“Here, I’ll take you to see my principals,” he said. “We’ll run along in a taxi-cab.” “With all the pleasure in the world, young man,” replied Mother Gutch; “when you’ve given me that other half-sovereign. As for principals, I’d far rather talk business with masters than with men—though I mean no disrespect to you.” Spargo, feeling that he was in for it, handed over the second half-sovereign, and busied himself in ordering a taxi-cab. But when that came round he had to wait while Mrs. Gutch consumed a third glass of gin and purchased a flask of the same beverage to put in her pocket. At last he got her off, and in due course to the _Watchman_ office, where the hall-porter and the messenger boys stared at her in amazement, well used as they were to seeing strange folk, and he got her to his own room, and locked her in, and then he sought the presence of the mighty. What Spargo said to his editor and to the great man who controlled the fortunes and workings of the _Watchman_ he never knew. It was probably fortunate for him that they were both thoroughly conversant with the facts of the Middle Temple Murder, and saw that there might be an advantage in securing the revelations of which Spargo had got the conditional promise. At any rate, they accompanied Spargo to his room, intent on seeing, hearing and bargaining with the lady he had locked up there. Spargo’s room smelt heavily of unsweetened gin, but Mother Gutch was soberer than ever. She insisted upon being introduced to proprietor and editor in due and proper form, and in discussing terms with them before going into any further particulars. The editor was all for temporizing with her until something could be done to find out what likelihood of truth there was in her, but the proprietor, after sizing her up in his own shrewd fashion, took his two companions out of the room. “We’ll hear what the old woman has to say on her own terms,” he said. “She may have something to tell that is really of the greatest importance in this case: she certainly has something to tell. And, as Spargo says, she’ll probably drink herself to death in about as short a time as possible. Come back—let’s hear her story.” So they returned to the gin-scented atmosphere, and a formal document was drawn out by which the proprietor of the _Watchman_ bound himself to pay Mrs. Gutch the sum of three pounds a week for life (Mrs. Gutch insisting on the insertion of the words “every Saturday morning, punctual and regular”) and then Mrs. Gutch was invited to tell her tale. And Mrs. Gutch settled herself to do so, and Spargo prepared to take it down, word for word.