The question that was uppermost in police circles after John Young’s hasty exit was, who would be his successor. Many loud-mouthed politicians, hungry for preferment and crammed full of arguments for their respective candidates, besieged Police Headquarters and made the life of the several Police Commissioners a veritable hive of misery. The latter, who were ruled by politicians most of the time,--the ward-heeler species,--usually disciplined, transferred, assigned, and promoted members of the force, at the behest of these threatening, browbeating fellows. Several days passed and the commissioners hadn’t selected a head for the Bureau, and, so far as the importuning ones could fathom, were not anywhere near doing so. But that was no secret to me. I had gone to Boss Tweed, and told him what I wanted, and that affairs had gotten to a state where a scandal would be raised if there wasn’t an attempt to concentrate the graft from crooks in a coterie of policemen, from which protection could be gotten without a string to it. I told him that some of the Under World were being goaded to desperation by the insistent demand of the police for protection money, and who, after getting it, play the traitor. “Mr. Tweed,” I said firmly, “some of these fellows will squeal to one of the societies at Sam Tilden’s heels, and there is likely to be a storm about your ears that’ll not be relished. It may mean worse than that.” “Well, Miles,” said he, “what can I do? You know I don’t interfere with the affairs of the Police Commissioners unless it’s vitally necessary.” “It seems to me that you ought to for once, Mr. Tweed,” I said. “Put Detective Jim Irving at the head of the Detective Bureau, and you’ll switch the whole business to safety. If not, I can’t say what will happen.” “That means making him a captain?” said Tweed. “That’s it,” I answered; “and he’ll fill the bill in every way.” “Well, good day, Miles,” said the Boss; “I’ll see what can be done.” I knew what that meant.