On a sultry August afternoon in 1903, a dapper, if somewhat anæmic, young man entered the Broadway store of Rogers, Peet & Company, in New York City, and asked to be allowed to look at a suit of clothes.  Having selected one to his fancy and arranged for some alterations, he produced from his wallet a check for $280, drawn to the order of George B. Lang, and signed E. Bierstadt, and remarked to the attentive salesman: 

“I haven’t got quite enough cash with me to pay for these, but I have been intending to cash this check all the afternoon.  Of course, you don’t know me or even that my name is Lang, but if you will forward the check to the bank they will certify it, and to-morrow I will send for the suit and the balance of the money.”

“Certainly, Mr. Lang,” replied the salesman.  “I will hold the suit and the money to await your orders.”

The customer thanked him and took his departure.  The check was sent to the bank, the bank certified it, then cancelled its certification and returned the check to Rogers, Peet & Company, and the store detectives, having communicated with Police Headquarters, anxiously awaited the arrival of Mr. Lang’s messenger.

Their efforts were rewarded a couple of days later by the appearance at the store of a lad who presented a written order (Fi and Fi inscribed upon the back of an envelope bearing a cancelled stamp and addressed to Geo. B. Lang, N West Twenty-sixth Street, New York City, which read as follows: 

    Rogers, Peet & Co.

Please give to bearer the clothes I purchased on Tuesday ­suit ­pants ­S. coat, and also kindly put change in envelope in inside coat pocket.  Trusting the alterations are satisfactory, and thanking you in advance for the favor and for past courtesies, I am,

    Resp. yours,

    Geo. B. Lang.

The boy was immediately placed under arrest, and after proclaiming his own innocence and vociferating that he was only doing an errand for a “gent,” who was waiting close by, was directed to return with his bundle as if nothing had occurred.  This he did, and Mr. George B. Lang was soon in the clutches of the law.

Interrogated by his captors, the supposed Lang admitted that his real name was James Parker, that he lived at 110 West Thirty-eighth Street, and only requested that his wife be immediately notified of what had happened.  At Headquarters the prisoner was identified as a gentleman who had been very actively engaged during the preceding months in passing bad checks throughout the city, his more recent operations having consisted in cashing a check on the Lincoln National Bank for $160 on July 20th, one for $290 on the same bank on July 30th, still another for $510.50 on August 4th, and one for $440.50 on the National Shoe and Leather Bank, “to bearer,” on August 8th.  This last, in some inexplicable way, had been cashed at the very bank itself.

Believing that the forger had at last been caught, the precinct detectives later on, during the evening of Parker’s arrest, visited no West Thirty-eighth Street, and on inquiring for “Mrs. Parker,” were introduced to a young girl of attractive appearance to whom they delivered their unwelcome message.  Mrs. Parker seemed overwhelmed at the news and strongly asserted her confidence in her husband’s innocence of any wrong-doing.  Having performed their errand the officers departed.

A certain ineradicable jealousy has always existed between the plain-clothes men of the various precincts and the sleuths attached to the Central Office, and in this instance the precinct men, having gained the credit for the arrest, it did not occur to them as necessary to communicate the knowledge of their acquaintance with Mrs. Parker to Detective Sergeants Peabody and Clark, originally assigned at Headquarters to investigate the case.

It seemed, however, to Peabody very unlikely that Parker had conducted his operations alone, and he therefore at once inquired at the Tombs what character of visitors came to see the prisoner.  The gateman replied that as yet none had arrived.  At that very instant a young girl stepped to the wicket and asked if she could be allowed to see Mr. James Parker.  It took the detective but a moment to run across to the Criminal Courts Building and to telephone the warden to detain her temporarily and then to refuse her request.  Five minutes later the girl emerged disconsolately from the Tombs and boarded a car going uptown.  Peabody followed her to 110 West Thirty-eighth Street, not for an instant supposing that the girl herself could be the forger, but believing that possibly through her he might learn of other members of the gang and secure additional evidence against Parker himself.

Of course, no intelligent person to-day supposes that, outside of Sir Conan Doyle’s interesting novels, detectives seek the baffling criminal by means of analyzing cigar butts, magnifying thumb marks or specializing in the various perfumes in favor among the fair sex, or by any of those complicated, brain fatiguing processes of ratiocination indulged in by our old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.  There are still, however, genuine detectives, and some of them are to be found upon the New York police force.  The magnifying glass is not one of the ordinary tools of the professional sleuth, and if he carries a pistol at all it is because the police rules require it, while those cases may be numbered upon the fingers of two hands where his own hair and whiskers are not entirely sufficient for his purposes in the course of his professional career.

The next morning Peabody donned the most disreputable suit in his wardrobe, neglected his ordinary visit to the barber, and called at 110 West Thirty-eighth Street, being, of course, at this time entirely unaware of the fact that the girl was Parker’s wife.  He found her sitting in a rocking chair in a comfortable, well-furnished room, and reading a magazine.  Assuming an expression of sheepish inanity he informed her that he was an old pal of “Jim’s” who had been so unfortunate as to be locked up in the same cell with him at Headquarters, and that the latter was in desperate need of morphine.  That Parker was an habitual user of the drug could be easily seen from the most casual inspection, but that it would prove an open sesame to the girl’s confidence was, as the detective afterward testified, “a hundred-to-one shot.”

“Poor Jim!” exclaimed the girl.  “Couldn’t you smuggle some into the Tombs for him?”

Peabody took the hint.  Of course he could.  It would be a hard job ­those turnkeys were so suspicious.  But he could do it for her if anybody could.  He rambled on, telling his experiences with Parker in the past, how he had been in Elmira Reformatory and elsewhere with him, and gaining each moment valuable information from the girl’s exclamations, questions, and expression.  He soon learned that she was Parker’s wife, that they were living in comparative comfort, and that she was an exceedingly clever and well-educated woman, but she said nothing during the conversation which would indicate that she knew anything of her husband’s offenses or of any persons connected with them.

After a few moments the girl slipped on her coat and hat and the two started down to the Tombs, where, by prearrangement with the officials, the detective succeeded in convincing her that he had been able to send in to her husband a small hypodermic syringe (commonly called “the needles”) which she had purchased at a neighboring drug store.

The apparent success of this undertaking put Mrs. Parker in excellent humor and she invited the supposed crook to breakfast with her at the Broadway Central Hotel.  So far, it will be observed, Peabody had accomplished practically nothing.  At breakfast the girl inquired of her companion what his particular “graft” was, to which he replied that he was an expert “second story man,” and then proceeded to indulge his imagination in accounts of bold robberies in the brown stone districts and clever “tricks” in other cities, which left Mrs. Parker in no doubt but that her companion was an expert “gun” of long experience.

Then he took, as he expressed it, “another chance.”

“Jim wanted me to tell you to put the gang ‘wise,’” said he.

The girl looked at him sharply and contracted her brows.

“Gang?” she exclaimed.  “What gang?  Oh, perhaps he meant ‘Dutch’ and ‘Sweeney.’”

Peabody bit his lip.  He had had a close call.

“Don’t know,” he replied, “he didn’t say who they were ­just to put them ‘wise.’”

A second time the detective had made a lucky hit, for Mrs. Parker suddenly laid aside all pretense and asked: 

“Do you want to make a lot of money?”

Peabody allowed that he did.

“Do you know what they have got Jim for?” asked the girl.

“‘Phoney’ paper, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Parker, “but Jim didn’t write those checks.  I wrote them myself.  If you want to go in with me, we can earn enough money to get Jim out and you can do a good turn for yourself besides.”

The detective’s blood leaped in his veins but he held himself under control as well as he could and answered indifferently.

“I guess not.  I never met a woman that was very good at that sort of game.”

“Oh, you don’t know me,” she persisted.  “Why, I can copy anything in a few moments ­really I can.”

“Too dangerous,” remarked Peabody.  “I might get settled for ten years.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she continued.  “It’s the easiest thing in the world.  All you have to do is to pick the mail out of some box on a corner.  I can show you how with a copper wire and a little piece of wax ­and you are sure to find among the letters somebody’s check in payment of a bill.  There at once you have the bank, and the signature.  Then all you have to do is to write a letter to the bank asking for a new check book, saying yours is used up, and sign the name that appears on the check.  If you can fool the cashier into giving your messenger a check book you can gamble pretty safely on his paying a check signed with the same name.  In that way, you see, you can get all the blank checks you need and test the cashier’s watchfulness at the same time.  It’s too easy.  The only thing you have to look out for is not to overdraw the account.  Still, you find so many checks in the mail that you can usually choose somebody’s account that will stand the strain.  Do you know, I have made hundreds of checks and the banks have certified every single one!”

Peabody laughed good naturedly.  Things were looking up a bit.

“What do you think I am, anyhow?” he asked.  “I must look like a ‘come-on.’”

“I’m giving it to you straight,” she said simply.  “After you have made out a good fat check, then you go to a store, buy something, tell them to forward the check to the bank for certification, and that you’ll send for the goods and the change the next day.  The bank always certifies the check, and you get the money.”

“Not always,” said Peabody with a grin.

“No, not always,” acquiesced Mrs. Parker.  “But Jim and I have been averaging over a hundred dollars a day for months.”

“Good graft, all right,” assented the detective.  “But how does the one who lays down the check identify himself?  For instance, suppose I go into Tiffany’s and pick out a diamond, and say I’m Mr. John Smith, of 100 West One Hundredth Street, and the floorwalker says, ’Sorry, Mr. Smith, but we don’t know you,’ what then?”

“Just flash a few letters on him,” said the girl.  “Letters and envelopes.”

“Where do you get ’em?” asked Peabody.

“Just write them, silly, and send them to yourself through the mail.”

“That’s all right,” retorted the “second story man.”  “But how can I mail myself a letter to 100 West One Hundredth Street when I don’t live there?”

Mrs. Parker smiled in a superior manner.

“I’m glad I can put you wise to a new game, I invented it myself.  You want letters of identification?  In different names and addresses on different days?  Very good.  Buy a bundle of stamped envelopes and write your own name and address on them in pencil.  When they arrive rub off the pencil address.  Then if you want to be John Smith of 100 West One Hundredth Street, or anybody else, just address the cancelled envelope in ink.”

“Mabel,” said Peabody with admiration, “you’ve got the ‘gray matter’ all right.  You can have me, if you can deliver the rest of the goods.”

“There’s still another little frill,” she continued, pleased at his compliment, “if you want to do the thing in style.  Maybe you will find a letter or bill head in the mail at the same time that you get your sample check.  If you do, you can have it copied and write your request for the check book and your order for the goods on paper printed exactly like it.  That gives a sort of final touch, you know.  I remember we did that with a dentist named Budd, at 137 West Twenty-second Street.” (Fi.)

“You’ve got all the rest whipped to a standstill,” cried Peabody.

“Well, just come over to the room and I’ll show you something worth while,” exclaimed the girl, getting up and paying their bill.

“Now,” said she, when they were safely at no West Thirty-eighth Street, and she had closed the door of the room and drawn Peabody to a desk in the bay window.  “Here’s my regular handwriting.”

She pulled towards her a pad which lay open upon the desk and wrote in a fair, round hand: 

“Mrs. James D. Singley.” (Fi.)

“This,” she continued, changing her slant and dashing off a queer feminine scrawl, “is the signature we fooled the Lincoln National Bank with ­Miss Kauser’s, you know.  And this,” she added a moment later, adopting a stiff, shaky, hump-backed orthography, “is the signature that got poor Jim into all this trouble,” and she inscribed twice upon the paper the name “E.  Bierstadt.”  “Poor Jim!” she added to herself.

“By George, Mabel,” remarked the detective, “you’re a wonder!  See if you can copy my name.”  And Peabody wrote the assumed name of William Hickey, first with a stub and then with a fine point, both of which signatures she copied like a flash, in each case, however, being guilty of the lapse of spelling the word Willia_m_ “Willia_n_.”

The pad now contained more than enough evidence to convict twenty women, and Peabody, with the remark, “You don’t want to leave this kind of thing lying around, Mabel,” pretended to tear the page up, but substituted a blank sheet in its place and smuggled the precious bit of paper into his pocket.

“Yes, I’ll go into business with you, ­sure I will!” said Peabody.

“And we’ll get enough money to set Jim free!” exclaimed the girl.

They were now fast friends, and it was agreed that “Hickey” should go and make himself presentable, after which they would dine at some restaurant and then sample a convenient mail box.  Meantime Peabody telephoned to Headquarters, and when the two set out for dinner at six o’clock the supposed “Hickey” was stopped on Broadway by Detective Sergeant Clark.

“What are you doing here in New York?” demanded Clark.  “Didn’t I give you six hours to fly the coop?  And who’s this woman?”

“I was going, Clark, honest I was,” whined “Hickey,” “and this lady’s all right ­she hasn’t done a thing.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to lock you up at Headquarters for the night,” said Clark roughly.  “The girl can go.”

“Oh, Mr. Clark, do come and have dinner with us first!” exclaimed Mrs. Parker.  “Mr. Hickey has been very good to me, and he hasn’t had anything to eat for ever so long.”

“Don’t care if I do,” said Clark.  “I guess I can put up with the company if the board is good.”

The three entered the Raleigh Hotel and ordered a substantial meal.  With the arrival of dessert, however, the girl became uneasy, and apparently fearing arrest herself, slipped a roll of bills under the table to “Hickey” and whispered to him to keep it for her.  The detective, thinking that the farce had gone far enough, threw the money on the table and asked Clark to count it, at the same tune telling Mrs. Parker that she was in custody.  The girl turned white, uttered a little scream, and then, regaining her self-possession, remarked as nonchalently as you please: 

“Well, clever as you think you are, you have destroyed the only evidence against me ­my handwriting.”

“Not much,” remarked Peabody, producing the sheet of paper.

The girl saw that the game was up and made a mock bow to the two detectives.

“I take off my hat to the New York police,” said she.

At this time, apparently, no thought of denying her guilt had entered her mind, and at the station house she talked freely to the sergeant, the matron and the various newspaper men who were present, even drawing pictures of herself upon loose sheets of paper and signing her name, apparently rather enjoying the notoriety which her arrest had occasioned.  A thorough search of her apartment was now made with the result that several sheets of paper were found there bearing what were evidently practice signatures of the name of Alice Kauser. (Fi.) Evidence was also obtained showing that, on the day following her husband’s arrest, she had destroyed large quantities of blank check books and blank checks.

Upon the trial of Mrs. Parker the hand-writing experts testified that the Bierstadt and Kauser signatures were so perfect that it would be difficult to state that they were not originals.  The Parker woman was what is sometimes known as a “free hand” forger; she never traced anything, and as her forgeries were written by a muscular imitation of the pen movement of the writer of the genuine signature they were almost impossible of detection.  When Albert T. Patrick forged the signature of old Mr. Rice to the spurious will of 1900 and to the checks for $25,000, $65,000 and $135,000 upon Swenson’s bank and the Fifth Avenue Trust Co., the forgeries were easily detected from the fact that as Patrick had traced them they were all almost exactly alike and practically could be superimposed one upon another, line for line, dot for dot.

Mabel Parker’s early history is shrouded in a certain amount of obscurity, but there is reason to believe that she was the offspring of respectable laboring people who turned her over, while she was still an infant, to a Mr. and Mrs. Prentice, instructors in physical culture in the public schools, first of St. Louis and later of St. Paul, Minnesota.  As a child, and afterwards as a young girl, she exhibited great precocity and a considerable amount of real ability in drawing and in English composition, but her very cleverness and versatility were the means of her becoming much more sophisticated than most young women of her age, with the result that while still in her teens she gave her adopted parents ground for considerable uneasiness.  Accordingly they decided to place her for the next few years in a convent near New York.  By this time she had attained a high degree of proficiency in writing short stories and miscellaneous articles, which she illustrated herself, for the papers and inferior magazines.  Convent life proved very dull for this young lady, and accordingly one dark evening, she made her exit from the cloister by means of a conveniently located window.

Waiting for her in the grounds below was James Parker, twenty-seven years old, already of a large criminal experience, although never yet convicted of crime.  The two made their way to New York, were married, and the girl entered upon her career.  Her husband, whose real name was James D. Singley, was a professional Tenderloin crook, ready to turn his hand to any sort of cheap crime to satisfy his appetites and support life; the money easily secured was easily spent, and Singley, at the time of his marriage, was addicted to most of the vices common to the habitues of the under world.  His worst enemy was the morphine habit and from her husband Mrs. Singley speedily learned the use of the drug.  At this time Mabel Prentice-Parker-Singley was about five feet two inches in height, weighing not more than 105 or 110 pounds, slender to girlishness and showing no maturity save in her face, which, with its high color, brilliant blue eyes, and her yellow hair, often led those who glanced at her casually to think her good looking.  Further inspection, however, revealed a fox-like expression, an irregularity in the position of the eyes, a hardness in the lines of the mouth and a flatness of the nose which belied the first impression.  This was particularly true when, after being deprived of morphine in the Tombs, her ordinary high color gave way at her second trial to a waxy paleness of complexion.  But the story of her career in the Tenderloin would prove neither profitable nor attractive.

The subsequent history of the Parker case is a startling example of the credulity of the ordinary jury.  The evidence secured was absolutely conclusive, but unfortunately juries are generally unwilling to take the uncorroborated word of a policeman against that of a defendant ­particularly if the defendant be a young and pretty woman.  Here at the very outset was a complete confession on the part of Mrs. Parker, supplemented by illustrations from her own pen of what she could do.  Comparison showed that the signatures she had written without a model upon the Peabody sheet were identical with those upon the forged checks (Fi and with Mr. Bierstadt’s and Miss Kauser’s handwriting.  When Mrs. Parker’s case, therefore, came on for pleading, her counsel, probably because they could think of nothing else to do, entered a plea of insanity.  It was also intimated that the young woman would probably plead guilty, and the case was therefore placed upon the calendar and moved for trial without much preparation on the part of the prosecution.  Instead of this young person confessing her guilt, however, she amused herself by ogling the jury and drawing pictures of the Court, the District Attorney and the various witnesses.

Probably no more extraordinary scene was ever beheld in a court of law than that exhibited by Part II of the General Sessions upon Mabel Parker’s first trial for forgery.  Attired in a sky blue dress and picture hat, with new white gloves, she sat jauntily by the side of her counsel throughout the proceedings toying with her pen and pencil and in the very presence of the jury copying handwriting which was given her for that purpose by various members of the yellow press who crowded close behind the rail.  From time to time she would dash off an aphorism or a paragraph in regard to the trial which she handed to a reporter.  If satisfactory this was elaborated and sometimes even illustrated by her for the evening edition of his paper.

The Assistant District Attorney complained that this was clearly a contempt of court, particularly as the defendant had drawn a picture not only of himself, but of the presiding justice and a witness, which had appeared in one of the evening papers.  The Court, however, did not see that anything could be done about it and the girl openly continued her literary and artistic recreation.  The Court itself was not a little amused at the actions of the defendant, and when Detective Peabody was called to the stand the general hilarity had reached such a pitch that he was unable to give his testimony without smiling.  The natural result, therefore, at the first trial, was that the detective succeeded in giving the unqualified impression that he was drawing the long bow in a most preposterous fashion.

At the conclusion of the People’s case the evidence that Mrs. Parker had forged the checks amounted simply to this:  That an officer who was greatly interested in her conviction had sworn to a most astonishing series of facts from which the jury must infer that this exceedingly astute young person had not only been entirely and completely deceived by a detective, but also that at almost their first meeting she had confessed to him in detail the history of her crimes.  Practically the only other evidence tending to corroborate his story were a few admissions of a similar character made by her to newspaper men, matrons and officers at the police station.  Unless the jury were to believe that Mrs. Parker had actually written the signatures on “the Peabody sheet” there was no evidence that she was the actual forger; hence upon Peabody’s word alone depended the verdict of the jury.  The trouble with the case was that it was too strong, too good, to be entirely credible, and had there been no defense it is exceedingly probable that the trial would have resulted in an acquittal, since the prosecution had elected to go to the jury upon the question of whether or not the defendant had actually signed the checks herself.

Mrs. Parker, however, had withdrawn her plea of insanity and determined to put in a defense, which proved in its turn to be even more extraordinary than the case against her.  This, in brief, was to the effect that she had known Peabody to be a police officer all along, but that it had occurred to her that if she could deceive him into believing that it was she herself who had committed the forgeries her husband might get off, and that later she might in turn establish her own innocence.  She had therefore hastily scratched her name on the top of a sheet already containing her husband’s handwriting and had told Peabody that the signatures had been written by herself.  That the sheet had been written in the officer’s presence she declared to be a pure invention on his part to secure her conviction.  She told her extremely illogical story with a certain winsome naïveté which carried an air of semi-probability with it.  From her deportment on the stand one would have taken her for a boarding school miss who in some inconsequent fashion had got mixed up in a frolic for which no really logical explanation could be given.

Then the door in the back of the court room opened and James Parker was led to the bar, where in the presence of the jury he pleaded guilty to the forgery of the very signature for which his wife was standing trial.  (Kauser check, Fi.) He was then sworn as a witness, took the stand and testified that he had written all the forged signatures to the checks, including the signatures upon “the Peabody sheet.”

The District Attorney found himself in an embarrassing position.  If Parker was the forger, why not challenge him to write the forged signatures upon the witness stand and thus to prove his alleged capacity for so doing?  The obvious objection to this was that Parker, in anticipation of this test, had probably been practicing the signature in the Tombs for months.  On the other hand if the District Attorney did not challenge him to write the signatures, the defense would argue that he was afraid to do so, and that as Parker had sworn himself to be the forger it was not incumbent upon the defense to prove it further ­that that was a matter for cross examination.

With considerable hesitation the prosecuting attorney asked Parker to write the Kauser signature, which was the one set forth in the indictment charging the forgery, and after much backing and filling on the part of the witness, who ingeniously complained that he was in a bad nervous condition owing to lack of morphine, in consequence of which his hand trembled and he was in no condition to write forgeries, the latter took his pen and managed to make a very fair copy of the Kauser signature from memory, good enough in fact to warrant a jury in forming the conclusion that he was in fact the forger. (Fi.) This closed the case.

The defense claimed that it was clear that James Parker was the forger, since he had admitted it in open court, pleaded guilty to the indictment and proved that he had the capacity.  The prosecution, upon the other hand, argued that the evidence was conclusive that the defendant herself was the writer of the check.  The whole thing boiled down to whether or not the jury was going to believe that Mrs. Parker had written “the Peabody sheet” in the presence of the detective, when her husband claimed that, with the exception of Mabel’s signature, he had done it himself and carelessly left the paper in his desk in the room.

The prosecuting attorney was at his wits’ end for an argument to meet the fact that Parker had written a sample forgery of the Kauser signature before the very eyes of the jury.  He found it at last in an offer on his own part in open court during his “summing up” to write for the jury from memory a better forgery of the Kauser signature than that written by Parker himself, and thus to show how simple a matter it was to learn to do so.  He had taken up his pen and was about to give a sample of his handiwork in this respect when the defendant grasped her counsel’s arm and whispered:  “For God’s sake, don’t let him do it!” whereupon the lawyer arose and objected, saying that such evidence was improper, as the case was closed.  As might have been expected under the circumstances, considering the blunders of the prosecution and the ingenuous appearance of the defendant, the trial ended in a disagreement, the jury standing eight to four for acquittal.

The District Attorney’s office now took up a thorough investigation of the case, with the result that on a second prosecution Mrs. Parker was confronted with a mass of evidence which it was impossible for her to refute.  A boy named Wallace Sweeney, sentenced to the Elmira Reformatory, was found to have been an active accomplice of the Parkers for several years, and he was accordingly brought down to New York, where he gave a complete history of his relations with them.  His story proved beyond any doubt that Mrs. Parker was the forger of the checks in the possession of the District Attorney, and of many others beside, some of them for very large amounts.  The evidence of Sweeney was of itself quite sufficient to warrant a conviction.  To make assurance doubly sure, however, the District Attorney upon the second trial moved a new indictment, setting forth as the forgery a check signed “E.  Bierstadt,” so that when Parker took the stand, as he had done in the former trial and testified that he was the forger, he found himself unable to write this new signature, and hence his testimony went for nothing.

But even the testimony of Sweeney was that of an accomplice, requiring corroboration, while that of Peabody remained the evidence of “a mere policeman,” eager to convict the defendant and “add another scalp to his official belt.”  With an extraordinary accumulation of evidence the case hinged on the veracity of these two men, to which was opposed the denial of the defendant and her husband.  It is an interesting fact that in the final analysis of the case the jury were compelled to determine the issue by evidence entirely documentary in character.  It is also an illustration of what tiny facts stamp whole masses of testimony as true or false.

On her examination Mrs. Parker had sworn among other things:  (1) That she had no knowledge of the envelope, the back of which had been used by Parker for the purpose of directing Rogers, Peet & Co. to deliver the clothes and money to his messenger ­and, of course, that the words “Mr. Geo. B. Lang” were not in her handwriting.  This was one of the envelopes claimed by the prosecution to have been originally addressed in pencil and sent to themselves by the Parkers through the mail for this precise purpose. (2) That she had never seen the “Kauser practice sheets,” and that the words “Alice Kauser,” repeated hundreds of times thereon, were not in her handwriting.  For some reason unknown to the District Attorney, however, she admitted having written the words “I am upstairs in the bath-room” upon a similar sheet, but claimed that at the time this was done the reverse of the paper was entirely blank.

Microscopic examination showed that among the words “Alice” and “Kauser” on the practice sheets some one had written a capital “M.”  One of the legs of the “M” crossed and was superimposed upon a letter in the word “Alice.”  Hence, whoever wrote the “M” knew what was on the practice sheet.  An enlargement of this “M” and a comparison of it with the “M” in the defendant’s signature to her formal examination in the police court, with the “M” in “Mr.” in the address on the envelope and with that in the “Mrs.” on the “Peabody sheet,” rendered it obvious that they were all written by one and the same hand.  Therefore it was clear that the defendant was familiar with the contents of the practice sheets (Fi.), even if she had not written them herself and had not told the truth in this regard.

Moreover, it was fairly easy to see that the same hand that had written the words “I am upstairs in the bath-room” upon the second practice sheet had at the same time and with the same pen written the rest of the sheet.  This was clearly perceptible on examining the “e’s” and “à’s.”

A comparison of the address “Mr. Geo. B. Lang” (on Fi with the name Mrs. James D. Singley (on Fi also shows clearly that one and the same person wrote them both.  And to the accuracy of all these self-evident propositions a leading handwriting expert in New York added his unqualified opinion.

Thus, but for a little carelessness in failing to destroy odd scraps of paper and to disguise her penmanship which it seemed to her quite unnecessary to do, as in the address of the “Lang” envelope, Mrs. Parker might well have gone free after all.

It is impossible to describe all the varied dramatic features of this interesting case.  No one who was present is likely to forget the impression made by the defendant at her second trial, when in defiance of overwhelming proof she still struggled to vindicate herself.

Her counsel contended throughout the trial that she was a hitherto innocent young woman led astray and started upon a criminal career by a rascally husband, whom she still loved devotedly and for whose sake she had prepared to confess herself a criminal.  That James Parker introduced his wife to a life of crime there can be no doubt, but that she had a natural predilection for it must be equally obvious.  It is probably true that Mabel Parker’s affection for her convict husband was unfeigned and deep.  The natural repugnance of the American jury for convicting a woman was shown when in spite of the overwhelming proof upon the Parker woman’s second trial the jury remained out eight hours and then found her guilty of “uttering only,” with a strong recommendation for mercy.  She was sentenced to the Bedford Reformatory.