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The Green Bag

ber, and still there was no response.

General Twitchell, for a wonder, was

Judge Blodgett explained afterward that his only idea in calling on the General

sitting silent. judge Blodgett looked down upon him with a benignant smile and asked, "What would you suggest in regard to this case, Brother Twitchcll?" The General looked it up in his docket,

was that this seemed to be the one case of the entire lot that he did not have something to say about, and he did not want to see him slighted.

and witha puzzled expression on his face,

THE WHO'S-WHO OF CRIMELAND

replied, “I hardly know, your Honor, but

HE "Who's-Who" of America’s criminals is a handsome volume, bound in limp leather, a limited edition of which is issued every year or so. Only members of “the four hundred"

perhaps it would be well to put it at the bottom of the trial list." “What is the case, anyway?" asked the Judge to Moses, who replied that he didn't recall a thing about it. All there was on the docket was the number and name of the case, no counsel having ﬁled appearances or anything else having

been pu on. He suggested that it might be a divorce case, judging from the simi larity of the names, but he had com pletely forgotten how it came to be there. Just at that moment the door ﬂew open with a crash and amud-bespattered individual ﬂew in and rushed to the bar, called to General Twitchell and handed him a letter. General Twitchell

simply turned to the Court and said. “One moment, your Honor," and then opened the letter and glanced over it.

There spread over his face a ﬁne smile as he said, “This explains the mystery, your Honor. That case is one of Brother X —‘s and he is not able to be here. He sent this letter by the stage and it broke down and the driver has just delivered it to me. He asks that this case of Smith

v. Smith be put at the bottom of the trial list for the term, as he hopes to secure

of the criminal world ﬁnd representa tion in this register, and an entire page is devoted to each individual mentioned. Oﬂicially the volume is known as the Identiﬁcation Album of the National Bureau of Criminal Identiﬁcation, an

institution having headquarters at Wash ington, D.C. Data for the album —which is literally a blue book—are supplied

by the police departments of over one hundred cities throughout the country, and it is to these departments that the

volumes are distributed. Each branch of criminal endeavor has a separate chapter in the book, one telling of pick pockets, another of forgers, and so on.

At the top of each page are reproduced two photographs of a distinguished criminal —a proﬁle and full face.

Be

low come name, aliases, age, height, weight, general appearance, and marks and scars. Bertillon measurements and

criminal record ﬁll out the page. Filed in the Bureau are about 75,000

identiﬁcation cards dealing with crimi nals not suﬁ’iciently famous to deserve

the attendance of the witnesses by that

place in the “Who's-Who."

time."

these cards is similar to a page from the book. About one-tenth of the total number of cards are for women. About

He sat down and everybody laughed. What had started as a joke of the Court turned out to be just the right thing.

Each of

one-fourth are for negroes.

T/u Edi!” will b: glad to rfuiwfar this department anyt/ting likely to entertain Ill! radar: of t

Gran Bag in MI way 0/ legal antiquitin, funk}, and ‘undoin