THE CRACKSWOMEN

THE CRACKSWOMEN – c.1890 – Chicago

by D.B. Anderson

A “Tethered Tales” Series ‘Light Mystery’ Tale

(A tête-à-têtes between two aged and friendly enemies: Flurrie Peoples, Art Broker, and Bruno Clew, Private Detective, over brandy and semi sweet chocolate chunks in Bruno’s office of his Society Detective Agency):

“Yes, Bruno, I have heard the fantastic tales of the mysterious crackswoman rumored to be in our midst,” Flurrie responded with a smirk.

“What is your opinion of the tales?” Bruno continued his questioning, drawing another chunk of semi sweet chocolate from the white paper sack on his desktop and enfolding it into his pleading oral cavity. “Do you think it mere rumor, a fanciful tale, or does she indeed exist?”

Flurrie drew a sip of brandy from his glass and playfully smirked. “Actually, I am her uncle.”

Bruno laughed aloud. “Of course you are.”

“Would you like the long or short version of my confessional?”

“I don’t believe anything you are saying, but I’m in the mood for a long tale,” Bruno responded, placing his hands behind his head and reclining back in his wooden office chair. “I don’t feel like working today. Do relate your work of fiction.”

“First you must swear to hold my tale in complete privacy.”

Bruno raised his right hand in pure delight. “I do so swear.”

“Her father is a very prominent Chicago society figure, believe it or not. He and I amassed quite a bit of money selling railroad stocks and bonds for fledgling railroad companies in circa 1860s Midwestern America in the towns along the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers - whilst also purloining gems from the brackish nouveau riche entrepreneurs along the way.”

“You engaged in common safecracking!” Bruno exclaimed. “You were a common thief in your youth?”

Flurrie immediately became huffy, finding Bruno’s statement in the worst possible taste, and quite frankly he felt deeply wounded. “Sir, there was nothing ‘common’ regarding our safecracking technique!”

Bruno raised his hands in alarm. “No insult intended.” He then allowed Flurrie to have a piece of his treasured semi sweet chunk chocolate. “Please do continue.”

“In 1875 we finally quit our lucrative business venture. We were crime weary and becoming fidgety after several years of heisting wall safes in private residences and quite frankly we feared we had better quit before the long arm of the law finally embraced us. My partner married a wealthy elderly dowager in Chicago.”

“Do I know your partner?” Bruno asked.

“Probably,” Flurrie continued. “He is very prominent in Chicago society, however, I will not reveal his identity.” Flurrie snickered in delight at Bruno’s frustration. “At that same time, I being an artist of some note among the rich and famous in Midwestern America through painting their portraits and portraits of their pets, finally felt the need to quit Chicago and move to Paris, France to study Impressionistic art with the immerging masters of the genre. It was the worst decision of my life, for although I was somewhat gifted with the brush and palette, I could only find instruction with one French Impressionistic artist of local reputation, whom, I later reasoned, took me under his wing to help pay his rent, place food on the table, and back his career with cold hard American cash. Within five years I returned to Chicago, near insolvent, and reluctantly contacted my previous business partner and dear friend to renew our friendship. I was taken aback when I found him living in a flat rather than a mansion, albeit the flat was on fashionable Lake Cliff Drive with a fantastic view of Lake Michigan. We greeted each other with profound joy, hugging and hitting each other, and then I was shocked to notice he was limping somewhat on his left leg. He comically stated he was shot while on a ’hunting expedition’ which in his case could mean just about anything. Other than that, he appeared as dashing and suave as ever, and I was overjoyed to find him state, with his usual somewhat sardonic form of jocularity, that my appearance hadn't change one iota; I was the very apparition of the skinny, be-speckled bookkeeper and country bumpkin from Ontario, Canada, as indeed was my persona whence first we met in 1864 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and formed our original partnership. His somewhat cheeky description of my appearance at this time and point actually enlivened me, for personally I felt emotionally and physically drained.

We cajoled well into the early morning hours, and when I awoke sometime later I felt someone shaking me. I popped my eyelids up, and then blinked my eyes in astonishment as I gazed into the gorgeous face of a black-haired, blue-eyed, young lady.

"Uncle Flurrie, it is nine a.m. Father said I should wake you about this time. He left early for a breakfast appointment at the North Shore Executive Service Club. I am Primrose.”

I sat upwards on the couch, which had been my impromptu bed for the night. "Uncle Flurrie..." I mumbled. "I am your Uncle Flurrie?" I then hazily questioned as I rubbed my eyes and again gazed into the bright beautiful young face of the vision in front of me.

She chuckled. "I am also the daughter of Maggie Smallbear of Minneapolis."

I attempted to clear my brain, which was still polluted with the night's welcome back party. "Yes, I remember Maggie Smallbear. She is the proprietor of a bookstore in Minneapolis."

"She was also a crackswoman. She became ill with typhoid fever and sent me here to live with my...father."

"Yes, I can see the resemblance in your facial features." I then arose, attempting to straighten my clothes and hair a bit. "Please excuse my appearance."

Primrose chuckled. "Mother told me about you. She said you are adorable."

I nervously glanced around. "Is you mother here?"

Primrose lowered her head. "She eventually passed away from the fever."

"I am so sorry to receive such news."

"I live here now with father in this flat."

I shook my head, attempting to clear the cobwebs. "Your father had just married an elderly heiress when I left for Paris some five years ago."

Primrose sat on a stuffed chair by the window with Lake Michigan glistening in the background. "Mrs. Grossheimer...I mean his wife, was thirty years older than he, and soon divorced him with an excellent settlement. She divorced him on grounds that he was boring."

I burst into laughter. "I would have liked to seen his expression when he received that bit of news." I glanced around the finely appointed flat with old English landscape oil paintings adorning the walls, and several Etruscan and other ancient vases and sculptures on table and desk tops. "How is the old boy actually doing? Are things well?"

Primrose averted her eyes from me. "He is forever at some party or social soiree." She then lowered her head. "Did Father tell you of the proposed business venture?"

"Proposed business venture? I don't understand... Maybe somewhere in all of the whisky last night..."

"No matter. He said I should ask you if you would care to rejoin him in heisting safes. His leg injury severely restricts his engaging in any serious climbing activities regarding second story balconies and windows in his heists. He also fears his general slowness will get him caught someday."

I broke into a large smile, and to be truthful breathed a sigh of relief. "I'd be delighted to rejoin him!"

"I will also be joining in..." Primrose said, with some uncertainty to her tone.

"You will also join us?" I asked, not quite believing my ears.

"It will be a fifty-fifty split; you will receive half of the profit from the sale of the stolen gems, and I will split father's half of the profit with him." She paused, brimming with excitement. "Father related the adventures of you two cracking safes when you were young men. It sounds like you shared a grand time together."

"Has you father given you any training?"

She glanced away. "Uncle Flurrie, I am an extremely gifted athlete. I think it is the American Indian blood in me. I am fast on my feet and very agile. I am also not afraid of heights. I could be in and out of a mansion in a few short minutes." She glanced away. "Father said that if you agree to train me on the nuances of the job, I may join in." She then hopefully stared into my eyes with such intensity that I almost became hypnotized. "I am quite bright. I am a very fast learner. I will do all of the climbing and acrobatic maneuvers required."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I must admit I am not as fleet of foot as I used to be. If your Father has given you permission..."

Primrose reached over and kissed me on the cheek. "We have a heist lined up for this Friday night."

I broke into laughter. "This Friday already?" I then paused, glancing teasingly into Primrose's worried eyes. "Would your father have taken you on this heist if I had not agreed to rejoin him?"

Primrose lowered her head. "He emphasized he had enough trouble watching what he was doing during a heist, with his lame leg slowing him down, and if he then would have to keep an eye on me to make sure I was all right, well, I suppose, it would have been just too tiresome for him, and, I suppose, perhaps, dangerous."

"Then you realize there is also danger to this profession? If caught we could go to prison for many years, or perhaps be shot as intruders."

"I am looking forward to the rewards."

"In the past we robbed only from the very wealthy who were inordinately cruel to their workers; working children for ten hour shifts, placing workers in extremely dangerous work areas where they were almost guaranteed to lose life or limb."

Primrose nodded her head affirmatively, "Yes, he only robs the most despicable of the lot."

I rubbed my chin in contemplation. "I'm pleased that goal hasn't changed."

"Nor will it change," Primrose assured me.

"Did he also mention that I am an artist? I have just returned from Paris."

"Yes, father said you are an excellent artist and had several gallery showings as you two moved from town to town in the old days. Why don't you set up a studio here in Chicago? I am sure you would do quite well with the abundance of millionaires about."

I once again ran my right hand across my chin, but this time in deep self-consultation. "Quite frankly I am down to a few hundred dollars."

Primrose moved to a desk located across from the fireplace, opened its center drawer, and removed a bundle of cash, handing it to me. "Father said I should give you these five thousand dollars." She then reached up and kissed me on the cheek. "Welcome home, Uncle Flurrie. Father requested that you might stop by this evening and we will have dinner and discuss our business venture in detail."

"Splendid," I agreed, somewhat sheepishly pocketing the bundle of cash Primrose had given me. "I must off now. Find myself suitable quarters, and so forth. Ta, ta."

"Until this evening, Uncle Flurrie," Primrose responded, again kissing me on the cheek. "I must admit I am brimming with the anticipation of the excitement of our first heist."

One would think I would have had doubts about allowing a woman to participate in what is obviously a man's profession, but at this point in the game of life I desperately needed easy cash so I might continue my artistic endeavors, and safecracking was ideally suited for me...time wise. "After all, how horrible can she be at the trade?" I wondered. I then chuckled, "It may even be amusing. And if her father is in agreement to it all... Where's the harm?"

Within the next few hours I found a furnished attic loft in a middle class residential section along Chicago's lakefront. I transferred my luggage from the Cumberland Hotel, had a solid and delicious meal at an Italian Cafe just a block from my new quarters, and I then settled into a relaxing hot bath, thanking the fates for providing me with a friend like my old business partner to return to. I actually did idolize him, although I tried not to show the fact. He was simply one of those people that are born with total confidence, and on top of that he is handsome, very intelligent, has a keen business sense, swooned over by most ladies, and scorned by lesser men.

In our partnership meeting that night I agreed to train Primrose in the fineries of the heist trade. Her father was pleased, actually I believe greatly relieved, that Primrose would be accompanied by me, a trusted friend and experienced cracksman. He was also sorrowful that he couldn't join in because of his lame leg. Yet, he was able to take solace in planning the heists.

The strict rules of our heist outings were agreed upon as such: her father’s private carriage driver, a retired bare-knuckle boxer John ‘Iron Fist’ Marcelli, would transport Primrose and me to and from the jobs. Lithe Primrose would exclusively do any climbing and second story work on the exterior of the mansions. We would each carry a set of wall safe skeleton keys. Her father would set up the heists through his contacts with his wealthy friends by mapping the interiors of their mansions, pinpointing the proposed wall safe's position, and determine which mansions were hopefully worth the rob. I reminded her father that I too used to set up heists by painting portraits of the local elite, and while so doing also drew room layouts of their mansions, and would again do so after I set up my first gallery showing and became chummy with the elite. He agreed to also help promote my artistic career among his socially prominent contacts. He then excused himself for an ‘appointment’. I also decided to depart and mentally prepare myself for the undertaking. I have to admit it was a bit unnerving for my aged psyche.

When the fateful night finally arrived for Primrose's first heist experience, the Heimmer mansion was chosen. I meticulously donned myself in a newly purchased night-on-the-town outfit; a tuxedo, an elegantly tailored fly front overcoat, a shimmering top hat, white scarf, white gloves, and black soft leather ankle boots, for after all this was my inaugural heist with my ‘niece’ Primrose, plus it was my first heist in five years. Although I admittedly was somewhat apprehensive, I did feel comfort dressed in the togs of a gentleman cracksman. Primrose had prettied herself in a black flowing gown, a formfitting black brocade overcoat embroidered down the front with black bead inlays, a black short cape over her slender shoulders, and she wore an elegant black flowered hat tipped to the right side of her head.

As I sat next to her in her father’s private carriage I commented on how lovely she appeared, but also stated with genuine concern, "You are going to catch a head cold dressed like that. It is quite chilly in Chicago at this time of the year. You should at least have a scarf wrapped over your hat, covering your ears, and tied under your chin."

Primrose chuckled, "Yes, Uncle Flurrie, but I am also wearing a skin tight black silk body suit in case I have to strip out of my dress in a hurry and scurry up or down a wall, or such."

I gazed at her in disbelief. "Humpff..." I grunted. "What next?"

Her father’s personal carriage driver smiled down at us from his driver's seat. "Please notice that there are folded blankets under the seat cushions on the opposite carriage seat if you wish to cover your legs. It is a bit nippy tonight.”

As the carriage made its way through the murky, cool midnight streets of Mid-September in Chicago I reconnoitered the heist operandi with Primrose. "Your dad’s drawing of the floor plan of the Heimmer mansion makes it pretty much a cut and dried heist; we enter the outside French doors to the library on the left side of the mansion just next to the porte-cochere. We then remove the painting of the twelfth century castle on the Rhine River, open the now exposed wall safe with one of our special master keys, take the diamond and sapphire necklace, and depart to sell it to the ‘committee’ for twenty per cent of its estimated value - no questions asked, and none received."

"Mmm..." Primrose purred. "One would think we could get more for it somewhere else."

"Where?" I asked with some annoyance. "Place an advertisement in the newspaper? Primrose, the ‘committee’ treated your dad and I with complete fairness when we were heisting safes along the Mississippi River area in years past, and they conveniently had a contact person in every large town we were in. We, of course, were supposedly selling railroad stocks and bonds from your father's business. We supplied the ‘committee’ with many excellent gems and a few antique paintings, and they in turn supplied us with almost immediate cash."

"So be it," Primrose agreed, but with an almost indistinguishable tinge of hesitation.

The carriage driver parked the carriage under two elm trees just to the left of the Heimmer mansion. Primrose and I walked brazenly up the semi-circular front driveway of the mansion, in plain sight where any prying eyes from neighboring properties would merely view a very well dressed couple simply about to pay a visit to the Heimmer household, albeit the hour was late. We then moved through the porte-cochere and directly to a set of French doors. I removed a folded stiletto knife blade from my overcoat side pocket, unfolded the very thin blade, and slid it between the slight separation openings of the two French doors. I forced the blade upwards, jostling it a bit, and was then able to swing up the door latch inside the door with relative ease. We entered the near dark library room, lit only by a dying fire in the medium size fireplace. Primrose almost immediately tugged on my coat sleeve and anxiously pointed to the painting of the Castle on the Rhine just ahead of us, which her father denoted as covering the wall safe. I then tugged the sleeve of Primrose's coat and motioned for her to stand still. She did so, staring at me in confusion.

"Listen," I whispered.

She lifted her head in attention. "I do not hear anything," she whispered back.

"It is the sound of silence," I responded. "Always take time to listen for it. It hopefully means no one in the household is up and about."

"But father said the Heimmers would be at the Germanic Theater fund raising concert tonight."

"There may be a servant about, or perhaps the Heimmers changed their minds and decided not to attend the fund raiser. People do change their minds."

"But the mansion appeared totally dark from the outside."

"Always take time to listen for silence when you first enter."

"I will remember," Primrose vowed.

We made our way to the oil painting of the Castle on the Rhine. I removed it from the wall and placed it on the floor just below the safe. I then noticed Primrose's blue eyes were now the size of two large tea saucers as she stared at the safe. She then dutifully removed her ring of skeleton safe keys from her coat pocket, investigated the keyhole on the safe, and then chose a key, and placed it into the keyhole. She then glanced at me almost frozen in position. I nodded for her to continue. She released a nervous grunt, twisted the key, and a gentle "click" sounded. She reached up and kissed me. I gently pushed her aside, opening the safe door, reached into the black abyss and removed a purple velvet covered gem box. I slowly raised the lid of the box, and the diamond necklace greeted us with its shimmering stones gathering the last rays of the dying fire in the fireplace. I glanced at Primrose and she appeared as if she were in complete ecstasy. I removed the diamond necklace from the box and placed it in my side coat pocket. I then closed the lid on the velvet covered box, placed it back into the safe, relocked the safe with my skeleton key, rehung the painting of the Castle on the Rhine, and I grabbed the arm of Primrose who had become motionless and pulled her behind me to the French doors and outside through the porte-cochere. We walked arm in arm down the semi-circular driveway and then down the street to our carriage and driver waiting under the elm trees.

During the carriage ride back to her father’s flat, I noticed Primrose was very introspective. "How did you enjoy your first heist? I remember I was bubbling with dizzy disbelief that I had done such a deed, of course with your father’s able assistance."

"I am confused. Is that all there is to it?”

I chuckled. "Most of the time it is like what we have just experienced, and that is because it is very well planned out by your father and myself, but there will be times when even the best made plans fall apart."

"And we will never know when?" Primrose now excitedly responded.

"Correct," I answered, glancing into her eyes, which were now almost gyrating with excitement.

With my proceeds from the heist I repaid her father the $5,000 advance he had so generously lent me to help re-establish myself in Chicago after my return from Paris, France. I also now purchased The Artist’s Consignment Gallery, which provided me with a second floor residential flat for living quarters. The gallery was situated on the lakefront not far from mansion row, and primarily served the upscale artistic needs of the city and environs advantaged. The previous owner stated he was moving to New York City to open a gallery in Manhattan.

Being extremely anxious to firmly plant roots again, and needing the proceeds from yet another heist, I had a chat with her father and he set up heist number two for my benefit, with the proviso I again take Primrose as my apprentice. I, of course, agreed. After all, what could go wrong with Primrose at my side? She was somewhat eager and awe stuck by it all, but she did extol the family trait for adventure and outright daring.

We were to heist the Barton McNamara mansion in the Northern Heights District of Chicago. The heist was set up for Thursday night at eleven. Mr. McNamara was to be out of town on business for one day, and he was a bachelor, so by all that is right the mansion would be empty. He was known to be a very shrewd and ruthless shoe manufacturer who was number one in his trade and he worked his employee’s overly long shifts, including children, in unsafe work conditions. He was the type or cruel individual we especially picked out to heist as a form of retribution for their cruelty.

After our interview with her dad I invited Primrose to the Italian Excellente Café near my loft for some lunch and chitchat. It was my first intent to place her at ease by extolling her excellent performance on her first heist. We each savored an extra large serving of sumptuous lasagna dripping with incredibly aromatic and tasty cheese, plus a half bottle of Chianti.

“You were absolutely splendid during the first heist; very cool and calm.”

“Oh, I was anything but cool and calm. Yet, I was not afraid. Our first heist taught me quite a bit about myself; about feelings that I had pent up in me for some time. Mother used to tell me about her crackswoman profession and I always listened with utter fascination. It was so incredibly romantic and adventuresome; a woman safe robber. Something all but unheard of, and to top it off she was very successful at it. Never caught, and she was the equal of the cracksmen.” She stared into my eyes from across the table as she bit into another piece of simmering lasagna and chuckled as its luscious cheese and sauce dribbled down her petit chin.

I reached over and dabbed her chin with my napkin. “I remember going out on my first heist with your dad,” I reminisced, sipping on the Chianti. I then paused and shook my head in wonder, “Which incredibly occurred some twenty five years ago.”

Primrose reached over the tabletop and kissed me on the cheek. “There, there, Uncle Flurrie. You are still as agile as a young fox.”

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the proprietor of the café motion towards Primrose and me, and then to a woman behind the counter, probably his wife, and they broke into romantic smiles.

“At any rate,” I finally continued, “I remember I was quite petrified with anxiety, and your father basically led me by the arm through the heist.” I paused, munching on my last crumb of the entrancing lasagna. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you that.”

“No, no, it is fun!” she chuckled. “Actually I followed you around completely in awe at your professionalism and equanimity.”

Flurrie grunted in pride. “It is all a matter of experience, and I have a feeling you will be exceptional at the trade.”

She burst into a large smile and again reached over the tabletop and kissed my cheek. Somewhat embarrassed I mumbled, “I fear the proprietor and his employee are assuming we are…well…”

Primrose then reached over and kissed me on the cheek a third time and then broke out into raucous laughter.

“Mother did say you are adorable.”

I placed five dollars on the tabletop and arose. “I have a mountain of work to do at my studio. I’m afraid I will have to excuse myself.”

“I have shopping to take care of. See you Thursday night at eleven. Father’s carriage man and I will pick you up at your loft.”

On Thursday night at ten I bathed and donned my tuxedo. I felt a tinge of anxiety as per usual, which I enjoyed, for it placed my senses on alert. I then moved downstairs to my office at the rear of my art gallery, poured a glass of Sherry, eased myself into my comfortable desk chair, and reopened my current passion The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. I commenced to nibble out of a small bag of semi-sweet chocolate droplets on my desktop as I entered the atmosphere of the mystery novel. About twenty minutes later a light knock sounded at the door. I check the time on my wall clock and found it to read a bit before eleven.

I opened the back door of my gallery to find Primrose smiling up at me like a mischievous cat. She strolled directly into my office, doing something of a gay dance step. I followed her to the fireplace, and as she reached out her hands to warm them a bit I asked, “I assume it is on the chilly side out there tonight.”

“Beastly,” she said, sitting in my desk chair. She again stared up at me, wearing that little impish grin of hers. “You will not have to worry about the chilly air, Uncle Flurrie,” she gaily announced.

I sat across from her on the guest chair. “What are you talking about?”

She arose and reached into her overcoat pocket. She then placed a diamond and sapphire necklace and a matching pair of earrings on my opened copy of The Moonstone.

“The deed is done,” she announced, now twirling around on my office chair like a child. “I managed the heist on my own! Little me! And I feel wonderful!”

I could feel my face flush red with anger, but I remained silent. I then released a grunt, and picked up the necklace. “That was very foolish, Primrose. I know I am just your honorary Uncle, but I cherish you very much as my dear friends daughter and I certainly do not want you to become apprehended through being overly brash.”

“I planned it all out after I noticed in the Business Section of the evening newspaper that Mr. McNamara was taking the nine o’clock train to Minneapolis to finalize a large business venture, and not the ten o’clock train as we first thought. I watched his mansion from a clump of bushes. A carriage pulled up from the rear of the mansion and picked him up and they departed. I noticed there were no lights in the mansion or carriage house in the rear of the lot. I removed my dress,” she then chuckled, “Not to worry, Uncle Flurrie, I was also wearing my black silk body suit. Wearing it I was able to blend in with the nighttime shadows. I entered the library of the mansion by unlocking the French doors with my stiletto blade as you instructed me, and I found the painting Father had told us about of the stag and his harem standing on a hilltop with the setting sun behind them, and, well, I opened the lock with my skeleton keys, removed the jewelry and also found this.” She now removed four wads of cash from her coat pocket. “Do you think Father will be proud of me?”

I released a deep sigh fostered by confusion over it all. “One would assume so,” I simply responded, picking up one wad of cash and paging through it. “Twenties, fifties, one hundred dollars bills.”

“How much do you think is in all four bundles?” she giggled.

“Probably about twenty thousand dollars,” I responded, tossing the bundle of cash next to its partners. “I must admit I am speechless.”

“Let’s visit Father right off. I can hardly wait to see his expression.”

“He may spank you!”

“Perhaps, but he will do so with a smile.”

The carriage ride to her father’s flat was only about two miles away, and I remained near silent. After all, now that the deed was done, and I had not participated in said deed, I reasoned I would not be the recipient of any of the profits realized thereof. And quite frankly that aroused my ire. Primrose started to say something about the heist and I cut her short, pointing to the carriage driver. Even though he was her dad’s personal driver, so to speak, I felt it best we discuss the weather and books we have recently devoured.

Her father took the news of his teen-age daughter completing her solo heist as other proud fathers would cherish seeing their female offspring graduate from finishing school. It was actually quit moving for me to find my dear friend of so many years absolutely overwhelmed with pride.

I was then overjoyed to find him divvy up the four stacks of cash from the heist. He gave me two stacks, and set aside the remainder two stacks of cash for him and Primrose. He then announced I would also receive my fifty per cent share of the jewelry, as per our original agreement, after it was handed over to the ‘committee’ and a cash payoff was received. The fact that I did not physically participate in the heist was not through any fault of my own. Primrose thoroughly agreed.

We also agreed that from here on in we would act as a team with no solo heist surprises.

After a year of accompanying Primrose on several heists I decided to retire. Father time very much so dictated my decision, and then too I was now comfortably ensconced in my new art brokerage business. All was well.

Her father, she, and I agreed the heist business and its profits should all be her own, to set up a bank account for her future life. I did convince her to add art theft to her job description, commingling it with her ordinary gem heists for a fifty-fifty split with her on the art she acquired for me per my request. I had found a ready market for purloined masterpieces in my brokerage business.

All went well; I would alert her to local paintings worth the rob, and she used her acrobatics if need be for second story work to scale the side of a mansion and gain entrance. She carried a folded shaving razor to quickly cut a painting from its frame and then rolled the painting and slid it into a leather tube carrier slung over her shoulder. She was a fast, efficient thief, and during her ‘normal’ hours she appeared as the somewhat shy, beautiful, studious daughter of her wealthy father. The local young men of means actively escorted her to dinner parties, the opera, musicals, plays, and such, and introduced her to their parents and their mansions adorned in art treasures and the local dowagers overlaid with precious gems.

“Is she still in business?” Bruno innocently asked.

Flurrie chuckled. “Oh, my, yes! Also, you probably have brushed elbows with her at several parties where you have stood guard.”

Bruno now smiled with total delight. “Come to think of it I once ‘briefly’ captured a young lady safecracker dangling from the second story of a mansion I was guarding for a weekend. Yet, that was long before your Primrose was in business. I like to call it the Ladybug Incident.”

“Ladybug?” Flurrie queried. “Do you mean one of those pesky, tiny insects with huge eyes and huge wings that always seem to end up in one’s glass of lemonade?”

“Not quite. This Ladybug weighed about ninety pounds.”

“A bit far fetched is it not?” Flurrie chuckled with delight.

“A rash of burglaries was taking place in Chicago’s fashionable East Porte mansion park district along Lake Michigan’s shoreline and the property owners advertised for trained guards to reside in their mansions while they were away. I decided to sign on, more out of curiosity than for any other reason. I was hired by the Bruce Dallyrimple estate to watch their mansion for the weekend. I was to remain there from Friday evening at seven thru Sunday afternoon at five when Mr. Dallyrimple was to return.

I stationed myself in the mansion’s library on the second floor, which contained the estate’s wall safe, and the location also provided an excellent view of the front lawn and semi-circular driveway leading to both the front door and port-cochere of the castle.

Before taking up residence in the library I made a security check of every exterior window and door in the mansion to make sure they were secure. I also placed a lit kerosene lamp on tables near several of the windows of the mansion to announce the house was indeed occupied. Through my years on the police force I found I could spend an entire weekend on as little as two hours sleep in a twenty-four hour period, and then the sleep was animal-like with one eye open at all times.

I perused the library shelves and after finding a volume of Homer’s Odyssey, I comfortably positioned myself in an overstuffed leather easy chair. I then removed a bag of semi sweet chocolate chunks from my suit coat pocket, lit up a Cuban cigar I retrieved from my suit coat vest pocket, and sat back totally contented, paging through Homer’s tome.

I read for a few hours and then slowly strolled through the mansion to make a security check, swinging my silver bear head walking cane through the air as if it were an epee and I was personally warding off all the evil doers of the world. Moonlight lit most of the rooms, except those rooms, of course, where I had lit a kerosene lamp for illumination. As I moved to the bedroom area on the second floor I paused with some alarm, hearing an ever so slight scratching noise from the outside walls of the mansion. I quickly made my way to a window, silently opened it, and found myself gazing down in disbelief at the astonished face of a diminutive young woman. She then frantically attempted to readjust a thin cord she used to ascend the outside wall of the mansion, but in her anxiety became fouled in its loop and suddenly found herself helplessly hanging upside down, secured only by her left leg caught in the cord.

I must admit I greatly enjoyed the acrobatic view and chuckled as I inquired, “And just what sort of a spider are you, dear lady?” I then teasingly added, “That is besides being a very clumsy spider.”

“Quit gloating,” she angrily retorted, “and help me up before something lets loose here and I kill myself!”

I continued chuckling and reached down and clutched the ankle of her left leg with my right hand. I then had little trouble pulling the thin, lithe body up and through the opened window. My catch of the day immediately attempted to pull away and flee which forced me to place her into a bear hug, smothering her against my chest. She then attempted to raise a knee up into my groin area and I shifted her thin frame to the right side of my body, still grasping her in the bear hug.

“If I release my grip do you promise to behave yourself?”

“Most certainly,” she replied, innocently batting her long black eyelashes. “Please release me. I am having trouble breathing.”

I then quickly released my grip, concerned that I might have injured her ribs or lungs, and as a thank you for my genuine concern over her well being she immediately pulled away and began dashing down the hallway. I then retrieved my silver bear head walking cane leaning against the wall below the window and spun it along the floor in her direction and her feet became entangled in its whirlwind gyration and she flopped head first onto the floor, knocking herself out. I carefully gathered up her ninety-pound body and transported her to the library, gently resting on the chase lounge.

I dampened my handkerchief with water from a desk carafe, and carefully dabbed at her senseless face. Suddenly her eyes sprung open as a wild cat awakening, and she viewed me with alarm.

“What are you doing to me? Are you violating me?”

“Certainly not! You ran from me and I had to stop you.” She attempted to arise and I forcefully held her back onto the chase lounge. “Just relax. Let’s have a chat. Agreed? I merely wish to ask you a few questions. I have no intention of harming you.”

She reluctantly shook her head in agreement, and then released a deep sigh. “I had to pick a mansion with a guard…”

“Yes, I am actually sergeant of detectives Bruno Clew of the Chicago Police department.” Her expression soured and she again attempted to pull away and fell to the floor.

I then wrapped my left arm and hand around her tiny waist and lifted her off the floor holding her in a horizontal position, as one might hold a misbehaving child. I then with my right hand, reached into my suit coat pocket and removed a pair of handcuffs. She suddenly stopped wiggling.

“Please not the handcuffs! I will no longer resist,” she assured me. “I am not a common criminal.”

“As you wish,” I responded, placing the cuffs back into my pocket. “But you must cooperate with me!” I accentuated.

“I will. I will,” she agreed, her tone no longer defiant but now rather more so defeated.

“There have been sightings of a very small creature scooting up and down the sides of local mansions in the late night hours, and later it was found valuable items had disappeared from the homesteads. The tiny creature was said to look and move as a Ladybug insect, winging about, and then just as quickly disappearing as it had first appeared. Now admittedly the sightings were mainly made by gentlemen retuning home after a full night on the town, so to speak.” I then gazed into the diminutive woman’s now playful blue eyes. “I assume you are she?”

She glanced away. “What a fanciful tale.” She then shook her head negatively, causing her long black hair to teasingly and seductively flow back and forth across her lovely, almost oriental appearing, sculptured facial features. “Utter nonsense.”

“What am I to do with you?” I asked. “Attempted robbery can place you in prison for up to a year, and I am given to understand quarantined ladies suffer many indignities and hardships whilst incarcerated; from suffering unwanted advances, to scrubbing floors, to laboring in sweatbox laundry facilities. At the end of your term you will be placed back on the street looking ten years older.” I paused. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You are a lovely young lady. You speak intelligently…”

She then gazed helplessly at me. “I am from a troubled background. I merely wish to advance myself in the world; hopefully marry well. I require money to enter into the right circles. I rob only the very wealthy. After making a fuss over losing a diamond necklace or assorted jewelry, and enjoying the notoriety of it all, they return to their daily chores of planning their next elaborate dinner party, or jump a steamboat for another tour of the continent. It is almost meaningless to them.”

“But you are breaking the law.”

She began to cry. “Yes.” She then gazed sorrowfully at me.

Flurrie then reached for his brandy snifter and tittered as he glanced playfully to Bruno. “You set her free, didn’t you?”

Bruno responded by reaching for another chocolate chunk; that sumptuous personification; that Queen of the exotic beans; and languished over the hot melt seducing his pleading oral cavity.