backhouse pleaded ' Not guilty,' in a firm voice, with a very pretty bow to his lordship.