it had been committed.
The two men joined one another again in the vicinity of the cottage. They were not able to make any further attempt that night. One of them, however, heard that the girl knew where the money was cached. I am afraid I was responsible for this, and it was intended that she should be taken away, with the key of the safe deposit…
Machfield had already become acquainted with the straitened circumstances of young McKay, the son of his victim, and probably to hit at his father, who he must have known was still hunting for him, used an opportunity which was offered by chance, to ruin him, as he believed.
Two hundred pounds, representing a portion of the money obtained from the bank by a fraudulent manager (3 years Penal Servitude; Central Criminal Court) through the instrumentality of his woman friend (5 years PS, CCC) was sent anonymously to the younger McKay by Machfield, and was traced to the young man.
After this came a note, also in Mr Reeder’s hand:
“Rufus John Machfield and Antonio Lamontaine (sentence: death, CCC) executed at Wandsworth Prison, April 17th. Executioner Ellis.”
Mr Reeder was a stickler for facts.
KENNEDY THE CON MAN
1
The man who stood with such an air of ease in the dock of the North-West London Police Court bore himself with a certain insolent dignity. There was a smile which was half contemptuous, half-amused, on his bearded face.
If, from time to time, his long white fingers thrust through the mass of goldy-brown hair that was brushed back from his high and narrow forehead, the gesture revealed neither nervousness nor embarrassment. Rather was this a trick of habit.
Though he wore no collar or tie, and his clothes and patent leather shoes were daubed with last night’s mud, the clothes were new and well-cut; the diamond ring which he wore, and which now sparkled offensively in the early morning light, hinted most certainly at an affluence which might be temporary or permanent.
He had in his possession when arrested (to quote the exact itemization of the constable who had given evidence on the matter) the sum of eighty-seven pounds ten shillings in Treasury notes, fifteen shillings in silver coinage, a gold and platinum cigarette case, a small but expensive bottle of perfume (unopened) and a few keys.
His name was Vladimir Litnoff; he was a Russian subject and his profession was that of an actor. He had appeared in Russian plays, and spoke English with the faintest trace of an accent.
Apparently, when he was in wine, as he had been on the previous evening, he spoke little but Russian, so that the two policemen who supported the charge of being drunk, and guilty of insulting and disorderly behaviour, could adduce no other than the language of offensive gesture to support their accusation.
The magistrate took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair wearily.
“Whilst you are living in this country you must behave yourself,” he said conventionally. “This is the second time you have been charged with disorderly conduct, and you will pay twenty shillings, and seven and six costs.”
Mr Litnoff smiled, and bowed gracefully and stepped lightly from the dock.
Chief Inspector Gaylor, who was waiting in the corridor to give evidence on a much more serious charge, saw him pass and returned his smile good-humouredly. The policeman who had “picked up” the Russian followed from the court.
“Who is that fellow?” asked Gaylor.
“A Russian, sir. He was properly soused…drunk, in the Brompton Road. He was quiet enough but wouldn’t go away. Him and his brooches!”
“His whatses?” asked the inspector.
“That’s what he said when I took him – about the only English thing he did say: ‘You shall have my beautiful brooch – worth ten thousand!’ I don’t know what he was talking about. Another thing he said was that he’d got property in Monro – he shouted this out to the crowd as me and PC Leigh was taking him
The two men joined one another again in the vicinity of the cottage. They were not able to make any further attempt that night. One of them, however, heard that the girl knew where the money was cached. I am afraid I was responsible for this, and it was intended that she should be taken away, with the key of the safe deposit…
Machfield had already become acquainted with the straitened circumstances of young McKay, the son of his victim, and probably to hit at his father, who he must have known was still hunting for him, used an opportunity which was offered by chance, to ruin him, as he believed.
Two hundred pounds, representing a portion of the money obtained from the bank by a fraudulent manager (3 years Penal Servitude; Central Criminal Court) through the instrumentality of his woman friend (5 years PS, CCC) was sent anonymously to the younger McKay by Machfield, and was traced to the young man.
After this came a note, also in Mr Reeder’s hand:
“Rufus John Machfield and Antonio Lamontaine (sentence: death, CCC) executed at Wandsworth Prison, April 17th. Executioner Ellis.”
Mr Reeder was a stickler for facts.
KENNEDY THE CON MAN
1
The man who stood with such an air of ease in the dock of the North-West London Police Court bore himself with a certain insolent dignity. There was a smile which was half contemptuous, half-amused, on his bearded face.
If, from time to time, his long white fingers thrust through the mass of goldy-brown hair that was brushed back from his high and narrow forehead, the gesture revealed neither nervousness nor embarrassment. Rather was this a trick of habit.
Though he wore no collar or tie, and his clothes and patent leather shoes were daubed with last night’s mud, the clothes were new and well-cut; the diamond ring which he wore, and which now sparkled offensively in the early morning light, hinted most certainly at an affluence which might be temporary or permanent.
He had in his possession when arrested (to quote the exact itemization of the constable who had given evidence on the matter) the sum of eighty-seven pounds ten shillings in Treasury notes, fifteen shillings in silver coinage, a gold and platinum cigarette case, a small but expensive bottle of perfume (unopened) and a few keys.
His name was Vladimir Litnoff; he was a Russian subject and his profession was that of an actor. He had appeared in Russian plays, and spoke English with the faintest trace of an accent.
Apparently, when he was in wine, as he had been on the previous evening, he spoke little but Russian, so that the two policemen who supported the charge of being drunk, and guilty of insulting and disorderly behaviour, could adduce no other than the language of offensive gesture to support their accusation.
The magistrate took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair wearily.
“Whilst you are living in this country you must behave yourself,” he said conventionally. “This is the second time you have been charged with disorderly conduct, and you will pay twenty shillings, and seven and six costs.”
Mr Litnoff smiled, and bowed gracefully and stepped lightly from the dock.
Chief Inspector Gaylor, who was waiting in the corridor to give evidence on a much more serious charge, saw him pass and returned his smile good-humouredly. The policeman who had “picked up” the Russian followed from the court.
“Who is that fellow?” asked Gaylor.
“A Russian, sir. He was properly soused…drunk, in the Brompton Road. He was quiet enough but wouldn’t go away. Him and his brooches!”
“His whatses?” asked the inspector.
“That’s what he said when I took him – about the only English thing he did say: ‘You shall have my beautiful brooch – worth ten thousand!’ I don’t know what he was talking about. Another thing he said was that he’d got property in Monro – he shouted this out to the crowd as me and PC Leigh was taking him
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