BEHIND THE SCENES AT A $3,000,000 BURGLARY—THE ROBBERY OF THE MANHATTAN BANK OF NEW YORK

Of course, crimes, like business operations, are sometimes big and sometimes small. They vary in importance from the pickpocket's capture of an empty pocketbook to the robbery of a big bank. I will tell you the secrets of the greatest bank robbery in the history of the world—the robbery of $2,758,700 from the vaults of the Manhattan Bank in New York, on the corner of Broadway and Bleecker Street, several years ago.

Every man in that remarkable gang of bank burglars was an associate of mine—I knew them, knew their wives, was in partnership with them. It was an extraordinary enterprise, carefully considered, thoroughly planned, and ably executed; and it yielded nearly $3,000,000 in stolen securities and money. There has never been a bank robbery of such magnitude, either before or since. It was complicated by the difficulty of disposing of the great bundles of valuable bonds, many of which I had to look after.

In my long and varied experiences in the underworld I have never been associated with an enterprise so remarkable in so many different ways as the Manhattan Bank robbery. There were altogether twelve men in this robbery, and every single one of them, with the exception of one, got into trouble through it—one, in fact, was murdered. And here, then, in the biggest, richest robbery of modern times, we learn the lesson that even in a $3,000,000 robbery CRIME DOES NOT PAY!

Bank burglars, of course, are constantly casting about for promising fields for their operations, and this great, rich Broadway bank had long been viewed with hungry eyes by Jimmy Hope, Ned Lyons, my husband, and other great professionals. But not only were its vaults of the newest and strongest construction, but there was a night watchman awake and active all night in the bank. This watchman was locked in behind the steel gratings of the bank, and Hope and my husband could not figure out any way to get at him and silence him.

It remained for a thief named "Big Jim" Tracy to solve the difficulty. Now the curious part of this is that Tracy was not a bank robber at all. Tracy was a general all-around thief, and specialized more particularly in second-story residence burglaries and highway robberies. Tracy was not even a mechanic and was entirely ignorant of the way to use safe-blowers' tools. But Tracy was ambitious and decided to surprise his acquaintances in the bank burglary line by doing a job which would give him standing among the high-class experts.

STALKING THE WATCHMAN

Tracy had one great advantage—he had been a schoolmate of Patrick Shevelin, one of the bank watchmen. Knowing Shevelin, he was able to renew into intimacy his old acquaintance, and soon broached the subject of the contemplated robbery. Shevelin was a married man, rather proud of the trust reposed in him, and would not consent to have any part in the scheme. If Jimmy Hope or my husband had approached the watchman he would have exposed them to the bank officials, but he had a friendly feeling toward Tracy. Tracy was persistent, held out pictures of a fabulous fortune, and finally gained the watchman's consent.

How Jimmy Hope and Each Member of his Famous Band Played his Part.

When all was agreed upon, Tracy decided to get an outfit of burglar's tools and practice up for the job. By this time "Big Jim" was out of money, and he ran up to Troy to pull off a job and put himself in funds. He selected an out of town city because he didn't want any trouble in the neighborhood of the scene of the projected bank robbery.

It was in July that Tracy, with a fellow thief, "Mush" Reilly, followed a man named John Buckley out of a bank in Troy, where he had drawn a considerable sum of money. Mr. Buckley got on a street car and Tracy and Reilly crowded in and began work. They were not able to get the man's money without disturbing him, and the result was that Buckley put up a fight. "Big Jim" and "Mush" fought back, but were surrounded by other passengers in the car and arrested. They were tried, convicted, and sent to Clinton Prison for five years.

This misfortune to "Big Jim" Tracy put an end to his designs upon the great Manhattan Bank. But the missionary work which Tracy had already done with Shevelin, the watchman, was destined to bear fruit for others. While "Big Jim" was serving his long sentence in Clinton Prison for the Troy robbery, it became known somehow to Jimmy Hope that Tracy and the watchman of the bank had arrived at an understanding. This was very important news, and Hope at once started in to pick up the thread which had been so suddenly broken by Tracy's mishap in Troy.

But this was not so easy to accomplish. Shevelin had confidence in his old schoolmate Tracy, but he was afraid of strangers. Jimmy Hope was the Napoleon of bank burglars, and he had in his gang the foremost bank experts of the whole world. Hope found a way to make the acquaintance of Shevelin and he tried every device to win the watchman's confidence. But the shock of "Big Jim" Tracy's long prison sentence had thoroughly frightened the watchman.

With great patience, Hope began a campaign to remove Shevelin's misgivings and make him feel that with such partners he need have no fear. One after another of Hope's great experts were introduced to Shevelin. At dinner one day in a Third Avenue restaurant, Johnny Dobbs was produced, and the exploits of this famous burglar were recounted. Next was introduced George Howard, known as "Western George," and Shevelin was told of this man's extraordinary skill on safes and vaults. And then came George Mason and Ned Lyons, whose amazing boldness and quickness with a revolver were already known to Shevelin.

NUGENT, THE POLICEMAN-BURGLAR

A few days later, John Nugent, an able operator and a policeman in good standing, was presented, and a little later on Abe Coakley, the venerable cracksman, was introduced. Finally, the famous "Banjo Pete" Emerson and Billy Kelly and Eddie Goodey were brought to bear on the wavering fears of the watchman.

Shevelin was finally overawed by this powerful aggregation of skill, persistence, and audacity, and consented to join Hope's band of operators. As I look back over that group of burglars, I am sure there was never before gathered together on one enterprise such a galaxy of talent. With such expert skill and such abundant experience as were there represented and all under the able leadership of such a veteran cracksman as Jimmy Hope, surely it was impossible that their enterprise could fail. Shevelin finally realized this, and, as he gave his pledge of help and loyalty, Jimmy Hope shook his hand warmly and said:

"And if we get the stuff, Patrick, your share will be just a quarter of a million dollars. And that's more than you will ever make working as a watchman."

Jimmy Hope now lost no time in setting about his plans for the robbery.

While Shevelin's aid was absolutely necessary, it was only a very short step in itself toward Jimmy Hope's goal, the currency and securities lying in separate steel safes inside the great vault. The entire system of steel plates and locks was the latest, most completely burglar-proof devised. It was universally supposed to be not only burglar-proof but mob-proof. It had been demonstrated theoretically that burglars working undisturbed could not obtain access inside of forty-eight hours. Indeed, it was the very impregnability of the vault which helped in its undoing.

Shevelin could give the band entrance to the building and could bring them to the door of the great vault. But here, in plain view of the street, it would be impossible to study out and assault the combination lock. As the lock could not be studied inside the bank it was evident that the problem must be solved outside.

For this task Hope employed a woman very intimately related to one of the band. While I do not care to give her name, as she is still alive, I may say that she was considered a very attractive woman.

Elegantly dressed she called at the bank and opened an account with the deposit of a few hundred dollars. She made clear to everyone her charming ignorance of banking. She was as amusing as pretty, and before long she was talking to President Schell himself.

It was in fact the president who proudly showed her the massive steel doors and the mighty combination lock which would guard her small deposit. With innocent baby stare she noted the make of the lock and its date.

Possessed of this information, Hope, who was nothing if not thorough, proceeded to buy from the manufacturer a counterpart of the lock. As soon as it arrived the lock was turned over to the inquiring eyes and fingers of George Howard. Ensconced in a little house in a quiet part of Brooklyn, "Western George" made an intimate investigation of the lock's vitals.

Howard undoubtedly was the greatest inventive genius in locks that ever lived, unless, perhaps, Mark Shinburn, a burglar of a similar mechanical turn of mind. He could have made no end of money designing burglar-proof devices, but preferred demonstrating the weakness of the existing ones in a practical way. Hope's confidence in Howard was not misplaced. Within a few days George told the leader he could open the lock by the simple procedure of drilling a small hole just below it and inserting a wire.

Hope watched Howard demonstrate on their own lock and at once planned a prospective tour of the bank to see if the performance could be duplicated on the lock in the Manhattan Bank. If so, they were in sight of their goal.

While the band was waiting for a convenient occasion when Shevelin would be on duty at the bank and could admit them safely to test Howard's grand discovery, a great blow fell upon the whole plan. It was the mysterious murder of Howard himself.

If, as some have suggested, the taking off of Howard was the hand of Providence, I can only point out that the hand was a little bit slow. If Howard had been killed two days earlier, I can't see how the band could have gotten into the vault. Hope, with all his ingenuity and executive ability, was no great mechanical genius on an up-to-date lock, nor was any other member equal to the task.

Howard was on bad terms with several very forceful members of the underworld, at least one of whom was in the dozen who were secretly besieging the Manhattan Bank. While the gang was rejoicing and waiting, a letter came to Howard requesting his immediate presence on important business at a place near Brooklyn.

OPENING THE GREAT VAULT

The following week Howard's body was found in the woods of Yonkers, with a pistol in his hand and a bullet in his breast. The suicide theory was dispelled by finding another bullet in the back of his head. Investigation brought to light that a wagon containing a heap of sacking had been seen driving through the woods and had later returned empty.

Hope and others suspected Johnny Dobbs, of the gang, of doing the shooting, but nothing was ever proved about it.

Dobbs and Hope soon after were let in by Shevelin and they put Howard's theory into practice. They bored a hole about the diameter of a 22-caliber bullet just under the lock, inserted a wire, threw back the tumblers, and had no trouble in getting into the vault.

There stood the safes and from three to six million dollars in money and securities. But this was only a prospecting tour and the two burglars were careful to disturb nothing. Returning, they softly closed the huge door and, Hope manipulating the wire, threw back the tumblers. But Hope lacked the mechanical skill and fine sense of touch possessed by the late lamented Howard, and he pushed one of the tumblers the wrong way. He knew he had made a mistake but was unable to correct it. This meant that the bank employees the next morning would be unable to open the door.

There was nothing to do but fill the hole with putty so that it would not show from the outside and see what the morning would develop. Quite naturally Hope assumed that the lock-tampering would be discovered and his whole plan be ruined. The gang prepared to scatter, but as it turned out they need not have worried.

Sure enough, in the morning the doors refused to respond to the cashier's manipulations. The makers of the lock were sent for, and after infinite labor the door was opened. The experts from the factory who performed the feat were curious to see what had gone wrong with their mechanism. It was in "apple pie" order with the exception of one tumbler which, for no apparent reason, had moved in the wrong direction.

A TIP TO THE POLICE

Jimmy Hope's drill hole, puttied up and nicely hidden on the outside showed black and conspicuous from the inside. The lock mechanics observed the hole and asked the officers of the bank how the hole came there. They all shook their heads and the subject was dropped. A portly and prosperous looking gentleman who had been standing at the paying teller's window after changing a one hundred dollar bill, heaved a sigh and walked away. It was Jimmy Hope!

"Boys," he said to the band, who were all prepared to abandon the job, "it's a shame to take that money. Those simple souls have found our hole and it doesn't even interest them. They are worrying about a little $20,000 loan on some doubtful security, and here we are within a few inches of from three to six millions."

"Such faith is beautiful," said Johnny Dobbs, with mock piety, "let us pray that it be justified."

Nevertheless the job was postponed for a year on account of information furnished by John Nugent. Nugent, being a member of the New York police force in good standing, was able to keep in close touch with headquarters. He learned that the presence of a dozen of the ablest bank burglars in the world had become known to the police. Not that the police had discovered their presence by detective work, for this happens only in novels or detective plays. When the "sleuth" in actual life gets any real information it is because somebody for fear, hatred, or reward has told him.

As I have said, there was bad feeling in the band and I think someone interested in Howard's death gave the tip. At any rate, the band took pains to scatter, and the various members were careful to record themselves at different cities remote from New York. The New York police were much relieved and promptly forgot the tip that "something big" was to be "pulled off."

Just about a year later Shevelin, who was not by nature intended for a crook, looked up from a drunken doze at a saloon table into the keen eyes of Jimmy Hope. Shevelin had neither the instinctive inclination nor the nervous system which belong to the natural criminal. The bare fact that he was connected with the projected robbery had made a drinking man of him.

He was in debt and in other trouble, and was genuinely pleased to open negotiations again with the able and confidence-inspiring leader. Everything was now in order to go on with the undertaking. There were no dissensions in the gang, therefore the police had no inkling, the bank was smugly confident of their steel fortress, and it only remained to name the hour.

Hope's operations were much embarrassed by the fact that Patrick Shevelin was only a supplementary watchman. Daniel Keely, his brother-in-law, was the regular night watchman, and absolutely honest, as Hope knew, both from his own investigations and from Shevelin's assurances. Shevelin's duty was as day watchman, chiefly during banking hours. The only time when he did not share his watch with either Keely or the equally incorruptible janitor of the building, Louis Werkle, was on Sunday. Therefore, the morning of a beautiful October Sabbath was chosen.

Hope saw that the weak spot of the bank was also the vulnerable point in his own operations, namely, the nervous and somewhat alcoholic Shevelin. Hope decided it would be best for Shevelin to not be on duty at the bank that Sunday, but to arrange with Werkle, the janitor, to take his place.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

Had Shevelin been of sterner stuff, the robbers would have bound and gagged him and left him with a carefully rehearsed tale of a plucky fight against fearful odds to relate to his rescuers. But it was more than probable that Shevelin would betray himself in the inevitable ordeal of hours and hours of tiresome examination. Therefore, it seemed best to have him at home, sick, where he could establish an unshakable alibi and answer, "I don't know" to all questions.

Shevelin admitted the band Saturday night and concealed them in a storeroom in an upper part of the building. There they sat crowded, cramped, and uncomfortable through the entire night. They dared not smoke nor even eat for fear Keely, the regular night watchman, who occasionally poked his nose into the room during his rounds, might notice an unaccustomed smell.

This matter of smell illustrates how carefully Jimmy Hope worked out the minutest details of his plan. He foresaw that ten men packed into a rather small room would, even without food or smoke, make the atmosphere seem close to the nostrils of the watchman familiar with the usual empty smell of the place.

For this reason Hope ordered his men to bathe before the job and wear clean clothing without any scent whatever. No tobacco, drink, or onions passed their lips on Saturday. As a last precaution, at Hope's order, Shevelin broke a bottle of smelly cough medicine on the floor in the presence of his brother-in-law.

As I have said, the regular night watchman was Keely—an honest, incorruptible man. Shevelin was day watchman. Shevelin worked from six in the morning until six at night, when Keely came on duty for the night job.

The janitor of the building, who lived over the bank with his family, was a worthy, honest man, named Werkle. Everybody trusted Werkle, and so it had come about that Werkle was now and then made temporary day or night watchman, whenever Shevelin or Keely were sick or wanted a day off.

Though, as I have said, the genius of "Western George" Howard in discovering a simple and speedy method of opening the lock by inserting a wire through a small hole bored beneath it was the one thing which made Hope's plans feasible, yet, at the last minute, this method became unnecessary.

CONSULTATION IN THE DARK

As if the bank had not done enough in the way of kindness to the burglars by ignoring their little hole, they gave Werkle, the janitor, the numbers of the combination and keys to unlock it. Neither Keely nor Shevelin were trusted to this extent, and Shevelin only learned of the janitor's secret in time to tell Hope the night before the robbery.

This new information was discussed in whispers throughout the night by the gang. Hope had misgivings about using the wire and the hole. The fact that he had failed to return one of the tumblers to its proper place on the previous occasion worried him. It was quite possible he might make a wrong move and, instead of opening the door, lock it irrevocably. In that case it was not to be hoped that the easy going bank officials would give him a third chance.

On the other hand, forcing the janitor to surrender his keys and reveal the combination had great disadvantages. It meant delay. He might give the wrong set of numbers from fear or loyalty. At any rate he was certain to hesitate. As it proved, time was worth about $100,000 a minute, and ten extra minutes would have doubled the value of the "haul."

Shevelin went home with the understanding that Werkle, the janitor, would take his watch in the morning, when Keely, the night watchman, went off duty. At 10 o'clock, Werkle and his wife went to sleep in their little bedroom above the bank, and Keely made his rounds uneventfully. At 6 o'clock, Sunday morning, Keely waked Werkle, the janitor, and departed by the back door. The closing of the back door was the cue for the gang to take their places and they had no time to lose.

Jimmy Hope and Johnny Dobbs, with Billy Kelly and Eddie Goodey, Johnny Hope, son of Jimmy Hope, Mason, and Nugent, and my husband, Ned Lyons, rapidly but stealthily advanced upon the janitor's bedroom. To reach it they had to pass through another bedroom, where slept the aged and feeble-minded mother of Mrs. Werkle.

While gagging and binding the old woman a slight amount of noise was made. Werkle paused in his dressing and remarked that he would step in and see what was doing.

The robbers forestalled him by entering and covering him with their revolvers. They presented a terrifying spectacle, each man wearing a hideous black mask. Rubber shoes on their feet made their steps noiseless. They were received in silent horror.

The tableau was broken by a faint scream from Mrs. Werkle. Instantly cold muzzles were placed to their temples and instant death threatened in return for the slightest sound. Werkle's keys and the combination of the lock were demanded.

Poor Werkle attempted to delay complying, but a few savage prods in his ear with the point of Hope's gun scattered the last thought of resistance. He delivered the keys and told them the combination. Hope had decided at the last moment that as long as he had to tackle the janitor he might as well make him surrender the combination, if possible, and save the trouble and uncertainty of working with the wire and the hole which the bank had obligingly neglected to repair.

Werkle volunteered the objection that the combination numbers would be no use unless they knew how to operate them. Hope inserted a gag in the janitor's mouth and assured him that he need not worry on that score as he was in possession of all the information he needed.

Leaving Johnny Hope and Nugent, the policeman, with cocked pistols watching the bound and gagged janitor and wife and the silent and mysterious Eddy Goodey mounting guard over the helpless old woman, Jimmy Hope and Johnny Dobbs hurried downstairs to the vault, accompanied by Ned Lyons.

Lyons was always a desperate man, who could think and act quickly. In emergency he was governed by instinct, which is quicker than the quickest intellect. In time of trouble, Lyons was always a tower of strength. He would not hesitate at murder, if necessary, and his sudden hand would bolster up a hesitating member of the gang. For this reason he was held in reserve and worked in the vault with Jimmy and Dobbs.

Downstairs, they found, as expected, "Banjo Pete" Emerson in overalls and false whiskers, armed with a feather duster and made up to look exactly like the janitor, Werkle. "Banjo Pete," as his name implies, was a musician, in fact had been a member of a negro minstrel troupe, and was an actor of no mean ability. It was the ability to make-up and act which made Hope cast him for the part of counterfeit janitor. During the entire proceeding, he walked about the front of the bank in full view from the street, dusting the furniture and keeping an eye out for signals from old Abe Coakley, dean of the burglars, who had the responsible position of watching all that went on outside.

FOOLING THE PATROLMAN

A policeman was in sight of the bank during the entire activities, and actually walked up and gazed in the window. "Banjo Pete" looked up from his dusting and waved his hand to the policeman, who thought he recognized his old friend Werkle, nodded "good morning," and then passed on.

Meanwhile, Billy Kelly had taken his place just inside the back door with a pistol and a lead pipe and seated himself on the back stairs, while George Mason was sauntering about outside the door to give warning and prevent interruption from that point.

All these men covered the operations of Jimmy Hope and Johnny Dobbs, who opened the vault door with Werkle's key and combination, and fell to work on the steel safes within. There were three, one on either side and one in the back. With the sledge hammer and knife-edged wedges the two burglars spread the crack of one of the safe doors wide enough to force in the necessary explosive. Pausing only long enough to learn from his confederates that the coast was clear, Hope touched it off. A muffled reverberation reached the policeman across the street. He glanced over at the bank.

"Banjo Pete" dropped his duster, crossed to the window, and peered out as if the explosion were from outdoors somewhere, and he were mildly wondering. The policeman resumed his reflections and the work went on. Fifteen minutes later another muffled boom marked the blowing of the second safe.

At this point Hope and Dobbs paused to collect the booty. It was more than they could carry, so half a peck of bonds was passed out to the vigilant Billy Kelly on the back stairs, as much more to the silent Goodey, unwelcome watcher by the bedside of the feeble old woman.

With bulging eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Werkle saw a few bags of gold tossed in to their guardians and pocketed. The gang had been growing richer at the rate of about a hundred thousand dollars a minute for some time.

As Hope and Dobbs returned to attack the third safe, which stood in the rear, there came a threatened interruption. George Mason, outside, gave the signal to Billy Kelly, inside the back door, to be on guard. A milk wagon stopped, the driver descended with a quart of milk, opened the back door, and was about to ascend the stairs with it to deliver to the janitor.

Billy Kelly, on guard on the stairs for just such an emergency, politely informed him that the janitor and his family had gone away and would need no more milk for some time. The milkman replaced the bottle in his wagon and went on, while Hope drove home his wedges.

But now came a serious interruption, the wily old Coakley signaled that the end of their operations had come. It was inevitable that Kohlman, the barber, would soon open up his little shop beneath the bank. This was what Coakley signaled to "Banjo Pete," who called the news to the workers within the vault.

Immediately Hope, Dobbs, and Lyons laid down their tools, put on their coats, stuffed the remainder of the undisturbed plunder inside their clothes, and told the band to quit.

Johnny Hope and Nugent, with a last bloodthirsty threat, left the Werkles. Eddy Goodey pocketed his revolver and joined the group collecting around Billy Kelly on the back stairs, where "Banjo Pete" was getting out of his overalls and pocketing his false whiskers.

George Mason gave the "get away" signal on the outside, and one by one the gang, carrying nearly $3,000,000 in money and securities, mingled with the crowd and vanished.

Coakley, on watch in front, stayed around and waited for further developments.

About ten minutes later the early customers of Kohlman's barber shop heard someone leaping down the stairs from the bank. In burst apparently a madman, half-dressed, his hands handcuffed behind him.

THE JANITOR'S ESCAPE

A gag in his mouth added to his strange appearance. Unable to speak or use his hands, he danced up and down and made growling sounds like a mad dog.

The barber shop emptied itself and Kohlman was not able at once to recognize behind the gag and the jaunty disarray of clothing his old friend Werkle, janitor of the bank.

The gag removed, Werkle was able to blurt out the fact that the bank had been robbed. The policeman across the street was summoned, and with him came Coakley. They heard an amazing and somewhat incoherent tale. The policeman, being rather young and inexperienced, listened open mouthed and did not know what to do.

Coakley, the elderly and rather distinguished looking gentleman, suggested that the story sounded "fishy," and the policeman ought to investigate. He did so. The whole party entered the bank and Coakley was able to note that no telltale clues had been left behind. He observed with regret that, while two of the safes gaped wide open and the third contained several wedges, it was still shut tight.

The policeman held the half-crazed Werkle prisoner and guarded the safe while he sent Coakley to the police station to call out the reserves. This errand Coakley neglected and, instead, looked up Jimmy Hope, who, like most robbers, was leading a double life. He had a wife and children in one part of the city, and in another a fashionable apartment where he was known as Mr. Hopely, a retired capitalist, and had quite a circle of friends, mostly prosperous business men.

From this point, luck turned against the band. The tremendous proportions of the robbery caught everyone's imagination. The underworld was as much excited as the police, and talk and speculation would not die down. The neglected hole in the lock came to view again, and it was now appreciated in its full significance.

The police recollected their tip about Hope and his gang which had come to them at the same time as the discovery of the hole and their suspicions began to grow against some of the real perpetrators. Still, for many weeks, there was not an atom of evidence against any member. Patrick Shevelin, the weak link of the chain, began to feel the pressure.

THE WEAK SPOT

Not only was he a man lacking in the robust nerves essential to a successful criminal, and also one who drank too much, but he was cruelly disappointed as well. He had been led to believe that a quarter of a million dollars in cold cash would be handed to him within a day or two after the robbery. He was going to buy a castle in Ireland and a few other things with the money.

Instead of all this, Hope gave him only $1,200. He explained at the time that this was only his share of the cash stolen, and that the balance of the quarter million would be forthcoming as soon as the bonds and stocks had been converted into cash.

But alas for poor Shevelin. The bonds never were converted and instead of more money, Hope brought him bad news and actually forced him to return half of the $1,200. He told Shevelin that a bill was being prepared at Washington to compel the issuance of duplicate securities in place of those stolen. This would, of course, make the originals worthless and kill the sale of them and make the robbery a financial failure.

There was truth in Hope's plea, for the bill was actually passed, but it is doubtful if poor Shevelin's $600 was used, as Hope promised, to bribe Senators and Congressmen to obstruct the bill.

The horse being stolen, the bank took pains to lock the barn door. They not only rearranged their locks and filled up the hole, but investigated Werkle, Keely, and Shevelin. Finding that Shevelin was drinking and frequenting disreputable places, they were about to discharge him. But the detectives persuaded the bank to retain him for fear discharge might excite the suspicions of the gang.

Detectives shadowed Shevelin night and day. Some of them became acquainted with him under one guise or another. They even became intoxicated with him. On one or two occasions he let slip remarks that he was connected with some big secret affair. One day they saw a bartender get a package from a drawer and hand it to Shevelin, who opened it and took out some bills, and then returned the package. The detective was able to see that the package contained several hundred dollars. This was more than Shevelin, in all probability, would have saved out of his small salary with all his bad habits.

In spite of all this they knew Shevelin was not ripe for arrest. Finally, in a maudlin moment he conveyed the information that he had been the means of making a great achievement possible and that he had been treated very shabbily.

The detectives at once had the bank discharge him on some pretext foreign to the robbery. This added to Shevelin's gloom. When, on top of this, he was arrested, he was quite ripe to confess. That the gang might not become suspicious, he was arrested for intoxication, taken to court the next day, and discharged. As soon as he stepped out of the courtroom he was rearrested, and this procedure was repeated day after day.

Still Shevelin refused to confess until a detective, telling him how much the authorities knew about the case, informed him that all the gang were rich beyond measure except Shevelin.

"What a sucker you were, Pat," he concluded, "to accept a measly $10,000."

Shevelin leaped to his feet and shouted.

"It's a lie. I never got any $10,000, so help me heaven. I never got more than $600 for it."

"I apologize," said the detective, "you are a ten times bigger fool than any one supposed."

Shevelin realized he made a hopelessly damaging confession and within a few hours the police were in possession of the complete details of the case.

THE WATCHMAN'S CONFESSION

For fear anyone should not believe the actual amount that was taken from the bank, I refer you to the following official list of just what we got from the Manhattan Bank as it was announced by the president of the bank:

NOTICE

THE MANHATTAN SAVINGS INSTITUTION was, on the morning of Sunday, October 27, robbed of securities to the amount of $2,747,700, and $11,000 in cash, as follows:

THE STOLEN SECURITIES

If Hope had found ten minutes more time at his disposal he would have entered the third safe, and, as it happened, come upon almost three million more. However, as it stood, this was the greatest robbery ever achieved, and, as things were, each man of the gang should have been rich.

HUNTING DOWN THE GANG

Now we will see how much crime, even in the most successful case, profited the criminals. In the first place, Tracy was in prison before it happened. "Western George," who solved the lock, was murdered. Patrick Shevelin, the watchman, received, instead of the quarter of a million, actually $1,200 in cash. Within a few days Jimmy Hope took half of this back again on the plea that it was needed at Washington to buy off legislators who were to pass a bill through Congress ordering the issue of duplicates in place of the stolen securities. As an actual fact, all Shevelin ever profited from this robbery was $600.

Jimmy Hope and John D. Grady, the fence, quarreled over the disposition of the bonds and stocks, which Hope spirited away and hid in the Middle West. The dissension spread to other members of the gang and the underworld began to hear details of the robbery.

Hope failed in his efforts to prevent the passage of the bill canceling the stolen securities, and then came the final blow—the confession of Shevelin.

Hope was caught in San Francisco, his son, Johnny Hope, was captured in Philadelphia while trying to dispose of some of the bonds—and one after another the gang was run down.

Considered from a technical viewpoint, this robbery was the most Napoleonic feat ever achieved. My husband, Ned Lyons, said Hope ought to have managed without the aid of Shevelin or, if his aid was absolutely necessary, he should have been killed. This point of view regarding murder is one of the distinguishing differences between my husband and Jimmy Hope.

And thus we find that the greatest bank robbery in the history of the world, which enlisted the time, brains, and special skill of a dozen able men over a long period of time, resulted in failure to dispose of the valuable securities, and landed sooner or later most of the operators in prison. If an enterprise of such magnitude, successfully accomplished, was not worth while, then surely CRIME DOES NOT PAY!