FAMOUS THEFT

Greymouth Evening Star, 9 March 1933, Page 12

FAMOUS THEFT

SEARCH FOR GAINSBOROUGH The theft of a golden Aphrodite in Bond on serves to recall the negotiations for the recovery of Gainsborough’s famous portrait of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, which on May 25, 1876, was stolen from the gallery of the famous London firm of art dealers, Thomas Agnew and Sons. But in these negotiations there was nothing suggestive of any offence, against the law. On the contrary, they were carried out by Thomas Agnew and Sons with the knowledge and approval of Scotland Yard, many years after the efforts of the police to recover the picture had failed. Moreover, the final act in the negotiations --that is, the restoration of the stolen picture to the owners —took place, not in London, but in Chicago, says a Writer in the Melbourne “Age.” Gainsborough’s portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire had been one of the treasures of the art collection of Mr. Wynne- Ellis, who had purchased it from an old school mistress named Mrs Maginnis for the sum of sixty guineas. When Mr. Ellis died in 1875, leaving an estate valued at under £600,000 for probate, he left 402 pictures to the nation, but the trustees of the National Gallery retained only 44 of the collection, and the remainder were sold by auction for the benefit of testator’s estate. The sale took place at the auction rooms of the ..famous firm..of: Christie, Manson, and Wood, in.. .King Street, and realised £56,088. Th& portrait of The Duchess of Devonshire fell to the bid of Agnew and Sons at £10,605. Such a high price for a picture was considered then more remarkable than it would be to-day, and a great deal of public interest in the picture was aroused. Agnew and Sons agreed to place it on exhibition in their gallery at 39 Bond Street, and to charge a shilling a head for admission. A large number of people went to see the picture, but when on Friday, May 26, the caretaker opened the gallerv in the moaning he found the picture had disappeared. The empty frame

was there, and near it was the stretcher—i.e., the plain wooden frame on which a canvas is stretched, and which is placed inside the ornamental frame of a picture. But the stretcher contained no_ picture; it. had been cut. out with a knife so that it could he rolled up and taken away easily. Naturally such a daring robbery created a great deal of public interest, and there was much speculation as to the object of the theft. It was realised that it would be impossible for the thief to dispose of the picture in the ordinary way through a “fence,” because there was no market for such a work of art. No collector would buy it, because he would know it was stolen, and could be claimed by the owners. It was conceivable that an art collector, desiring to have the picture and unable to buy it at its proper value, had employed a thief to steal it, and intended to keep his possession of it a secret. The efforts of Scotland Yard to find out who had stolen the picture, and who had possession of it, met with no success. Even the offer of a reward of £lOOO by Agnew and Sons produced no information. Then years after the robbery there was a secret effort on the part of Harry Raymond, a man who was known to have committed the theft, to get Agnew and Sons to put down £5OOO for the return of the picture. In proof of the fact' that he had possession of it, he cut a very small piece from the canvas, and sent it to them bv means of his go-between. Agnew and Sons were told that the picture was. now in America, and that if they sent a representative to New York with power to act for them, he would bo able to return to London with the picture. But after mature consideration Agnew' and Son took the advice of Scotland Yard, and refused to negotiate with the thief. In October, 1892, Raymond was arrested in Belgium on a charge of mail robbery, and was sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment. While in prison negotiations were opened with him for the return of the picture. He was promised his freedom if he gave it up, but he would not agree co these terms. The picture was really in America. After an attempt of an accomplice named Phillips to trap him for the police he had sent it across the Atlantic, hidden in the false bottom of a trunk, which he had placed for security in a furniture depository. Raymond was an American and had begun his criminal career in that country.

PINKERTON’S COMMUNICATION In 1901—twenty-five years after the robbery had been committed —Mr. W. A. Pinkerton, the head o£ a famous private detective agency, founded in Chicago by his father, got into communication with Scotland Yard in regard to the stolen picture. Scotland Yard then informed Agnew and Sons that if they were prepared to. put down £7ooo—£sooo for the thief and £2OOO for his go-between —they could get the picture back. They offered no objection to this course being taken. They had abandoned all hope of ever being able to convict Raymond of the crime, as the picture was in America, and one of his two confederates—both of whom would have been required to give evidence against Raymond to secure a conviction —was dead. By this time There had been a considerable increase in the prices at which Gainsborough portraits had been sold, and the portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire was estimated to be worth £20,000. For this reason Agnew and Son were prepared to pay £7OOO to get. it back. Mr. Morland Agnew crossed the Atlantic with his wife and went to Chicago, the headquarters of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. There he met. Mr. W. A. Pinkerton, who explained that in conversation with a man named Pat Sheedy, a well-known associate of thieves, he had learned that the picture was in Chicago, and that Raymond would be willing to negotiate for its return, as he was in financial straits and wanted to provide for his family, who were quite ignorant of the fact that he was a criminal. In subsequently giving account ol ow the picture was returned, Mr. Agnew said: “As the hour approached at which it was stated the picture would be returned Mr. Pinkerton became more and more nervous, even more nervous than I was myself. By and by there came a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ said Mr. Pinkerton, and the door opened on the instant. A man was standing in the doorway carrying a brown-paper roll under his arms. ‘Mr. Agnew?’ he queried. ‘Yes,’ I replied, and held out my hand. The messenger handed me the roll in silence, and as if he had been charged

|o deliver the most commonplace mes sage in the world turned on his heel and left the room.

“When he had gone I took out my knife, cut the string in which the paper was tied, and there, lightly wrapped in cotton wool, lay the longlost Gainsborough. A close inspection soon convinced me of its authenticity. Mr. Pinkerton shook my hand and congratulated me heartily. Until that moment he himself had not been sure that, the picture which it had been arranged would be returned was the identical one stolen from our gallery.” Subsequently the picture was brought by Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan for his art collection. Except for a slight trimming round the edges it is in perfect condition.

Raymond made a condition in returning the picture that in any statement made for publication concerning its return his name and that of his go-between should not be mentioned. This condition was observed by Mr. Agnew, but the fact that Raymond was the man who had stolen the famous portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire was known in the underworld of England and the United States long before the picture was returned. Eddie Guerin, a thief of international reputation, who four years ago wrote the story of his life under the title, “Crime: The Autobiography of :i Crook,” stated concerning his first visit to London from the United States in 1887: “I ran across Adam Worth, more commonly known as Harry Raymond, the man who afterwards (?) 6tole the famous Gainsborough picture of the Duchess of Devonshire 'from'Agnew’s Art Gallery in Bond Street. If ever a man in this world could be pointed out as an exception to the rule that no crook ever makes money, it was Adam Worth. He owned an expensive flat in Piccadilly, he entertained some of the best people in London, who never knew him for anything but. an apparently rich man of a Bohemian nature. And yet he died in poverty."