I'LL tell you a strange thing about me - I never forget a face.
 The only trouble is that usually I'm quite unable to tell you
the name of the person. I know what you're going to say - you
suffer from the same thing yourself. Lots of people do, to some
 extent. But I'm not like that. When I say I never forget a face,
 I mean it. I can pass a fellow in the street one day and recognize
 him again months after, though we've never spoken to each other.
 My wife says sometimes that I ought to be a reporter for the newspapers
 and wait about at first nights at cinemas, looking for all
the famous people who go to see the films. But, as I tell her,
I should not be able to do very well at that. I should see the famous
 man or woman, but I should not be able to say which one it was.
That's my trouble, as I say - names.
Of course, this trouble with names has put me in difficulties from
 time to time. But with a little skill one can usually get out of
the difficulty in one way or another. In my work, moving round the
City doing bits of business, I have to be very clever not to let a man
see that I can't remember whether his name is Smith or Moses. I've
annoyed people in that way and lost good business more than once.
 But on the whole, I think I gain more than I lose by this strange
 memory of mine.
Quite often I've approached a man who didn't know me at all. I've said:
 "I think we've met before," and I've been able to give him some idea
of where it was. I can always connect a face with a place, you see.
Well, as I was saying, I can approach this fellow and remind him of
a big dinner or a football match or whatever it is that his face reminds
 me of, and probably within five minutes we're talking about business.
I can usually find out his name later on. My memory for faces helps me
 a lot in business.
You can guess that there's not a man, woman or child here in Bardfield
that I don't know by sight. I've lived in Bardfield ever since the Second
 World War. I like the place; although it's only forty minutes from London,
 there's a lot of country here. The village is almost a mile from
the station, and that's rather troublesome. But quite a pleasant
crowd of men travel up and down to the City most days, and I needn't
tell you that I don't know the names of half of them, though we speak
 to each other cheerfully enough. My wife complains that I don't know
the names of our neighbours in the next house, and that's true.
Well, on this particular evening I'd been kept a bit late at the office,
 and it was difficult to get to the station in time to catch the train.
There was quite a crowd on the train at first, but they gradually got out;
 and by the time we reached Ellingham - that's two stations before mine -
there were only two of us left in the carriage. The other fellow wasn't
one of the
regular travellers, but I knew he was a Bard field man. I knew it as soon as
 I saw him, of course. I'd smiled at him when I saw him get into the
carriage
in London, and he had smiled back. But that didn't tell me his name.
The annoying thing was that I couldn't remember where I knew this fellow's
 face from, if you understand what I mean. His face told me clearly that
he was connected with Bardfield, but that was all it told me. I could not
think where in Bardfield I had seen it. I guessed he must be one of those
fellows who've come to live lately in the small houses by the bus-stop,
but I couldn't be sure. Some of us who've lived in the place for a long
time are rather unfriendly towards newcomers, but that's not my way -
never has been. I never know where the next bit of business is going to
 come from, and it may come from one of them. I can't afford to neglect
chances.
So when the two of us found ourselves alone in the carriage, with room to
 stretch our legs and be a bit comfortable, I started to talk, just as if
we were old friends. But I can't say that I got much information out of him.
 He spoke well, with a quiet friendly manner, but he told me very little.
I can generally find out what a man's work is in ten and a half minutes -
that's the time it takes from Ellingham to Bardfield by train - but I
failed this time. He looked a bit tired, I remember, as if he'd been
working too hard lately, and I thought maybe that made him unwilling to
 talk much."Do you generally travel down on this train?" I asked him.
That's usually a safe opening to a conversation, because either they do
travel or they don't, and nine times out often they'll tell you why, and
 what hours they work, and what their work is. It's only human nature.
But he just smiled and shook his head and said, "Not generally," which
 wasn't much help.
Of course, I went on to talk about the train service in general, comparing
 this train with that, but still he said nothing. He just agreed with all
I said, but he didn't seem to have any opinions of his own. I told him I
sometimes went up to the City by road, but that didn't make him talk either.
 I didn't think it would, because you don't expect a fellow who lives in a
cheap house to own a car.
Well, in the end, I had to give up. I'd told him a lot about myself,
of course, so as to make things pleasant. I'd even boasted a little
about a rather nice bit of business I'd done that morning. I've always
 found that there's nothing as good as boasting to start a fellow talking.
 It makes him want to boast too. He seemed interested in a quiet sort of
way, but it was no good. So I stopped talking and started to read my paper.
 And the next time I looked at him, he'd put his head back and gone off to
sleep!We were just coming into the station then, and though the train
stopped rather suddenly, it didn't seem to wake him. Well, I'm a kind-hearted
 fellow and I wasn'tgoing to let a Bardfield man be carried on all the way
 
to the next stop if I could help it. So I touched him sharply on the knee.

"Wake up, old fellow! We're there!" I said. He awoke at once and smiled at
 me

."Oh, so we are!" he said, and got out after me.
You know what the weather was like just then. When we came out of the station
 together it was quite dark and raining heavily. There was a wind blowing
 strong enough to knock you over, and it was bitterly cold.
Well, what would you have done? The same as I did. I turned round and said
 to him: "Listen. There isn't a bus for a quarter of an hour. I've got my
car in the station-yard, and if you're in one of those small houses I can
take you there. It's on my way." 'Thanks very much," he said, and we walked
through the water to where my old car was standing and off we went. "This is
very kind of you," he said as we started, and that was the last thing he
said until we were halfway across the open country. Then he suddenly turned
 round and said, "You can let me get out here." "What, here?" I asked him.
 It seemed mad, because there wasn't a house within five hundred yards and,
 as I say, it was raining and blowing like the end of the world. But I
slowed down, as anyone would. The next thing that happened was that something
 hit me really hard on the back of the head. I fell forwards and then
everything went black. I can half-remember being pulled out of the car,
and when I came to my senses again I was lying in the ditch with the rain
 pouring down on me, with a bad headache, no car in sight and my pockets -
  as I found   out   later   -empty.I pulled myself up at last and somehow
 managed to walk into Bardfield. I went straight to the police station, of
course. It's the first building you reach if you come that way. And there
I reported that someone had stolen my car, a new umbrella, a gold watch and
 a hundred and fifty-two pounds ten shillings in notes.  ..   Of course, as
 soon as I got there I remembered who the man was. His picture was on the
wall outside. I'd seen it every day for a week. That's why his face reminded
 me of Bardfield. Under the picture were some words: "Wanted for Robbery
with Violence and Attempted Murder. John ———" Oh dear, I've forgotten the
 name again. I just can't keep names in my head. But that's the man. I tell
 you - I never forget a face. That's my trouble has put me in difficulties
from time to time with a little skill one can get out of difficulty in one
way or another moving round the city doing bits of business I can't remember
 I've annoyed people in that way lost good business more than once on the
whole I gain more than I lose strange memory