she passed though the great arched door which admits the
stranger to that portion of New Scotland Yard where throbs the heart
of that great organism which fights the forces of civilised crime,
Daisy Bunting felt that she had indeed become free of the Kingdom of
Romance. Even the lift in which the three of them were whirled up
to one of the upper floors of the huge building was to the girl a
new and delightful experience. Daisy had always lived a simple,
quiet life in the little country town where dwelt Old Aunt and this
was the first time a lift had come her way.

With a touch of personal pride in the vast building, Joe Chandler
marched his friends down a wide, airy corridor.

Daisy clung to her father's arm, a little bewildered, a little
oppressed by her good fortune. Her happy young voice was
stilled by the awe she felt at the wonderful place where she
found herself, and by the glimpses she caught of great rooms full
of busy, silent men engaged in unravelling--or so she supposed
--the mysteries of crime.

They were passing a half-open door when Chandler suddenly stopped
short. "Look in there," he said, in a low voice, addressing the
father rather than the daughter, "that's the Finger-Print Room.
We've records here of over two hundred thousand men's and women's
finger-tips! I expect you know, Mr. Bunting, as how, once we've got
the print of a man's five finger-tips, well, he's done for--if he
ever does anything else, that is. Once we've got that bit of him
registered he can't never escape us--no, not if he tries ever so.
But though there's nigh on a quarter of a million records in there,
yet it don't take--well, not half an hour, for them to tell
whether any particular man has ever been convicted before! Wonderful
thought, ain't it?"

"Wonderful!" said Bunting, drawing a deep breath. And then a
troubled look came over his stolid face. "Wonderful, but also a
very fearful thought for the poor wretches as has got their
finger-prints in, Joe."

Joe laughed. "Agreed!" he said. "And the cleverer ones knows that
only too well. Why, not long ago, one man who knew his record was
here safe, managed to slash about his fingers something awful, just
so as to make a blurred impression--you takes my meaning? But
there, at the end of six weeks the skin grew all right again, and
in exactly the same little creases as before!"

"Poor devil!" said Bunting under his breath, and a cloud even came
over Daisy's bright eager face.