ON BAYLIS

NZ Truth, Issue 1141, 13 October 1927, Page 4

ON BAYLIS

IN .appearance, Detective Baylis, of Wellington, is as much like a detective as the proverbial chalk resembles the proverbial cheese. Not for him those heavy boots and blue clothes which shriek, a mile away, "I'm a detective!" Rather, he looks what even a casual acquaintance proves him to be; to wit, an ordinary gentleman and one of the best. A great mystery writer of our own times — the adaptable and ingenious Edgar Wallace — maintains that a detective must be able to mix with any class of humanity without a feeling of inferiority or superiority. If he can do this, he is on the high road to inspiring confidence and trust rather than a dread of The Law. Wallace's requirements fi n d their expression m Baylis. When interviewing even the most stubborn or nervous people, he puts them completely at their ease. In somewhere about eighteen seconds, he has them firmly convinced that the future of the whole police force depends entirely upon their information. He appeals to their sense of justice; and, perhaps, to their vanity-^-the surest way to unearth the point that really matters. Not for him are the dramatic and the "my dear Watson" methods. He just stands, listens, looks pleasant . . . and goes back to his office with the whole story. That's just how it should be. CARRYING ON THE pleas that come the way of 1 genial little Major Jim Watson, the father-bountiful and guiding hand of the Wellington R.S.A., would, m the course of a week, fill a large volume. When funds are short, Major Watson dives down into his pockets and invariably brings to light some assistance m deserving cases. He it is who visits the sick m hospital every week and never a returned i man goes into an institution who doesn't receive comfort and good cheer through a visit from J.W. More substantial still are the "smokes" which he distributes on each visit to those m need. In his tireless and self-sacrificing capacity, Jim Watson every fortnight journeys to Porirua to cheer that little band of ex-soldiers who live m the shadow of a great affliction. The terrible aftermath of war is very real to Major Watson. His comrades there three short years ago numbered 64. Some have died and a few have been discharged. Now, on his periodical visits with cigarettes and magazines, he cares for 90. No wonder he is downcast on his return. Any time you go his way you will still find him "carrying on," trying to help the down-and-outs who •. have> drifted — through war disabilities — into difficult channels.