A special product of modern times is the private inquiry agent, so much employed nowadays, whose ingenuity, patient pertinacity, and determination to succeed have been usefully engaged in unravelling intricate problems, verging upon, if not actually included within, the realm of crime. I knew one who was employed by a famous firm of solicitors in a very delicate operation, which he terminated successfully, but in a way to show that he did not stick at trifles in securing his end. It was the sequel to a divorce case. The decree nisi had been granted, and against the wife, who had been refused the custody of the one child born of the marriage. The husband was anxious to secure possession of the child, but the wife, like so many more of her sex, was much too sharp to be forestalled. She had a friend waiting at the court who, directly the decree was pronounced, started off in a hansom to the lady's residence, where the child was, laid hands on it, and brought it down to Victoria Station just in time for the night mail to the Continent, by which lady and child travelled together to the south of France. A detective was at once despatched in pursuit by the husband's lawyer, and his orders were at all costs to recover possession of the child. He soon got upon the lady's track. She had not gone further than Monte Carlo. The detective found it impossible to kidnap the child, so he managed to make friends with the mother, gradually grew very intimate, paid her devoted attention, and eventually married her. When he was her husband he had no difficulty in completing his commission, and--possibly with the lady's full consent--he soon sent the child home. I never heard how his marriage--all in the way of business!--turned out. Another story is, perhaps, more dramatic. A married man of considerable property, strictly entailed, died childless in India. The estates went to the next-of-kin, but he, just as he was entering into their enjoyment, was startled by a telegram from his relative's widow, preparing him for the birth of a posthumous child. He at once consulted his lawyer, who, after warning him that much time and money would probably be spent in the process, promised to expose the fraud, if fraud there was, or, at any rate, prove that it was a _bonâ-fide_ affair. A year passed, and yet the next-of-kin had heard nothing of the case. At last he went to his lawyers and insisted upon knowing how it stood. He was told that the matter was now ripe; the lady had arrived with her infant son. She was actually at that moment at a private hotel in the West End. "Go and call on her, and insist upon seeing the child. If there's any difficulty about it, go out on the landing and call out 'Bartlett!' A man will come down and explain everything." The lady did not produce the child when asked; she said it was out in the park with the nurse, and tried all sorts of excuses, so Bartlett was summoned. "I want to see the child," said the next-of-kin.