“So,” he said, his thin mouth askew, “so after what I’ve said an’ what I’ve done you follow me, do you. Showing me up in the street, eh!” He edged closer to her, his fist doubled, and she, poor drab, fascinated by the snakelike glare of his dull eyes, stood rooted to the spot. Then with a snarl he struck her--once, twice--and she fell a huddled, moaning heap on the pavement. You may do things in Commercial Road, E., after “lighting-up time” that are not permissible in the broad light of the day, unless it be Saturday, and the few people who had been attracted by the promise of a row were indignant but passive, after the manner of all London crowds. Not so one quiet, middle-aged man, who confronted Vinnis as he began to walk away. “That was a particularly brutal thing to do,” said the quiet man. Vinnis measured him with his eye, and decided that this was not a man to be trifled with. “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he said roughly, and tried to push past, but an iron grip was on his arm. “Wait a moment, my friend,” said the other steadily, “not so fast; you cannot commit a brutal assault in the open street like that without punishment. I must ask you to walk with me to the station.” “Suppose I won’t go?” demanded Vinnis. “I shall take you,” said the other. “I am Detective-Sergeant Jarvis from Scotland Yard.” Vinnis thought rapidly. There wasn’t much chance of escape; the street they were in was a cul-de-sac, and at the open end two policemen had made their appearance. After all, a “wife” assault was not a serious business, and the woman--well, she would swear it was an accident. He resolved to go quietly; at the worst it would be a month, so with a shrug of his shoulders he accompanied the detective. A small crowd followed them to the station. In the little steel dock he stood in his stockinged feet whilst a deft jailer ran his hands over him. With a stifled oath, he remembered the money in his possession; it was only ten pounds, for he had secreted the other, but ten pounds is a lot of money to be found on a person of his class, and generally leads to embarrassing inquiries. To his astonishment, the jailer who relieved him of the notes seemed in no whit surprised, and the inspector at the desk took the discovery as a matter of course. Vinnis remarked on the surprising number of constables there were on duty in the charge room. Then-- “What is the charge?” asked the inspector, dipping his pen. “Wilful murder!” said a voice, and Angel Esquire crossed the room from the inspector’s office. “I charge this man with having on the night of the 17th of February....”