Belt, holster, cartridges, and the No. 38 "Colt" that reminds you
of a drowning man trying to drag you down; handcuffs; police
whistle; blackjack (officially he never carries this;
theoretically there is not one on the Isthmus. But the "gum-shoe"
naturally cannot twirl a police club, and it is not always policy
to shoot every refractory prisoner). Then if he chances to be
addicted to the weed there is the cigarette-case and matches; a
watch is frequently convenient; and incidentally a few articles of
clothing are more or less indispensable even in the dry season.
Now and again, too, a bit of money does not come amiss. For though
the Canal Zone is a Utopia where man lives by work-coupons alone,
the detective can never know at what moment his all-embracing
duties may carry him away into the foreign land of Panama; and
even were that possibility not always staring him in the face, in
the words of "Gorgona Red," "You've got t' have money fer yer
booze, ain't ye?"

Which seems also to be Uncle Sam's view of the matter. Far and
away more important than any of the plain-clothes equipment thus
far mentioned is the "expense account." It is unlike the others in
that it is not visible and tangible but a mere condition, a
pleasant sensation like the consciousness of a good appetite or a
youthful fullness of life. The only reality is a form signed by
the czar of the Zone himself tucked away among I. C. C. financial
archives. That authorizes the man assigned to special duty in
plain clothes to be reimbursed money expended in the pursuance of
duty up to the sum of $60 per month; though it is said that the
interpretation of this privilege to the full limit is not unlikely
to cause flames of light, thunderous rumblings, and other natural