第7章 (第2/3页)
did not move was the third man from the left. The third man from the left waited submissively for his escort and was led away to his cell again.
'Strewth!; the Superintendent had said, 'One chance out of twelve, and you mad it. That was good going, He picked your man out of the bunch,' he said in explanation to the local Inspector.
'Did you know him?' the Inspector said, a little surprised. 'He's never been in trouble before, as far as we know.'
'No, I never saw him before. I don't even know what the charge is.'
'Then what made you pick him?'
Grant had hesitated, analysing for the first time his process of selection. It had not been a matter of reasoning. He had not said: 'That man's face has this characteristic or that characteristic, therefore he is the accused person.' his choice had been almost instinctive; the reason was in his subconscious. At last, having delved into his subconscious, he blurted: 'He was the only one of the twelve with no lines on his face.'
They had laughed at that. But Grant, once he had pulled the thing into the light, saw his instinct had worked and recognized the reasoning behind it. 'It sounds silly, but it isn't,' he had said, 'The only adult entirely without face lines the idiot.'
'Freeman's no idiot, take it from me,' the Inspector broke in. 'A very wide-awake wide boy he is, believe me.'
'I didn't mean that. i mean that the idiot is irresponsible. The idiot is the standard of irresponsibility. All those twelve men in that parade were thirty-ish, but only one had an irresponsible face. So I picked him at once.'
After that it had become a mild joke at the yard that Grant could 'pick them at sight'. And the Assistant Commissioner had once said teasingly: 'Don't tell me that you believe that there is such a thing as a criminal face, Inspector.'
But Grant had said no, he wasn't as simple as that. 'If there was only one kind of crime, sir, it might be possible; but crimes being as wide as human nature, if a policeman started to put faces into categories he would be sunk. you can tell what the normal run of over-sexed women look like by a walk down Bond Street any day between five and six, and yet the most notorious nymphomaniac in London looks like a cold saint.'
'Not so saintly of late; she's drinking too much these days,' the A.C. had said, identifying the lady without difficulty; and the c
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