ixed on the ceiling, Mr Sharp,
Police Superintendent of the Grand National Trunk Railway, communed with
himself and dived into the future.

Mr Sharp's powers of diving were almost miraculous. He had an
unusually keen eye for the past and the present, but in regard to the
future his powers were all but prophetic. He possessed a rare capacity
for following up clues; investigating cases; detecting falsehoods, not
only of the lip, but of the eye and complexion; and, in a word, was able
to extract golden information out of the most unpromising circumstances.
He was also all but ubiquitous. Now tracking a suspicion to its source
on his own line in one of the Midland counties; anon comparing notes
with a brother superintendent at the terminus of the Great Western, or
Great Northern, or South-Eastern in London. Sometimes called away to
give evidence in a county court; at other times taking a look in at his
own home to kiss his wife or dandle his child before dashing off per
express to follow up a clue to John O'Groats or the Land's End. Here,
and there, and everywhere--calm, self-possessed, and self-contained,
making notes in trains, writing reports in his office, making
discoveries and convictions, and sometimes making prisoners with his own
hands by night and day, with no fixed hours for work, or rest, or meals,
and no certainty in anything concerning him, save in the uncertainty of
his movements, Mr Sharp with his myrmidons was the terror of evil
doers, and, we may truly add, the safeguard of the public.

Little did that ungrateful public know all it owed to the untiring
watchfulness and activity of Mr Sharp and his men. If he and his
compeers were to be dismissed from our lines for a single week, the
descent of a host of thieves and scoundrels to commit wide-spread
plunder would teach the public somewhat severely how much they owe to
the efficient management of this department of railway business, and how
well, constantly and vigilantly--though unobtrusively--their interests
are cared for.

But to return. Mr Sharp, as we have said stood communing with himself
and diving into the future. Apparently his thoughts afforded him some
amusement, for his eyes twinkled slightly, and there was a faintly
humorous twist about the corners of his mouth.

David Blunt sat at a desk near him, writing diligently. Against the
wall over his head hung a row of truncheons. Besides the desk, a bench,
two or three wooden chairs, and