ncerely,

GEORGE DILNOT.

London,
October, 1915.

SCOTLAND YARD.

By GEORGE DILNOT.

"By all means let us abuse the police, but let us see what the poor
wretches have to do."--KIPLING.

CHAPTER I.

THE SILENT MACHINE.

We who live in London are rather apt to take our police for granted.
Occasionally, in a mood of complacency, we boast of the finest police
force in the world; at other times, we hint darkly at corruption and
brutality among a gang of men too clever, too unscrupulous to be found
out. We associate Scotland Yard with detectives--miraculous creations of
imaginative writers--forgetting that the Criminal Investigation
Department is but one branch in a wondrously complex organisation. Of
that organisation itself, we know little. And in spite of--or perhaps
because of--the mass of writing that has made its name familiar all over
the world, there exists but the haziest notion as to how it performs its
functions.

Perhaps one of the reasons for this ignorance is that Scotland Yard
never defends itself, never explains, never extenuates. Praise or blame
it accepts in equal silence. It goes on its way, ignoring everything
that does not concern it, acting swiftly, impartially, caring nothing
save for duty to be done.

There is romance in Scotland Yard--a romance that has never been
written, that may never be written. It concerns the building up, in the
face of incredible obstacles, of a vast, ingenious machine which has
become one of the greatest instruments of civilisation the world has
ever seen.

Imagine an army of 20,000 men encamped over seven hundred square miles,
with its outposts in every quarter of the globe--an army engaged in
never-ceasing warfare with the guerillas of crime and disorder. Imagine
something of the work it does.

In a city of seven million souls, crammed with incalculable wealth,
there are less than a thousand habitual thieves--the exact number is
706--and 161 receivers of stolen goods. In spite of all its temptations,
there are but seventeen thousand serious crimes in a year, while the
number of more trivial offences is only one hundred and seventy
thousand. Few of the perpetrators escape justice. Compare this record
with that of any city in the world. Ask Paris, ask New York, ask
Petrograd, and you will begin to realise how well protected London is.

In a large soft-carpeted room, its big double windows open to catch the
breezes that blow from the