Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this
irrevocable phrase.

"I really have no experience," he began.

"No one has any experience," said the other, "of the Battle of
Armageddon."

"But I am really unfit--"

"You are willing, that is enough," said the unknown.

"Well, really," said Syme, "I don't know any profession of which
mere willingness is the final test."

"I do," said the other--"martyrs. I am condemning you to death.
Good day."

Thus it was that when Gabriel Syme came out again into the crimson
light of evening, in his shabby black hat and shabby, lawless
cloak, he came out a member of the New Detective Corps for the
frustration of the great conspiracy. Acting under the advice of his
friend the policeman (who was professionally inclined to neatness),
he trimmed his hair and beard, bought a good hat, clad himself in
an exquisite summer suit of light blue-grey, with a pale yellow
flower in the button-hole, and, in short, became that elegant and
rather insupportable person whom Gregory had first encountered in
the little garden of Saffron Park. Before he finally left the
police premises his friend provided him with a small blue card,