Appeal he did not get his L5000.

The man lived in crime and by crime; and old though he was (he was born
in 1828), and "rolling in wealth," he at once "resumed the practice of
his profession." He was arrested abroad this year during a trip taken to
dispose of some stolen notes, the proceeds of a Liverpool crime, and his
evil life came to an end in a foreign prison.

When I refused to deal with Carr's house property I allowed him to
nominate a friend to take charge of it, and he nominated a brother
professional, a man of the same kidney as himself, known in police
circles as "Sausage." A couple of years later, however, I learned from
the tenants that the agent had disappeared, and that their cheques for
rent had been returned to them. I knew what that meant, and at once
instituted inquiries to find the man, first in the metropolis and then
throughout the provinces; but my inquiries were fruitless. I learned,
however, that, when last at Scotland Yard, the man had said with
emphasis that "he would never again do anything at home." This was in
answer to a warning and an appeal; a warning that he would get no mercy
if again brought to justice, and an appeal to change his ways, as he had
made his pile and could afford to live in luxurious idleness. With this
clue to guide me, I soon learned that the man's insatiable zest for
crime had led him to cross the Channel in hope of finding a safer sphere
of work, and that he was serving a sentence in a French prison.

No words, surely, can be needed to point the moral of cases such as
these. The criminals who keep society in a state of siege are as strong
as they are clever. If the risk of a few years' penal servitude on
conviction gave place to the certainty of final loss of liberty, these
professionals would put up with the tedium of an honest life. Lombroso
theories have no application to such men. Benson, of the famous "Benson
and Kerr frauds," was the son of an English clergyman. He was a man of
real ability, of rare charms of manner and address, and an accomplished
linguist. Upon the occasion of one of Madame Patti's visits to America
he ingratiated himself with the customs officers at New York, and thus
got on board the liner before the arrival of the "Reception Committee."
He was of course a stranger to the great singer, but she was naturally
charmed by his appearance and bearing, and the perfection of his
Italian, and she had no reason to doubt that he had been commissione