There were many other criminals who came in these days to Millbank who belonged to the aristocracy of crime, if not to the great world of fashion. Some of them, to use their own language, were quite top sawyers in the trade. None in this way was more remarkable than old Cauty, who was called the “father of all the robbers.” Few men were better known in his time and in his own line than Cauty. He was to be seen on every race course, and he was on friendly terms with all the swells on the turf. He had a large acquaintance also among such of the “best” people in town as were addicted to gambling on a large scale. He was in early life a croupier or marker at several west-end hells; but as he advanced in years he extended his operations beyond the Atlantic, and often made voyages by the West Indian packets. He liked to meet Mexicans and rich Americans; they were always ready to gamble, and as Cauty travelled with confederates, whose expenses he paid, he seldom lost money on the cards.
These, however, were his open avocations. “Under the rose” for many years he devoted all his abilities and his experience to planning extensive bank robberies, which were devised generally with so much ingenuity, and carried out with so much daring, that a long time elapsed before the culprits could be brought to justice. He had many dexterous associates. Their commonest plan of action was to hang about a bank till they saw some one enter whom they thought likely to answer their purpose. They followed and waited till the victim, having opened his pocket-book, or produced his cheque, was paid his money over the counter. At that moment a button dropped, or a slight push, which was followed by immediate apology, took off attention, and in that one instant the money or a part of it was gone—passed from hand to hand, and removed at once from the building.
Cauty came to grief at last. Of course he was known to the police, but the difficulty was to take him red-handed. The opportunity arrived when, with an accomplice, he made an attempt to rob the cashier of the London and Westminster Bank of his box. They were both watched in and out of the bank in St. James’s Square day after day. The police kept them constantly in sight, and the cashier himself was put on his guard. The latter admitted that the cash-box was at times left unavoidably within the reach of dishonest people, and that it contained property sometimes worth £100,000 or more. But if the police were patient in the watch they set, the thieves were equally patient in waiting for a chance. Once at the moment of fruition they were just “sold” by the appearance of a police-sergeant, who came in to change a cheque. But at length, almost as a conjuror does a trick, they accomplished their purpose. Cauty went into the bank first, carrying a rather suspicious-looking black bag. Three minutes afterwards he came out without it, and raised his hat three times, which was the signal “all right” to his accomplice. The latter, Tyler, a returned convict, thereupon entered the bank in his turn, and almost immediately brought away the bag. The two worthies were allowed to go without let or hindrance as far as the Haymarket, and then secured. The black bag was opened—inside was the cash-box.