But even were there a thousand Lecocqs, reinforced by half a thousand Sherlock Holmeses, employed on the New York detective force, it is doubtful whether their peculiar ability would prove of much practical service.

Their deductions, wonderful and convincing though they might be, would never be permitted to reach the ears of a jury.
So in the end, the great detective is the one who, seated at his desk, with the reports of his dozens of subordinates before him, is able to direct their collective efforts toward a single goal--the production of such evidence as is admissible in a court of law.
Since countless writers of detective fiction have provided the public with a most distorted notion of the methods of crime detection, it may not prove unprofitable to devote a moment or two to a peep behind the scenes at the Central Office.
Captain Manning is the titular head of the bureau.

He finds on his desk eleven police slips, each bearing in succinct outline the story of a crime which requires the services of Central Office detectives.
Ordinarily he will assign two men to each crime and perhaps the same day, or the following one, the detectives will make a verbal or written report.

Out of the eleven cases, perhaps ten will prove to be minor robberies of no especial significance, except to the victims.

On the face of them, they are the work of professional house-breakers, or pickpockets or hold-up men.
Manning will deliver a list of the stolen articles to his "pawnshop men," who will inquire of all pawnbrokers whether anything on the list has been pledged.