It is a restful occupation but Bobby was very tired of it when at last the tedium was relieved first by an order to draw as best he could from memory a sketch of Peter Albert and then, this completed and delivered to the waiting messenger, a summons, after yet another long wait, to Superintendent Ulyett’s room. He found that high official somewhat shamefacedly slipping his boots off. “Haven’t sat down since I got up,’’ he explained, “breakfast on the hop and no lunch unless you call a glass of beer lunch, standing up, too. I suppose you’ve been knocking the billiard balls about all day, lucky young devil.” “Yes, sir,” said Bobby meekly, though in point of fact he had not been near the billiard room, but a wise sergeant always begins conversation with a Superintendent by saying: ‘Yes, sir.’ From among the pile of papers on his desk, Ulyett produced Bobby’s sketch, scowled at it, examined it closely, held it upside down, shook his head, might indeed have been an art critic inspecting the work of a not yet established artist. “Give me a photo, every time,”
