low taverns and flash houses, and that thus thieves' haunts were encouraged as a sort of preserve in which the police could, at any time, lay hands on their game. The officers on their side declared that they could do little or nothing without these houses--that, being so few in number, it would be impossible for them to keep in touch with the great mass of metropolitan criminality. Vickery spoke out boldly, and said that the detection of offenders was greatly facilitated, for they knew exactly where to look for the men they wanted. Townsend repudiated the idea that the officer was contaminated by mixing with thieves. The flash houses "can do the officer no harm if he does not make harm of it." Unless he went there and acted foolishly or improperly, or got on too familiar terms with the thieves, he was safe enough. But the houses were undoubtedly an evil, and the excuse that they assisted in the apprehension of offenders was no sufficient justification for them. To this day, however, the free access to thieves' haunts is one of the most valuable aids to detection, and the police-officer who does not follow his prey into its own jungle will seldom make a large bag. On the whole, it may be said that the old Bow Street runner was useful in his generation, although he rarely effected very phenomenal arrests. He was bold, fairly well informed, and reasonably faithful. Serjeant Ballantine, who knew some of the latest survivors personally, had a high opinion of them, and thought their methods generally superior to those of the modern detective. We may not go quite that length--which, after all, is mere assertion--but it seems certain, as I shall presently show, that they were missed on the establishment of the "New Police," as the existing magnificent force was long called. They mostly disappeared, taking to other callings, or living out their declining years on comparatively small pensions. George Ruthven, one of the last, died in 1844, and a contemporary record speaks of him as follows: "He was the oldest and most celebrated of the few remaining Bow Street runners, among whom death has lately made such ravages, and was considered as the most efficient police officer that existed during his long career of usefulness. He was for thirty years attached to the police force, having entered it at the age of seventeen; but in 1839 he retired with a pension of £220 from the British Government, and pensions likewise from the Russian and Prussian Governments, for his services in discovering forgeries to an immense extent connected with those [Illustration: CAPTURE OF THE CATO STREET CONSPIRATORS. (_From a Contemporary Print._)]