They said I looked too healthy and too optimistic, and too reliable and benevolent; they called me all sorts of names at Scotland Yard.

They said that if I had been a criminal, I might have made my fortune by looking so like an honest man; but as I had the misfortune to be an honest man, there was not even the remotest chance of my assisting them by ever looking like a criminal.

But at last I was brought before some old josser who was high up in the force, and who seemed to have no end of a head on his shoulders.

And there the others all talked hopelessly.

One asked whether a bushy beard would hide my nice smile; another said that if they blacked my face I might look like a negro anarchist; but this old chap chipped in with a most extraordinary remark.