Tricks of the trade

In his continuing series, James Morton looks at the evolution of Nigerian scam letters and a murdering barrister

It is always good to see new and improved versions of old tricks.

Most solicitors must by now have been invited to join in a version of the old Spanish prisoner swindle and, I suspect, a few have fallen into the trap.

The trick, of which there have been several permutations over the centuries, actually dates back to the Armada.

In modern times, it cropped up at the end of the 19th century when a number of unsuspecting people, usually male, from all over the country received letters inviting them to share in the hidden loot, which an unfortunate had managed to extract from the government before his arrest.

If a relatively small amount of money could be sent to a priest who was helping the prisoner this would unlock almost untold wealth.

The kicker was that the prisoner had a daughter (photograph enclosed) just about to leave the convent to be entrusted to the care of the potential victim of the swindle.

If the potential victim put up the money then further demands would be made for steadily larger sums to bribe officers, prepare affidavits, obtain duplicate keys - the requirements were endless.

To bring things up to date, the fraudsters will suggest that it is SAS soldiers who, instead of finding Bin Laden have, unbeknown to their commanding officers, stumbled across a pile of Taliban gold.

A small investment will produce a huge dividend.

Another modern variant is a Serbian war criminal currently awaiting trial who needs help to get his loot out of the country.

Apparently, US doctors are some of the most susceptible to the trick - and in their case often a little dramatic pantomime is arranged.

They go down to Mexico to collect the key to the bank deposit vault somewhere near the Rio Grande.

Once south of the border, their guide tells them that the authorities are on their trail and imprisonment looms.

A good deal of money changes hands as they are, apparently, chased by the police before they manage to obtain the key and are taken back to the safety of Stateside.

In recent years, things have taken a more serious turn.

Nigerian gangs who are the masters of this fraud have taken to luring the victims to Africa and then not merely providing them with a taste of psycho-drama but actually kidnapping them for ransom.

So, let this be a warning; the next time a letter comes in the post asking for details of your client account at the NatWest so that half the Nigerian economy for the year can be funnelled into it, put it in the bin.

* **

Major Herbert Armstrong was certainly the only solicitor to be hanged for murder.

However, in the late 1800s one barrister was extremely fortunate not to be executed.

Henri Perreau possessed considerable charm and talent.

He had been a waiter in Paris when in the summer of 1867 he had been befriended by a William Cotton.

The Englishman foolishly engaged Perreau to show him the sights of the city and, when this proved to be a success, to take him to Constantinople as a guide.

One evening, the pair left their hotel and neither returned.

Perreau eventually did reappear, this time at the Prince of Wales' Hotel, Scarborough, where he was no longer a member of the staff.

He was now Count Henri de Tourville.

In that guise, he courted Henrietta Bingham, who was due to receive an inheritance of 30,000 on the death of her mother.

The mother must have thought it odd that the count had to borrow from her to finance the honeymoon; but she did not have to worry for long, because de Tourville soon shot her.

The coroner's verdict was one of misadventure.

A series of complaining letters was sent to the police, and a Scotland Yard detective was sent to investigate.

Unfortunately, it was the highly corrupt officer, Druscovich, who was soon satisfactorily bribed by the count.

No further action was taken.

Henrietta did not last too long after that.

The de Tourvilles had a son, and afterwards the mother fell ill and died of natural causes, having taken the precaution of leaving the bulk of her fortune to the child.

He nearly died in a fire which burned down the house.

Interestingly, the insurance company declined to pay out.

De Tourville came to London where he charmed his way into society and read for the bar.

He was again running out of funds when he met a widow, Madeleine Miller, who had the considerable income of 7,000 a year.

They married in November 1875 but she did not survive the honeymoon.

They had been to the Tyrol where the happy couple took a coach to the Stelvio Pass.

It was such a fine day they dismissed the coachman and walked back down.

Only de Tourville survived the ramble.

Although there were signs that his wife's body had been dragged over the edge, the coroner's verdict was that she had committed suicide.

De Tourville may have been home but he was not free.

The Austrian police had not given up and he was arrested at a London dinner party.

Despite the spirited efforts of Montagu Williams QC, he was extradited to Austria.

It is not recorded whether Mr Williams in the circumstances was obliged to observe the courtesy of appearing for a fellow barrister without payment.

What is recorded is that de Tourville was sentenced to death but was reprieved and the sentence was commuted to one of 'perpetual imprisonment'.

I cannot think of any other barristers who have been quite so much at risk - but if there have been, someone will no doubt let me know.

James Morton is a former criminal law specialist solicitor and now a freelance journalist