DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22217#0344
332
CONSCIENCE MONEY.
CONSCIENCE MONEY.
An old man, a jobbing gardener, named Alexander Abercorn,
stopped one of the day policemen at the West End one morn-
ing in July, and said in great concern and agitation—
" Man, I'm afraid this house has been robbed in the night
time. And the worst of it is I have the keys, and they'll be
sure to say it's been done by me."
The house in question was a big one known as the Freelands,
and occupied by a Mr Arthurlie and his family. The family
were gone to country quarters, and the house was empty even
of servants. Abercorn hurriedly explained, what indeed was
already known to the policeman, that he had a contract for
doing the gardening about the place, and, being a tried and
trusted man, had been left with the keys of the place, with
orders to enter it every day to see if all was safe. Other
families had left him a similar charge, and he had some half-
dozen bunches of keys, which he showed to the policeman in
confirmation. Hitherto his task had been easy, and the result
satisfactory enough, but now for the first time a calamity had
come, and he begged the officer to step in and see. They
entered the house, and the old gardener walked straight to
the pantry, in which was built an iron safe for containing the
plate and valuables of the family. This safe was inserted bodily
into a large cupboard, which had an ordinary wooden door
fastened with a common sixpenny lock, and so looked innocent
enough outside. The wooden door stood wide open, and so
also did that of the iron safe within, though both had hitherto
been locked.
There were no breakages, or marks of prising with crowbars
or chisels—the door appeared to have been opened in the
ordinary way, by inserting a key and turning back the bolts ot
the locks. The detectors on the lock of the safe showed that
no skeleton keys had been applied or used, and yet the old
CONSCIENCE MONEY.
CONSCIENCE MONEY.
An old man, a jobbing gardener, named Alexander Abercorn,
stopped one of the day policemen at the West End one morn-
ing in July, and said in great concern and agitation—
" Man, I'm afraid this house has been robbed in the night
time. And the worst of it is I have the keys, and they'll be
sure to say it's been done by me."
The house in question was a big one known as the Freelands,
and occupied by a Mr Arthurlie and his family. The family
were gone to country quarters, and the house was empty even
of servants. Abercorn hurriedly explained, what indeed was
already known to the policeman, that he had a contract for
doing the gardening about the place, and, being a tried and
trusted man, had been left with the keys of the place, with
orders to enter it every day to see if all was safe. Other
families had left him a similar charge, and he had some half-
dozen bunches of keys, which he showed to the policeman in
confirmation. Hitherto his task had been easy, and the result
satisfactory enough, but now for the first time a calamity had
come, and he begged the officer to step in and see. They
entered the house, and the old gardener walked straight to
the pantry, in which was built an iron safe for containing the
plate and valuables of the family. This safe was inserted bodily
into a large cupboard, which had an ordinary wooden door
fastened with a common sixpenny lock, and so looked innocent
enough outside. The wooden door stood wide open, and so
also did that of the iron safe within, though both had hitherto
been locked.
There were no breakages, or marks of prising with crowbars
or chisels—the door appeared to have been opened in the
ordinary way, by inserting a key and turning back the bolts ot
the locks. The detectors on the lock of the safe showed that
no skeleton keys had been applied or used, and yet the old