you know, if we can't find your
father. Tell us the truth."

The facts elicited, the boy is searched, the main contents of his pocket
are a handful of coppers and a cigarette end.

The inspector picks up the latter. "Do you know it's against the law for
a boy of 13 to have cigarettes? All right. Put him in the detention-room
until his father comes. You'll be charged with begging, my boy."

In an hour the youth is free, his father having entered into
recognisances for his due appearance at the police court.

It should be explained that no person is detained at the police station,
except on a serious charge, who can prove his identity. Often no further
inquiry is necessary than reference to a directory.

The detention-room, too, which is attached to every police station is
intended to spare a respectable person the ignominy of the cells. It is
a comfortably furnished room, with tables and chairs, and sometimes with
a few papers and magazines.

The charges begin to multiply towards midnight. There are several
beggars, one of whom is a dirty, round-shouldered old ragamuffin with a
long, matted beard. He cringes in front of the inspector's desk, and
suddenly his hand flickers upwards with a deft movement. The next
instant he is looking as innocent as though butter would not melt in his
mouth.

There is a sharp "Put that down" from the reserve man, and it is
discovered that a cigarette end taken from the boy has found its way to
his pocket. He curses the keen-eyed officer as he is led away to the
cells.

Then there are the "drunks," some quiet, some riotous, some still in a
torpor, others defiantly asserting that they are perfectly sober. Some
of these latter are seen by the police-divisional-surgeon, who by now is
in the station. The Inspector sifts each case thoroughly, making sure
that there is a _prima facie_ case before allowing the charge to
proceed. It is at his discretion to grant or refuse bail.

It is after one o'clock. A girl is brought in by a constable, pale and
sullen, and with dark eyes a little apprehensive, a little triumphant.
The officer handles a man's jacket carefully. The whole of one sleeve
and one side of the coat is wringing wet--but it is with blood, not with
water. It is a more serious case this--one of attempted murder, which
later developed into one of murder. There was an altercation with a man,
a lover who had abandoned her, and she stabbed him with a pocket knife,
and waited without