True Stories of Crime From the District Attorneys Office | Page 4

appears on the check. If
you can fool the cashier into giving your messenger a check book you
can gamble pretty safely on his paying a check signed with the same
name. In that way, you see, you can get all the blank checks you need
and test the cashier's watchfulness at the same time. It's too easy. The
only thing you have to look out for is not to overdraw the account. Still,
you find so many checks in the mail that you can usually choose
somebody's account that will stand the strain. Do you know, I have
made hundreds of checks and the banks have certified every single
one!"
Peabody laughed good naturedly. Things were looking up a bit.
"What do you think I am, anyhow?" he asked. "I must look like a
'come-on.'"
"I'm giving it to you straight," she said simply. "After you have made
out a good fat check, then you go to a store, buy something, tell them to
forward the check to the bank for certification, and that you'll send for
the goods and the change the next day. The bank always certifies the

check, and you get the money."
"Not always," said Peabody with a grin.
"No, not always," acquiesced Mrs. Parker. "But Jim and I have been
averaging over a hundred dollars a day for months."
"Good graft, all right," assented the detective. "But how does the one
who lays down the check identify himself? For instance, suppose I go
into Tiffany's and pick out a diamond, and say I'm Mr. John Smith, of
100 West One Hundredth Street, and the floorwalker says, 'Sorry, Mr.
Smith, but we don't know you,' what then?"
"Just flash a few letters on him," said the girl. "Letters and envelopes."
"Where do you get 'em?" asked Peabody.
"Just write them, silly, and send them to yourself through the mail."
"That's all right," retorted the "second story man." "But how can I mail
myself a letter to 100 West One Hundredth Street when I don't live
there?"
Mrs. Parker smiled in a superior manner.
"I'm glad I can put you wise to a new game, I invented it myself. You
want letters of identification? In different names and addresses on
different days? Very good. Buy a bundle of stamped envelopes and
write your own name and address on them in pencil. When they arrive
rub off the pencil address. Then if you want to be John Smith of 100
West One Hundredth Street, or anybody else, just address the cancelled
envelope in ink."
"Mabel," said Peabody with admiration, "you've got the 'gray matter' all
right. You can have me, if you can deliver the rest of the goods."
[Illustration: FIG.3.--A letter-head frill of Mabel Parker's.]
"There's still another little frill," she continued, pleased at his

compliment, "if you want to do the thing in style. Maybe you will find
a letter or bill head in the mail at the same time that you get your
sample check. If you do, you can have it copied and write your request
for the check book and your order for the goods on paper printed
exactly like it. That gives a sort of final touch, you know. I remember
we did that with a dentist named Budd, at 137 West Twenty-second
Street." (Fig. 3.)
"You've got all the rest whipped to a standstill," cried Peabody.
"Well, just come over to the room and I'll show you something worth
while," exclaimed the girl, getting up and paying their bill.
"Now," said she, when they were safely at no West Thirty-eighth Street,
and she had closed the door of the room and drawn Peabody to a desk
in the bay window. "Here's my regular handwriting."
She pulled towards her a pad which lay open upon the desk and wrote
in a fair, round hand:
"Mrs. James D. Singley." (Fig. 4.)
"This," she continued, changing her slant and dashing off a queer
feminine scrawl, "is the signature we fooled the Lincoln National Bank
with--Miss Kauser's, you know. And this," she added a moment later,
adopting a stiff, shaky, hump-backed orthography, "is the signature that
got poor Jim into all this trouble," and she inscribed twice upon the
paper the name "E. Bierstadt." "Poor Jim!" she added to herself.
"By George, Mabel," remarked the detective, "you're a wonder! See if
you can copy my name." And Peabody wrote the assumed name of
William Hickey, first with a stub and then with a fine point, both of
which signatures she copied like a flash, in each case, however, being
guilty of the lapse of spelling the word William "Willian."
The pad now contained more than enough evidence to convict twenty
women, and Peabody, with the remark, "You don't want to leave this
kind of thing lying