It was clearly the business of the police authorities to satisfy themselves as to the truth or falsity of these rumours, and in the latter case to do all in their power to restore confidence. The course they actually pursued was to send out notices broadcast advising householders to take all precautions necessary for their own safety. This action of the authorities only served to heighten the general alarm, people naturally assuming that it amounted to an official confirmation of the sensational stories that were everywhere current. The state of uncertainty and alarm continued through the night, but when, on the following morning, it became known that the whole story had had no foundation in fact, all the various emotions of the past three days gave place to a unanimous feeling of indignation against the police. The value of the property destroyed and stolen by the mob, whilst the machinery for keeping the peace was thus temporarily out of gear, was comparatively trivial, and probably fell short of the £7000 paid as compensation; a far more serious factor was the loss of prestige that befell the police. The importance of the Trafalgar Square riots of '86 depends, not so much upon the damage done to Club-house windows and tradesmen's shop-fronts, as upon the fact that this was the first occasion since the institution of the modern police that the mob had succeeded in getting the upper hand of any considerable body of constables. Regrettable incidents had occurred in many of the tussles that had taken place since the first conflict at Coldbath Fields in '33; but on every occasion victory had in the end decisively rested with the peace officers, so that it came to be generally believed that it was useless to resist them. This was the very lesson that the chiefs of the police had been at such pains to impress upon the disorderly section of the public ever since the commencement of the new establishment; and the success they had achieved in this direction had proved greatly to the advantage of the rate-payers, who had to support, in consequence, a much smaller force than would otherwise have been necessary. The policeman managing a hostile crowd, or keeping order in a slum peopled by thieves, is in much the same position as a solitary European holding his own amongst a swarm of Asiatics. Take away his prestige, and that same moment he ceases to be an object of respect, and becomes an object of contempt. The rough and the criminal do not fear the prowess of the individual policeman, they fear the organization behind him--take that away, and the constable becomes merely a big man armed with nothing more formidable than a wooden truncheon.