Chapter CL (1)

A VISIT TO NEWGATE――IDENTIFICATION OF PEACE――MRS. THOMPSON’S PERSONAL HISTORY――RECEIVERS OF STOLEN GOODS.

From what we have been able to gather from persons whose testimony is in every way reliable, Mrs. Peace made a precipitate retreat from Peckham after the arrest of her husband.

The day after Police-constable Robinson bravely fought the burglar down, in spite of his wounded arm, and had Peace taken to gaol, the wife of the convict made preparations for flight. She packed up three boxes, and had them conveyed to Cleaves, the greengrocer, to Nunhead Station.

She and her son followed them to the station, and took the train for Darnall, near Sheffield, the place where Peace lived before coming to London, and at which he was living when Dyson was shot.

A month after the arrest some of the effects were sold, and the remainder were carted to No. 22, Philip’s-road, the residence of Mr. Brion, heretofore mentioned as the joint patentee of the invention for raising sunken ships.

There is no question that the police were afterwards made aware of the departure of Mrs. Peace and of Mrs. Thompson’s change of abode.

Mrs. Thompson, although she lived with Peace at Nottingham after the murder, and lived in company with Mrs. Peace at Peckham, was not called as a witness for obvious reasons.

Peace was convicted of assault with a deadly weapon, and it was unnecessary to try him for the burglary, as the sentence was penal servitude for life.

The representative of the Press Association had an interview with Mr. Brion. His relationship with Peace was, he said, a purely business one.

“But for me,” he said, “Peace’s connection with the murder would never have been discovered. It was I who gave the police the information that put them on the track. Those police would never have discovered anything themselves had not everything been told them and every step they took indicated. How did I become connected with Peace?

“You will know all about that in my testimony at Bow-street, when Mrs. Peace was under examination. I am an inventor, a geographical engineer. I make maps. You know Donald McKenzie, who has gone to Africa to make surveys for letting the ocean flow into the Sahara?

“That is my project. This is the map I exhibited at the Mansion House. (Mr. Brion unrolled a map 20 feet by 12 feet, whereon was delineated very broadly the Continent of Africa and on which was shown, in red dotted lines below the Canary Islands, a kind of gutter through which the ocean is to flow inland and flood the Sahara.)

“Mrs. Thompson went away from here on Monday. I know where she is, but I cannot tell you of her whereabouts. That has all been arranged with the police. She came here with the full knowledge of the police, and all the goods in Peace’s house were brought here by their direction and consent.

“The police are aware of everything I can tell them about Peace. I have spent three months in the interest of the public to bring this man to justice, and I was promised by the police that I should have my expenses paid, but here have I been during all that time running around the country and living at hotels, and spending money for the sake of getting at evidence, and now they refuse to pay me anything.

“I have done with the police, although they know all that I have done, and now I have a memorial to the Treasury on the subject.

“I am disgusted with the whole business, and annoyed that for any length of time I should have been associated in whatever degree with such a scoundrel as Peace.

“He was a very interesting man, full of general information, and had acquired a great amount of ability in mechanics. He had an inventive faculty, and could readily understand anything in mechanism.

“He was working away at this idea of his for lifting ships from the sea bottom, and it is now plain that he could not have obtained a patent himself.

“As with all these men of smirched reputation, he had to look around for some one to assist him, and he fastened upon me.

“I used to see him in the mornings, afternoons, and at nights, and he was always pleasant enough, and I never suspected he was what he is.

“His left hand was always bare when I saw it, but when he went to Whitechapel he was accustomed to cover it and pretend that it was injured.

“Whitechapel was where he went with his booty. I expended a considerable sum in my experiments with Peace on his invention.

“I found that he had the idea of raising ships by air force, but that the appliance was faulty, and that no patent would be given for an idea.

“I have a plan of my own for raising ships, and I have offered it to the Admiralty. They have not accepted it, and I intend to raise the ‘Vanguard,’ and sell it on my own account. The police are aware of everything that Mrs. Thompson has to say.

“They have been cognisant of her movements from first to last, and they knew of her departure from this house, and where she has gone.”

The reader will be at no loss to understand that the police were tolerably well informed as to the movements and whereabouts of Mrs. Peace. This is plainly evidenced by her arrest, the examination at the police-courts that followed, and her trial and acquittal at the Central Criminal Court.

After this they confined their attentions to the convicted man who was at this time incarcerated in Newgate, and their chief aim was to prove him to be the murderer of Mr. Dyson.

The capture and conviction of Peace was the universal topic of town talk. Never surely did a criminal create a greater amount of excitement both in the metropolis and the provinces.

Officers were despatched both to Nottingham and Sheffield. The constabulary received information from the Park-road station of the K Division. It was put forth that the prisoner in Newgate was a man apparently about fifty years of age, dark, clean shaved, hair grey, large mouth, large scar on the side of the left leg, and the back of the thigh, three fingers on the left hand deficient, dress overcoat, with velvet collar, and black under coat.

He wore a brown leather belt, low boots, and a brown felt hat.

A Sheffield paper thus chronicles further proceedings:――

Police-constable David Morris was dispatched to London, by Mr. Jackson, with a view to the identification of the criminal in custody at Newgate.

Morris, who was at one time stationed at Darnall, lived for more than a year in the house directly opposite to that occupied by Charles Peace, and was therefore in the habit of seeing him every day, and frequently several times a day.

Morris had with him a letter from his chief to the director of the Criminal Investigation Department, by means of which he obtained admission to the cell.

At half-past one o’clock a telegram from our reporter was received at this office as follows:――

“ST. MARTIN’S-LE-GRAND, 1.30. p.m.
“Peace has been further identified by a Sheffield constable,
and there is no doubt he is the murderer.”

The telegram, when posted in the window of our publishing department, excited much interest. Shortly after two o’clock the Chief Constable received a telegram from Police-constable Morris as follows:――

“Man in custody is Peace. I am quite positive about his
identity.”

All doubt, if any existed, has now been removed. The man, John Ward, the notorious burglar of Blackheath――the man who did all his villainies “single-handed,” and thus no doubt escaped detection for a longer time than he would otherwise have done――is none other than Charles Peace, the murderer of Mr. Arthur Dyson, at Bannercross-terrace, that dark November night two years ago.

Charles Peace, alias George Parker, alias Alexander Mann, alias Paganini, alias John Ward――the man of many aliases――is trapped at last, and the general hope is that now he is caught there may be evidence enough to make him suffer the penalty of his greatest crime――that which startled this town and district so terribly in the winter of 1876.

A journalist furnishes us with the following descriptive visit to Newgate and the scene at the identification:――

That Charles Peace, the murderer of Mr. Arthur Dyson, of Bannercross, is at last caught there cannot now be the shadow of a doubt. He has been clearly identified by a Sheffield constable, who knew him most intimately.

The result of my researches into the history of this man’s career reveals a depth of depravity, hypocrisy, daring, and low cunning, such as have scarcely ever been penned in the annals of crime.

On entering Scotland-yard, and making known my errand――that I desired to prosecute inquiries into the history of the man then in their custody, who was committed for trial from the Greenwich Police-court, on charges of attempted murder and burglary, a man who had given the name of John Ward, the replies given were certainly very courteous, but in no way satisfactory to a reporter in quest of information.

The result was that after about an hour and a half’s waiting, and after being interviewed successively by some dozen or two very polite gentlemen, who were evidently “authorities,” I was ultimately told, with a smile, by one that they did not give information to members of the Press.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s against regulations, and we are not allowed to answer questions.”

“Well,” I said, “where is this man Ward or Peace confined, because I want to see him?”

He had a short look at me, and after telling an untruth in the words “He’s not in town,” took his departure.

However, I knew there had come up to London by the morning train a Sheffield constable whose errand was to see the man “Ward,” and that officer was one who had been on the most intimate terms with Charles Peace.

He had seen the murderer daily for months before the commission of the crime, had had him in his house, and had further confided to him some of the “family troubles” of Peace.

The officer was Police-constable (222) David Morris, of the Attercliffe division, and it is due to him that Peace has at length been identified beyond dispute.

The police authorities of the metropolis are true to their word and traditions in this, that if they gain their information with difficulty they hold it with tenacity when they have obtained it. They appear to mistake reporters for Ishmaelites.

After further trouble I succeeded in finding out that at about one o’clock a detective from Scotland-yard would be at the Old Bailey, otherwise well known as Newgate Gaol, and that he would there ask Morris if he could pick out the so-called Peace from a number of men.

How to get it was the question, but I also thought it might be possible _for me_ to identify him if I could see him, and so, with a little help from a friend, I got permission from the authorities to go inside and witness.

The approaches to the Old Bailey are of a forbidding character, dark and repulsive. Even the inquiry door has massive iron spikes projecting from the top of it, and as you have to make your applications either through the spikes or over them, you stand a chance of having your chin perforated.

On getting inside there are apparently nothing but bars and big doors, but over one of the doors on the shelf there are conspicuously displayed plaster casts of heads.

These casts are the official representations of all the murderers who have interviewed the hangman within the walls of the prison, and a hideous-looking crew they are.

Seeing that another candidate for the “long drop” has next to be interviewed the effect is not pleasing.

However, there is another delay, and this is accounted for by the fact that the suspected culprit is being “mixed” with some more prisoners, the more to test anyone in the task of identification.

At last the signal is given that all is ready, and after passing through a short corridor a yard is seen, rather capacious and surrounded with cell-doors.

But between the yard and the corridor were double gates of iron, and anyone exercising in the yard had not a shadow of a chance of communication with the outer world.

The iron gates were opened by the governor of the gaol; in front stood the constable and another who had come to see if Peace was in the hands of the police, and in front were twelve prisoners doing “the circular drill.”

This is a performance best known to prison officials, and to those who have been “wanted.” It consists in this:――

If there is a prisoner in the establishment whose identity needs to be established, and there is anyone attending for the purpose of viewing them, the prisoner is placed amongst others, and they follow each other in circle.

The suspected prisoner must then be identified. Those who performed the “circular drill” on this occasion in the Old Bailey, were a curious lot.

First came a young man, of some three or four-and-twenty years, with his neck half hidden in a muffler.

His gait was upright, but there was that cowed look about him which showed him to be “an old prison bird.”

Before the march commenced the prisoners took a look at us; they did not know who was “wanted,” and our visages were strange to all but one.

Then the march began, and all the prisoners appeared to want to march the double, but they had only a short time of duty.

The second man who passed was an old one, some forty years of age, who wore a swallow-tail coat, and looked most like a defaulting half-starved attorney’s clerk.

He gave a searching look, knit up his brows, as if to see “who in creation there could be that he knew,” and then apparently satisfied that he was not “wanted,” passed on with a livelier tread.

The third but a young man, with a bull neck, who held his head down and stared at the ground, as though afraid of seeing anyone strange, for fear they should recognise him.

He had apparently gone through this class of inspection before.

Two other young fellows passed, of lively mien, and then there came

ONE WHO WAS WANTED.

A man of about five feet three or four inches in height, with white hair on his head, cut very short, and bald in the front of his head, but the razor had lately done this.

His eyebrows heavy and overhanging the eyes, which were deeply socketed.

A chin standing very prominently, and, as if to make it more so, the head was thrown back with an air of half self-assertion, yet half caution, as though there was a degree of hesitancy in the action.

The lower part of his cheek bones protruded more than was their wont in years gone by, but he had apparently had some bruises recently, and had had his whiskers shaven off since he was last seen in Sheffield.

[Sidenote: No. 83.]

In addition to that he wore a pair of large brass-rimmed spectacles, as if the more completely to make certain of his non-identification.

Slightly bending himself this man approached those who were inspecting the prisoners, and then there was a sudden stop.

“That’s Peace,” said Morris. “I’d know him anywhere,” and the man “Ward” stepped from the ranks and approaching the officer with a look which betokened the most earnest inquiry, asked, “What do you want me for?”

The governor here very severely said, “Go on, sir, with your walk,” and Peace returned to his place in the ranks, which were no longer marching.

The other prisoners were now staring at the identified man, and evidently wanted to ask, “What has he done?” but they dared not.

Even Peace had had no intimation given to him that he was recognised as the Sheffield murderer, and until he saw the officer who had come to identify him he had no notion of why he was required to go on this special parade.

The marks which were described as on the missing Peace are all distinctly on him. Before he can appear in the police court at Sheffield on the charge of murder, the Chief-constable for Sheffield will have to apply to a superior court for a writ of _habeas corpus_.

Upon this he will be taken to answer the capital charge now made against him.

After committing the murder on the night of the 26th November, 1876, Peace was completely lost sight of; his career in this life, it was said, was closed, for he had made away with himself.

But Peace was not such a fool as that, for he had no sooner finished the murder than he took to his old game of burglary――an avocation which appears to have had a curious attraction for him.

Subsequent events have proved that Peace went to Hull, and there replaced his waning funds by breaking into a gentleman’s house, from which, he extracted a large quantity of plate and valuable jewellery.

From thence, after realising on his spoil, he repaired to Nottingham, where a near relative resided, and with her he took up his quarters.

Although it was well known that there was a heavy reward offered for his apprehension, it does not seem that any of his relatives considered it advisable to state who was in the midst of them.

After effecting a very clever warehouse robbery, in which silk goods were the principal booty, Peace appears to have then considered that his proximity to Sheffield was dangerous, and he again changed his abode.

Thus it will be seen that the Sheffield authorities were correct when they stated that they had traced the man to Hull, but there had lost sight of him.

It was believed that he had escaped to the Continent. But not so; the fox had “doubled,” and in the Midland Counties, with Nottingham for his centre, was continuing his depreciations.

On reaching London some four or five months after the murder, he was not very well off for money, and he took up his residence in Lambeth.

The police in charge of this district then became aware that night after night the most audacious depredations were committed in the district.

There was scarcely a night passed but a burglary was announced, and in as even a succession the statement followed that the thieves had not been caught.

The value of the booty thus secured was exceedingly great, and the thieves――for they were then believed to be a gang――were said to be well rewarded for their audacity.

But the place appears to have become too hot for him, and he then removed to Greenwich, where he occupied a beautiful house, and commenced to furnish it in a most expensive manner.

Whatever Peace failed in, it was not in the want of self-assurance and the belief that he could pass through society as a gentleman.

Though he had repulsive features he appears to have had winning ways in the eyes of some, for he now appears to have decided on engaging a lady to share his improving fortunes.

This “lady” may perhaps figure elsewhere shortly, and her name will then be found in the police record. But the establishment could not be kept up without “means,” and again came the last resort.

Peace had described himself to the new sphere of respectable neighbours――among whom he now moved――as a “gentleman of independent means,” and he was looked up to as one who had done well in the world.

We have endeavoured, throughout this strange eventful history, to place before the reader the leading and most noticeable circumstances connected with the career of this sinful man. After his arrest for the burglary and attempted murder of Police-constable Robinson, there was but little chance of his escaping conviction for the Bannercross murder, but there are many who have attributed his identification and subsequent conviction upon the grave charge to the jealousy of a woman, as will be seen by the following extract from a journal of the time.

It has been remarked by ancient as well as by modern writers that wherever there is a piece of outrageous mischief there is sure to be a woman at the bottom of it.

The experience of the present civilised age does not present any instances to the contrary, but rather strengthens the opinions previously held. Charles Peace was clever in one thing, that he knew his “profession” and succeeded in it so long as he did it “single-handed;” but when he obtained a partner, like many others who have preceded him, his fortunes, though apparently improving, were really on the decrease.

Whilst in Nottingham――and this only happened within a month after the murder of Mr. Dyson――he succeeded in securing to himself the affections of a young female relative.

This young “lady” followed him through his many hazardous adventures until at length the two were in Lambeth, where they occupied a decent house, and to all intents and purposes were a well-conducted pair――the lady being slightly younger than her husband, but as “Mr. Johnson” was well-to-do it was supposed that there had been a marriage of love.

Business in Lambeth proved of a paying character, although those who did the paying were not always aware of the fact until before banking hours in the morning――when the news was brought to their bedroom doors by the earliest risers in the house.

On removing to Greenwich, Peace was accompanied by the young lady who had followed his fortunes, although she might not know the whole of his crimes and there were again commenced the robberies which, have made his name so notorious in the criminal annals of the country.

Peace resumed his business; as he had not to press sales on the market he did not care what came to his hand, and being well versed in the legerdemain of the light-fingered fraternity he obtained access to the mansions of the rich around him, and their loss was his gain.

As the aristocrats in his neighbourhood became more indignant, he became more pious, and his immediate neighbours, whilst looking out for the midnight thieves, relied somewhat on his perception and assurances that nothing would be wrong.

But all this time there was in Peace’s well-furnished household a young woman who had been misled and wronged.

She had been led to believe that Peace, with whom she had associated in Nottingham, was a steady, hardworking man. Peace had given to her a number of costly goods, he was to her a man of sterling honesty, and then it transpired that he was a burglar.

Then came her time of trial.

The man with whom she was associated was a thief, a burglar, and more than that――and she knew it.

He was a murderer.

But what could she do? It was this man upon whom she was dependent for a subsistence――it was this man who had committed murder once, and whom she knew would not hesitate to commit it again.

So she helped to get rid of the goods which were brought by his nightly marauds, and like other sensible people who are in a mess, she held her peace.

But when Peace and this housekeeper had got to the new home at Peckham, “a cloud came o’er the scene,” and the cloud was a woman.

This “cloud” took up her residence in the house of Mr. Peace――otherwise “Johnson,” by which latter cognomen he was well known――and then commenced the beginning of the end.

The first victim of Peace’s duplicity dared not speak, and the second admirer of him dared not――so between the rivals the burglar had a fair chance of bidding for favouritism.

But when the last “throw” came from the dice-box of criminal ingenuity and the thrower lost, there were left in the house in Peckham a couple of rivals.

One, the latest comer, “realised,” and the older and much-injured one gave information which resulted in the disclosures which had now been made public.

By the aid of “the first love” valuable goods were traced to Nottingham and others to Sheffield.

She told the detectives where to work and where to _find_, and she disclosed the name of her rival, Mrs. Thompson, who was asked to give her address.

Charles Peace, as we have had occasion to observe before, was by no means a man of retiring character, but in respect to audacity and assurance he was certainly able to hold his own with any of those great criminals in whose footsteps he so long and persistently followed. It must, however, be admitted that there was one bright spot in his character.

It was this: after his arrest and conviction he strove by every means in his power to prove the innocence of his wife.

It is certain that he only sought to become acquainted with those who were, in his estimation, likely to be useful to him in an emergency, and this statement has been fully borne out by the latest phase of the case.

A gentleman in Sheffield some years ago bestowed some favours on a member of the miscreant’s family, and his name and address had been treasured up, with a view to still further calls upon the benevolence that was once exercised in his behalf.

The gentleman in question was infinitely surprised one morning to receive a letter, which was directed in an unknown hand.

Tearing open the cover he saw a mass of cramped and crooked lines, which ran higgledy-piggledy over the paper, and showed that the hand which had written them might have been more familiar with the “jemmy” and the skeleton key than with the pen.

A further consideration of the document revealed that the author was either a most illiterate man, or that, to suit his own purpose, he would fain appear to be such.

The simple rules of grammar were set at defiance, and the attempts to decipher the letter were so painful that it would have been tossed impatiently aside had not the eye been caught by the signature, “Charles Peace or Ward.”

The gentleman at once made all efforts to decipher the letter, which was from no other person than the notorious Bannercross murderer, who was at that time in Newgate.

The purport of the letter was to supplicate the receiver to become bail for Mrs. Peace, who for some time had been in custody in consequence of the vast quantity of stolen property found in her possession by Inspectors Phillips and Twibell.

He coolly went on to ask that counsel should be obtained for her defence, and declared that his wife had no guilty knowledge when she received the goods, but that he forwarded them to her in order that she might convert them into money to supply her needs.

He again and again with some vehemence asserted that Mrs. Peace was an innocent woman, and that the misfortunes into which she had fallen were not attributable to any fault of her own.

It was much to Peace’s credit that he thus endeavoured to exculpate his wife, and it is pleasant to record this one good trait in his otherwise debased and odious character; but he made a fatal mistake in forming a connection with the other lady of his establishment.

Mrs. Thompson (who may be known by some by the name of Susan Gray), the woman with whom Peace was living at the time of his arrest for the Blackheath burglaries, made a long statement as to her own career, and her connection with our hero.

As this forms part of the history of the notorious criminal the reader would be in no way pleased by our suppressing it.

The following is a tolerably accurate description of her personal appearance.

In person she is tall, and considerably above the middle height. Her figure is not robust. Her complexion is fair, and was no doubt at one time good. Her hair is dark and plentiful, and her eyes of a deep blue, what is known as a violet hue.

Mrs. Thompson, at the time I saw her, was dressed in a brown robe, trimmed with velvet to match; and wore a cloth jacket and round hat, becoming and neat. Both of these articles she removed in the course of conversation.

Her manner was at first frank and agreeable, but as our interview lasted it changed to a fitful moroseness, which was difficult to deal with. Both in person and in manner Mrs. Thompson may be said to be decidedly prepossessing――what may be called a taking woman.

She is manifestly a fairly well-educated woman, and writes a pretty, ladylike Italian hand. The statement she made to me in answer to questions and in course of conversation was as follows:――

MRS. THOMPSON’S PERSONAL HISTORY.

My maiden name is Susan Gray, and I was born in the year 1842, at Nottingham. My parents are very respectable people, and carry on a small business in that town. I am heartily sorry to have brought this disgrace upon them.

In my childhood I went to various schools in Nottingham――to the Trinity School when I was a youngster, when I was also picked out as a singer in the choir.

I continued to attend the Trinity Schools until I was eight or nine years of age, when my parents removed me to the College School.

There I remained until I was fourteen, when I went out to work.

I should not like to state where I was employed, as it might give pain to persons living, but there are those alive who know that this statement is true.

After I left my first situation I stayed at home and assisted my father in his business as his bookkeeper.

When I was about twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, a Mr. Bailey one day came for purposes of business to my father’s house.

He had occasion to see my handwriting, and asked me if I would make out some bills for him. I obliged him, and from that day I kept his books, and did all the writing he required.

One day he asked me if I would marry him, and, in a spirit of vexation, I having had some little disturbance with a brother of mine, I said “Yes.”

We were married on the 10th of October, 1872, but three months after that I left him, on finding out what was his true character, and that it would be impossible for me to live happily with him.

I went next to live with my married sister at Nottingham.

I then worked for my living, employing my time in the manufacture of caps such as ladies and servants wear.

One Sunday evening, perhaps six months afterwards, as I was going to chapel, I met Bailey again. He stopped and spoke to me, and finally induced me to return to live with him.

I stayed with him for nearly a year, when I again left him, and since that time I have not spoken to him, except to obtain from him a weekly allowance, which I continued to enjoy until I met the man Peace, but on my becoming connected with him that allowance was forfeited.

HER FIRST MEETING PEACE.

I met Peace in January, 1877, I think it was. He came to the house where I was living at Nottingham about that time.

One evening, just as I was returning from work, when I entered the house, I saw him there. I shall never forget the impression he made upon me.

I thought him of very singular appearance, and, from what I saw at first sight, I had reason to believe that he was a one-armed man; but that appearance was only the result of one of his tricks and deceptions.

When I went in he said to the landlady, “Is this your daughter?”

I was not living with my sister then. I had left home, and had not spoken to any of my family for a long time.

In answer to Peace’s question, my landlady, after some hesitation, gave an affirmative reply.

Some conversation in subdued tones then took place between Peace and my landlady. I ought to have said that this occurred in a house in a district known as “The Marsh,” at Nottingham――a very low neighbourhood indeed. Peace had brought my landlady some boxes of cigars for sale.

She said to him, in reference to myself, “You can speak before her; she won’t say anything.”

Peace then asked her if she would go and see if she could sell the cigars.

This woman, who is since dead, was an accomplice of his, and used to assist him in the disposal of stolen property. Her name was Adamson.

She thereupon went out and sold them, and when she returned gave him 18s., of which sum he returned her 6s. by way of commission.

After that he became a constant visitor, and we always spoke of him as the one-armed old man. He not unfrequently had there his breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, and at last it became known to me what his real character was.

At first he gave out that he was a hawker, and dealt in various little articles such as pedlars invariably travel with――spectacles, cheap finery, and jewellery, and miscellaneous goods of that description.

At last he openly showed himself in his true character――I mean as a most daring burglar. He brought things into the house which it must be evident to anybody were stolen property.

There were articles of silver plate, timepieces, watches, and even quantities of tea, sugar, and other perishable articles.

I do not know at all where he got these from; but I am perfectly satisfied that they were the proceeds of robberies or burglaries.

This knowledge was kept from me at first. I was led to suppose he was what he seemed to be――viz., a hawker, and a quiet, respectable man.

On one occasion he went out of town, saying he had to go and see his mother at Hull. By his mother he meant Hannah Peace.

Peace on that occasion took £5 to Mrs. Ward at Hull, and stayed there three weeks.

During that time he committed several robberies either at Hull or in the neighbourhood.

I know that to be the case, because when I have been in Hull he has shown me the houses at which the burglaries were committed, and he also told me that on one occasion he had to run for it, when he “fired wide” at a policeman by whom he was in imminent danger of being captured.

The property was disposed of in Hull. He returned after a while to Nottingham. I was out at the time of his return, having business in the evening, for I was still at work and getting my own living in an honest way. I was not earning very much, for work was short, but still it was honest.

On this particular night, on my return home, Mrs. Adamson said to me, “Oh, Mrs. Bailey, who do you think has come back?”

I replied I did not know, to which she made answer, “Why, the one-armed old man, and he has asked for you. He swears he will shoot you unless you go to him.”

He was in the house of our next-door neighbour, and previously to that the lady of the house came in, and said, “Oh, Mrs. Bailey, do come in, the old man’s gone mad; he wants to see you so bad. He won’t be satisfied with anyone until you go.”

When I went in I found him “drunk on Irish whiskey.”

He said, “Is that you, pet (for by that name he used to call me), I am so glad you have come, where have you been?”

I told him I had just come in from business.

He said, “Oh, I am so glad you have come. I thought you were never coming back. Are you not pleased to see me?”

I said, “Oh, particularly, very; I like you so much.”

People must not think by that that I loved him, or because he said in his last letter to me that I did. I got him home, and made him a cup of tea, after which he seemed better.

He went back to the place where he was then residing, for he did not, as I have already said, live in the house with me.

The following day he came to me very early. That day I was rather short of work.

He said he was sorry he had been in such a bad way and had behaved so rudely. He next asked me to stay at home for the day.

I said “No, that would not do. I should lose my work.”

“Never mind that,” said he. He reckoned up how much I was earning, and said, “Look here, darling! If you will promise me not to go to work again, I will pay for your board and lodging. And if Mrs. Adamson likes, I will give her 14s. a week for my board, and come and stay, but not sleep here.”

There was no accommodation for him in the house. Eventually my better feelings were overruled, and I submitted myself to him. He was invariably very kind to me, and I did not live with him unhappily.

I knew that he made a living on the proceeds of burglaries which he committed, but I never had any of the goods so stolen; and my dresses were bought for me by him.

He said one day he would have given me a splendid ostrich feather, but he had not got them, because the woman of the house at which he used to lodge would not give them up.

I said “It is very strange if you have things where you used to lodge and cannot get them if you don’t owe them anything.”

He replied “Never mind; I will buy you one.”

One Monday night he brought home a black silk dress, polonaise, and a long jacket, which he said he thought would fit me.

I told him I did not wear such things. He offered to buy me some like them, but this offer I also declined.

If I remember rightly, these things were the proceeds of a burglary at Hull, and I believe they have been given up to the police. I have since worn dresses that were stolen, but they have all been given up now to the police.

Mrs. Adamson went with him one day to look at a pawnbroker’s shop, into which she wanted him one night to force an entry, but the project never came to a head.

I believe he thought the premises whereon was so much valuable property were pretty sure to be watched.

Mrs. Adamson would have found means of getting rid of the spoil, but he never did enter the place.

I would rather not mention the name of the street in which the shop was situated.

After that he committed a great cloth robbery at one of the factories, and in the course of a week he went again and stole a great number of coats.

He brought several rolls of cloth and the coats to Mrs. Adamson, who disposed of a great portion of the property to persons whom one would have thought to be of unblemished respectability.

In June, 1877, Mrs. Adamson wanted some blankets, and Peace said he could get her any amount.

He went to get some, or, at any rate, to try, but was detected in the act of entering the house.

He made his escape through a stable and through a woodyard.

Resistance was offered by a man on the premises, but Peace pulled out his revolver and threatened to shoot him; and the man, intimidated, let him get clear away.

PEACE’S FLIGHT FROM NOTTINGHAM.

After that he was constantly concerned in robberies until the occasion of the great silk robbery, for the perpetrator of which £50 reward was offered. That was just before we came to London.

The silk was disposed of by Mrs. Adamson, and the detectives came to her house two or three days after. Ward, as I then called him, and I were sitting together. We were living together you know, sir, then――――the fact is we were in bed together. I was asleep, but the noise the officers made on entering awoke me.

I said, “Oh, Mr. G.,” that is the name of the officer who first entered the room. He stood astonished when he saw me. “Oh, Mr. G.,” I said, “let me get out of this.”

He said, “I am surprised to see you, Mrs. Bailey.”

The men turned to the convict Peace and said to him, “What is your name?”

“John Ward,” was the rather sullen reply.

“What do you do for a living?” the officer next asked.

“I hawk spectacles.”

“Where is your licence?”

“I will show it to you when I come down.”

“Get up and dress,” said one of the officers.

“I shan’t before you,” was the reply, in the same sullen tone and manner, “but I will be down directly.” They went downstairs, leaving Ward in the room.

I said to Peace, “Let me go out,” whereupon he permitted me to leave the room, and went to my next-door neighbour’s, where I was very much hurt indeed at the thought of what had happened.

They asked me what was the matter, and I said, “I do not know.”

No sooner had I left the room, than Peace slipped on his clothes, and made his escape through the window, squeezing himself between two iron bars which I am sure were not more than six or eight inches apart.

He ran across the road into the house of a neighbour, whom he got to fetch his boots for him, the detectives being at the time in the house waiting for him to come downstairs.

At last one of them shouted out, “Come, young man, you are a long time coming.”

No answer being returned, a move was made upstairs; the door was thrust open, and the discovery made that the bird had flown.

Away from the neighbour’s house he went to the Trent side, where he walked for a considerable distance.

When he considered himself safe from recognition, he entered a public-house, where he gave a man 1s. and a note for me.

The note was one asking me to go to him at the place where he was staying, but I declined, and the daughter of the house where I was living went to see him in my stead.

I sent him some money by her, and the answer he made me was that he did not care for all the detectives in England; that he would not lose sight of me; that he would not go away from the place without me.

I belonged, he said, to him, and he would not leave the neighbourhood without me.

He sent yet again, and then I met him by appointment in the evening time, and from that time we have always been together.

We came to London together, and took apartments in the Lambeth district, where he began again that career of crime which has made him so notorious.

But here again his character to the outside world was the same as it had ever been.

Though he was always regarded as a passionate man, he was at the same time looked upon as quiet, peaceable, and inoffensive, and in the highest degree respectable.

As a performer upon the violin he was anything but a mean proficient. He mixed very little with his neighbours, to my knowledge, in this locality, and but little was known of that wonderful fund of ingenuity which he undoubtedly possessed.

Often and often have I said to him what a pity it was that he had not turned his abilities to a better account than for the purpose of committing depredations upon the property of his fellow-creatures; but though his manner to me was kind, he would always jeer and scoff at my rebukes.

It would be utterly impossible for me to enumerate all the robberies he has committed. He has told me at times of his having been into as many as four and even six houses in a single night, sometimes with success, and sometimes, of course, without.

During the day it was his custom to remain in bed, preparing himself for his work in the following evening, when he would regularly go out upon his housebreaking exploits.

Sometimes he came in with a great deal of valuable plunder, consisting chiefly of silver and gold watches, rings, and various other articles. After a while I became tired of living at apartments. Some of his friends from Darnall used to stay there.

We only had one room, though it was comfortable and nicely furnished; and as I did not think it decent for them to come and live with us, I insisted upon Peace providing me with a home that I could call my own; and as he was uniformly good to me at that time, and gave me nearly everything that I asked, he promised that I should have one.

He had just previously committed a great robbery, and he asked me if I would take some money for him to some friends of his at a distance, as he dared not write letters. I consented to this, and several times I took money for him to Hull.

Hannah was living in that town at the time, and kept a shop there. I particularly wish that fact to be stated. Several times I took money to Hull, and never less than £5 at a time. Often I took a great deal more.

MRS. PEACE GOES TO LONDON.

One Sunday evening a knock came at the door at the house where we lived at Lambeth. I answered the door; and saw before me a little elderly woman.

“Does Mrs. Thompson live here?” she asked.

I replied, “Yes.”

She then said that she was Hannah.

I called to Peace and said, “Jack, you’re wanted.”

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Come and see,” I replied.

He did, and he found to his surprise, I believe, that it was Hannah.

“What brought you here?” he asked.

I interrupted jocosely with the remark, “I suppose the train.”

Hannah, however, said, “Didn’t you get my letter? I have been waiting two hours on the look out for you.”

I said, “We received no letter. There is no delivery here on a Sunday morning.”

Jack said, “Come in,” and she came in. Having looked round our apartment, she said, “You have a nice place here.”

Jack asked her if she would have some supper.

She replied in the affirmative, and this I had to get ready. She then began to talk about his friends and of the people whom they both knew, and I learned in the course of conversation that the shop at Hull had been given up, and that she had realised the proceeds.

Peace asked my permission to have Mrs. Ward and the boy Willie in London.

I could not do otherwise than consent, and eventually they came.

Shortly after their arrival we moved to a house at Greenwich, but as we did not live comfortable in the same house, we moved into separate habitations adjoining each other, Mrs. Ward and her son living in one, and I and Peace in the other.

Whilst we were living in this manner Peace made a journey into the provinces――a thing which he now very seldom did. Whilst upon this excursion he committed a great burglary at Southampton.

The police say that the affair took place at Portsea, but I know better; it was at Southampton. By this robbery Peace cleared something like £200――£60 of the money being in gold and silver, and the remainder in Bank of England notes.

These he found no difficulty in getting rid of. There is a place, I am told, where all Bank of England notes can be disposed of without inquiries being made, but I do not feel justified in stating where it is. That is reserved for the Bank of England authorities.

It was upon the proceeds of that excursion that he started his pony and trap, the expenses of maintaining which he found to be great.

In the first place we had no stable accommodation connected with the house we occupied. This had to be paid for, and the cost of the food for the pony was again a very considerable item.

One day I said to him:

“I don’t like this neighbourhood; let us remove from here and get where there is a stable connected with the house.”

He told me he had seen a place in the Evalina-road, Peckham, and if I would put my things on we would go and see it, which we did.

We inquired next door as to who was the agent or the landlord of the house, and the lady whom we saw kindly referred us to Mr. Smith. We looked over the house, which we both liked very much. Smith and Peace came to an agreement as to the building of a stable.

When Smith asked for references, Peace said to him:

“Oh, come down and see my house.”

Smith did so, dined with us, and went away perfectly satisfied, for a few days afterwards we received a note to say that the house was at our disposal.

Shortly afterwards we removed to the house No. 5, East Terrace, Evalina-road, Peckham, where my troubles commenced.

Mrs. Ward and the boy Willie came to live in the same house with myself and Peace, and her presence occasioned much trouble between us. When we were settled, Peace began his system of robberies again.

Oh! many a time have I, by my tears and by my entreaties, kept that man at home.

I was not allowed to move from the house without either one or the other being with me; but though they were so afraid of me, I should never have breathed a syllable against them.

I have been threatened, and he latterly at times ill-used me.

I have had a pistol pointed at my head and more than once he has threatened to kill me. Peace used occasionally to ill-use Hannah cruelly, and in a way I shudder to think about.

On one occasion he threatened me because I had pawned a silk dress, and he was afraid that it might be traced.

Racked by jealousy, a prey to remorse, and the object of constant suspicion, is it to be wondered that I at last took to drinking?

In this respect Peace was again indulgent, for though he jealously guarded me when I went out, at home I could have what I liked, and with drink I deadened my senses, and fled from my shame and despair.

Peace, as a rule, went out nightly, unless he got a good haul, when he would stop at home for a night or two.

What I call a “good haul” was when he was able to show me plenty of jewellery and silver-plate. I have know him bring home sixty-six ounces at a time. His method of procedure being this: he used to be driven of an evening to within a certain distance of the house where he intended to “work.”

If the nights were light, Peace used to be concealed all night and return home, say, between six and seven o’clock in the morning, when some one would go out and meet him.

He was very good to his horse, for I should like people to give him his due; and it was only occasionally that he worked it hard.

He often went to his destination by train or by tram, and some one would go with the trap to meet him at the hour and place appointed. When he has come home haggard and black, as I have often seen him, he has said to me, “Well, pet, have you not got a smile for me?”

According as he had been successful, or the reverse, he would say, “Well, I have not done much, my girl or, “I have done pretty well;” and then he would proceed to sort out the property, preparatory to its disposal.

I have seen him shake his head sometimes over the proceeds of the night’s takings, and say, “I don’t think they will fetch much.” Then he would tell me of his struggles and his escapes, and the number of houses he had been into.

Once he told me that, in order to get a gold watch and chain from under a lady’s pillow, he had to shift her position slightly.

The lady, he told me, muttered something fond, and turned over to her husband, whom she believed to have been the cause of the very slight disturbance occasioned.

Peace abstracted the watch and chain, and came away. I verily believe that, when such adventures occurred to him, he used to come back sick at heart, for, notwithstanding the profession which he followed, and the fact that he had always firearms which he would not have hesitated to use had he been disturbed, he was generally very kind to me, and I am sure he felt such things.