ly happen after the time I have sketched. A fight, a
robbery, even a murder is always a contingency.

There is a class of men and women who frequent the neighbourhood among
whom passions run high. From a police point of view, it is a difficult
place to handle--a district even more difficult than the East End, for
here the iron hand must be concealed in the velvet glove. Every
officer, from constable to inspector, must be possessed of infinite tact
and firmness. Every man on patrol, point, or beat has usually at least
one delicate decision to make in a night.

Yet the lonely blue lamp shines serenely, and serenely the constable on
reserve duty at the door stands at ease. Within, under the shaded
electric lights, men are at work as quietly and methodically as though
they did not hold the responsibility for the safety of one of the
richest quarters of the richest city in the world in their hands for
eight hours at least. During that time, as a rule, it is the busiest
police station in London.

For all that it has special problems to deal with, this station is
typical in procedure, discipline, and other essentials to nearly two
hundred others scattered over London. There can be no uniformity in the
classes with which the Metropolitan Police has to deal.

For the convenience of visitors and inquirers, a couple of waiting rooms
are provided, a first and second class, so that the respectable citizen
does not find himself in the unpleasant company of a "tough," who may be
a pickpocket come to enquire about a friend's welfare, or a not too
cleanly ticket-of-leave man.

Near by is the inspector's room, a lofty, well-lighted chamber furnished
with high desks, tables, and a variety of official books and papers.
Everyone is quietly busy here, for there are always reports and records
to be made of everything that occurs, of callers, complaints, lost
property, inquirers, charges, particulars of persons reported for
summonses.

Clerks in police officers' uniform bustle to and fro. In an adjoining
room there are telegraphists and telephone operators receiving and
dispatching messages.

There are two telephones--one attached to the ordinary public system,
the other to the private system of the Metropolitan Police. The
telegraphs are a couple of tape machines--one for receiving, the other
for dispatching. Every message is automatically recorded.

A small, quiet room, one side occupied by a couch, and all sorts of
medical and sur