"You may say that he does not dare to steal--that he knows a single false move on his part will bring instant punishment. But I say he has no desire to steal--that he has reformed. And thousands of other criminals would reform if society would give them half a chance. Baffling Hotel Robberies. "Several years ago there was a series of hotel robberies in New York that baffled the police. The thief always worked with keys, opening doors and then unlocking baggage left in rooms, and he always got away with the goods. At last one night the word came to headquarters that a man had been caught in one of the big hotels who was suspected of being the author of all the robberies. I was visiting Chief Devery at the time and he asked me to go with him to the West Thirtieth street station to look the man over. "The man arrested was a well dressed, respectable looking little man, with a white beard--the last man who would be taken for a thief if seen in a hotel corridor. His face was vaguely familiar to me, but I had some difficulty in placing him. Finally it struck me. I had seen him nearly thirty years before on the occasion of a big prize fight in New Orleans, when he had been arrested for the same trick. It came over me like a flash and I told him I knew him. "'What's the use of making trouble?' he asked. 'These fools don't know anything about me unless you put them wise.' "I told Chief Devery what I remembered about the man, who protested violently that he had never been in New Orleans in his life. Then another thought struck me. "'You've been in New Orleans more than once,' I said. 'The last time was about six months ago, when you got Denman Thompson's diamonds in the St. Charles Hotel.' I remembered the report of that case, but it was a chance shot on my part, for no one had seen the thief. The old fellow denied this vigorously. "He was wearing a new derby hat. I don't know what impulse prompted me, but I took the hat off his head and looked inside. It bore the mark of a New Orleans hatter. "The Chief and I left the station and had just turned into Sixth avenue when I remembered the old fellow's name. We went back to the station house and I confronted him again. I told him his name. He denied that it was his. "'What's the use of making trouble, Mr. Pinkerton?' he pleaded. His inadvertent use of my name, which had not been mentioned there, gave him away. "'I don't know what kind of a case the police here have on you,' I told him, 'but we are retained by the Jewelers' Protective Association, and if you get after any jewelry drummers I'll make it hot for you.' And as a precaution I got his photograph from the New York police. They didn't have much of a case on him and he got off.