Strange Times 198: Sneak Thievery Thwarted
The Kickstarter campaign for Letters to the Stars thunders merrily along! The book is finished, save a final proofread, and the game is ready to play. The most popular reward been The Zine Pack, which includes an autographed hardcover rulebook and a full color zine scenario, “The Last Survivor of the Merriman,” that will never be available digitally. If you like stuff that is handmade and beautiful and rare—
Today we have women who fight burglars and dukes who walk. Leave a persuasive note on…
July 17, 1921
When a 15-year-old Brooklynite gets his head stuck between the piers on the Coney Island beach, the fire department races against the tide, freeing him with an ax before he drowns.
The 20-year-old French wife of ex-clergyman and radical C. Bouck White, testifies in a suit requesting separation and annulment on the grounds of abuse, saying “He struck me. He threw me to the floor.”
Mrs. Eva Catherine Kaber is found guilty of conspiring to murder her husband, and appears insensible as she is spared the electric chair and sentenced to life imprisonment. Searching the archives for previous items on Mrs. Kaber reminded me that her original defense was that she hired two men to impersonate ghosts in order to frighten her husband into treating her better, and were shocked when they murdered him instead. There’s a farce in here somewhere…
The Weather: Monday, fair and warmer; gentle, variable winds.
A spectacular story of bravery in the face of misogynistic cops and hapless burglars, this yarn reminds me of a magnificent story from way back in Strange Times 3. I hereby award Mrs. Jacques Busbee the Bertha A. Miller Award For Extreme Pluck.
An unusual story of sneak thievery thwarted was told alst night by Mrs. Jacques Busbee, member of a prominent North Carolina family and wife of an artist, at her home, 19 East Fifty-ninth Street.
A burglar entered Mrs. Busbee’s apartment on the third floor at the Fifty-ninth Street address on Thursday night and left the apartment in disorder before its tenant returned shortly before midnight. He did not touch valuable silverware and bits of jewelry but, in ransacking the place, upset furniture and apparently examined every nook and corner. A bowl that had contained about 100 pennies was empty. A gold watch and a box of cigarettes also were missing.
The door to the apartment had been jimmied, and a trunk in which Mrs. Busbee kept valuable articles lay open, although none of the contents were taken.
“I saw that the person who visited the apartment had come there solely for money,” Mrs. Busbee said, “and in making a search of the place I was positive I heard the voices of two men in an adjoining apartment. Mrs. Marsh, who lives there, was away in the country, so I knew it could not be she nor a member of her family.
“So I called up Police Headquarters. Presently a policeman, whose name I did not ask, appeared. He saw that the apartment was in disorder, but assured me that I was suffering from a case of nerves.
“But I am not at all hysterical, and felt certain that the apartment across the areaway was occupied, and that if I remained awake the burglar would return. There was too much of genuine value in the place to leave behind.
Mrs. Busbee said she stuffed an old purse with a wad of paper, together with $1.50 and a note which read:
“I’m sorry you did not get what you came for earlier in the evening. I hope this little change will tide you over your present necessity.”
After writing this and stuffing it into the purse Mrs. Busbee retired, placing the purse under her pillow, but making it sufficiently conspicuous so that a person entering the bedroom would notice it at first glance.
“I did not sleep, of course,” she said, “and several times I thought I heard some one and became nervous. I almost lost my nerve, but decided to go through with it. At 4 o’clock I was awakened by the opening of a rear window. The only way in which any one could have reached this was by placing a board across the areaway from the window of the adjoining apartment. It was a simple operation, but required considerable daring.
“Presently I heard some one tiptoeing into the apartment, and, looking out of my room, I could see a faint light thrown about the place. It was a pocket flashlight. I remained perfectly still and soon a hand reached out and took the purse next to my head. I nearly screamed, but didn’t, and soon I heard the window close. The burglar had left the apartment in the same way in which he entered. I will miss the watch and pennies, because I treasure a collection of pennies, but I am greatly indebted to the burglar for opening my trunk, because I would have had to call in a locksmith.”
Mrs. Busbee said the case was not immediately reported to the police. Mrs. Marsh, she said, returned to her apartment yesterday and discovered that several valuable articles were missing. Mr. Busbee is in North Carolina, Mrs. Busbee said.
In the film adaptation of this amusing adventure—made in 1947—the Duke will, naturally, be played by Maurice Chevalier. And hey, a bonus—the same song sung by Rose Marie!
PARIS, July 16.—The Duke Decazes owns one of the biggest racing stables in France. He owns a steam yacht and he owns several automobiles. His properties cover many miles of rich land in France. But the Duke has still in him a strain of primitive man. He likes to walk.
In these days such taste is regarded with amazement, and in a Duke, at least, as an amiable weakness. So it happened that the other day some one asked the Duke how and when he intended to join the fashionable throng now hurrying off to Deauville for the seaside season.
“Oh, I’ll walk,” the Duke replied, to his friend’s amazement.
“I’ll wager you 40,000 francs you don’t,” was the reply, and the Duke said, “Done.”
From Paris to Deauville the distance is 160 miles, and voluntarily the Duke made for himself a time limit of eight days in which to cover the distance. He intends to do a level 20 miles a day,w alking five hours at four miles an hour, and he has made one useful provision.
As hotels fit to accommodate a Duke are not to be found every twenty miles along the French roads, he is having a touring limousine sent every evening to a definite stopping place twenty miles forward.
The start has been arranged for July 25. When he arrives at Deauville he is likely to have a marathon winner’s reception.
The Wild Waves Are Saying—