The answer is “Plenty.” “All square with the landlord, then?” asks the same inflexible voice as—to my astonishment—that which put the Frenchman to the torture. “To a penny,” the reply. “_Quite_ square?” continues the querist, taking with his busy eye a rapid inventory of the plate. “S’ help me——” “Hush!” interrupts the dinner spoiler, holding up his hand in a cautionary manner. “Have you done anything to-day?” “Not a thing.” Then there is some more in a low tone; but you again distinguish the word “school,” and “seven o’clock train.” They are too old to be the Frenchman’s pupils; perhaps they are his assistants. Surely they are not all the victims of the same _capias_ and the same officer! By this time the landlord, looking very nervous, arrives with his bill: then comes the head waiter, who clears the table; carefully counting the forks. The reckoning is paid, and the trio steal out of the room with the man of mystery behind them,—like sheep driven to the shambles. You follow to the Railway station, and there you see the Frenchman, who complains bitterly of being “sold for noting” by his enemy. The other three utter a confirmative groan. In spite of the evident omnipotence of their persevering follower, your curiosity impels you to address him. You take a turn on the platform together, and he explains the whole mystery. “The fact is,” he begins, “I am Sergeant Witchem, of the Detective police.” “And your four victims are?”— “Members of a crack school of swell mobsmen.” “What do you mean by ‘school?’” “Gang. There is a variety of gangs—that is to say, of men who ‘work’ together, who play into one another’s hands. These gentlemen hold the first rank, both for skill and enterprise, and had they been allowed to remain would have brought back a considerable booty. Their chief is the Frenchman.” “Why do they obey your orders so passively?” “Because they are sure that if I were to take them into custody, which I could do, knowing what they are, and present them before a magistrate, they would all be committed to prison for a month, as rogues and vagabonds.” “They prefer then to have lost no inconsiderable capital in dress and dinner, to being laid up in jail.” “Exactly so.” The bell rings, and all five go off into the same carriage to London. This is a circumstance that actually occurred; and a similar one happened when the Queen went to Dublin. The mere appearance of one of the Detective officers before a “school” which had transported itself in the Royal train, spoilt their speculation; for they all found it more advantageous to return to England in the same steamer with the officer, than to remain with the certainty of being put in prison for fourteen or twenty-eight days as rogues and vagabonds.