In a corner of one room in Scotland Yard is piled a miscellaneous heap
of thieves' equipment--jemmies, chisels, scientific safe-breaking
implements, and other oddments. The office periodically destroys these,
though their fashioning has probably cost skilled workmen much time and
trouble. Only a new invention is spared, and that so that it may be
placed in the Black Museum for instructive purposes.

In other rooms is kept the personal property of the prisoners still
undergoing sentence. It was, I think, David Harum who remarked that
there was as much human nature in some folks as there is in others--if
not more. A glance round this mixed assortment proves the truth of the
truism.

A bag of golf clubs, a fishing rod, cameras, books, clothes, rings,
watches, jewellery--all give an index to the temperament of the
individual owning them. Money, too, is often kept here by the wish of
the convicts themselves. Personal belongings are restored at the
expiration of a sentence, but valuable articles--and many find their way
to the store-room--are not restored except on absolute proof of
ownership. When a claim is doubtful the matter is referred to a
magistrate, and on his order the disposal of the property rests.

The department plays no small part in tightening the meshes of the net
that keeps evil-doers within bounds. It does its duty with kindliness,
but without fear or favour; but the difficulties of the work are so
enormous that they could hardly be exaggerated.

CHAPTER VIII.

FINGER-PRINTS.

Once upon a time a wily burglar sat in his cell at Brixton awaiting
trial. He knew that conviction for his latest escapade was inevitable.

That troubled him little. As he would probably have said, he could do
the sentence he was likely to get for a first offence "on his head." But
it was by no means a first offence. Stored away at Scotland Yard was a
long list of little affairs in which he had been concerned which would
not incline the judge to leniency.

John Smith--that is not his real name, but it will serve--knew that
presently warders would ask him to press inky fingers on a white sheet
of paper, so that the resulting prints should be sent to Scotland Yard.
Inevitably then his previous ill-doings would be disclosed. They might
make all the difference between a nominal sentence as a first offender
and five years' penal servitude as an habitual criminal, to say nothing
of police supervision afterwards.

John Smit