After the witness had repeated in a toneless voice the solemn words of the oath, she began to be taken, step by step, though her story.  At once Mrs. Bunting realised that this was the woman who claimed to have seen The Avenger from her bedroom window.  Gaining confidence, as she went on, the witness described how she had heard a long-drawn, stifled screech, and, aroused from deep sleep, had instinctively jumped out of bed and rushed to her window.

The coroner looked down at something lying on his desk.  “Let me see!  Here is the plan.  Yes—­I think I understand that the house in which you are lodging exactly faces the alley where the two crimes were committed?”

And there arose a quick, futile discussion.  The house did not face the alley, but the window of the witness’s bedroom faced the alley.

“A distinction without a difference,” said the coroner testily.  “And now tell us as clearly and quickly as you can what you saw when you looked out.”

There fell a dead silence on the crowded court.  And then the woman broke out, speaking more volubly and firmly than she had yet done.  “I saw ’im!” she cried.  “I shall never forget it—­no, not till my dying day!” And she looked round defiantly.

Mrs. Bunting suddenly remembered a chat one of the newspaper men had had with a person who slept under this woman’s room.  That person had unkindly said she felt sure that Lizzie Cole had not got up that night—­that she had made up the whole story.  She, the speaker, slept lightly, and that night had been tending a sick child.  Accordingly, she would have heard if there had been either the scream described by Lizzie Cole, or the sound of Lizzie Cole jumping out of bed.

“We quite understand that you think you saw the”—­the coroner hesitated—­“the individual who had just perpetrated these terrible crimes.  But what we want to have from you is a description of him.  In spite of the foggy atmosphere about which all are agreed, you say you saw him distinctly, walking along for some yards below your window.  Now, please, try and tell us what he was like.”

The woman began twisting and untwisting the corner of a coloured handkerchief she held in her hand.

“Let us begin at the beginning,” said the coroner patiently.  “What sort of a hat was this man wearing when you saw him hurrying from the passage?”

“It was just a black ’at” said the witness at last, in a husky, rather anxious tone.

“Yes—­just a black hat.  And a coat—­were you able to see what sort of a coat he was wearing?”

“’E ’adn’t got no coat” she said decidedly.  “No coat at all!  I remembers that very perticulerly.  I thought it queer, as it was so cold—­everybody as can wears some sort o’ coat this weather!”

A juryman who had been looking at a strip of newspaper, and apparently not attending at all to what the witness was saying, here jumped up and put out his hand.