The Real Sherlock Holmes

by Angela Buckley

  The ringleader was known as ‘Diamond Sam’, because he never missed an opportunity to sell sham jewellery. There was also ‘Crack Shot’, who happened to share his surname with a winner of the Elcho Challenge Shield, a shooting competition run by the National Rifle Association: a feat of which he used to boast vicariously. Another gang member was known as ‘Little Ted’, or the ‘Take Down’, due to his ability as a salesman. After Caminada took them into custody, more witnesses came forward and it transpired that, as well as jewellery, dummy pledges included tickets for furniture, a piano and even a cask of cognac. Diamond Sam was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude, Crack Shot to 18 months and the Take Down was discharged, due to a technical error in the indictment.

  Many classic Victorian confidence tricks were strikingly simple and practised magsmen, like Diamond Sam and his mates, expertly operated charades to deceive their prey. Most began at country fairs and racecourses where they ran gambling games, such as thimble rigging and cards, then progressed to the cities, where they developed more elaborate ruses, such as ‘ringing the changes’, a widely practised trick, also used to dispose of counterfeit coins. Caminada knew this con well: ‘This is a class of theft which differs from all others, in that it requires a good deal of boldness and self-possession’.

  The dodge began with two people entering a shop or public house. One would place an order and then tender a sovereign in payment. As soon as he received the change, his companion would say that he had a coin of a smaller denomination, and offer to pay. He would then hand over a half-sovereign to the salesperson, who returned the first coin and gave change for the second, but without recovering the change given for the first sovereign. The object was to confuse or ‘bustle’ the sales assistant and if they succeeded, the thieves would receive the change for each coin offered. By the time the person serving realised what was happening, the sharps would have already disappeared.

  In 1884 two men plagued Manchester businesses, by running this type of fraud. One was ‘a very easy-going fellow, a slow talker’ and the other, ‘a man of gentleman-like appearance who, in almost every case, produced from his coat pocket patterns of cloth at which his companion looked’. Caminada set out to find these mysterious strangers. He was walking along City Road, when he came across one of them and arrested him. At the detective office, the suspect claimed that it was a case of mistaken identity, but when Caminada found the pattern books in his pocket, there was no doubt that he had the right man. Caminada then arrested his accomplice, with the help of a tramcar driver who had spotted him in Stretford. Both were tried and sentenced to nine months’ imprisonment.

  Detective Caminada investigated another classic con during the same year. This common deceit would focus on a stranger in town and relied on building trust between the sharper and the target, usually in the convivial atmosphere of a public house. In one case, a farmer was returning from the market in central Manchester, when a stranger stopped him to ask about train times. After a brief discussion, the man invited the farmer for a drink in a nearby tavern, where a second man joined them. During the conversation the farmer mentioned that he was from Cheshire, at which point the newcomer announced that coincidentally his father had died recently, leaving £400 to be distributed among the poor of Cheshire. He then suggested sharing the amount between the farmer and his new acquaintance for them to distribute, each receiving a payment of £20 for their trouble. The only condition was that they provide securities for the amount. Both men accepted, and arranged to meet the following day with the appropriate funds.

  The next day, as agreed, the farmer produced two Bank of England hundred pound notes, which he had been hiding in his chimney for fear of banks and thieves. While the benefactor was holding the envelope containing the cash, he took off his hat to wipe his brow, surreptitiously swapping the bank notes for pages of Bradshaw’s Railway Guide. By the time the farmer realised, the two sharpers had jumped into a passing hansom cab and fled. A few minutes later, they cashed one of the notes at the Bank of England.

  The police circulated a description of one of the ‘strangers’: he had a dark complexion, wore a long beard and was dressed in a dark tweed coat, grey trousers and a silk hat. He had signed his name as ‘Henry Johnson’ on the back of the note. Detective Caminada recognised Johnson as a man he had previously arrested for the ‘ringing the changes’ scam. When he compared the signature on the bank note with the relevant entry in the police book, his suspicions were confirmed. Next he traced some of the changed notes to a London tradesman, where Johnson had purchased some clothes. The bank tracked the second £100 note to a café in Boulogne, which was run by a well-known ‘fence’ and frequented by English and French railway and steamboat thieves. All that remained now was to capture the crook.

  One evening when Caminada was passing the Old Fleece Inn, a well-known haunt of thieves near Smithfield market in Manchester, a fight broke out. To Caminada’s surprise, Johnson ran straight past him. The detective immediately gave chase and, despite receiving a violent blow, he seized the felon and dragged him into a nearby cheesemaker’s shop to wait for assistance. Due to Caminada’s quick thinking, Johnson was later sentenced to 10 years’ penal servitude.

  In addition to more straightforward confidence tricks, Detective Caminada was also responsible for exposing some highly sophisticated scams which had claimed many victims. The operators of these elaborate, but fake, businesses and schemes were usually educated individuals who appeared to be ‘swells’; they were well-dressed, articulate and, above all, utterly convincing. Later, Caminada warned readers of his memoirs about their allure:

  The swindler is invariably well practised in the art of shuffling, and as a rule is a very agreeable and pleasant character. He has a smiling, cheerful manner which is quite captivating. But beware of him. He is a cunning fellow, and will probably give you a world of trouble before you have done with him.

  One such criminal was Alfred Oram, a solicitor, whom Caminada encountered twice in connection with complicated scams. The first time was in 1879, when Oram collaborated in a jewellery racket with another crook, Thomas Kavanagh, who was eventually convicted at the Old Bailey for conspiracy to defraud. Oram escaped the law that time but, as with Johnson, Caminada would remember him and eventually run him to ground.

  The investigation began when the detective received a complaint from local residents of loud noises at night coming from a tobacconist’s in Chorlton Road, Hulme. Caminada called at the shop to buy some cigars and found that the young woman in charge was keen to help with his enquiries, so he arranged to meet her after her shift. In the company of a female officer, he had tea with the shop assistant and learned that her employers often came to the shop after dark. On the promise of ‘something handsome for her trouble’, the woman gave him the shop keys and, that evening, Caminada gained access through the outer door and then used a picklock to enter the inner rooms. One of the rooms had counters fitted with mock drawers, and the shelves held empty cigar boxes. In another he found a large empty wooden case, as well as framed oleographs, a portmanteau of old clothes and a large quantity of wood shavings. From experience he knew that he had found the preparations for arson and that the shop was likely to be heavily insured.

  Stationing his officers in a house opposite, Caminada maintained a close watch on the premises. At dusk one Sunday evening, his colleagues reported that two men had entered the tobacconist’s in suspicious circumstances. The detective took up their positions and when one of the men left the shop to stand outside on the pavement under a gas lamp, he recognised him as the solicitor, Oram. The other man joined him and the officers tailed the pair across town to Broughton, before losing them.

  Sure enough, the following Saturday Caminada gained information of a fire at the tobacconist’s. By the time he arrived, the fire brigade had extinguished the flames, but during his inspection of the premises, he noticed that a number of meerschaum pipes, cigar-holders and the oleograph prints were missing. Furthermore, he f
ound that the gas-fittings had been cut in several places. Two pipes had been laid from the original plumbing, but without burners or taps, and a piece of string tied to the handle so that the gas could be turned on from outside the building. There was also evidence that phosphorous had been planted inside the shop to encourage the flames.

  During the investigation, a man came into the shop to take possession of the premises. On questioning him, Caminada obtained a note from the man’s employer, who was none other than Oram, with the address of his business. When he arrived at the office, he found the solicitor at his desk, with a copy of Medical Jurisprudence by Alfred Swaine Taylor open at the page on combustible materials. After a brief fight, Caminada arrested Oram and, while he was detained at the detective office, Caminada searched his house, where he found the missing items from the tobacconist’s, including the oleographs. Alfred Oram was sentenced to 10 years’ penal servitude.

  Another complex trick was the ‘long firm fraud’, which Caminada explained as: ‘principally carried on by experienced swindlers, who work into each others’ hands, and whilst at times very difficult to track they cause great loss to the mercantile community’. The first stage in the operation was to rent an office or warehouse in the business quarter of a city. Then, using headed stationery and formal business cards, the ‘proprietor’ would send out orders for equipment and furnishings, which would subsequently be sold or auctioned. When the creditors came to demand payment, the ‘business’ would have vanished.

  In 1880 a businessman hired a warehouse in Aytoun Street, close to the city centre. Describing himself as a ‘general merchant’, he furnished his new office with carpets, silks and prints, as well as the requisite office supplies. After having sent for samples, he then placed orders for goods, paying in cash for small items in order to create confidence, before placing much larger orders. In this way, the thief acquired goods amounting to thousands of pounds, which he and his accomplices pawned or sold. The victims of the conspiracy and their solicitors enlisted Caminada’s help in tracing the culprits. Following a tip-off from a salesman, the detective travelled to Liverpool with his informant to track them down. While they were in an omnibus by the docks, his companion recognised a gentleman carrying a black bag as one of the men they were searching for. Caminada jumped off the ‘bus and arrested him. At a local police station, he found jewellery that the crook had exchanged for goods in the suspect’s bag, as well as a business card with his associate’s address in London.

  The owner of a carpet firm paid Caminada’s expenses of £20 to travel to London to complete his investigation. The detective went straight to the address in Islington, asked for the man in question and, on gaining entry, rushed up the stairs to the bedroom with a warrant for his arrest. The suspect seized a razor, intending to commit suicide, but Caminada flew at him and, after a struggle, gained possession of the improvised weapon. He then transported the prisoner back to Manchester to stand trial with his partner in crime. They received sentences of seven and five years’ imprisonment.

  In Detective Caminada’s experience, the very worst kinds of swindlers were those who played on the vulnerability of the poor. In the course of his career, he encountered many bogus charities and societies, including an emigration agency, a registry office, and even a fake ragged school. One of the most widely reported scandals was the Next-of-Kin fraud, which Caminada exposed in 1882.

  One morning in May 1882, the detective was walking through the city centre, when a police officer stopped him to ask for assistance: a gentleman named Barkley had made a complaint about being cheated out of some money. Whilst the three of them were discussing the matter, Barkley spotted the alleged swindler crossing the road. Caminada took up the trail, shadowing him to the headquarters of the ‘International Law Agency’, further along Market Street. Inside the office several people were waiting to enter an inner room, where the manager, Arthur McKenzie, was dealing with requests. Caminada burst straight in and asked McKenzie about his employer. He replied that the proprietor was an attorney by the name of Rogers, before ordering the detective to leave the office at once. Caminada stood his ground and proceeded to take the statement of Barkley, who had made the original complaint.

  Two years earlier, Mr Barkley had seen an advertisement in the Manchester Evening News about claiming property as next-of-kin. As his father had been making a claim to an estate for some years, Barkley had applied to the International Law Agency on his behalf, for help with the petition. Rogers had agreed to take on the suit, following payment of an initial fee of £1 12s 6d (about £134 today) and 10 per cent commission thereafter, on any property recovered. Once the papers had been presented, Rogers stated that the case was more complicated than he had realised and in order to proceed, he would need to incur further costs. This was the standard practice for the agency; the costs would escalate and the hapless ‘heir’ would have no choice but to keep on paying, in the hope that they would be recompensed, once they had inherited their estate.

  Barkley paid a further £32 6d and was delighted to receive the news that his father had been granted a judgment in his favour. Rogers arranged to travel with them, at their expense, to Market Drayton to take possession of one of the farms on the estate. The house was empty, but on Rogers’s instructions, the father and son entered the property and locked the door behind them. Shortly afterwards two police constables arrived, accompanied by a crowd of locals armed with pitchforks, and the pair were arrested. Rogers was nowhere to be seen.

  While Mr Barkley was relating his story, another 50 people in the office beset Detective Caminada, each with their own sorry tale. Many had arrived with bags and satchels, ready to transport their inherited funds away, but they now realised that they had fallen into a trap. Caminada arrested McKenzie and on searching the premises he found 270 bundles of wills, plans of estates, family trees, engraved plates, letter headings and correspondence. He then set about investigating the complaints of many other people who had been conned by this ruthless gang. One especially heartless case involved three elderly women who had sold their furniture to obtain a loan of £15, which they were paying back at a rate of five shillings per week; all to pursue their supposed inheritance of £9,000.

  McKenzie’s fellow conspirators were soon apprehended. James Stodden Rogers had established the International Law Agency and represented himself as a Crown solicitor, who was able to recover money from Chancery. He was joined in business by John Henry Shakespeare, a bona fide solicitor, and two others. Before long they had opened offices in Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow and London. They advertised their services in the newspapers and even published a pamphlet, Authentic Lists of Heirs, which comprised a list of potential inheritors. Once the subject had taken the bait, the swindlers went to considerable lengths to keep them hooked.

  A widow from Manchester, Elizabeth Roach, visited the agency after seeing a name on the list that was very similar to her own. The estate, part of which had been apparently bought by the Midland Railway Company for the construction of St Pancras Station, was valued at £20,000. She paid £32 6d to initiate proceedings and McKenzie invited her to London, at her own expense, to oversee the application. Her experiences were reported in the Nottingham Evening Post: ‘They took her to a place called Somerset House, where she saw a person described as a judge, sitting at a table, with a wig and gown on’. The process turned out to be more protracted than anticipated, so there were more documents to sign and pay for back in Manchester, as well as two further trips to London. During one visit to the capital, she was required to sign a large parchment but, as she was illiterate, she even ended up paying £1 17s 6d for them to show her how to write her name.

  When claimants ran out of funds the agency would offer to issue bonds as security to enable them to borrow from friends and family, who expected a return on their investment after the acquisition of the estate. This happened in the case of Mrs Roach, as she paid costs of around £200, that she could ill afford. The scammers repeated this decepti
on with great success, the claims becoming more convoluted and the costs escalating. Detective Caminada travelled to London to find out how the ruse worked. He discovered that the sharps left their clients in the public gallery of the court while they spoke to the clerk, thus reassuring them that their petition was legitimate. Next the dupes were taken to Somerset House, where anyone could look at a will for one shilling. They then proceeded to Somerset Chambers next door, where they swore on an affidavit before a commissioner for the administration of oaths.

  Most of the cases were aborted on the arrest of the organisers, who were found guilty of having conspired by ‘divers false pretences and subtle devices’ to obtain money, with the intent to cheat and defraud. Rogers was sentenced to two years’ hard labour and his confederates received 12 months each. Shakespeare died two months into his sentence. Five years after his release, McKenzie was convicted again at the Old Bailey to 10 years’ penal servitude for a further series of frauds. The money handed over by the unfortunate victims of the International Law Agency was never recovered and, despite his endeavours to help them, not everyone appreciated Caminada’s assistance. At least one gentleman believed that he would have acquired his estate, were it not for the interference of the meddling detective.

  Caminada’s considerable skill in unravelling these intricate scams and his indefatigable detective work led to two promotions. On 6 April 1882, he was made Inspector and then, just two years later, on 12 June 1884, he was promoted to chief inspector. This rapid ascent in his career was mirrored in his personal life. By 1881, Caminada was lodging with a police constable and his wife in the more upmarket district of Chorlton-on-Medlock, where his neighbours were mainly manufacturers and clerks. On 19 December 1881 he got married, but the rest of the decade would see difficult times for the newly-wed couple. Soon the very thieves and con artists whom he spent his days apprehending would strike at the heart of his own family.