But perhaps if she did that, he would go off somewhere with that Warren woman.
Michael presently re-entered the carriage and in silence they returned to Portland Place.
The next day his wife meeting one of her Anti-Suffrage friends said: "Er--supposing--er--you had got to know something about these dreadful militant women, something which might help the police, yet didn't want to get _too_ much mixed up with it yourself, and _certainly_ not bring your husband into it--the Professor _thoroughly_ disapproves of militancy, even though he may have foolish ideas about the Vote--er--what would you do ?" "Well, what is it ?" "It's part of a letter." "Well, I should just send it to the Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland Yard, and tell them under what circumstances it came into your possession.

You needn't even give your name or address.

They'll soon know whether it's any use or not." So Mrs.Rossiter took from her desk that scrap of partly burnt paper with the typewritten words on it which she had picked out of the grate two and a half years before, and posted it to the Criminal Investigation Department, with the intimation that this fragment had come into the possession of the sender some time ago, and seemed to refer to a militant Suffragist who called herself "Vivie Warren" or "David Williams," and perhaps it might be of some assistance to the authorities in tracking down these dangerous women who now stuck at nothing.

She posted the letter with her own hands in the North West district.

Park Crescent, Portland Place, she always reflected, was still in the _Western_ district, though it lay perilously near the North West border line, beyond which Lady Jeune had once written, no one in Society thought of living.