The Polite Pair

Paris newspapers were as indignant over the thefts as their readers, but they had to admit that the series of burglaries which had plagued the residents in fashionable Neuilly and the Bois de Boulogne over the past month had been carried out in exquisite style, "avec delicatesse et galanterie," as one paper put it.

The two burglars--"the polite pair," the papers called them--broke into the house of U.S. Commercial Attache Edward Krause. The little fat one, "le petit gros," forced the Krauses into a bedroom at the point of a gun while his lanky partner, le grand mince," ransacked the apartment. But afterwards they settled down with their victims over some Alsatian wine and slices of cold steak for a sociable chat. Little Fatty even returned Mrs. Krause's engagement ring. "Keep it, Madame," he said magnanimously. "It is too small."

When the polite pair dropped in uninvited at the home of M. le Comte d'Exelmans, the fat one was courtesy itself. He apologized profusely for having to tie up the count's wrists, and before departing with the family safe's 1,500,000 francs' worth of jewelry, he turned to the countess with a deep bow. "Chere Madame," he said, "if perhaps I have here some family jewels especially dear to your heart, pray tell me and you shall keep them."

With scarcely a harsh word spoken and no show of disorder beyond a cut telephone wire, the fat burglar and the thin managed to filch 600,000 francs in bills from Engineer Henri Berger's office safe and persuade Henri to order another 6,000,000 sent over from the safe in his apartment.

A Fall from Manners. One night last week the polite pair received a rude shock. They had just broken into the tasty Bois de Boulogne villa of Lionel de Tinguy du Pouet, France's Under Secretary of State for Finance and Economic Affairs, when they were confronted with Madame de Vasselot, the Under Secretary's aging but formidable mother-in-law. Suavely they asked her the way to the nearest safe and requested her to open it. The old lady refused pointblank.

Fatty threatened gently for two hours. Mme. de Vasselot remained adamant. Then the petit gros forgot his manners. Whipping out a pocket knife, he vowed he would cut Madame's ears off then & there if she did not relent. Mme. de Vasselot opened the safe.

Rummaging petulantly through a pile of loot, the once-polite pair cast aside a handful of unsuitable rings and brooches. "Junk," they murmured, then left with 12 million francs' worth of jewelry. As a parting insult to their uncooperative hostess, they drove off in her car.

A Fall from Fortune. A few days later, on a telephoned tip, two Paris police inspectors spotted a dignified, dapper little father walking his boys (age 4 and 12) in the sunny Bois. They waited till he was sitting pina?" they alone at a asked. cafe. "C'est moi," "Monsieur answered Della-le petit gros, "I'll follow you. But please don't tell my boys what I've done." At police headquarters the inspectors found that their prisoner was a Corsican refugee from the police of Marseille, who wanted him for the murder of a Nor wegian consul general in 1946. His part ner, he said, was another Corsican named Mondonini, also wanted for other crimes.

The residents of Neuilly and the Bois, like the concierge at the little fat one's own apartment, shook their heads in wonder ment. "He was such a man of the world," said the shattered concierge. "He had no vice except Benedictine liqueur, which he drank by the bottle."

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