The Napoleon of Crime (35 page)

He did not have to search far afield for his first target. When Smith’s, London’s largest diamond merchants, was robbed late in 1897, the raid had all of Worth’s hallmarks. “
The thieves entered the place by cleanly cutting the steel bolts which fastened the gate and prying the gate open,” one newspaper reported, after some £15,000 worth of jewelry was reported stolen from Smith’s. “
The shop was considered to be one of the most carefully guarded and secure establishments in London and was practically encased in steel,” the
London News
added. “The men—for there were evidently two, and perhaps three, engaged on the job—had, it is apparent, laid the most careful plans for the carrying out of their work … the manner in which the place was entered, as well as the discretion shown in selecting everything most valuable upon which hands could be laid, leads the police to believe that the robbery is the work of a party of the most experienced cracksmen.” The premises of Smith & Co., it should be noted, stood at 68, Piccadilly, almost directly opposite where Worth had taken lodgings.

Pinkerton had been tipped off by an underworld sneak called Charley Fisher to the fact that Worth was again recruiting men for criminal work in Europe, as well as to his current abode. “
Fisher did not say positively that Adam Worth committed this robbery, but intimated that he might have committed it,” according to a confidential memo in Pinkerton’s archives. Pinkerton, oddly enough, decided not to pass this information on to Scotland Yard.

Despite the conviction in absentia hanging over him in France, Worth selected Paris for his next theft. As one contemporary observed: “
He had lost some of the old touch of hand and brain, but he was still formidable.” After careful calculation, he worked out the precise timing of the security express van’s passing in and out of the Gare du Nord, and the following year, with two accomplices, he broke into the van and escaped with over one million francs in securities and jewelry. The robbery was the talk of Paris, but as Worth ruefully explained sometime later, the takings were less impressive than they appeared. “
The French had begun to get wise,” he complained with hindsight. “When they used to have the old ink stamp [on the securities] all we did was to clean the ink off the coupon and put it through the market, and there was no trouble about it at all, but now it was different … they recently have got to clipping a little bit out of the coupon, thus showing that it had been through the hands of a banker and was not negotiable.”

Worth was in a hurry to get to Brooklyn, and prepared to sell the haul back to its owners, through intermediaries in the time-honored tradition, for a fraction of its full value. “
The stuff,” he later told Pinkerton, “was negotiated back for £12,000, or 60,000 francs, about 25% of the face value of the property.” When the proceeds were divided with his accomplices, Worth’s share came to some £4,000, rather less than he had hoped for, but enough, when combined with the takings from Smith’s, to get him to the United States and to set up a fund for his children. When they found Worth was back in business, his brother and sister-in-law began dunning him for money again and threatened to abandon the two children unless Worth sent cash immediately. It had taken Worth more than two years to steal what he considered a sufficient sum of money.

On his arrival in New York, Worth hurried to his brother’s home, handed over a wad of notes to his relatives, and embraced the two children he had not seen for seven years, who now barely remembered him. It was a brief reunion, for Worth had one more piece of business to transact before he could reclaim his kin. He spent just a few days in Brooklyn, under the shrewish and disapproving eye of his sister-in-law, before announcing that he had to meet a lady friend and a business contact in the Midwest. The lady was the
Duchess of Devonshire
, and the business contact was William Pinkerton. He bid farewell to his children once more, with the announcement that when he returned they would all be rich again. As for his greedy relatives, Worth told them he had just one more job in mind, a big one, after which he would finally become a father to his children. In the meantime, he would send sufficient money for their upkeep, and more besides. Grudgingly, Mrs. John Worth agreed. But it would be more than two years before Worth was able to make good on his promise to himself and to his children.

Gainsborough’s
Duchess of Devonshire
, which he now retrieved from the warehouse, had been Worth’s psychological companion for nearly two decades. It had also proved a heavy obligation. For years the portrait had held him back from, perhaps even deprived him of, human affection. Had he been prepared to surrender the object, and with it his own self-image, he might have gained his liberty years earlier and the family life he craved. Once the painting had obliquely represented his life, a corrupt chimera of love; now the
Duchess
was like some aging mistress, once beautiful, increasingly demanding, holding him in a guilt-edged trap. The deep ambivalence of his feelings was reflected in the long time he took to sever his link with it. The
Duchess
had framed his life, the embodiment of his crimes against society. Now she would be the vehicle for his salvation, his opportunity to atone and a chance, perhaps, to take a place, however humble, in a genuine human world.

Several months earlier, Worth had begun sounding out William Pinkerton, partly impelled by his profound respect, mixed with gratitude for what he regarded as the American detective’s forbearance at the time of his arrest in Liège. As an intermediary he selected a former associate, one Patrick Sheedy, “
a sporting man known throughout the world.” Sheedy was a sharp adventurer and an inveterate gambler, who “
made a living by the exercise of his wits, a broad knowledge of human nature, and a vast deal of experience,” and who, if not actively crooked, was far from overburdened with moral scruples. He had the additional advantage of being known to both Worth and Pinkerton, for whom he had often acted as a conduit to the criminal underworld.

Worth had met up with Sheedy in Paris while preparing for the Gare du Nord robbery, and the latter appears to have furnished the older man with “financial assistance” of some sort—possibly even capital for his first theft after he left prison. In the course of a conversation one night in a Paris café, Sheedy recalled an exchange he had had with William Pinkerton some years before, during which the detective voiced his suspicion that Worth “
controlled the Gainsborough portrait, and asked him if he ever could assist in the matter, whether he would like to bring about a plan for the restoration of the picture.” Sheedy was fishing and Worth knew it, but he seems to have trusted the Irish gambler and decided to use him as a messenger.

In the summer of 1898, Sheedy arrived at Pinkerton’s Chicago headquarters and outlined a proposition. Worth did indeed have the painting, Sheedy explained, and would be willing to return it to Agnew’s, but only if Pinkerton himself acted as the intermediary—the American detective was “
the only man he would entrust it with,” Sheedy explained, adding that “he thought that a large reward … would be paid for the return of the picture,” to be divided among the various parties.

Pinkerton, feigning outrage at the mere suggestion, said he would have nothing to do with any such underhand dealing: “
under no circumstances would we attempt to handle anything of the kind; that we could not do it in justice to ourselves or in fairness to our relations with the Department of Police in London; that it would be a bad thing for anybody to attempt to handle, and that we could not and would not do it.” Sheedy continued to wheedle. He passed on Worth’s high opinion of Pinkerton, insisting, as the recipient later wrote, “
that I was a nice fellow and a lot of flattering talk of that kind.”

“
He felt sure that there might be some way that we could see our way clear to take hold of this thing,” William wrote to Robert, “but I told him there was none.”

This was, of course, a bluff on the part of Pinkerton, who relished the chance to play a role in solving one of the great robberies of the age. To indicate as much, however, was simply to invite Sheedy and Worth to increase their demands. Pinkerton was not about to show his hand this early in the game. Sheedy the gambler was equally aware of the rules. He reported back to Worth: Pinkerton, while he might proclaim otherwise, had taken the bait and negotiations could now begin in earnest.

As the century, and the Victorian era, headed to a close, William Pinkerton was beginning to feel his years. The agency was profitable and renowned across the world, and at the age of fifty-four William was rich and distinguished, a huge, sonorous figure with the vast mustaches and reactionary political opinions to match his repute as “
America’s leading detective.” But he was also a lonely man. His wife, Margaret Ashland, had died in 1895, and their two daughters had left home after marrying men of distinction in Chicago society. The great detective now lived alone in the grand Pinkerton family mansion, with only a single servant and a motley collection of dogs for company. Pinkerton had seen much of the darker side of human nature, hence his “
fondness for animals to a marked degree.” Toward his family he was kind but rigidly formal—a legacy from his cold, domineering father. His brother was never addressed more warmly than “Sir”; William’s letters were always signed with a distant “sincerely.” He usually avoided high society and was more likely to be seen at the racetrack, mixing with the colorful and dubious characters of the turf. The revered detective gave speeches on the techniques of law enforcement and spent long hours coordinating his crime-fighting empire, but he was happiest sharing memories of sleuthing with his detectives and, in many cases, with the objects of those campaigns themselves. Criminals were, perhaps, the only people he understood, or who understood him and the strange and violent battle of wits they had waged for so many years. “
I am too good a hater,” he wrote, when the question of parole for the Younger brothers came up in 1897. But in reality his feelings toward such men were often the reverse of hatred, and as he grew older he seemed to need them more and more. The rogues’ gallery of the great criminals he had pursued was on display around his office, symbols of his self-worth, mementos from his old and intimate enemies.

On January 10, 1899, William Pinkerton left his home in suburban Chicago and set out for the Pinkerton office as usual. There he found a telegram with the cryptic message: “
Letter awaiting you at house; send for it.” The missive was signed “Roy.”

“As I knew nobody named Roy the thing was a mystery to me,” Pinkerton later recalled. He telephoned his home and was told by his daughter, who happened to be staying, that moments after he left the house “
a strange man had called and left a letter, stating that it was important, and requesting that it be delivered to Mr. Pinkerton personally, and to nobody else.” The letter was duly sent for.

It read:

Dear Sir,

Presuming upon our friendship in London, I have come to see you about a matter that might be to our mutual benefit in the event of your entertaining it. I have sufficient knowledge of and confidence in your character to know that if I have your word that no advantage will be taken of my position, and that no use will ever be made of any information you may acquire in regard to the matter upon which I wish to consult you. I can safely rely upon it. I am compelled to ask you to give me this assurance, owing to the peculiar complications that might exist (and do occur) in a business such as yours when interests are so directly opposed, as between your firm and a person in my position.

Now I will put it this way: should there be nothing in your business interests to clash and prevent your giving me the assurances I ask for, please insert in the Chicago “Daily News” under personal notice column, the following advertisement: “ASSURANCE GIVEN—W.A.P.” and I will make an appointment to see you as soon as possible after I see the advertisement. Should it not appear say within two days I shall understand that there is some obstacle and that you have good and sufficient reasons in a business way that prevent you from giving me your word, and the matter will be at an end, and I must leave here without seeing you, which I assure you, I shall do most regretfully.

I shall leave this at your house to avoid accidents as it might be opened in your absence by your representative at the office. I shall, of course make certain that you are in town before leaving my note.

Trusting to hear favourably, I remain,
Yours sincerely,
H. Raymond
(late) London

“
I recognised at once that this letter was written by Adam Worth, alias Henry J. Raymond, and it was undoubtedly written on account of the proposition which was made to me by Priestone [the Pinkertons’ code name for Sheedy] last summer.”

Pinkerton immediately placed the advertisement in the Chicago evening newspaper. “
On the 12th I received a personal call over the telephone that Robert Ray wanted to see me,” Pinkerton recounted. “I knew nobody of that name, but on going to the telephone somebody with a very pronounced English accent asked if that was William Pinkerton. I said yes. ‘Mr. William Pinkerton,’ he repeated again. I told him yes. He said, ‘This is the gentleman from London.’ I then replied that I knew who he was … I asked where he was and he said nearly opposite our office. I told him why not walk over, come in and ask for me personally, and there would be nobody pay any attention as no one would know him. He said he would do so.”

If Worth’s approach was cautious in the extreme, Pinkerton was also taking no chances. He at once dispatched detectives to positions “where they could see the man when he came in and when he went out.”

“
I wanted him spotted to as many people in the office as possible so in case in the future they might see him that they would know him again. In a few minutes Robert Ray was announced …”

They knew one another’s business intimately, but William Pinkerton had not seen Adam Worth for nearly two decades. The two old adversaries shook hands slowly as, with a practiced eye, the detective appraised the remarkable figure who now stood in his office.