He had in his possession when arrested (to quote the exact itemization of the constable who had given evidence on the matter) the sum of eighty-seven pounds ten shillings in Treasury notes, fifteen shillings in silver coinage, a gold and platinum cigarette case, a small but expensive bottle of perfume (unopened) and a few keys. His name was Vladimir Litnoff; he was a Russian subject and his profession was that of an actor. He had appeared in Russian plays, and spoke English with the faintest trace of an accent. Apparently, when he was in wine, as he had been on the previous evening, he spoke little but Russian, so that the two policemen who supported the charge of being drunk, and guilty of insulting and disorderly behaviour, could adduce no other than the language of offensive gesture to support their accusation. The magistrate took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair wearily. “Whilst you are living in this country you must behave yourself,” he said conventionally. “This is the second time you have been charged with disorderly conduct, and you will pay twenty shillings, and seven and six costs.” Mr. Litnoff smiled, and bowed gracefully and stepped lightly from the dock. Chief Inspector Gaylor, who was waiting in the corridor to give evidence on a much more serious charge, saw him pass and returned his smile good-humouredly. The policeman who had “picked up” the Russian followed from the court. “Who is that fellow?” asked Gaylor. “A Russian, sir. He was properly soused… drunk, in the Brompton Road. He was quiet enough but wouldn’t go away. Him and his brooches!” “His whatses?” asked the inspector. “That’s what he said when I took him--about the only English thing he did say: ‘You shall have my beautiful brooch--worth ten thousand!’ I don’t know what he was talking about. Another thing he said was that he’d got property in Monro--he shouted this out to the crowd as me and P.C. Leigh was taking him away.” “Monro--that’s in Scotland somewhere.” Just then Gaylor was called into court. Later in the evening, as he glanced through his evening newspaper, he read an account of the police court proceedings. It was headed: DRUNKEN MAN’S BRIBE OFFER TO POLICE. TEN THOUSAND POUND BROOCH THAT WAS DECLINED. “… P.C. Smith stated that the prisoner had offered him a ten thousand pound brooch to let him go. “The Magistrate: Did he have this brooch in his possession? “Witness: No, your Worship. In his imagination. (Laughter.)” “Now Reeder would see something very peculiar about that,” said Mr. Gaylor to his young wife, and she smiled. She liked Mr. J.G. Reeder, and, quite mistakenly, was sorry for him. He seemed so pathetically inefficient and helpless compared with the strong, capable men of Scotland Yard. Many people were sorry for Mr. Reeder--but there were quite a number who weren’t.