THE REAL DETECTIVE.
Through a little back door, up a stone flight of stairs, into a broad
corridor one passes to the offices where are quartered the heads of the
most important branch of Scotland Yard--the Criminal Investigation
Department, with its wide-reaching organisation stretching beyond the
confines of London over the whole world.
It is its business to keep its fingers on the pulse of crime, to watch
vigilantly the comings and goings of thousands of men and women, and to
bring to justice all those whose acts have made them a menace to
society.
No department of Scotland Yard has been more written around; none has
been more misunderstood. It does its duty effectually, unswervingly, in
the same unemotional spirit that marks the other departments of the
service, but with perhaps even a keener eye to its own reputation. The
C.I.D. knows how high is the reputation it has won among international
police forces, and is very properly jealous of its maintenance.
There have been critics of the C.I.D. Many have held that the system of
recruiting from the uniformed police is wrong in essence--that educated
men employed direct from civilian life would be more effective. There is
no bar against anyone being appointed direct if the authorities
chose--but it has been tried.
Once upon a time--this was a long while ago--an ardent reformer held
the reins of the detective force. He made many valuable changes, and
some less valuable--among the latter the experiment of "gentlemen" as
detectives. There were six of them, and the full story of these
kid-glove amateurs would be interesting reading. They were, in the
euphemistic words of the reformer himself, "eminently unsatisfactory."
"There is," he added, "little doubt that the gentlemen who have failed
in one of the professions which they usually adopt are less trustworthy,
less reliable, and more difficult to control than those who enter a
calling such as the police in the ordinary course."[2] So the only
approach to Sherlock Holmes that Scotland Yard has ever seen was killed
for good and all, though there is still no legal bar to anyone being
appointed directly a detective.
Six hundred and fifty picked officers, all of whom have worn the blue
uniform and patrolled the streets at the regulation pace, form a mobile
army scattered over the metropolis.
Quiet and unobtrusive men for the most part, dogged, tactful, and
resourceful, they must always be ready to act at a moment's notice as
individuals or as part of a machine. For it is the machinery of Scotland
Yard that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred calls check to the
criminal's move. It is long odds on law and order every time.
The administrative work of the department is carried out by the
Assistant-Commissioner and the Chief Constable. It is on the shoulders
of two superintendents--curiously enough, both Irishmen--at the head of
the two main branches of the department that the executive work chiefly
devolves.
Superintendent John McCarthy--who for several years has held the reins
of the Central C.I.D., to which the main body of detectives are
attached--is a blue-eyed, soft-voiced man who governs with no less tact
and firmness than his predecessor, the famous Frank Froest. In a service
extending for more than thirty years he has accumulated an unequalled
experience of all classes of crime and criminals, and has travelled
widely in many countries on dangerous and difficult missions. Tall and
neat, he gives an impression of absolute competence. And competence is
needed in the organisation he has to handle.
Nothing can ruffle him. He sits at a flat-topped desk in a soft-carpeted
room, working quietly, methodically. By the window stands a big steel
safe containing hundreds of pounds in gold, at hand for any emergency.
Ranged on shelves are reference books--"Who's Who," "The Law List,"
"Medical Directory," "A.B.C. Guide," "Continental Bradshaw," and others.
Behind the office table are half a dozen speaking tubes and a telephone.
It is for Mr. McCarthy to enlist the aid of the Press on occasion. It is
sometimes necessary to give wide publicity to a description or a
photograph. Then skilful diplomacy is necessary to avoid giving facts
which, instead of helping, might hamper an investigation. Only of late
years has this co-operation been sought--and credit is due to Mr. Froest
for the manner in which he helped to initiate and apply the system.
Swift publicity has often helped to run down a criminal, notably in the
case of the murderer Crippen.
Immediately associated with Mr. McCarthy at headquarters are four Chief
Detective-Inspectors--Ward, Fowler, Hawkins, and Gough--all men of long
experience and proved qualities. Most of their names are familiar to the
public in connection with the unravelling of mysteries during the last
decade. One Chief Detective-Inspector--Mr. Wensley--has his headquarters
in the East End.
One or more of these is always available in an emergency. Is there an
epidemic of burglary at some district in London? A chief-inspector is
sent to organise a search for the culprits, taking with him a detachment
from Scotland Yard to reinforce the divisional detectives. Problems of
crime that affect London as a whole are dealt with by them.
Some have specialist knowledge of particular classes of crime or
particular districts, though each must be competent to undertake any
investigation, no matter what it may be. Or a provincial police force
may ask for expert aid in, for instance, a baffling murder mystery. One
may be sent by the authority of the Home Secretary to assist in its
solution.
To each of the twenty-two divisions into which the Metropolitan Police
is split up are assigned between twelve to thirty detectives, under a
divisional inspector. In ten of the larger divisions there is a junior
inspector to assist in the control of the staff. Except in a few of the
outlying districts there are one, two, three or more detectives to every
police station. They deal with local crime, make it their business to
know local thieves, and reinforce other divisions or are reinforced as
occasion demands. They have special duties allotted to them, and have to
keep a record in their diaries of the manner in which their time is
spent.
Yet individuality and initiative are not sacrificed by too rigid a
discipline. If a man learnt, for instance, while watching for
pickpockets in the Strand that a robbery was being planned at
Kennington, it would be his duty to make at once for the scene. He would
stay for nothing, gathering assistance, if possible, as he went, but, if
not, going alone.
Usually, it is found that the divisional men can deal with any matter
needing attention in their districts, but occasionally London is
startled by some great mystery. It is then that the C.I.D. moves
swiftly, with every nerve strained to achieve its ends.
There is no actual "murder commission," as there is in some foreign
countries, but every person and device likely to be of assistance is
quickly concentrated on the spot. Not a second of time is lost from the
moment the crime is discovered. First on the spot are the divisional
detective-inspector and his staff. Telephones and the chattering tape
machines tell the details in ten score of police stations.
Mr. Basil Thompson, the Assistant-Commissioner, and Mr. McCarthy will
probably motor in haste to the spot. Specialists are summoned from all
quarters. Not a thing is moved until a minute inspection has been made,
plans drawn, photographs taken, notes made, and finger-prints sought
for. It may be necessary to get certain points settled by experts, by
Dr. Wilcox, the Home Office analyst, Dr. Spilsbury, the pathologist, by
a gunsmith, an expert in handwriting, or any one of a dozen others. The
very best professional assistance is always sought.
The danger of amateur experts was exemplified some years ago, when a
woman who committed suicide tried to destroy every mark of identity on
her clothes. She missed one detail--a laundry mark worked in red thread
on her dressing jacket. The mark was read as E.U.X.A.O.Z., and these
letters were advertised far and wide. Then the President of the Laundry
Association examined the garment, and conclusively showed that the
marks really represented E.48992. It was, he declared, not a laundry
mark at all, but a dyers and cleaners' mark. And this was what it proved
to be.
While the experts are busy the divisional inspector and his men are no
less so. They are making a kind of gigantic snowball enquiry, working
backwards from the persons immediately available. A. has little to say
himself, but there are B. and C. who, he knows, were connected with the
murdered person. And B. and C. having been questioned speak of D. E. F.
and G.; and it may be that a score or more persons have been interviewed
ere one is found who can supply some vital fact. I have known a murder
investigation held up a couple of hours while search was being made for
someone to supply the address of some other person who _might_ know
something.
All very tedious this, and very different from the methods of the
detectives we read about. But then the detectives of fiction somehow
avoid the chance of the flaws in their deductions being sought out by
astute cross-examining counsel.
If a description of the suspected murderer is available a telegraphist
working at Scotland Yard will get it, with the letters "A.S." (all
stations) attached. As he taps his instrument the message is
automatically ticked out simultaneously at every station in the
metropolis.
The great railway termini are watched, and men are thrown to the
outlying stations as a second safeguard. Should the man slip through
this net he will find England locked from port to port. The C.I.D. have
their own men at many ports, and at others the co-operation of the
provincial police is enlisted. He is lucky indeed if he gets away after
the hue and cry has been raised.
There are no chances taken. Everything is put on record, whether it
appears relevant or irrelevant to the enquiry. In the Registry--a kind
of clerical bureau of the Criminal Investigation Department--every
statement, every report is neatly typed, filed in a book with all
relating to the case, and indexed. It remains available just so long as
the crime is unsolved--ten days or ten years. The progress of the case
is always shown to within an hour.
No effort is spared to get on the track of the murderer while the scent
is still warm. Scores of men work on different aspects of the case. The
Finger-print Department may be trying to identify a thumb-print from
among their records; in another part of the building the photographers
have made a lantern slide of certain charred pieces of paper, and are
throwing a magnified reproduction on a screen for closer scrutiny; a
score of men are seeking for a cabman who might have driven the murderer
away.
It may be that these steps will go on for days and weeks with dogged
persistence. This stage of investigation has been aptly likened to a
jig-saw puzzle which may fall from chaos into a composite whole at any
moment. Once the hounds have glimpsed their quarry it is almost hopeless
for him to attempt to escape. His description, his photograph, specimens
of his writing are spread broadcast for the aid of the public in
identifying him wherever he may hide. Men watch the big railway
stations, out-going ships are kept under surveillance, for the C.I.D.
has two or three staff men resident in many parts. They are also
maintained at ports like Boulogne and Calais.
The co-operation of the provincial and foreign police is obtained, and
the wide publicity of newspapers. The whole-heartedness with which the
public throws itself into a hunt of this kind has disadvantages as well
as advantages. A score of times a day people will report someone "very
like" the wanted man as seen almost simultaneously in a score of
different places. All these reports have to be immediately investigated.
And with the search for the culprit the ceaseless search for evidence
goes on. It is no use to catch a murderer if you cannot adduce proof
against him. The enthusiasm of the investigators is not called forth by
a blood-hunt. It is all a part of the mechanism. The C.I.D. and its
members are merely putting through a piece of business quite
impersonally. "A murder has been committed," they say in effect. "We
have caught the person we believe responsible, and this is the evidence.
It does not matter to us what happens now. The jury are responsible."
It once fell to the lot of the writer to see an arrest for a murder with
which the world rang. The merest novice in stage management could have
obtained a better dramatic effect; the arrest of a drunken man by an
ordinary constable would have had more thrill. It was in a street
thronged with people passing homewards from the city. A single detective
waited on each pavement. Presently one of them lifted his hat and the
other crossed over. They fell into step each side of a very ordinary
young man. "Your name is so-and-so," said one. "We are police-officers,
and we should like an explanation of one or two things. It may be
necessary to detain you." A cab stopped, the three got into it, and as
it drove away there were not two people among the thousands in the
street who knew that anything out of the ordinary had happened.
That is typical of the way arrests for great crimes are effected if
possible. Yet, sometimes circumstances force melodrama on the
detectives. Another arrest which was watched by the writer took place at
dead of night in a dirty lodging-house in an East End street. A
house-to-house search had been instituted by forty or fifty armed
detectives. They expected desperate resistance when they found their
quarry. And at last they came upon the man they sought sleeping
peacefully on a truckle bed. A giant detective lifted him bodily. A
great coat was bundled over his night shirt, and he was sent off as he
was, under escort, into the night.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Sir Howard Vincent, first and only "Director of Criminal
Investigations," said, in 1883: "It has been urged more than once that
better and more reliable detectives might be found among the retired
officers of the army and younger sons of gentlemen than in the ranks of
the police. Willing, as I hope I shall always be, to give every
suggestion a fair trial, six such recruits have been enrolled in the
Criminal Investigation Department with a result, I am sorry to say,
eminently unsatisfactory. There is, I fear, little doubt that the
gentlemen who have failed in one of the professions which they usually
adopt are less trustworthy, less reliable, and more difficult to control
than those who enter a calling such as the police in the ordinary
course."
Sir Charles Warren, in the course of a magazine article which had
tremendous effect on his reign as Commissioner, said, referring to the
detective service: "Some few candidates have been admitted direct to a
great number examined and rejected. Of those admitted, few, if any, have
been found qualified to remain in the detective service. It seems,
therefore, that although the Criminal Investigation Branch is open to
receive any qualified person direct, as a general rule no persons, for
some years past, have presented themselves sufficiently qualified to
remain. And there are indications of the advantages of a previous police
training in the uniform branch in the fact that the most successful
private detectives at present in the country are those who have formerly
been in, and originally trained in, the uniform branch...."