"In a word, he's a sod," muttered Simms.

Jordan was more generous. "He's not so bad-a stickler for the book, but do it his way and you won't go far wrong. Mind you, he's got a bit of a sharp tongue, which he has been known to use on the lazy and slovenly, as my friend and colleague here has discovered to his cost."

"What about Mr. Mullett, the Divisional Commander?"

"Superintendent Mullett is a stuck-up, pompous know-nothing sod," answered Simms.

Again Jordan differed. "He's got his faults, but he's fair. How long were you in uniform?"

"Twenty-four months."

Jordan grinned. No one could be considered for C.I.D. until they had spent a minimum of two years in uniform. Clive had spent the bare minimum. "Couldn't you wait to get out of it?"

"I joined the Force with one idea and one idea only-to go into C.I.D. No disrespect, but to my mind C.I.D. is what police work is all about."

A left turn at a roundabout. "You'll never get me to change," said Jordan. "For my money you can't beat the uniformed branch. Mind you, it was different years ago. Then they reckoned the chap on the beat was thick, clumsy, and slow-like my mate here-employed by the C.I.D. elite to stand outside the door and bar unauthorized entry during their investigations. He might be allowed to fetch the tea and bring back the right change and work all the hours that God sent without complaining, but that was all…"

"It's exactly the same now," muttered Simms, "except we do complain."

Jordan snorted. "You know it isn't. We're a self-motivated team in this car, expected to work on our own initiative. I bet we do more basic detection work in a day than your average C.I.D. man does in a month. And unlike the C.I.D. we work regular hours."

"Sounds a good job," smiled Simms, "I think I'll join." He turned to Clive. "I don't know what you've been used to in town, but I'm afraid your digs are a bit tatty. They're hard to come by these days-and us uniformed lads get the cream, as you would expect."