“Well, young man,” she said, “having considered matters, and having a right to look well to myself, I think that what I should prefer to have would be one of those annuities.  A nice, comfortable annuity, paid weekly—­none of your monthlies or quarterlies, but regular and punctual, every Saturday morning.  Or Monday morning, as was convenient to the parties concerned—­but punctual and regular.  I know a good many ladies in my sphere of life as enjoys annuities, and it’s a great comfort to have ’em paid weekly.”

It occurred to Spargo that Mrs. Gutch would probably get rid of her weekly dole on the day it was paid, whether that day happened to be Monday or Saturday, but that, after all, was no concern of his, so he came back to first principles.

“Even now you haven’t said how much,” he remarked.

“Three pound a week,” replied Mother Gutch.  “And cheap, too!”

Spargo thought hard for two minutes.  The secret might—­might!—­lead to something big.  This wretched old woman would probably drink herself to death within a year or two.  Anyhow, a few hundreds of pounds was nothing to the Watchman.  He glanced at his watch.  At that hour—­for the next hour—­the great man of the Watchman would be at the office.  He jumped to his feet, suddenly resolved and alert.

“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.