Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art Fifth Series No. 22 Vol. I May 31 1884 by Various

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OUR DETECTIVE POLICE.

The number of murders that have taken place, and the very few murderers that have been brought to justice in and about London during the last few months, must go far towards contradicting the assertion to the effect that the metropolis of England is 'the safest city in the world' to live in. And if to the list of crimes against life which have not been, and never are likely to be, brought home to the perpetrators, we add the innumerable thefts, burglaries, and other offences against property which go unpunished because the criminals are never found out, it can hardly be denied that we require a new departure in the system of our Detective Police, for the simple reason that, as at present constituted, the practical results of the same are very much the reverse of satisfactory.

I mention these two cases, out of not a few with which I am acquainted, as illustrating in some measure the very different systems on which the detectives of England and France do their work. In the latter country, as in every other country in Europe, London is regarded by the dangerous classes as the happy hunting-ground of thieves and rogues of all kinds. I am fully aware that many Englishmen would regard the French detective mode of working as underhand and mean, and object to what they would term any underhand work of the kind. But surely when a question of such magnitude as the detection of crime is mooted, the authorities ought not to be guided by what is merely a matter of sentiment. Murderers, burglars, thieves, swindlers, and all other evil-doers, do not hesitate to use the most effectual means at their command in order to insure success to themselves. Why, then, should we do so? Crime of every kind is getting daily more and more clever and scientific in its working; why should we not avail ourselves of every possible advantage which the perpetrators of crime can command? One thing is very certain, that unless we take a new departure in the manner we attempt to detect crime, the dangerous classes will very soon have everything their own way. As a French police agent once told me, every crime that is undiscovered serves as an incentive for a dozen more of the same kind.

With respect to the very strong dislike which some persons have to anything in the shape of a secret police--or rather to disguised agents of the police acting as spies in the camp of the dangerous classes--it ought not to be forgotten that the same prejudice existed half a century ago against the 'new police,' or the 'Peelers' as they were called, being substituted for the watchmen or 'Charlies' of our grandfathers' days. If the authorities are wise enough to constitute and maintain a really efficient system of secret police agents in the place of what we now call 'plain-clothes officers,' the result will be much the same as was the substitution of a regular metropolitan police in place of the old watchmen. But if this greatly called-for change is delayed much longer, we shall see the criminal classes gaining in strength every year, until it will become as difficult to get the mastery over them as is the case in some of the Western States in America. A secret police, or rather, a number of secret agents of the police, organised on the French system, is what we must institute ere long, and the sooner it is taken in hand the better. Those who require their services do not hesitate to employ 'Private Inquiry Offices' and other similar establishments; why should the government decline to entertain the idea of such an agency as is here advocated? If any man of influence and authority in the land could be present at a 'business' meeting of English, French, and a few German thieves in some of the lowest haunts of 'Foreign London,' an efficient system of secret detective police would very soon become established in what has been foolishly called 'the safest city in the world.'

BY MEAD AND STREAM.

'I am going to the village, Ada, to see Mr Beecham, but I shall not be long,' said Wrentham to his wife.

She in her pale, delicate prettiness was as unlike the mate of such a man as Wrentham as a gazelle linked to a Bengal tiger would appear. But she was fond of him, believed in him, and was as happy in her married state as most of her neighbours seemed to be. Indeed, she believed herself to be a great deal happier than most of them. So far as the household arrangements were concerned, he was a model husband: he interfered with none of them. He seldom scolded: he accepted his chop or steak with equanimity whether it was over or under done ; and he had even put on a pair of unbrushed boots without saying anything aloud. What woman is there who would not appreciate such a husband?

Mrs Wrentham did appreciate him, and was devoted to him. She had brought him a few hundreds, with which her father, a country tradesman, had dowered her, and of that Wrentham declared he was able to make a fortune. With that intent most of his time was occupied in the City; and she often lamented that poor Martin was so eager to make 'hay whilst the sun shone'--as he called it--that he was working himself to death.

'Never mind, dear,' he would say: 'there is no time like the present for laying by a store; and we shall have leisure to enjoy ourselves when we have made a comfortable little fortune.'

'But if you should kill yourself in the meanwhile, Martin!'

'Nonsense, Ada; I am too tough a chap to be killed so easily.'

Then he would go off gaily to the City . She would sigh, and sit down to wait for the happy time when that little fortune should be made.

The man whilst he spoke to her was sincere enough; but in the feverish excitement of his speculations he forgot all about wife and home.

In one of the darkest parts of the street there was a little window illuminated by a single 'dip:' that 'dip' revealed a jumble of sweetmeats, cheap, gaudy toys, and penny picture-books. The eager eyes of a group of children discovered there a palace of wonder and delight, filled with objects of surpassing interest and ambition. There was a wooden sword which young Hodge regarded as more powerful than his father's spade and pick-axe: there was a gilt gingerbread man with a cocked-hat, which was looked upon with breathless admiration as a correct model of the Prince of Wales in all the splendour of royal attire. There was a brief discussion as to whether the cocked-hat should not have been a gold crown, which was undoubtedly the proper headgear for a prince. This, however, was settled by a mite of a girl, who suggested that the cocked-hat was worn when the Prince went out for a walk, and the crown when he was in the palace.

Next in attractive power was a greenish bottle full of brandy-balls; and the children's teeth watered as they gazed upon it. A Lord Mayor's dinner must be a small thing compared with that window with its jumble of sweets and toys.

'Wouldn't you like to have some of these nice things? How happy we would be if life could be all gilt gingerbread and brandy-balls!'

That was exactly what they had been thinking, and an appalled silence fell upon the little group, as they turned to stare at the wizard who had read their desire through the backs of their heads. But they all knew the kindly face of the gentleman who was looking at them so pleasantly. They did not note the shade of sadness and pity that was in his eyes. The faces of the younger children broadened into smiles of expectation: the elder ones hung their heads a little--shy, doubting, hoping, and vaguely fearing that they had been caught doing something wrong.

Mr Beecham patted one of them on the head--a child of about six years.

'Suppose you had sixpence, Totty, what would you do?'

'Buy all the shop.'

'And what then?'

'Eat um,' was the prompt and emphatic answer.

'What! would you not share with your friends?'

Totty looked round at her friends, who were anxious about her next reply.

'Such a lot of 'em,' she said with a kind of sulky greediness.

'Well, sixpence will not buy the whole shop; but I shall give it to your brother, and he must spend it upon something which can be easily divided into equal parts, so that you may all share alike.'

The gift was accepted in silence; but he had only moved a few paces away when there arose a hubbub of young voices angrily disputing as to what should be purchased with their fortune. He turned back and settled the matter for them. Whilst thus occupied, he was visited with the unpleasant reflection that what we want does not cause us so much trouble as what we possess. These children had been happy gazing at what they had no expectation of attaining. In imagination they could pick and choose each what he or she most fancied. Then he had come like an evil genius amongst them and by his trifling gift had produced discord. Had he purchased all that was in the shop there would still have been dissatisfaction.

'Communism will never thrive,' he muttered as he walked away, after pacifying his little prot?g?s as best he could; 'the selfish individual will always be too strong for it. Master Philip is making a mistake.'

His first movement from the darkness in which he stood suggested that he purposed saluting Mr Beecham at once; but he altered his mind, lit a cigar, and strolled leisurely after him. He had found a new interest in the stranger: it sprung out of his profound respect for Mr Hadleigh, for he was convinced that every word spoken by that gentleman, and certainly every act performed by him, was the result of careful reflection and shrewd foresight. He was not a man to do anything without a distinct view to his own advantage. Wrentham intended to share that advantage. But as he was at present unable to conceive what it might be, and was working entirely in the dark, with the hope merely that he should discover the meaning of it all as he proceeded, he considered it wise to move with caution whilst he maintained the bearing of a most willing servant.

He had been under the impression that he had sounded the depths of Mr Beecham's character pretty correctly; but Mr Hadleigh's inquiries and the incident with the children suggested two such opposite phases, that Wrentham could only conclude one of them must be wrong. Mr Hadleigh had started the suspicion that Beecham had some design in hand, the discovery of which would be useful: the scene with the children brought Wrentham back to his first impression--that he was a simple-minded but clear-sighted gentleman who was willing to lose a few pounds at cards occasionally without grumbling.

When at length he was shown into the room, Mr Beecham was closing a large envelope, which he placed on his desk in order to shake hands with his visitor. At each side of the desk was a bright lamp with a white shade, reflecting the light full upon the document he had laid down. Wrentham had no difficulty in reading the address.

'Hope I am not disturbing you. Got home early, and took it into my head to come down and have a cigar and a chat. If you're busy, I'll bolt.'

'No necessity. I had only to address an envelope to a friend with some inclosures, and that is done. You are very welcome to-night, although we are not likely to have a chat, as I have invited some young people to a conjuring entertainment.'

'I am afraid you will find me an ungracious guest,' said Wrentham, laughing, 'for I had made up my mind to have a quiet evening with you alone, and I have no fancy for jugglers--their tricks are all so stale.'

'You will find this man particularly amusing. He is clever with his tongue as well as his hands, and is remarkably well-mannered, although you will be astonished, perhaps, to learn that he is only a street performer. I ought not to have told you that until after you had seen him. However, my chief pleasure will be--and I am sure yours will be--in seeing how the children enjoy the magician's wonders. Mr Tuppit tells me that he never has so much delight in his work as when he has an audience of young people. We have got the large dining-room for the performance, and it is likely to turn out a brilliant affair. You must stay.'

At the mention of the conjurer's name, Wrentham made a curious movement, as if he had dropped something--it was only the ash of his cigar which had fallen on his sleeve. He dusted it into the fender.

'I wish I could go into things of this sort like you,' he said, smiling admiringly at Mr Beecham's enthusiasm; 'but I can't. I don't believe you could do it either, if you had heavy and anxious work on hand. But you belong to the lucky ones who have successfully passed the Rubicon of life. You have made your hay, and can amuse yourself without thinking about to-morrow. I am never allowed to get to-morrow out of my head.'

'Most people say that,' was Mr Beecham's response, with one of his quiet smiles; 'and I always think it is because we waste to-day in thinking of to-morrow.'

'Hit again,' exclaimed Wrentham with a frank laugh. 'I believe you are right; but we cannot all be philosophers. Nature has most to do in forming us, whatever share education may have in it. Where the dickens did you pick up your philosophy? In the east, west, north, or south? Have you been a traveller for pleasure or on business? Where have you been? What have you done, that you should be able always to see the sunny side of life? There's a string of questions for you. Don't trouble to answer them, although I should like if possible to learn how you became what you are--so calm, so happy.'

All this was spoken so good-humouredly--as if it were the outcome of nothing more than jesting curiosity--that Wrentham fancied he had very cleverly turned to useful account a passing observation. His host could not avoid giving him some direct information about his career now.

Mr Beecham appeared to be amused--nothing more.

'I have travelled in many directions of the compass, partly on business, partly on pleasure. Everywhere I have found that although the scenes are different, men are the same. Those who have had a fortune made for them spend it, wisely or unwisely as may be; those who have not, strive or wish to strive to make one for themselves. Some succeed, some fail: but the conditions of happiness are the same in either case--those who are the most easily content are the most happy.'

'Beaten,' thought Wrentham. 'What a clever beggar he is in answering the most direct questions with vague generalities.' What he said was this:

'I suppose that you had a fortune made for you, and so could take things easy?'

'A little was left to me, but I am glad to say not enough to permit me to be idle. I cannot say that I have worked hard, but I worked in the right direction, and the result has been satisfactory--that is, so far as money is concerned.'

'Wish you would give me a leaf out of your book: it might start me in the right direction too.'

'Some day you shall have the whole book to read, Mr Wrentham, and I shall be delighted if you find it of service.'

'But what line were you in? I should like to know.'

'So you shall, so you shall--by-and-by.--You have allowed your cigar to go out. Try one of these Larranagas; and excuse me for a minute--I want to send this away.'

He took up the packet which Wrentham had observed lying on the desk, and quitted the room.

THE ASHBURNHAM COLLECTIONS.

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