This was no new experience. An earlier traveller, Herr Jerrmann, gives a curious instance of the extraordinary faculty the Russian police exhibited of retaining what came into their hands. It was always considered, he said, that the person robbed had never less chance of recovering his property than when the police had actually got the thief. The general feeling, in fact, was strong that thefts would be seldom if ever reported were it not that the law imperatively requires it to be done.
A certain nobleman, Von H----, lost some plate, silver spoons, knives and forks, which were abstracted from his plate-chest. A few weeks later one of his servants came and told him that he had seen the stolen property exhibited for sale in a pawnbroker's shop. Von H---- went and identified his plate, then, calling the police in, required the silversmith to produce the goods. There could be no doubt as to ownership, for Von H----'s arms and initials had not been erased. The silversmith willingly admitted Von H----'s claim, and would have surrendered the property to him at once. But the police interposed, and declined to allow him to take away his property until he had formally proved his ownership. For this it was necessary to draw up a formal statement of the case, and submit it to the lieutenant of police, accompanied by a specimen article from his plate-chest in corroboration of his claim. While this was being done the police took charge of the pieces that had been stolen, and soon acquired more. Von H---- was apparently a novice then, for, in order to recover the few articles he had lost, he submitted the whole contents of his plate-chest for police inspection at the police bureau. From that time he never saw a single article again!
[Illustration: UNDER EXAMINATION IN A RUSSIAN POLICE OFFICE.]
Jerrmann tells another story within his own experience. A silver table-spoon was stolen from his kitchen; his suspicions fell upon the baker who brought him bread, and the same day the thief was captured, and the spoon traced to a receiver's shop. Justice was prompt in its action; the thief was duly punished, the receiver's shop was closed. But the police took possession of the spoon! Herr Jerrmann valued the spoon, which was a christening gift, and he was determined to spare no pains to recover it. He was, however, referred from one person to another, hunted from place to place in the most vexatious way, and all without result. At last a commissary who was the custodian of the spoon asked him frankly why he was so persevering; the value of the spoon was trifling, and he must have spent more money in droschkies than the thing was worth, while he might confidently expect to be much more out of pocket still before he got back his property. Jerrmann, seeing how the land lay, suddenly decided upon a daring ruse. He told the commissary that he meant to have the spoon the very next day, and when he was asked mockingly what he proposed to do, he answered simply that he was going to dine that evening with Perovsky, the Minister of the Interior. "And I mean," added Jerrmann, "to ask him a riddle, namely, how to recover one's property when it is temporarily held by the police. If you will come to breakfast with me to-morrow morning I promise you that you shall make use of that very spoon. But whether you wear uniform or not will entirely depend upon how Perovsky deals with my riddle." The commissary again laughed, but a little uneasily. He accepted the invitation to breakfast, and when he came the spoon was on the table; he had sent it in anticipation. The best part of this story is that the dinner with Perovsky was purely imaginary. But that famous Minister's name was ever a terror to faithless officials.