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THE class of thieves devoting themselves to robbing rooms in hotels and in fashionable boarding-houses operate according to circumstances and always have their wits about them for any unexpected emergency. The successful ones are men of respectable appearance, good address, and cool and daring fellows. Some follow their nefarious vocation only in the morning, others in the afternoon, and still others operate at night. In their methods of procedure each of these subdivisions has other distinguishing peculiarities. A great deal of ingenuity in getting into rooms is not infrequently shown by these men who in working run all sorts of risks and take desperate chances.
Until he has accomplished his purpose the hotel thief pursues his prey from one establishment to another with a persistency that knows no faltering. He makes it a specialty to scan the newspapers carefully, and keeps himself posted on the latest arrivals, the rooms they occupy and other data of interest. The coming and going of professionals, particularly female theatrical stars, salesmen, bankers, and bridal parties, and all persons likely to carry valuable jewelry and trinkets or a large amount of money, in this way are noted and are objects of special importance and solicitude.
When the unsuspecting prey fatigued by travel gives proof of his unconsciousness by deep, stertorous breathing, the hotel thief steals silently from his hiding-place. A slight push may let him enter the apartment, or it may be necessary to use a gimlet and a small piece of crooked wire to slide back the bolt, or a pair of nippers to turn the key left on the inside in the lock, from the corridor. Sometimes as many as a dozen rooms in the same hotel have been plundered in one night and none of the watchmen saw or heard the thief. The old style of climbing through transoms or unkeyed windows is at present not much in vogue. The hotel thief can carry his entire outfit in his vest pocket and can laugh in his sleeve at the common bolts and bars. The much boasted of chain-bolt can now be drawn back from the outside with only a piece of silk thread having a match tied to one end of it.
The shooting back of the old-fashioned slide-bolt from the outside of the apartment was for many years a bewildering mystery. As there were no marks to be found on the door in most cases when a robbery was reported, the hotel proprietor would frown and the clerk leer; both facial contortions being meant to express suspicion and incredulity. Many times the unfortunate victim has been turned away as a cheat and a fraud, who wanted to swindle the hotel out of his board bill or else to bring a suit for damages on a trumped up charge. The result has been that strangers who had also been robbed under such conditions were afraid to report the case lest they too should be regarded with suspicion and treated with insult. In all of these robberies the bolt which had been shot back so mysteriously was located either above or underneath the common key-lock. A piece of crooked wire inserted through the keyhole by the nimble rogue made the bolt worthless, and a turn of the knob was all that was required to open the door.
It does not take over a few minutes for an expert hotel thief to enter a room. After he has reached the door of the apartment in which the weary traveler is sleeping soundly, he takes from his pocket a small nippers, a bent piece of wire, and a piece of silk thread. These are the only tools some men use. Inserting the nippers in the keyhole, he catches the end of the key. Then a twist shoots back the lock bolt, and another leaves the key in a position from which it can easily be displaced. Should the slumber of the occupant of the room be disturbed by the falling of the key on the carpet or floor, time is given him to fall asleep again. By pressing on the door the thief next locates the bolt. A piece of thread is attached to the bent point of the wire, making a sort of bow; and after crooking the wire to suit, it is pushed through the keyhole and carried up or down to the bolt. The looped head throws the pin of the bolt into place; the string is moved sideways until it grapples the pin, and then the bolt is slid back out of the nosing. The door yields to a slight pressure, and the completion of the task is deftly and expeditiously performed. Some thieves always stop to lock the room door behind them.
At their leisure these thieves spend their time “fixing” rooms in hotels. This is necessary in first-class establishments, where the room doors are protected by improved locks. One of these, known as the “thumb bolt,” requires to be tampered with beforehand. While the shrewd robber occupies the room which, it may not be until months afterward, he intends to rob, he prepares the lock so that it will aid him in his future operations. Removing the screws, he takes off the thumb-plate and files a slot in the spring-bar. Then he replaces the plate and screws, and marks on the outside of the door by a slight indentation in the woodwork, or by a raising made by a brad-awl from the inside, the exact point at which to strike the filed slot when the door is locked. Returning on the night of the robbery with the only tools necessary—a common bradawl and a pair of nippers—he pierces the soft wood at the proper point, and then by pushing the awl further in strikes the slot, and is able to noiselessly turn the bolt; he then uses his nippers to unlock the door. As many as a dozen rooms in a single hotel are “fixed” in this way, and the thief, by occasionally keeping his eye upon the register, awaits his prey. If some well known character in the habit of wearing costly jewels is registered as the tenant in one of the “fixed” rooms, then the thief engages an apartment on the same floor, and during the night-time consummates the long planned crime.
Another plan, and the one that is generally adopted by rogues who prowl about hotel corridors in the daytime, is to draw the screws of the nosing of the bolt and lock. By boring the screw-holes larger and moistening the screws, the latter are replaced and maintain a sufficient grip not to be displaced by the ordinary jar. As the wood becomes dry the door at the proper time can without trouble or danger from noise be easily forced in.
The boarding-house thief, always a smooth and entertaining talker, makes acquaintances in new quarters in short order. Generally in a pleasant sort of a chat with the inquisitive landlady, before he has been many hours there, he succeeds in gleaning all the information about the other guests in the house that he desires to know. Most women have the foolish fondness of making a display of their jewels and valuables in the parlor or dining-room of the fashionable boarding-house. While amusing his newly-made acquaintances with his laughable stories, the astute robber is at the same time making a thorough survey. His covetous eyes never miss the flash of diamonds, and should he be in doubt as to the genuineness of the sparklers, he has only to speak of them to one of the friends of the wearer, and he will be told when and where they were bought and the price paid for them.
After the cunning rogue has secured a full inventory of the jewels and valuable trinkets kept in the several rooms of the house he is ready for business. While the other guests are at breakfast or dinner the thief remains up-stairs, and the thorough manner in which he rummages the several apartments in such short time is really surprising. Before his victims have finished their morning or evening chat the thief’s work is complete, and with well filled valise, unnoticed he slips out of the house. Probably before the robbery is discovered, the professional criminal is aboard of a train and on his way to some other city to dispose of his plunder and resume his profitable exploits. Thieves of this class are troublesome to track, but when run down at last there is no end to the number of complainants that come forward to prosecute them;
The names of several first-class hotel and boarding-house thieves, and of a number of rogues who have plundered the residences of physicians, will be found in the following list:
William Connelly, alias Old Bill (51).—Frank Auburn (46).—-William Brooks, alias Fale (43).—Jim Blake (see record of No. 50).—Dave Cummings, alias Little Dave (50).—Albert Cropsey, alias Williams (54).—William Carter, alias ThreeFingered Jack (see record of No. 44).—Edward Fairbrother, alias Dr. West (48).— George W. Gamphor (49).—Charles Hylebert, alias Cincinnati Red, alias Red Hyle (44).—Edward Hyatt, alias Sturgess (45).—Doctor Long, alias Pop White (94).— William Miller, alias Billy Miller (53).—Charles McLaughlin, alias McClain (59).— Billy Pease (52).—Edward Rice, alias Big Rice (12).—Emile Voegtlin (47).—Charles Williams, alias Williams, alias Hoyt (194).—John Cannon, alias Old Jack (101).— Thomas White, alias Montreal Tom (see record of No. 101).—George Stacy, alias The Peoria Kid (see record of No. 101).—John B. Towle (106).
See regular index for further information.