Number 666 Off Duty.

Some time after the attempt made upon Sir Richard Brandon’s house, Giles Scott was seated at his own fireside, helmet and truncheon laid aside, uniform taken off, and a free and easy suit of plain clothes put on.

His pretty wife sat beside him darning a pair of very large socks. The juvenile policeman, and the incorrigible criminal were sound asleep in their respective cribs, the one under the print of the Queen, the other under that of Sir Robert Peel. Giles was studying a small book of instructions as to the duties of police-constables, and pretty Molly was commenting on the same, for she possessed that charming quality of mind and heart which induces the possessor to take a sympathetic and lively interest in whatever may happen to be going on.

“They expect pretty hard work of you, Giles,” remarked Molly with a sigh, as she thought of the prolonged hours of absence from home, and the frequent night duty.

“Why, Moll, you wouldn’t have me wish for easy work at my time of life, would you?” replied the policeman, looking up from his little book with an amused smile. “Somebody must always be taking a heavy lift of the hard work of this world, and if a big hulking fellow like me in the prime o’ life don’t do it, who will?”

“True, Giles, but surely you won’t deny me the small privilege of wishing that you had a little less to do, and a little more time with your family. You men,—especially you Scotchmen—are such an argumentative set, that a poor woman can’t open her lips to say a word, but you pounce upon it and make an argument of it.”

“Now Molly, there you go again, assuming my duties! Why do you take me so sharp? Isn’t taking-up the special privilege of the police?”

“Am I not entitled,” said Molly, ignoring her husband’s question, “to express regret that your work should include coming home now and then with scratched cheeks, and swelled noses, and black eyes?”

“Come now,” returned Giles, “you must admit that I have fewer of these discomforts than most men of the force, owing, no doubt, to little men being unable to reach so high—and, d’you know, it’s the little men who do most damage in life; they’re such a pugnacious and perverse generation! As to swelled noses, these are the fortune of war, at least of civil war like ours—and black eyes, why, my eyes are black by nature. If they were of a heavenly blue like yours, Molly, you might have some ground for complaint when they are blackened.”

“And then there is such dreadful tear and wear of clothes,” continued Molly; “just look at that, now!” She held up to view a sock with a hole in its heel large enough to let an orange through.

“Why, Molly, do you expect that I can walk the streets of London from early morning till late at night, protect life and property, and preserve public tranquillity, as this little book puts it, besides engaging in numerous scuffles and street rows without making a hole or two in my socks?”

“Ah! Giles, if you had only brain enough to take in a simple idea! it’s not the making of holes that I complain of. It is the making of such awfully big ones before changing your socks! There now, don’t let us get on domestic matters. You have no head for these, but tell me something about your little book. I am specially interested in it, you see, because the small policeman in the crib over there puts endless questions about his duties which I am quite unable to answer, and, you know, it is a good thing for a child to grow up with the idea that father and mother know everything.”

“Just so, Molly. I hope you’ll tell your little recruit that the first and foremost duty of a good policeman is to obey orders. Let me see, then, if I can enlighten you a bit.”

“But tell me first, Giles—for I really want to know—how many are there of you altogether, and when was the force established on its present footing, and who began it, and, in short, all about it. It’s so nice to have you for once in a way for a quiet chat like this.”

“You have laid down enough of heads, Molly, to serve for the foundation of a small volume. However, I’ll give it you hot, since you wish it, and I’ll begin at the end instead of the beginning. What would you say, now, to an army of eleven thousand men?”

“I would say it was a very large one, though I don’t pretend to much knowledge about the size of armies,” said Molly, commencing to mend another hole about the size of a turnip.

“Well, that, in round numbers, is the strength of the Metropolitan Police force at the present time—and not a man too much, let me tell you, for what with occasional illnesses and accidents, men employed on special duty, and men off duty—as I am just now—the actual available strength of the force at any moment is considerably below that number. Yes, it is a goodly army of picked and stalwart men, (no self-praise intended), but, then, consider what we have to do.”

“We have to guard and keep in order the population of the biggest city in the world; a population greater than that of the whole of Scotland.”

“Oh! of course, you are sure to go to Scotland for your illustrations, as if there was no such place as England in the world,” quietly remarked Molly, with a curl of her pretty lip.

“Ah! Molly, dear, you are unjust. It is true I go to Scotland for an illustration, but didn’t I come to England for a wife? Now, don’t go frowning at that hole as if it couldn’t be bridged over.”

“It is the worst hole you ever made,” said the despairing wife, holding it up to view.

“You make a worsted hole of it then, Moll, and it’ll be all right. Besides, you don’t speak truth, for I once made a worse hole in your heart.”

“You never did, sir. Go on with your stupid illustrations,” said Molly.

“Well, then, let me see—where was I?”

“In Scotland, of course!”

“Ah, yes. The population of all Scotland is under four millions, and that of London—that is, of the area embraced in the Metropolitan Police District, is estimated at above four million seven hundred thousand—in round numbers. Of course I give it you all in round numbers.”

“I don’t mind how round the numbers are, Giles, so long as they’re all square,” remarked the little wife with much simplicity.

“Well, just think of that number for our army to watch over; and that population—not all of it, you know, but part of it—succeeds—in spite of us in committing, during one year, no fewer than 25,000 ‘Principal’ offences such as murders, burglaries, robberies, thefts, and such-like. What they would accomplish if we were not ever on the watch I leave you to guess.

“Last year, for instance, 470 burglaries, as we style house-breaking by night, were committed in London. The wonder is that there are not more, when you consider the fact that the number of doors and windows found open by us at night during the twelve months was nearly 26,000. The total loss of property by theft during the year is estimated at about 100,000 pounds. Besides endeavouring to check crime of such magnitude, we had to search after above 15,000 persons who were reported lost and missing during the year, about 12,000 of whom were children.”

“Oh! the poor darlings,” said Molly, twisting her sympathetic eyebrows.

“Ay, and we found 7523 of these darlings,” continued the practical Giles, “and 720 of the adults. Of the rest some returned home or were found by their friends, but 154 adults and 23 children have been lost altogether. Then, we found within the twelve months 54 dead bodies which we had to take care of and have photographed for identification. During the same period, (and remember that the record of every twelve months is much the same), we seized over 17,000 stray ............