The robber,
having duly noted the villa's imperfections, and having discovered the
hiding-place of jewellery and plate, complacently rifled it the next
night. Though his self-esteem sustained a shock, though henceforth his
friend thought meanly of his judgment, he was rewarded with the solid
pudding of plunder, and the world whispered of the mysterious marauder
with a yet colder horror. In truth, the large simplicity and solitude of
his style sets him among the Classics, and though others have surpassed
him at single points of the game, he practised the art with such
universal breadth and courage as were then a revolution, and are still
unsurpassed.
But the burglar ever fights an unequal battle. One false step, and
defeat o'erwhelms him. For two years had John Ward intimidated the
middle-class seclusion of South London; for two years had he hidden from
a curious world the ugly, furrowed visage of Charles Peace. The bald
head, the broad-rimmed spectacles, the squat, thick figure--he stood
but five feet four in his stockings, and adds yet another to the list
of little-great men--should have ensured detection, but the quick change
and the persuasive gesture were omnipotent, and until the autumn of 1878
Peace was comfortably at large. And then an encounter at Blackheath put
him within the clutch of justice. His revolver failed in its duty,
and, valiant as he was, at last he met his match. In prison he was
alternately insolent and aggrieved. He blustered for justice, proclaimed
himself the victim of sudden temptation, and insisted that his intention
had been ever innocent.
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