QUEEN MARY SECRET

Greymouth Evening Star, 22 July 1936, Page 13

QUEEN MARY SECRET

SPECIAL POLICE FORCE LONDON, June 20. From the Queen Mary, ship of a thousand mysteries, yet another closely guarded secret has leaked forth to the world. That secret is her secret police—some six clever detectives, headed by ex-Inspector Cory, the man with the most exasperating job in the world. How exasperating it is only the Yard’s expert man-hunter, famous for his work in the Blackheath crime investigation, can tell. For in policing this new empress of the seas his hands are tied before he starts. He must outwit the crooks he daren’t arrest. Only a liner detective can appreciate what ex-Inspector Cory and his colleagues are up against. Employed to protect the passengers, there are times when they must helplessly watch their charges being led like lambs to the slaughter by astute card-sharpers and confidence men, yet they are powerless to clap the handcuffs on the wrists of the wrong-doers. For, in law, the only charge that can be made against these crooks is misdemeanour, giving the detectives no grounds for arrest unless a definite complaint is laid. That complaint may never come, though as a silent watcher, the officer sees some prominent financier being swindled of huge sums over the card table.

Strolling into the lounge the detective may see the “con men” practising their arts on some Croesus of the canning industry. He knows the fairy story they are telling their victim—the story of the stock market gamble that can’t fail to make him a fabulous sum. The crooks, however, do not get everything their own Swiftly the radio crackles with messages to London or New York, to make sure that a suitable reception is prepared for the crooks as they step down the gangway. If anything is known against them they are immediately taken into custody. If nothing is known they are warned to move out of the country.

Jewel thieves, .safebreakers, and pick-pockets also consider the liner a happy hunting ground, and it is the duty of the detective to round them up. Here kid-glove methods do not apply, and they can be arrested on the spot if “caught with the goods.” Slyest of all the liner crooks are the pick-pockets. They have a kind of seventh sense which warns them not to operate when a detective is in the vicinity. However, their very cunning has often proved their downfall.

“When a bloke tells me ’e don’t smoke ’cause ’e 'as consheenshus objections,” remarked the bus driver, lighting his pipe, “I let it go at that. ’Taint nothing to do wif me. But if ’e ’as consheenshus objections to me smoking I reckon it's like ’is ruddy cheek. Some coves don’t like oysters and stout. Well, that’s their misforchune. But why expect me to toller suit? Get me? Well it’s just the same wif smoking. If a. party don’t want Io smoke nobody’s going to make him. It’s a free country. But smoking to me is what the poet blokes cail ‘a joy for ever/ So it is to millions more. And if I get real enjoyment out of my toasted bacca—which is Cut Plug No. 10—that’s my funeral. Gotta match?” The philosophy of the bus driver is sound. No one is compelled to smoke Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold or Desert Gol<(. But most, smokers do. So that’s that. And why not? These blends are. champion—harmless, too. They’re toasted! — Ad’vt.