As Poole had expected, the couple they were following turned down into Monument Station. Poole and Inez kept in the background and, when a westbound train appeared, took their seats in separate coaches as arranged. Through the double glass doors Poole could get a fair view of Daphne and her friend. The girl—Poole thought that she might be anything between twenty-five and thirty—was distinctly pretty. Her small close-fitting hat concealed her hair but she certainly gave the impression of being fair. The man was rather older, with a firm chin and rather tight-lipped mouth below his clipped moustache; his eyes were light and his general colouring suggested brown hair. The pair, sitting close to the central doors of their coach, seemed to be talking quietly about trivial matters; they certainly showed no sign of being aware that they were watched. At Cannon Street and Mansion House more belated workers got in; though the big rush was over the train was fairly full; there were no strap-hangers, however, so Poole saw no necessity to get any closer. At Charing Cross there was a fairly large exodus; this, with the subsequent oncoming passengers, kept the detective fully employed in maintaining his watch. The man and woman, however, remained seated and as the doors began to slam Poole relaxed his vigilance. Suddenly the pair jumped to their feet and, slipping out of the double doors, hurried towards the exit stairs. Poole leaped up and dashed for his own door; as ill-luck would have it some railway official was in the act of closing it and Poole had to exert all his strength to force it open. Even then the man tried to push him back, shouting angrily to him to keep his seat; with a great effort Poole forced his way out on to the platform; the train had by that time gathered speed and the detective fell heavily to his hands and knees. More railwaymen gathered round him and his first opponent seized him angrily by the arm and shouted excitedly about “assault.” Poole saw that he might be seriously delayed if he stopped to explain. With a sudden wrench he burst his way clear and dashed up the stairs, followed by the loud shouts of the officials. The ticket collector at the top tried to bar his way, but the detective dodged past him and made for the entrance. By the time he got out the other passengers had dispersed, though there were plenty of people about; there was no sign of Daphne and her companion, but a taxi was disappearing past the Playhouse and Poole felt convinced that his quarry were in it. Not another cab was within sight and before he had time to go in search of one or to make enquiries a couple of railroad porters had seized him and pulled him back into the entrance hall, where they were soon joined by the stationmaster and the angry victim of his assault.