which he cleared Paris of more than twenty
thousand malefactors of the worst description.

After the turning period of Vidocq's
condemnation for forgery, his life was a series of
escapes from prison, each more impudent,
ingenious, and daring than the other. On one
occasion, in the Rue Equermoise, the principal
street of Lille, he stumbled on a police-agent,
face to face, and pretended to surrender, but got
away from his captor by throwing cinder-ashes
in his eyes. Another time, the Commissary
Jacquard got information that he was going to dine
in the Rue Notre-Dame, at a house where meals
were served to small parties of people. The
commissary proceeded there, accompanied by
four attendants, whom he left on the ground
floor, and went up-stairs himself to the very
room where Vidocq was seated at table with a
couple of ladies. The fourth guest, a recruiting
sergeant, had not yet arrived. Vidocq recognised
the commissary, who, never having seen
the object of his search, had not the same
advantage; his disguise, moreover, would have
thrown out all the written descriptions in the
world. Without beinp disconcerted in the least,
Vidocq accosted the intruder, in an easy tone of
voice, and requested him to step into a side
room, which had a glass door opening into the
large dining-room, on pretence that he had
something of importance to communicate.

"You are looking out for Vidocq? If you
will only wait ten minutes, I will point him out
to you. This is his knife and fork and his
plate; he cannot be long. When he comes in,
I will make signs to you; but, if you are alone,
I doubt whether you will be able to take him,
because he is armed, and is resolved to defend
himself."

"My men are on the staircase; and if he gets
away from me, they——"

"Do not leave them there on any account.
If Vidocq only catch sight of them, he will
suspect there is something in the wind, and your
bird will soon be flown."

"But where can I put them?"

"Eh! Mon Dieu, in this little room. But,
above all, take care not to make any noise: that
would spoil everything. I have quite as much
interest as you can have, in getting him out of
the way."

The commissary and his agents retired, therefore,
into the little room. The door was strong,
and was soon double-locked. Their unknown
friend, sure of making his escape, shouted to
them, "You are looking out for Vidocq? Well;
it is Vidocq who has caught and caged you.
Good-by, till next time."

Two other performances in the same style of
acting answered his purpose equally well, but
he was arrested at last, and brought back to the
Tour Saint-Pierre, where, for greater safety, he
was put into a dungeon, with criminals
condemned to death. His arrival could not have
been more opportune; his new companions had
long been preparing for a flight, in which he
was invited to take part, and which was put in
practice the third night afterwards. Eight of
the condemned men passed through a hole
perforated in the wall, within three paces of a
sentinel, who had not the slightest suspicion of
what was going on.

Seven prisoners still remained. According to
custom on such occasions, they drew straws to
decide who was to follow the first of the seven.
The lot fell to Vidocq, who undressed himself
in order to slip more easily through the opening,
which was very narrow; but, to everybody's
disappointment, he stuck fast, unable to move
either backwards or forwards. In vain his
companions endeavoured to pull him out by main
strength; he was caught and nipped as it were
in a vice, and his sufferings became so intolerable,
that, despairing of any aid from within, he called
the sentinel, to beg for help from without. The
soldier approached with the utmost precaution.
At his shouts, the guard seized their arms, the
turnkeys hastened to the spot with lighted
torches, and Vidocq was dragged out of the
hole in the masonry, leaving strips of skin behind
him. Wounded as he was, he was immediately
transferred to the prison called the Petit-Hôtel,
where he was thrust into a dungeon and loaded
with irons, hand and foot.

This severe lesson did not deter him from
again attempting to escape. One day he was
brought up for examination, together with
seventeen other prisoners. Two gendarmes
guarded them in the magistrate's ante-chamber,
whilst a picket of the line kept watch outside.
One of the gendarmes laid down his hat and
cloak to go into the magistrate's presence. A
bell rang to summon his comrade. In an
instant, Vidocq threw the cloak over his shoulders,
stuck the cocked-hat on his head, took one of
the prisoners by the arm, as if leading him out
for a breath of air, knocked at the door, which
was speedily opened by a corporal, and next
moment was in the street.

As a change, he joined a company of mountebanks
who were performing pantomimes at
Courtrai and Ghent. He lived very comfortably
on the share of the receipts allotted to him.
But one evening, just as he was about to make
his appearance before the admiring spectators,
he was arrested on the information of the clown,
who was furious at being outshone by a brighter
star. The consequence was a dungeon at Douai,
irons hand and foot, and the society of a couple
of finished scoundrels. At Toulon, he managed
to pass out of the town, through the gates,
acting on the bright idea—suggested by a female
friend—of joining the followers of a funeral.
He employed the freedom so obtained, to enlist
in a band of highway robbers, who turned him
out, a fortnight afterwards, on discovering, by
the mark on his shirt, that he came from the
galleys.

After numberless similar reimprisonments and
re-escapes, he tried hard to lead a comparatively
quiet and regular life, in the Faubourg St. Denis,
Paris, where he was not known. He set up as
a tailor, entered into the semblance of domestic
arrangements (his mother living with him,
together with a husbandless lady called Annette),