Nobody quite knows how Angel Esquire came to occupy the position he does at Scotland Yard. On his appointment, “An Officer of Twenty Years’ Standing” wrote to the _Police Review_ and characterized the whole thing as “a job.” Probably it was. For Angel Esquire had been many things in his short but useful career, but never a policeman. He had been a big game shot, a special correspondent, a “scratch” magistrate, and his nearest approach to occupying a responsible position in any police force in the world was when he was appointed a J.P. of Rhodesia, and, serving on the Tuli Commission, he hanged M’Linchwe and six of that black desperado’s companions. His circle of acquaintances extended to the suburbs of London, and the suburbanites, who love you to make their flesh creep, would sit in shivering but pleasurable horror whilst Angel Esquire elaborated the story of the execution. In Mayfair Angel Esquire was best known as a successful mediator. “Who is that old-looking young man with the wicked eye?” asked the Dowager Duchess of Hoeburn; and her _vis-à-vis_ at the Honorable Mrs. Carter-Walker’s “sit-down tea”--it was in the days when Mayfair was aping suburbia--put up his altogether unnecessary eyeglass. “Oh, that’s Angel Esquire!” he said carelessly. “What is he?” asked the Duchess. “A policeman.” “India?” “Oh, no, Scotland Yard.” “Good Heavens!” said Her Grace in a shocked voice. “How very dreadful! What is he doing? Watching the guests, or keeping a friendly eye on the Carter woman’s spoons?” The young man guffawed. “Don’t despise old Angel, Duchess,” he said. “He’s a man to know. Great fellow for putting things right. If you have a row with your governor, or get into the hands of--er--undesirables, or generally, if you’re in a mess of any kind, Angel’s the chap to pull you out.” Her Grace surveyed the admirable man with a new interest. Angel Esquire, with a cup of tea in one hand and a thin grass sandwich in the other, was the center of a group of men, including the husband of the hostess. He was talking with some animation. “I held three aces pat, and opened the pot light to let ’em in. Young Saville raised the opening to a tenner, and the dealer went ten better. George Manfred, who had passed, came in for a pony, and took one card. I took two, and drew another ace. Saville took one, and the dealer stood pat. I thought it was my money, and bet a pony. Saville raised it to fifty, the dealer made it a hundred, and George Manfred doubled the bet. It was up to me. I had four aces; I put Saville with a ‘full,’ and the dealer with a ‘flush.’ I had the beating of that lot; but what about Manfred? Manfred is a feller with all the sense going. He knew what the others had. If he bet, he had the goods, so I chucked my four aces into the discard. George had a straight flush.” A chorus of approval came from the group.