Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 115: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Men of the Night : funeral, so that he has both leisure and day- light. But the sneak has to trouble him- self with unfavorable conditions and take all manner of chances if he makes a living for his girl, himself, a friend that’s laying low, a hop-dealer, and a couple of detec- tives that come around every six weeks or so and shake him down. The venomous feud between cop and crook is largely—not entirely, but most of the bitterness in it is largely—because the crook feels that the cop is no better than or different from himself except that he plays a safer game. The fact is that the crook, like every one else, judges a class-by the individuals of that class he knows best; and he knows that every time he nails a little swag- there’s somebody with a badge asking for a bit; and it is pretty hard for him to believe that the other policemen who are not shak- ing him down are not shaking down some- body; and when New York’s police com- missioner guesses that only eighty-five per cent. of the force are straight, the crook’s view point, though wrong, is not wildly unreasonable. The science of burglary as taught in re- formatories and penitentiaries recognizes three general classes of workers in the resi- dence district. The sneak just butts in on a chance, any hour of the day or night; he is usually hard up for dope and out to grab anything. a The second-story man is a specialist. He calls almost invariably while the family is at dinner, climbs a porch, goes through.a window that is usually unlocked or jimmys it if necessary, raids the boudoirs while a pal stands below to whistle if anything looks bad. He hasn’t just happened to call on this house, but has made a study of it;.and he doesn’t grab everything in sight. Not much. He picks and chooses almost as if paying money for what he took; that is, if he is a wise gun and doesn’t want to lug around a lot of stuff that is easy to identify and that is likely to be traced back to him. The third sort of prowler moves on a resi- dence like a general attacking a walled city. First he gets his spies inside and gives them the chance to look around for a few weeks, perhaps months. He knows the habits and alarms of the house, where every room is and just about what is in the room. He knows where the servants are and how 113 well they sleep; and neither watchman, alarms, dogs nor locks can keep him out, for it is his business to dispose of every danger and guard that the mansion owner can devise to discourage burglars. For- tunately it is only the very rich who are troubled by burglarious geniuses. Burglars find New York an easy town to make a living in. It is full of what are known as boobs, both native and enticed; and many of these have a superstition that a special sort of private patrolman watching ten blocks of residences is some sort of pro- tection. Others may buy a patent burglar alarm. There are many, one of which is guaran- teed to scare the prowler out of a year’s growth by shooting a blank shell when a window is opened. Some ring gongs; and one stirs a buzzer discreetly by the bed- head of the owner so that he can slip down and pot the intruder. Some people stick clothes-pins and doo- dabs through the handle of the back-door key to keep the burglar from using his slender nippers and pinching its nose. There are some very wise people who nail down their windows and use bolt locks on their doors. They have learned that the ordinary window-lock checks the wily bur- glar for about twenty seconds, maybe thirty if he is a slow worker. A nailed window will detain him on the job for a minute, perhaps two, so there really is some advan- tage in using the hammer. Every competent burglar carries a putty- knife, or one that will serve as such a knife, for long ago he noticed that all windows are puttied on the outside and he can remove a pane in no time hardly, and without dis- turbing anybody’s sleep. But it is after he gets into the house that a burglar’s troubles really begin. Many people sleep with a gun for a bed- fellow. There is one diabolical form of alarm that goes off when the unsuspecting intruder gently places his foot on a certain step of the stairs. Nervous folk are always rigging up some kind of contraption, like black thread tied to a tin can full of nails, for him to stumble against. Colicky babies break out and raise the . Poodles wake up and yap their heads off. Telephones ring. And people have an exasperating habit: CORNICLOO© S (C@