Smothering his annoyance, the detective thanked Mr. Coningsby Smythe for his information and released him to his important duties. As he left the House, Poole remembered that there was one name that he had not got on his list—that of the woman who had caused a disturbance at the Inquest. It was a hundred to one against her having anything of importance to say—probably she was one of the many half-witted people whose object in life is to draw attention to themselves; still, Poole had been in the Force long enough to learn that it was never safe to turn one’s back upon the most unpromising source of information. Returning to the Yard, he obtained the name and address which the woman had given to the Coroner’s Officer: Miss Griselda Peake, 137 Coxon’s Buildings, Earl’s Court. It was now nearly five o’clock and Poole felt that the lady would almost certainly be at home for the sacred office of tea-drinking. He proved to be right; Miss Peake was at home—in a small room on the seventh floor (no lift) of Coxon’s Buildings, and received him with great dignity and the offer of refreshment. “I have been expecting to hear from Scotland Yard, Officer,” she said. “I have important information to give and I should have been heard by the Coroner. I thought him an ill-mannered official, but still I understand that red-tape is red-tape and I am prepared to meet the wishes of the authorities.” Miss Peake spoke calmly, with none of the excited shrillness of her appearance at the Inquest. Perhaps the environment of her home was soothing. She was a very small woman, of about fifty-five, dressed in the period of the nineties. Her long, tight-sleeved dress was youthful in cut and ornament and probably represented a well-saved relic of her young days. Possibly her mind had never advanced beyond that age—she both looked and spoke like a figure from the _Strand Magazine_ in the days of L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace. “I was present at the time the outrage was committed on Sir Garth Fratten,” she said, impressively. “I was standing—two lumps, Officer?—at the foot of the Steps at the time, or rather, I should say, half-way between the foot of the Steps and the carriage-way—the new carriage-way, you know—it has all been altered—Germanized—a grave mistake I always feel. I happened to be waiting there, watching the Members on their way from the Cartlon to the House—Mr. Balfour often passes that way—a great man, Officer, a charming speaker, but I fear that he will never be a leader. I saw two gentlemen, evidently Members, coming down the Steps, and the next moment I saw it all. A dastardly outrage, Officer!” Miss Peake’s voice rose suddenly in a shrill cry of excitement. Her eyes blazed and she rose to her feet, nearly pushing over the tea-table as she did so. Evidently the poor lady’s mind could not stand excitement. “A brutal attack!” she cried. “Ruffians—a gang of ruffians—Fenians!”