Free The Man Who Was Jekyll and Hyde by Rick Wilson Page A

opposing night-time world of flickering street lanterns, dark closes, drunken trysts, dubious motivations, violence and shady contacts.
    Though it was at first a secret only to himself, this darker half that he feigned to struggle with but really relished was about to take over his life. It had occurred to him in the course of his legitimate work – the making of cabinets with doors and house or office doors themselves – that if he had not fitted them himself, he had exclusive access to some clients’ keys, having a whole selection either directly to hand or being able to find and copy them. And while the conclusion of this thought was fully forming, a double opportunity was presenting itself. The council had decided, with the inclusion of his vote, to clear away the ancient cobbles of the High Street and lower its overall level, with the attendant need to replace doors (often with new locks) – which was, almost literally, just up Brodie’s street. So many keys! So many chances to access other people’s premises! It was more than such an easily tempted man could resist.
    There is no record of whether the Deacon battled with his conscience at this point, but one suspects not; if he had such a thing, he might have paid it lip service, but all the evidence suggests he was romantically excited about his new ‘naughty’ choice of direction; that he saw it as a kind of (nicely lucrative) sport. And so it all began, the long series of sinister house and shop break-ins that suddenly gripped the city centre and deeply puzzled it too. Some places were entered with so little disturbance and damage that many people began to think there was some supernatural power at work.
    For Brodie the delicious irony of it all was that – while making all the right shocked noises to the victims and acquaintances about such ‘outrageous’ thefts – he himself was benefiting from alarmed property-owners asking for increased security in the form of stronger doors and better locks.
    So what were the offending incidents? Not considering earlier events suspected of being his work, such as the daylight robbery of an old lady and that of Thomson’s tobacconist shop just after his father died in 1780 (see the previous chapter), the main series happened some six years later. This consisted of eleven break-ins in all, the first perpetrated by Brodie himself who, on such expeditions, always carried a shaded lantern and sometimes a pistol (or two), and dressed in a crepe mask and dark clothes. He made his first mistake when he began to work with three dubious accomplices.
    First to be recruited – as a daytime locksmith for the Brodie workshop as well as an aide in nocturnal projects – was a Berkshire refugee called George Smith, who had come to Scotland with his wife and horse-drawn cart in mid-1786 and taken shelter at the Grassmarket stables of Michael Henderson, which accommodated not just horses and fighting cocks but (according to one historian) ‘the lower order of travellers’.
    Being around there a lot to cheer on his feathered friends, William Brodie soon made Smith’s acquaintance and noted not just his dire circumstances but also his professed skills as a locksmith. With his physical and financial health going rapidly downhill, the Englishman had had to sell his horse and cart to pay his rent, so – Brodie reckoned – he would no doubt be open to ‘ideas’ to improve his lot. Having accordingly groomed him with friendly conversation, Brodie eventually broached the possibility of ‘something being done to advantage, provided a due degree of caution is exercised’ – and did not have to ask twice. The ‘doing of something’ was clearly nothing new or particularly daunting to Smith, who, having had his expertise with locks well tested by Brodie, was quickly brought on board – and just as quickly improved his lot by setting up home and a suitable ‘front’ as small grocery shop in the Cowgate. He often accompanied his boss