CROOKS’ SIGNALS

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 359, 21 May 1928, Page 11

CROOKS’ SIGNALS

WELL-GROOMED CRIMINALS The racecourse has its "tick-tack,” the Secret Service its cypher code, and when nations are at war they alter their signal books from day to day. The well-dressed criminal and gangster Las a method of communication which he carries out secretly in the open. Whether Government departments have taken a “tip” from the old London thieves’ kitchen or vice versa doesn’t particuarly mat- j ter, writes an ex-convict, John Murphy, in the “Sunday News.” No use warning the proverbial fool, because he will never see what is going on around him until he misses his wallet; but for the sake of amusement I would ask the next man ——or woman—who moves about in public places to watch for unusual movements or gestures made by particularly well-groomed people. The professional mobsmen usually assemble in the saloon bars of pub-lic-houses or hotel bars, and the mobs or combinations always have a means of communication by secret signs. They usually hunt in pairs, accompanied sometimes by a female, as it is necessary, in the first place, to give each other a sign, called “the down” —a caution or hint. That is only a preliminary. The system is so simple and natural that it passes mostly unnoticed, unless you know something inside. But it is the refine- : ment of crook work, and only the most “respectable” members are initiated. Let us say a confidence man may be playing with one of his own coat buttons. It means to his confederate “be cautious.” His pal scratches his right ear, telegraphing back, “All right, I am keeping my eyes open.” A young man at a bar holds out his cigar and knocks the ash off. He is signalling to his female companion:“The gent I am pointing at has just opened a wallet well filled with notes.” The girl with the face of a cherub smiles at the old fellow, and he is certain to lose his money. [All this, I may say in passing, applies to any place of resort, whether it be the city’s pet saloon or the workman’s pub on Friday night. It is only a question of degrees of “respectability” in crookdom.] Again, let us say, a young man takes a seat, crosses his left leg over his right. He is telling his confederate “not to trouble about the man on his right.” A young man comes to London, forms a casual acquaintance with a gorgeously dressed, matronly sort of female. She offers to show him round. He gladly accepts her offer, and in a few minutes he is accompanying her to a cafe in Soho. A man sitting at a table puts his thumb and two fingers together. He is asking the lady: “Has your companion got any money?” She looks in her mirror, and puts ! powder on her face, which means i “Yes.” 11 she keeps powdering her

face it means “he lias got plenty.* If she lights a cigarette, holding it between the left thumb and finger, she is saying “I want to introduce you, because I want your assistance to rob him.” Perhaps a benevolent-looking old “gentleman” is sitting in an hotel lounge strokiag hi 3 chin. He is merely signalling. “That man is worth watching.” The old gent is a broken-down swell who knows everyone, and gets a living in the underworld by pointing out good plump pigeons. The same old campaigner may be for a time absorbed in a financial paper. Suddenly he folds the paper, taps casually on the table and moves out. He has signalled to his gang, “Nothing doing here. Follow me.” Something else: a well-groomed old man occupies a lounge in a fashionable theatre. He is in evening dress, the seeming incarnation of respectability. His eyes are half closed, his hands clasped before him. He seems to be taking a nap, and his fingers gently moving up and down, as in a pleasant dream. This, to a wellgroomed companion who is chatting casually to a tenderfoot, means, “I am coming up to the counter. I shall tap the mug on the shoulder. Take his tie-pin!” There is always the snag in every criminal scheme. Perhaps the police know something about underworld signs, and nowadays the croak is never quite sure whether that fresh-looking youth is not on the other side. The “Split” It is a comparatively easy thing to take a booby’s diamond tie-pin, while brushing away a few flecks of cigar ash, but there is the odd chance the supposed simple Simon may be a split”—a detective. Usually somebody in the gang is watching, and a quiet snapping of the fingers is just as good as a red light on a road. I could go on elaborating the system. The only trouble to the ordinary observer is that the signals change from day to daj', month to month, year to year—like the war code book. And it is a perpetual war—police and . crooks.