What The Dickens! - A Christmas Eve Mystery

Written by William Shepard, Published on 12/18/2009

It was Christmas, 1852, in London, a jolly time for those who could enjoy the holiday, and a plain working time for those who could not. The third type of person, the professional crook, who lived on the fringes of society, sometimes cheered the season. After all, it made rich and profitable pickings for the pickpockets who filled London’s badly lit streets. There was no one that trained pickpockets more skillfully than Fagin, who kept a training school for that illegal profession, in his dank loft on the edges of a forgettable address, not far from the black and smelly Thames River.

The boys, and a young girl or two as well, were trained in the fine art of picking the pocket or snatching the purse of wealthy shoppers. The trick was to do it so naturally that a slight bump was not even noticed by the victim of the crime. Sometimes the young thief would distract the victim’s attention by calling across the street to someone else, or by yelling, “Fire!” But often the touch was so light, and the use of a small sharp knife so clever, that a purse could be cut from the strings that held it to the victim’s belt or skirt in the twinkling of an eye. Or, the victim was so distracted that, as he looked in one direction, the pickpocket’s fingers extracted the fat wallet from his inner jacket pocket. By the time the victim was aware of the loss, the pickpocket was halfway back to Fagin’s loft, sure of praise and a good, warm dinner.

The Artful Dodger was the cleverest young thief, and Oliver Twist, escaped from the workhouse, was the latest recruit and student. Back and forth, he went in the loft, practicing his pickpocket technique under The Artful Dodger’s critical eye, following Fagin, who pretended to be a rich victim.

The practicing went on for weeks. Finally, in exasperation, Fagin sneered at Oliver and said “Won’t you ever be ready? I keep waiting for you to steal my wallet, and you haven’t done a thing. It looks like no dinner for you, young Oliver!

Then Oliver Twist held up his prize, Fagin’s wallet, which Oliver had cleverly extracted from his inside jacket pocket, so lightly that Fagin had not even felt its loss.

“Well done, Master Oliver,” said Fagin, delightedly. “I didn’t feel a thing. You have served a fine apprenticeship and earned your dinner. Tomorrow morning, it’s your turn to put what you have learned into practice on the streets of London! You’ll go out with The Artful Dodger and with Nancy, shortly after breakfast.”

Oliver smiled. Nancy was a young woman who often joined the pickpocket group as they wandered the streets of London, in search of victims. Oliver was pleased that no mention was made of Nancy’s companion, Bill Sykes, a violent man, “who, you mark my words, will come to no good end,” as Fagin often said, when Bill Sykes was not within hearing. Nancy often diverted the attention of their victims with her winsome smile, and then she vanished before the thefts were noticed. It was much better than yelling “Fire!” in a crowd and far more discreet.

The next morning, right outside Simpson’s, where the wealthy would often come for a rich steak and kidney pie for luncheon, the four took up their positions in the crowd. The Artful Dodger walked slowly along the sidewalk, with Oliver two or three steps behind. Fagin approached from the opposite direction, while Nancy crossed the street at the corner, then came straight towards The Artful Dodger and Oliver. Fagin was three or four steps behind her.

If everything worked well, either The Artful Dodger or Oliver would steal the passerby’s wallet or purse, depending upon which boy was closer. No clumsy moves were allowed. If neither boy was close enough to the approaching victim, they would simply wait a few minutes, go around the block, and try the entire sequence again. If Nancy was close enough, she might call to one of the boys, attracting the victim’s attention. Or The Artful Dodger might rudely point and say “What a pretty face,” hoping the victim would turn his head towards Nancy. Either way, once the wallet or purse had been taken, the thief would pass it to Nancy coming in the opposite direction. Half a block later, she would pass it to Fagin.

The victim, if he or she caught on that there had been a theft, could only point out Oliver or The Artful Dodger to the police, and neither one would have the stolen property at that point. Without evidence, the chances were good that the matter would drop there. The little group of pickpockets also made sure that they would not return to the same street for several weeks. After all, there were enough rich shopping districts in London’s West End, all of which Fagin knew well, to last throughout the holiday season.

Christmas Eve was a special challenge, but Fagin insisted that they go out and try their thieving luck, despite the fact that he had a raging, constant cough. The Artful Dodger was in good form and looked forward to the fine Christmas dinner that Fagin had promised as their reward after the night’s outing. Nancy wasn’t sure that she could go, because Bill Sykes was in one of his bad moods. However, Oliver looked forward to practicing his pickpocket skills, and so they set forth.

The rich gentleman, their intended victim, stood outside Rule’s Restaurant looking at his gold watch, which was suspended from a thick gold chain to his vest pocket. He opened the back lid of the watch, sighed as he looked at the portrait of his missing grandson, then closed the watch and returned it to his vest pocket. The Artful Dodger and Oliver Twist approached him along the sidewalk, while Nancy and Fagin slowly made their way towards the scene from their starting points down the street.

As The Artful Dodger and Oliver approached, the man unexpectedly looked up. His glance seemed to freeze The Artful Dodger, who cried “Nancy!” as she came closer. The Artful Dodger planned to grab the victim’s watch as soon as he turned - but the rich gentleman did not turn, and he stepped away from The Artful Dodger instead. Then he quickly glanced at Oliver, and his expression was one of total surprise. Could this be his lost grandson after all these years? Even in these patched clothes, the boy’s resemblance to his daughter was startling. The man gave a cry of surprise and pointed towards Oliver, then grabbed him by the wrists with his strong arms. Fagin, three feet behind Nancy, who was approaching the scene rapidly, now turned around, coughed nervously and fled the scene. Nancy, who had more poise, continued slowly towards Oliver, the gentleman and The Artful Dodger, and without making contact with either boy, proceeded down the street.

A London policeman, posted just outside the restaurant, watched the scene with keen interest and came quickly.

The bobby asked, “What happened, sir?”

“It is a case of robbery, I think. Better take this young man into custody, until we sort out what has happened.”

The policeman nodded, as he watched The Artful Dodger, Nancy and Fagin disappear into the crowd. “I’ve had my eye on that bunch,” he said.

At Police Headquarters, Sergeant Cuff was amused. He had been following the gang, with Fagin, Nancy, The Artful Dodger and Oliver, for several weeks, as they shifted their location around the West End.

“Patrolman Cavendish tells me that three members of the gang, the Fagin gang if I am correct, have disappeared. You have the fourth gang member here.”

“Yes, but I believe that he is a victim himself, Sergeant Cuff. I don’t think that I was the victim of a crime, all things considered.”

“We’ll see about that, sir. What property did you say is missing?”

“Actually, I’ll let you figure out who has my wallet now, Sergeant. The missing property that is most valuable has now been found. I refer to my grandson, young Oliver here. And if you can tell me who has my watch, I will make sure that you have the finest Christmas dinner you’ve ever enjoyed!”