The Up Office closed at midnight in order to sleep for a few hours. Before that time the men had made preparations for departure, packing shining hand-bags and exchanging the official cap for a bowler hat, and brushing their boots; this last act is one of which the railway man never tires. Porter Jones alone seemed to be taking no preliminary steps, and when asked where he lived replied lightly and evasively that he should probably finish up at the Carlton Club. The gas lights were turned down one by one and darkness increased its possession of the office. Porter Jones went up to the end where Bin Number Five was situated; the others hummed to give a suggestion of unconcern. Suddenly there was commotion at the darkened end of the office, and seizing hand lamps, they hurried forward. “’Old him, ’old him,” cried the boy porter. The counsel seemed unnecessary, for he gripped Porter Jones most effectively by the collar of the corduroy jacket. “Set on his ’ead. Lam him one.” “What’s all this fuss about?” demanded the foreman. “He’s got it,” screamed the boy porter. “Sunset’s got it hid under his jacket.” “Got what hid?” asked the foreman. “Let’s ’ave the facts first of all.” “I can easily explain,” gasped the new man. “I only wanted to see if— Make him leave go. He’s—he’s throttling me.” “He’s a-trying to,” admitted the boy porter. “Let him loose,” ordered the foreman. “Men, stand around him so as he can’t make his escape. What’s that bulging under your arm, matey?” The new man gave an awkward laugh, as he withdrew the labelled parcel. “I can explain it all to you,” he said, addressing the foreman and trying to rebutton his torn collar, “if you will favour me with two minutes alone outside.” “Don’t you do it,” advised the others. “See him ’anged first.” “Whatsoever you ’ave to say,” declared the foreman steadily, “you’d better say it here and now.” “Well, it’s like this. I’m the detective.” “Ho!” said the foreman satirically. “Detective and thief in one, eh? Vurry ’appy combination, I must say.” “See here,” said the other, annoyed at the incredulous tone, “I’ll take off this beard and then you can some of you identify me.” As he did so the foreman held up his hand lamp, examining the features carefully. “Do any of you chaps recognise him?” The staff replied at once that to the best of their belief they had never before in this world set eyes on him. “Don’t play the goat,” he urged anxiously. “We’ve all got our duties to perform.” “That’s true; we shall ’ave to lock you up for the night.” “Right you are,” said the other gleefully. “Take me round to the nearest police station and then—” “That would mean losing our last train ’ome,” pointed out the foreman. “I s’pose,” said the boy porter respectfully, “it wouldn’t do to put him in the lamp room?” “Chaps,” said the foreman, “my idea is we’d better, I think, put him in the lamp room. Get Porter Swan to lend you the keys, my lad. As for you, you scoundrel—”