In a corner of the main office we came upon a group of three constables, one inspector and two unexplained men in plain-clothes. They were talking in undertones round a table on which O’Rane’s secretary lay in a dead faint. Another clerk, white-faced and tremulous, sat in another corner with a telephone; a third wandered distractedly about the room, tidying books into place and sobbing gently to herself. “This is Mr. O’Rane,” I told the inspector. “We understand no one’s been killed. That’s all we know.” “It’s not the fault of those others that some one _wasn’t_ killed. Excuse me, sir, she’s coming to,” he added in an undertone. “Don’t hurry her! Stand back there and give her room.” 3 Five minutes later we began to build up a composite explanation from the inspector’s report and the evidence of the three eye-witnesses. Shortly after one o’clock a man had called to see Mr. O’Rane; he gave no name, but said that he had been sent to the office from Westminster. On hearing that Mr. O’Rane was not yet arrived, he explained that he was spokesman of a deputation and would like to wait for an interview. The one clerk who was on duty during the luncheon-hour then tried to make an appointment for the next morning on the ground that Mr. O’Rane had said he would not be at the office until late, if indeed he came at all that day. The spokesman of the deputation replied that he had heard that story before and enquired sarcastically if he should lead his men back to Westminster. “He said he’d come all the way from the north,” interposed O’Rane’s secretary. “I guessed then he was one of the hunger-marchers; and I . . . didn’t like the way he spoke. So, when he turned to call the others, I gave him a push and slammed the door behind him. Then . . . then . . . then . . .” O’Rane patted the girl’s hand while the inspector resumed his narrative. Barred from one entrance, the rioters attacked the other and succeeded in wrenching the door down. Inside, their conduct at first was orderly: some stretched themselves on the floor, others collected round the fires; when the police arrived, however, one or two got out of hand: tables were overturned, drawers ransacked and the safe bombarded, ineffectually enough, with sticks and stones. Then two arrests were made; and the crowd settled down to fight in earnest. Those who were outside shattered the windows with every missile that came to hand; those within overturned the furniture, flung the books from their shelves and kicked burning coals into the midst of the wreckage. When the truncheons came into place, the attack collapsed; but, with half-a-dozen exceptions, the invaders had made good their escape. “Which way did they go?,” asked O’Rane. “Every way, sir, as far as we could see. They were lost in the fog before they were out of the garden.”