Individual initiative is encouraged in every officer. Luck, too, often aids justice. Some years ago it was learnt that an absconding bank cashier would probably try to leave England by a certain liner. A detective, whom we will call Smith, went armed with a description of the man to effect an arrest. When he got on board he scrutinised the passengers closely. Only one man resembled the description. Smith drew him aside. "I have reason to believe your name is X.," he said. "I am a police officer, and I hold a warrant for your arrest." Highly indignant, the man denied that he was the person described. His indignation was obviously not assumed, and there were minor discrepancies between his appearance and the description. Smith shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. If you are not X., and can prove it, you have nothing to fear. In that case I presume you will have no objection to my looking through your luggage." X. paled, stuttered, fumed, and protested that he would never consent to such an outrage. No conduct could have been more calculated to make the officer determined. He searched the luggage. In a small handbag he discovered, hidden away, a mass of notes and gold. Triumphantly, he conducted his prisoner ashore and had him locked up in the nearest police station. Then he telephoned to his superior officer, "I've got X." "No, you haven't," came the startling reply. "We've got him here. He was arrested at King's Cross half an hour ago." Utterly bewildered, Smith told of his capture and the compromising gold and notes. There was five minutes' silence. Then the voice at the other end of the telephone said quietly: "Oh, that's all right. The man you've got is Y., a rate collector, who made a run from Glasgow a day or two ago." That was the luck of the service. Two of the cases in which Mr. Froest was concerned may be recalled, as illustrating how appearances may sometimes lead to wrong conclusions. In one, an unknown man was found head down in a water-butt outside a country bungalow. There was an ugly bruise on his forehead, and the provincial police who were investigating the case made up their minds that there had been foul play. They asked for help from Scotland Yard, and Mr. Froest was sent down. He looked over the scene, and his eyes twinkled. "This is not a case of murder," he said. "That man was a tramp. He hurt his head in climbing through the fence--he was probably going to break into the house--and went to bathe it in the water-butt. As he put his head down he slipped and fell in." One of the listeners heard this explanation with a sceptical grin. "That couldn't be so," he protested, and, going near the water-butt, lowered his head to demonstrate the impossibility of such an accident. The next instant there was a smothered scream and a mighty splash. A pair of feet waved wildly in the air. As the sceptic was pulled out of the barrel he extended his hand to Mr. Froest with a sad smile.