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diff --git a/75318-h/75318-h.htm b/75318-h/75318-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a1a8b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75318-h/75318-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11781 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>The Duke of York’s Steps</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { + margin: 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; +} +p { + margin: 0; + text-indent: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; +} +hr { + width: 40%; + margin: 1em 30%; +} +h1 { + margin: 2em auto; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +h2 { + margin: 2em auto; + text-align: center; +} +h2 + p { text-indent: 0; } +blockquote { margin: 1em; } +figure { text-align: center; } +img { max-width: 95%; } +#titlepage { padding: 10% 0; } +.authorprefix { + font-style: italic; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 1em 0; +} +.author { + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + margin-bottom: 2em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publish2 { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publish1 { + letter-spacing: 0.1em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.copyright { + font-size: small; + font-style: italic; + margin-top: 1em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +td.n { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: top; +} +td.t { + font-variant: small-caps; + padding-left: 1em; +} +.sc { + font-size: small; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.footnotesep { + border-bottom: 1px solid black; + margin-top: 2em; + width: 25%; +} +.footnote { + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 0.5em; +} +.advert p { text-indent: 0; } +.letter .salutation { text-indent: 0; } +.letter .valediction { + padding-right: 1em; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0; +} +.letter .signature { + padding-right: 5em; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0; +} +.letter .postscript { text-indent: 0; } +div.chapter { page-break-before: always; } +div.section { page-break-before: always; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75318 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>The Duke of York’s Steps</h1> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Henry Wade</p> + +<p class="publish2">New York</p> +<p class="publish1">Payson & Clarke Ltd</p> +<p class="copyright">Copyright, 1929, by Henry Wade</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table> +<tr> + <td class="n">I</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch01">The Two Bankers</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">II</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch02">At Queen Anne’s Gate</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">III</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch03">The Victory Finance Company</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch04">The Expected Happens</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">V</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch05">Sir Leward Marradine Takes Interest</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch06">Inspector John Poole</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch07">Significant Information</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch08">Ryland Fratten</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch09">Silence</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">X</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch10">The Inquest</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch11">The Intervention of Inez</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch12">“Breath of Eden”</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch13">Eye-Witnesses</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch14">Sir Garth’s Papers</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch15">“Eau D’Enfer”</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch16">Reconstruction</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch17">This Way and That</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch18">The Method</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch19">The Ethiopian and General Development Company</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch20">The Rotunda Mine</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch21">General Meets General</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch22">Miss Saverel</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch23">The Hotel “Antwerp”</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch24">Alibi</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch25">Justice</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXVI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch26">. . . May Be Blind</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>CHAPTER I. <br> The Two Bankers</h2> + +<p>“A glass of the Dow for Mr. Hessel, please, Rogers, +and I’ll have brown sherry.”</p> + +<p>The wine waiter retired to execute the order and Sir +Garth Fratten turned to his guest.</p> + +<p>“Too much vintage port last night, I’m afraid, Leo. +Old Grendonian dinner. ‘Hair of the dog that bit +you’ may be all right with champagne, but port—no.”</p> + +<p>His companion laughed.</p> + +<p>“I should have thought you were too old a Grendonian +to fall into that trap,” he said. “Where was it? +The Grandleigh? They generally give you pretty good +stuff there. I hate those functions myself—not that +there are any Old-Boy dinners of the school I went to.”</p> + +<p>There was a trace of bitterness in Hessel’s voice, but +his companion ignored it.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like them myself,” he said. “I haven’t been +to one for years, but this was a ter-centenary affair and +I rather had to go. The wine was all right—it was +the speeches that were the trouble—they kept at it till +nearly eleven. I got mine over early—and shortly—but +some of them took the opportunity to let off steam. +Pretty indifferent steam most of it was, too. One has +to drink something—toasts and general boredom. I +couldn’t drink the brandy—1812 on the bottle and +1912 inside it—the usual Napoleon ramp. But the +Cockburn was genuine stuff—’96. Must have got outside +the best part of a bottle—not wise in these soft +days. Have some coffee, old man. Shall we have it +here? The guests’ smoking-room is sure to be packed +now, and it’s after two—we can smoke in here.”</p> + +<p>The two men were sitting at a small corner table in +the handsome dining-room of the City Constitutional +Club, of which the elder, Sir Garth Fratten, was a +member. Chairman of the well-known “family” bank +which bears his name, Sir Garth occupied an assured +position in the esteem, not only of this exclusive club, +but of the “City” generally. Still well on the right +side of seventy, the banker was commonly regarded as +being at the peak of a long and honourable financial +career. He had kept his mind abreast of the rapidly +changing conditions of post-war finance, and this +faculty, coupled with his great practical knowledge and +experience, caused his opinion and his approval to be +valued very highly, not only by individuals, but even +at times by the Treasury. He had been knighted for +his services, financial and otherwise, to the country in +the Great War and it was thought not unlikely that his +specialized knowledge might lead him to a seat in the +Upper House.</p> + +<p>His companion, Leopold Hessel, was about eight +years his junior, though his scanty hair was at least as +grey as Fratten’s—probably because his path in life had +been less smooth. His skin, however, was clean and, +apart from the eyes, unlined, and his figure slim. He +had the dark eyes and sensitive hands, but none of the +more exaggerated features of his race, and the charm +of his appearance was confirmed by the fact of his +close friendship with a man of Sir Garth Fratten’s +discrimination. This friendship had been of untold value +to Hessel in the war, when the position of men +of even remote German descent had been extremely +difficult. Fratten, however, had insisted upon Hessel +retaining his position upon the directorate of the bank +and this action by so prominent a citizen, being regarded +as a certificate of Hessel’s patriotism, had saved +him the worst of the ignominies that were the lot of +many less fortunate than himself. None the less, the +scar of those harrowing years remained and was probably +reflected in the conversation that was now taking +place.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d let me put you up for this place, Leo,” +Fratten was saying. “I hate having to treat you as a +guest—you know what I mean—and take you into +that poky little smoking-room on the rare occasions +when you consent to lunch with me.”</p> + +<p>Hessel smiled rather bitterly and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It’s good of you, Fratten,” he said. “In many ways +I’d like to belong here, but . . .” he paused, as if +seeking how best to express a refusal that might appear +ungracious. “Perhaps I haven’t the courage to risk a +licking now,” he concluded.</p> + +<p>Fratten’s gesture of denial was emphatic.</p> + +<p>“You’re not still thinking of that damned war business, +are you? That’s all forgotten long ago—not that +it ever applied to you. Or is it Wendheim and Lemuels? +They weren’t blackballed because they were . . . +because of their religion. It was simply that this club +has always asked for other qualifications besides wealth +and business success. That ass Erdlingham didn’t +realize it, or they’d got the whip hand of him or +something—he’s in all their things—and he put them up +and of course they just got pilled—not the sort we +want here. You are—you’d get in without the least +doubt.”</p> + +<p>Hessel’s hand lightly touched his companion’s sleeve. +“You are a good friend, Fratten,” he said, “a good deal +better than I deserve. Don’t you see that that’s one +reason why I won’t risk this—you know what your +position would be if it didn’t come off. No, don’t go +on. I’m more grateful than I can say, but I shall not +change my mind.”</p> + +<p>Fratten sighed.</p> + +<p>“All right, Leo,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but I +respect your attitude. It’s more my loss than yours, +anyway. Come on; we must be off. I’ve got a Hospital +Board meeting at three and I must look in at the +bank first.”</p> + +<p>The two men made their way out into the wide hall, +with its handsome double staircase, recovered their +overcoats (it was October) and hats from the pegs +where they had hung them, and were soon in the +street.</p> + +<p>As they turned into Cornhill Fratten threw away +the cigar that he had been smoking, and cleared his +throat.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got something in the way of a confession to +make to you, Leo,” he said. “I ought to have made it +before, but I’m not sure that I’m not rather ashamed +of myself. I told you that I’d been to an old +Grendonian dinner last night. Well, I met a fellow there +who was a great friend of mine at school, though I +hadn’t seen him since. He was a soldier, did damn +well in the war, commanded a division in France +towards the end and a district in India afterwards. I +don’t think he’d ever lived in London till he retired a +couple of years ago—anyhow we’d never met. When +he left the army he didn’t settle down in the country +to grow moss and grouse at the Government like most +of them do. He . . . are you listening, old chap?”</p> + +<p>Hessel had been looking straight in front of him with +an expression that suggested that his thoughts might +be on some other and more important subject, but he +emphatically repudiated the implied charge of +inattention.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, of course I am. Go on—interesting career. +Who is he? What does he do?”</p> + +<p>Sir Garth, as other and lesser men, liked to tell his +story in his own way. He paid no attention to the +questions.</p> + +<p>“As I was saying, he didn’t settle down to a life of +promenades and old ladies at Cheltenham; he set up as +a bold bad company promoter—and with no mean +success.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?—What’s his name?” repeated Hessel.</p> + +<p>“Lorne. Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, K.C.B., +K.C. This and K.C. That. He asked me to . . .”</p> + +<p>But his companion had stopped.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Fratten,” he said. “What is this? What +is the confession? I can’t hear you in this racket. +Come down here.”</p> + +<p>He took his companion’s arm and pulled him into an +alley-way that led through towards Lombard Street. +It was comparatively quiet after the roar of the traffic +in Cornhill.</p> + +<p>“What on earth is this story?” repeated Hessel, with +a note of agitation in his voice.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you if you’ll give me half a chance. He’s +Chairman of a Finance Company—the Victory Finance +Company, I think he called it. . . . He has asked me +to join his Board. He thinks my name would be a +help—I suppose it would. Apparently they’re +thinking of extending their scope; they . . .”</p> + +<p>“But you didn’t consent?” ejaculated Hessel sharply.</p> + +<p>“I warned you it was a confession, Leo. I’d had, as +I told you at the club just now, more port than was +strictly wise. I wasn’t quite so—so guarded as I +usually am—we were very great friends at school. +I was a fool, I suppose, but I promised him I’d look +into the thing—he’s sending me the details +tonight.”</p> + +<p>Hessel’s usually calm face was flushed. He was +evidently deeply moved by Sir Garth’s information.</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “You can’t do +that. Your doctor . . . You told us—the Board—only +two or three meetings ago that your doctor had +absolutely ordered you to do less work! Your heart . . . +you said your heart was unsound! You’ve gone +off the Board of the British Tradings—I thought you +were going off your Hospital Board too. Besides, this +Victory Trust; what is it? You can’t—with your +reputation—you can’t go on to the Board of a +tin-pot company like that! It’s probably not sound. +It’s . . .”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that’s another point,” interrupted Fratten. +“If it’s not sound, of course I can’t go into it. Apart +from my own reputation it wouldn’t be fair to the +public; they might take my name—for what it’s worth—as +a guarantee. That I shall go into very carefully before +I consent. As to health, what you say is quite true. +My ‘tragic aneurism’ or whatever it is old Spavage +calls it, is rather serious. I don’t deny that I’m worried +about it. It isn’t heart really, you know—I only call +it that because it sounds prettier. But after all, this +Victory Finance Company ought not to mean much +work. I gather that it’s my name and perhaps some +general advice on the financial side of the business that +Lorne wants.”</p> + +<p>Hessel had by this time calmed down and he now +spoke quietly, though none the less definitely.</p> + +<p>“I think you are misleading yourself, Fratten. You +tell me that this company contemplates extending its +scope. I know you well enough to be certain that if +you go on to this Board and it starts developing fresh +fields you will throw your whole energy into the work. +You may deceive yourself about that but not me. +Now, apart from your own point of view, I want to put +two others to you—your family’s and the bank’s. If +you break down, if you over-strain yourself and +collapse—that’s what happens, you know—is that going to +be pleasant for Inez and Ryland?”</p> + +<p>“It certainly wouldn’t spoil Ryland’s sleep,” answered +Fratten bitterly. “I can’t imagine anything suiting +him better.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come, Fratten; you’re unjust to the boy. But +Inez—you know well enough that she adores you. I +should say that you were the centre of her whole +universe. Can’t you think of her? Doesn’t she come +before this school friend?—a friend who means so much +to you that you haven’t seen him, and probably haven’t +thought of him, for forty years.”</p> + +<p>The banker’s expression had softened at the mention +of his daughter but he made no comment. Hessel +renewed his attack from a fresh direction.</p> + +<p>“And the bank,” he said. “What about that? +Thousands of people depend upon the success of +Fratten’s Bank. All your shareholders—it’s been your +policy—our policy—for generations to distribute the +shares widely and in small holdings—mostly to small +people. Small tradesmen, single ladies, retired soldiers +and sailors, your own employees. Many of them have +all their savings in Fratten’s Bank. You know well +enough that the position of the private banks is +anything but secure in these days—half a slip, and the +‘<i>big five</i>’ swallow them. We’re doing well now, we’re +even prosperous—why?—because of you. Your knowledge, +your experience, your flair—you <em>are</em> the bank, +the rest of us are dummies. I don’t plead for myself, +but my own position, my financial and social position +are entirely dependent upon Fratten’s.”</p> + +<p>Sir Garth shook his head impatiently.</p> + +<p>“You exaggerate,” he said. “The Board is perfectly +capable of running the bank without me—probably +better. You yourself are worth in fact, though possibly +not in the eyes of the public, every bit as much to +the welfare of the bank as I am. You may have less +experience but you have a quicker, a more acute, +financial brain than I ever had and I’m past my prime—I’m +depreciating in value every day. No, no, Leo; you’ve +over-stated your case, and that’s fatal. I’ll take care, +of course, but that appeal <i>ad misericordiam</i>—weeping +widows and trusting orphans—is all bunkum. Anyway +I must get along now—I can’t stand here arguing +all day.”</p> + +<p>Hessel’s expression was grim.</p> + +<p>“You’ve definitely decided?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“If it’s sound, yes. I’ve taken a leaf out of your +book, Leo, about the club. I’m grateful to you for +your consideration, for your advice, much of it very +sound, but—I shan’t change my mind.”</p> + +<p>He moved off down the alley, and Hessel, after a +moment’s hesitation, followed him in silence. They +turned into Lombard Street, both evidently wrapped +in deep and probably anxious thought—so much so +that Sir Garth, omitting for once the fixed habit of +years, stepped into the roadway to cross the street +without glancing over his shoulder at the traffic. As +he did so, a motor-bicycle combination swooped from +behind a van straight at him. With a violent start, +Fratten awoke to his danger and stepped back on to the +pavement, untouched, while the cyclist, with a glance +back to see that all was well, sputtered on his way.</p> + +<p>But though there had been no collision, all was very +far from being well. The banker took two or three +shaky steps forward and then tottered to the inner side +of the pavement and leant, gasping, against the wall. +His face was very pale, and he pressed his hand against +his chest.</p> + +<p>A crowd had gathered at the first sight of the unusual +and now pressed closely round the sick man, adding +its heedless quota to his distress. Hessel, who had +come quickly to his companion’s side, did his best to +drive off the sensation-vultures, but it was not till a +majestic City policeman appeared that their victim was +given a chance to breathe in comfort. After loosening +his collar, the constable and Hessel guided Fratten into +the office outside which the mishap had occurred. +Quickly recovering himself and declining the manager’s +offer to send for some brandy, Sir Garth brushed aside +the constable’s desire to trace the motor-cyclist.</p> + +<p>“No, no. No need to make a fuss,” he said. “It +was as much my fault as his, and anyway you people +have got more important work to do than that. I’m +quite all right now; it would have been nothing if I +hadn’t happened to have a dicky heart. I’d like a taxi +though. I shan’t come to the bank now, Leo; it’s +getting late. Ask Ruslett to send me round the papers +about that Hungarian issue to my house. I shall be +there by five.”</p> + +<p>“But you’re going straight home, aren’t you?” +exclaimed Hessel.</p> + +<p>“No, I told you I’d got a Hospital Board this +afternoon. It’s nearly three now.”</p> + +<p>“But good heavens, man, are you out of your wits +today? You’ve had a severe shock. You must get +straight to bed and send for your doctor.”</p> + +<p>“Rubbish. I’m quite all right now. I must go to +this Board meeting—I’m in the Chair and I’ve got to +report on an amalgamation scheme. Besides, if I’m +ill, what better place to go to than a hospital? They’ve +even got a mortuary I believe, if the worst comes to the +worst!”</p> + +<p>Fratten laughed at his companion’s harassed +expression and took his arm.</p> + +<p>“Now then, lead me out to the ambulance, old man,” +he said.</p> + +<p>Hessel watched his friend drive off in the taxi, and +then turned and walked slowly off towards the bank, +an anxious and very thoughtful expression on his face.</p> + +<p>The police-constable established himself against a +convenient wall, took out his note-book and wetted his +pencil.</p> + +<p>“At 2.45 <span class="sc">p. m.</span>, I . . .”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>CHAPTER II. <br> At Queen Anne’s Gate</h2> + +<p>At half past four on the same afternoon, Inez Fratten +walked into the morning-room of her father’s big house +in Queen Anne’s Gate, pulled off her soft hat and threw +it on to a chair, shook her hair loose, and picked up a +telephone.</p> + +<p>“Wilton 0550 . . . Is that 27 Gr . . . Oh Jill! +Inez speaking. Jill darling, come and dine with us +tonight and play Bridge. Ryland’s dining in, as he calls +it, for once in a blue moon. I’m so anxious that one of +his dangerous tastes should have the best and brightest +home influence to distract him from—et cetera, et +cetera,—you know—sweet young English girlhood and all +the rest of it—you’re just exactly it—with a small ‘i’. +Yes, Golpin, I’ll have it in here. It’s all right, darling, +I’m talking about tea. I say, did you see Billie last +night? She was with that awful Hicking man again—you +know, the pineapple planter or whatever it is they +make fortunes out of in Borneo or New Guinea or +somewhere. Billie’s simply fascinated with him because +he’s got a ruby tooth—she follows him about +everywhere and says awful things to make him laugh—he +thinks he’s made a frightful conquest. They were at +the Pink Lizard last night, but you may have left. +Who was that exquisite young thing you’d got in tow? +No—really—I thought he was a pet. Well, you’re +coming, aren’t you? If you want a cocktail you must +have it at home because father’s joined an anti-cocktail +league or made a corner in Marsala or something. So +long, my Jill. Eight o’clock—don’t be late, because we +won’t wait. Poitry.”</p> + +<p>Inez put down the telephone and walked across to +the fireplace. There was a small Chippendale mirror +above it and she was just tall enough to see into it while +she ran her fingers through the soft waves of her brown +hair—peculiarly golden-brown, lighter than auburn, +but in no sense red. A shade darker were the low, +straight eyebrows which crowned a pair of the coolest, +clearest grey eyes in the world—eyes that looked at you +so steadily and calmly that you felt instinctively: +“lying is going to be an uncomfortable job here.” For +classic loveliness her chin was perhaps a thought too +firm, her lips not quite full enough, but when she smiled +there was a bewitching droop at the corners of her +mouth that relieved it of any suspicion of hardness. +Altogether it was a face that not only caught your eye +but took your heart and gave it a little shake each time +you looked at it.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Ryland told you he’d be in to dinner, didn’t +he, Golpin?”</p> + +<p>The pale smooth-faced butler, who was making mysterious +passes over a tea-table with a pair of over-fed +hands, indicated in a gentle falsetto that such was +indeed the case.</p> + +<p>“We shall be four altogether; Miss Jerrand is coming. +Oh, I say, take that ghastly green cake away and +bring some honey and a loaf of brown bread, etc. I’m +hungry. And you’d better tell Mr. Mangane that tea’s +ready—not that he’s likely to want any.”</p> + +<p>But in this respect Inez appeared to be wrong. She +had hardly helped herself to butter, honey, and a thick +slice of brown bread when the door opened and her +father’s secretary walked into the room. Laurence +Mangane had only taken up the post a month or so +ago and as he did not as a rule dine with the family—Sir +Garth liked to be really alone when he was not +entertaining—Inez had seen very little of him. He seemed +presentable enough, she thought, as he walked quietly +across the room and dropped into a chair beside her. +He was rather tall and dark, with a thin black moustache +that followed the line of his upper lip in the modern +heroic manner.</p> + +<p>“Afternoon, Mr. Mangane. Strong, weak, sugar, +milk? I thought you didn’t like tea.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t. Weak, sugar, no milk, please.”</p> + +<p>Inez’s hand, waving the Queen Anne teapot, paused +above a pale-green cup.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t like it, why on earth do you . . . ?”</p> + +<p>Mangane smiled.</p> + +<p>“Because I want some tea,” he said.</p> + +<p>Inez looked at him for a moment, the shadow of a +frown flickering across her face. Then, with a shrug:</p> + +<p>“Distinction’s a bit too subtle for me. Anyhow, +help yourself. Is father being kind to you?”</p> + +<p>“He’s being wonderfully patient. It must be infernally +trying to a busy man to have to explain what +he’s talking about.”</p> + +<p>“But you’ve had financial training, haven’t you? +Father said you’d been with Sir John Kinnick. I +thought you probably knew all about it.”</p> + +<p>“I thought so too; it’s been a thoroughly healthy and +humiliating experience for me to realize that I don’t. +Your father’s in a class by himself, so far as my +experience has taken me up to now. He sees things from +an entirely different point of view—a sort of financial +fourth dimension.”</p> + +<p>Appreciation of her father, if Mangane had known +it—and perhaps he did at least guess—was the surest +way to win Inez’s own approval. It was quite evident +that she regarded her father with anything but the +tolerant contempt which many of her contemporaries +thought it amusing to adopt towards their parents. +Sir Garth was a man whom it was possible, and even +reasonable, to admire, even if he did happen to be one’s +own father. Playing upon this easy string, Mangane +had no difficulty in justifying his self-sacrifice in the +matter of tea-drinking. He was even contemplating +another cup when the spell was broken by the abrupt +appearance of a Third Player. The door into the hall +opened suddenly and a young man slipped into the +room, closing the door behind him with exaggerated +silence.</p> + +<p>“Ry!” exclaimed Inez. “What on earth are you +trying to do?”</p> + +<p>Ryland tip-toed across the room with long strides +and whispered hoarsely in his sister’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Is the Old Gentleman, your father, to house, +maiden?”</p> + +<p>“No, you idiot; of course he isn’t at this time of night. +He does some work.”</p> + +<p>“Cruel, fair. But, oh Lord, I breathe again. A bowl +of milk or I die.”</p> + +<p>Ryland slid into the big chair beside his sister and +with one arm squeezed her to him. Mangane, watching +in some amazement, had difficulty in repressing a stab +of jealousy at sight of the flush of pleasure on the girl’s +face. Presumably, this must be Ryland Fratten, her +half-brother; there was nothing to worry about.</p> + +<p>“Ry, have you met Mr. Mangane? This is my +brother, Mr. Mangane.”</p> + +<p>“Steady. Half-brother; give the devil his due.”</p> + +<p>Mangane nodded in acknowledgment of the introduction, +but Ryland struggled to his feet, walked round +the tea-table, and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said. “You’re +obviously human. Dune was a machine—and I never +found the right butter to put into it. I want all the +human beings I can get at headquarters.”</p> + +<p>The charm of his smile, rather than the flippant +words, melted the slight chill in the secretary’s manner +and for a few minutes he remained talking to Inez, +while Ryland sat on the sofa, eating chocolate cake and +muttering to himself.</p> + +<p>“Mangane. Permangane. What play does that remind +me of? Oh, I know: <i>Potash and Perlmutter</i>.”</p> + +<p>Mangane laughed and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“You’ve been studying Mr. Pelman,” he said. “Well, +I must go and earn my keep. Thank you so much, +Miss Fratten.”</p> + +<p>When he had gone, Inez turned to her brother.</p> + +<p>“Anything the matter?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He was silent for a minute, staring at the fire. He +looked very slim and young in his well-cut blue suit, +but there were dark shadows under his eyes and his +skin did not look healthy.</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask that?” he said at last.</p> + +<p>“Why are you dining here tonight?”</p> + +<p>“Is it as bad as all that?—Do I only dine here when +something’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“That’s about what it amounts to.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose it is,” he agreed with a sigh. “And +so there is—something the matter.”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked Inez, with her accustomed directness. +Before he could answer the butler appeared, saying that +Mr. Hessel would like to see Miss Fratten if she was not +engaged.</p> + +<p>“Plagues of his Israel!” muttered Ryland angrily. +“Who wouldn’t be a Pharaoh?—only I’d have done the +job thoroughly.”</p> + +<p>Inez glared at him and told Golpin to show Mr. +Hessel in. Fortunately for Ryland there was no time +for her to tell him what she evidently thought of him +before Hessel appeared in the doorway. With a sulky +scowl on his face, Ryland muttered some sort of +greeting and was about to edge his way out of the room +when Hessel stopped him.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go, Ryland,” he said. “I’d like you to hear +what I’ve got to say, as well as Inez.”</p> + +<p>With none too good a grace Ryland complied. +Inez, with unerring instinct, went straight to the +point.</p> + +<p>“Is anything the matter with father?”</p> + +<p>Hessel nodded.</p> + +<p>“It’s about that—no, no, my dear, there’s nothing +immediately serious,” he interposed hurriedly, seeing the +look of almost terrified anxiety on the girl’s face. +“He’s quite all right. But something serious <em>will</em> +happen if you don’t both help me. How much has he +told you about himself?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Inez. “What do you mean? Tell +me quickly please.”</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t he told you that his doctor has reported +badly on his heart?”</p> + +<p>“No, not a word. Is it—is he dangerously ill?”</p> + +<p>“Not immediately, no. But he will have to take +great care. Surely he must have told you he was +giving up a lot of his work?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he did,” replied Inez. “But he said it was because +he thought he’d earned a little peace and quiet.”</p> + +<p>“I see. So you really know nothing. I suppose I’m +betraying a confidence, but you’ve got to know now. +His heart is in a really bad condition—I don’t know +the technical terms, but it is a case of disease. His +doctor has told him definitely that he must avoid all +strain or undue excitement. Now what do you think +he’s done? He’s promised, or practically promised, +some ridiculous school friend to go into a gimcrack +business with him that will bother him and upset him +and do more harm than all the safe, well-oiled work he’s +giving up.”</p> + +<p>Hessel proceeded to outline the conversation he had +had with Sir Garth that afternoon. Inez listened with +close attention, occasionally asking a question that +showed the clearness of her intellect. Ryland remained +silent, but there was a look of uneasiness on his +face that first puzzled and then comforted Inez. In +spite of all the hard things that he said about their +father, she felt that her brother really loved him and +that this look of anxiety revealed the true state of his +feelings.</p> + +<p>“That’s all serious enough,” continued Hessel. “But +something that happened this afternoon makes it worse. +He had a shock—a motor-bicycle nearly knocked him +over—and he had a bad heart attack. I tried to make +him come straight home but he wouldn’t—he was as +obstinate as a mule—said he must go to a Hospital +Board meeting, though he’d come home afterwards. +He ought to be back at any time; I wanted to see you +first. Take care of him, Inez,—and you too, Ryland. +Don’t let him worry; we simply can’t spare him. +Above all stop this madcap Lorne scheme.”</p> + +<p>He stopped and looked questioningly at Inez, who +nodded.</p> + +<p>“We’ll take care of him, Uncle Leo,” she said. +“Don’t you worry. Won’t we, Ry?”</p> + +<p>But Ryland was sitting with a very white face, +glaring at his toes.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Ry?” asked Inez, slipping on to the sofa +beside him and putting her arm round his neck. “Don’t +get upset, old man. He’ll be all right if we take care +of him.”</p> + +<p>Ryland shook himself and looked at her strangely.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I . . . I wrote to him last night . . . +It’ll upset him if he reads it now . . . I wonder if I +can get hold of the letter. . . .”</p> + +<p>But once more Golpin, like a figure of fate, appeared +in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Sir Garth wishes to see you in his study, Mr. +Ryland.”</p> + +<p>Ryland rose to his feet and walked slowly to the +door. Inez rose as if to follow him, but stopped.</p> + +<p>“Ry,” she said, her hand making a slight movement +as if of appeal. “Be careful.”</p> + +<p>Her brother glanced over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll be careful right enough,” he answered. “I +can’t answer for the old man. This means a flogging,” +he added, with a feeble attempt at humour.</p> + +<p>The door closed behind him and Inez turned to +Hessel.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stop them,” she said. “They’re both as +obstinate as pigs. I do wish they got on better.”</p> + +<p>“I told your father today that I thought he was hard +on Ryland,” said Hessel, “but I suppose he is rather +trying in some ways.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he’s rather a young ass, of course. Stage doors, +night-clubs, and that kind of thing. As a matter of +fact he is really rather keen on the stage himself, apart +from its inhabitants; he’s a jolly good actor. I +sometimes wish he’d take it up as a profession; good hard +work is what he wants more than anything else. He’s +perfectly sound really you know; he’s not a rotter.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure he isn’t, my dear,” said Hessel, patting Inez +on the shoulder. “And he’s a lucky young man to +have a sister like you to fight his battles. Well, I must +be going; I ran away early from school to come and talk +to you and I must go and do some overtime now to +make up for it. Besides, I don’t want your father to +catch me here telling tales.”</p> + +<p>When he had gone, Inez sat for a few minutes in +gloomy silence, then jumped up, shook herself and +turned on the loud-speaker. A jazz-band was playing +‘When father turned the baby upside down’ and Inez +danced a few steps to its lilting tune. Suddenly, +through stutter of drums and moan of saxophones, Inez +heard the front door close with a crash. She stopped +for a moment, as if hesitating what to do, then flew +to the window and flung it open. Twenty yards down +the street she saw the retreating figure of her brother.</p> + +<p>“Ry,” she called. “Ry, come back.”</p> + +<p>But Ryland, if he heard, took no notice; she saw him +hail a taxi, jump into it and drive away. For a +moment she hung out of the window, watching till the +cab whisked round a corner out of sight; then turned +forlornly back into the room.</p> + +<p>“<i>So father kissed his baby on its other little +cheek</i> . . .” yelled the jazz soloist.</p> + +<p>Inez picked up a book and hurled it at the +loud-speaker. “Oh, shut up, you filthy fool,” she cried.</p> + +<p>The instrument crashed to the floor and was still; +Inez flung herself on the sofa and buried her face in her +arms.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>CHAPTER III. <br> The Victory Finance Company</h2> + +<p>The morning after Sir Garth’s confession to Hessel, +the cause of it, Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, K.C.B., +D.S.O., stepped from his car outside Ald House in +Fenchurch Street, greeted the hall-porter cheerfully, +refused the lift (“must keep young, you know, +Canting”) and climbed briskly up to the offices of the +Victory Finance Company on the fourth floor.</p> + +<p>The General was a well-built man of about five foot +ten, very erect and extremely good-looking, with a +straight nose, firm chin, brushed-up moustache, and dark +hair only powdered with grey. There was nothing subtle +about him; it was quite obvious that he would be +an extremely good friend to people whom he liked +and frankly contemptuous of those he did not +understand. He had done well in command of a division in +France (or, what was considered the same thing, the +division which he commanded had done well) and was +now confidently engaging in a campaign in which he +would be even more dependent on the skill of those +serving under him.</p> + +<p>The offices of this young and promising Finance +Company were by no means pretentious. They consisted of +a clerks’ room, opening on to the landing, a small room +for the manager and secretary, and a larger directors’ +room, which also had a door opening on to the stairs.</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter, as was his habit, entered by way of the +clerks’ room, greeted the two young clerks, asking one +about his mother’s neuritis and the other about the +fortunes of his pet football club (“Always get to know +your men and their interests, my lad”), and passed +down the short passage into the directors’ room. Here +he found a fellow-director, Captain James Wraile, a +clean-cut, clean-shaven man of forty, with the very pale +blue eyes that may mean the extremity of either strength +or weakness and are so very hard to judge.</p> + +<p>“Morning, Wraile, my boy. Glad you’ve turned up,” +exclaimed the General heartily. “How goes the world?”</p> + +<p>Wraile smiled quietly.</p> + +<p>“Well enough, I think, General, if you aren’t in +British Cereals.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, we did well not to touch that. Your advice, +I think, Wraile. I don’t know what we should do +without you.”</p> + +<p>“It was rather lucky; they looked a good thing at +first sight. But one can generally find the weak spot +when one gets down to the foundation—as it’s our job +to do. Lessingham’s coming in this morning, Blagge +tells me, General. He rang through last night to ask if +you’d be here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he is, is he? Very good of him to come at all. +I suppose if I see him once a month that’s about all I +do, and Resston never. It’s as well he’s coming, though. +He’s got a flair and we can do with his advice about the +Barsington Dirt Track Racing Company. I don’t quite +know what to say about that business, you know, Wraile. +It’s a craze at the moment; there’s money in it now—big +money. But will it last? Especially in the country +towns—there’s a very limited public there, what?”</p> + +<p>“Very limited, Sir Hunter. It’s all right for a quick +flutter, but a loan—we might find ourselves badly let +in.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll ask Lessingham—he may jump on it +straight away. I respect his judgment. What time’s +he coming?”</p> + +<p>“Eleven o’clock, he said—should be here any time +now.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll keep my news till he comes—I’ve done a +good stroke of business for the Company I think, +Wraile, a very big stroke. Ah, here he is. Come on, +Lessingham; better sometimes than never. Well, I’m +glad to see you. We’ll have your advice first and then +I’ll tell you my news—it might put the other out of our +heads.”</p> + +<p>The newcomer was a man of medium height and +rather clumsy build—heavy shoulders, with a suspicion +of hump in the back, and a large paunch. His hair +was black and rather curly, but his complexion was pale +and he wore large yellow-rimmed spectacles, with tinted +Crooke’s lenses. He was smartly dressed—rather +overdressed, with a heavy cravat and pearl pin; he wore +dark-grey gloves which he did not remove even when +writing, a habit that grated on the well-trained senses +of his fellow-director. He spoke in a very soft and +rather husky voice, which yet carried a considerable +impression of character. As a matter of fact, he +talked very little, leaving Sir Hunter to supply the +deficiency. The three men sat down at the board table +and were presently joined by the manager, Mr. Albert +Blagge. Blagge was a tired-looking, middle-aged man, +with honesty and mediocrity written all over him in +equal proportions. He took little part in the discussion +that followed and it was soon evident that he was +employed as a responsible clerk and not as an adviser.</p> + +<p>On the subject of Dirt Track Racing the General +had a good deal to say and said it well. Lessingham sat +beside him at the Board table, sifting through his +gloved hands a sheaf of prospectuses over which he ran +his eyes—a habit of apparent inattention which intensely +annoyed Sir Hunter but of which he had been unable +to break his partner. At the end of ten minutes the +General had reached his climax and conclusion—the +Barsington Dirt Track Company was unsuitable for the +Victory Finance Company to handle.</p> + +<p>“I agree,” said Lessingham, without looking up from +his papers.</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter frowned slightly and brushed his +moustaches. He would have preferred an argument; he +liked something to batter down. On this occasion, +however, he was anxious to get on to the more important +subject that was itching under his waistcoat. Being +slightly uncomfortable about his ground, he assumed a +more than usually strong and hearty voice:</p> + +<p>“Now, my boy,” he said, “I’ve got a piece of news +for you that’ll make you sit up. I’ve done a stroke +of business that not many people, I flatter myself, could +have brought off.”</p> + +<p>Lessingham turned his spectacled eyes for a moment +to his companion’s face, then resumed his scrutiny of +the Central Motorway Company’s prospectus. Wraile +looked at the Chairman with interest, but said nothing. +The reception of his opening remarks had not been +enthusiastic, but it took more than that to throw Sir +Hunter out of his stride.</p> + +<p>“You both know Fratten—Sir Garth Fratten—head +of Fratten’s Bank—one of the most solid and respected +men in the City? You’ll hardly believe me, but I think +I have practically persuaded him to join our Board! +What do you think of that, eh?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter paused impressively and looked at his +fellow-directors to see what effect this tremendous piece +of news would have on them. The effect was certainly +visible, but it was hardly of the nature that the +General had expected. Wraile looked at him with raised +eyebrows—a respectful, but hardly encouraging +expression. Lessingham, on the other hand, wore a look +of intense anger. His face retained its even white +colour but his eyebrows were knit in a heavy frown and +his lower lip protruded as he glared at Sir Hunter.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he exclaimed. “Join our Board? +Fratten join our Board? What right have you to ask +him without our consent? It’s a gross liberty, +Lorne—a gross liberty!”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter was palpably taken aback. He had expected +enthusiasm; he received abuse. Not since, as a +Brigadier, he had been sent for by the Corps Commander +and, instead of receiving the praise he had expected +for a “successful” raid, had been frigidly rebuked for +squandering lives, had he been so thrown off his balance. +He grew red in the face, his moustache bristled, and a +line of small bubbles appeared on his lips.</p> + +<p>“Wh . . . what’s that?” he stammered. “A liberty! +What the hell d’you mean, sir? It’s the best stroke of +business I’ve ever done!”</p> + +<p>“I can quite believe that,” said Lessingham acidly.</p> + +<p>“But, damn it, man, Fratten’s name on our Board will +draw money like a magnet! Think of the security it +offers. Fratten! Fratten’s Bank practically +guaranteeing us!”</p> + +<p>“Fratten’s Bank doing nothing of the kind,” exclaimed +Lessingham angrily. “There’s a Board of directors +there just as there is here; it’s not a one-man show, +any more than this is!”</p> + +<p>Lorne was staggered. He looked to Wraile for +support, but Wraile’s face was cold; he looked at Mr. +Blagge, but the manager’s eyes were bent upon the +papers before him.</p> + +<p>“Well I’m b——,” said the General. “Of all the +ungrateful devils! Look here, you chaps, can’t you +understand what it’d mean? Every investor looking +through a list of Finance Companies will see Fratten’s +name on our Board—the biggest name on the whole +list—just what we want! Security! Ballast! We’ve +got brains, we want ballast! What?”</p> + +<p>Lessingham’s reply was quiet this time, but cold, +decided, unsympathetic as a surgeon’s knife.</p> + +<p>“It is you who don’t understand, Sir Hunter,” he said. +“If Fratten were to come on this Board, he would want +control—these big men always do. Why else do they +come on to our small company Boards? To swallow +them up; swamp them. Fratten’s a sound enough man +in his own way, but he’s old-fashioned—no use to us. +He would turn this Company into a ‘safe-as-houses,’ +‘no risk’—and no result—business, with an investment +schedule like his own Bank’s—the last thing we want. +You might just as well close the whole thing down. +His name might impress an unenlightened investor, but +it wouldn’t impress a broker for a minute—a broker +would know that Fratten is not the type of man to run +an Investment Company, he wouldn’t recommend us +to his clients—and the number of investors who deal +without the advice of a broker isn’t worth considering. +The thing’s a washout, I tell you—a rotten washout!”</p> + +<p>Lessingham’s anger spurted up again in his last words—his +usually controlled voice revealed, in that sentence, +the primeval qualities of his race.</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter sat back in his chair, a look of blank +astonishment on his face. It lightened, however, as an +idea seemed to strike him.</p> + +<p>“But Fratten wouldn’t have control,” he said. “He’s +not coming into this to make money, but to oblige me—as +an old friend. I didn’t tell you—we were old school +friends—we met the night before last at an Old-Boy +dinner. He wouldn’t want control—or even to interfere. +I was going to suggest that we should each of +us sell him 5%; but if you aren’t keen, I’ll let him have +10% of my own—that’ll leave me with only 50%, you +and Resston’ll still have your fifteen and Wraile his ten. +He’s only coming in to oblige me.”</p> + +<p>“He’s not coming in at all if I can stop it,” exclaimed +Lessingham fiercely. “I don’t know what you think +you are, Sir Hunter. You’re Chairman of the Board +and you hold a majority of shares, but this isn’t an +infantry brigade—your word’s not law. You can outvote +us, but we can get out—and if you bring this +fellow in, I shall—then see how you get on without +me. Wraile can please himself.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, there was a knock at the door and one +of the clerks came in.</p> + +<p>“Gentleman of the name of Fratten to speak to you +on the ’phone, Sir Hunter, sir, please. Shall I put him +through?”</p> + +<p>“Fratten!” Lorne looked round him with momentary +hesitation, then straightened his back.</p> + +<p>“Yes, put him through, put him through, my lad, +what?” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence as Sir Hunter held the +receiver to his ear, then:</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Garth, good-morning; good-morning, my +dear fellow; good of you to ring me up. What? This +morning? By all means, come when you like; come +now.” (His eyes wandered defiantly from face to +face.) “Yes, of course—delighted to see you, my dear +fellow; delighted.”</p> + +<p>He replaced the receiver and returned the telephone +to its stand on the wall behind his chair.</p> + +<p>“Sir Garth’s coming round now,” he said. “Going +to look into our doings. Naturally a man in his +position can’t commit himself without investigation.” He +cleared his throat nervously. “Naturally he can’t, +what?”</p> + +<p>Lessingham turned towards the manager.</p> + +<p>“I’ll ask you to withdraw, please, Mr. Blagge,” he +said. The manager gathered up his papers and left the +room.</p> + +<p>“Now, Chairman,” said Lessingham, speaking quietly +but decisively, “this matter’s got to be settled here and +now—you’ve invited Fratten to come round here and +to join the Board without consulting your fellow-directors. +You’ve got the whip hand of us in the matter +of votes—you can put him on if you like. But if you +put him on, I go off—that’s final. I don’t expect +you to settle that in one minute, but you’d better +have your mind made up before Fratten gets here. +I’m going now; you can let me know what you’ve +decided. Only understand, what I’ve said is final.”</p> + +<p>He rose and, without another glance at either of his +colleagues, walked out the room. Sir Hunter’s face was +a dark red; he was deeply offended—and at the same +time, seriously alarmed; he knew well enough where +the brains of the company lay; Wraile was clear-headed +and intelligent, but comparatively an amateur like +himself; Lessingham was a financier. At the same time +he could not allow himself to knuckle under to a fellow +of that type; he could not throw over Fratten; it would +be a gross insult to the distinguished banker after asking +him to join the Board. Lorne realized that he had acted +hastily, perhaps unwisely—but he had gone too far to +retire—only a really great general can bring himself to +retire.</p> + +<p>“You’ll stand by me, Wraile?” he said gruffly. “I +count on you.”</p> + +<p>“I will, of course, General, if you’re determined on +it; I know well enough that I owe everything to +you—but I’m sorry you’ve decided to exchange Lessingham +for Fratten—I’m convinced that one’s the man for our +job and the other isn’t.”</p> + +<p>Before Sir Hunter could reply, the door opened and +Sir Garth Fratten was announced.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Lorne,” he said. “Very good of +you to let me come round.”</p> + +<p>“Come in, my dear fellow, come in!” exclaimed the +General, advancing to meet him with outstretched hand. +“Delighted to see you. Let me introduce Captain +Wraile to you—one of our directors. He was our +managing-director till a year or so ago but he was +enticed away to a more glittering post than we can afford, +what? Ha, ha.” He clapped Wraile on the shoulder to +show that he bore him no grudge. “But we were lucky +enough to keep him on the Board. He was my Brigade +Major in France in ’15—don’t know what I should have +done without him—ran the whole show—most efficient +fellow you ever saw—don’t blush, my boy; you know +I mean it. Marvellous hand at inventing devilments—stink-bombs, +rifle grenades, every sort of beastliness +he used to contrive for poor old Jerry—long before the +authorities dished us out even a ‘jam-pot.’ You ought +to have seen our catapult battery behind the Pope’s +Nose at Festubert! Ha, ha, that was an eye-opener for +Fritz.”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter laughed uproariously, but Wraile, who +was intimately acquainted with the moods of his old +chief, knew that he was nervous.</p> + +<p>“I’m very glad to meet you, Captain Wraile,” +said Sir Garth, smiling pleasantly at him. “A little +fresh blood and ingenuity is the very thing that’s +wanted in post-war finance. May I sit down, Lorne? +I’m rather a crock just now and have to nurse +myself.”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow, I’m so sorry—inexcusable of me! +Have a glass of port [the General’s panacea]—no?—a +cigar, anyhow—Corona Corona, handpicked by myself, +every one of ’em.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll leave you, sir,” said Wraile. “I expect you and +Sir Garth want to have a talk.”</p> + +<p>“Not the least need for you to go so far as I’m +concerned,” said the banker. “You’ve told him what I +came round about, Lorne?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter nodded, and looked rather anxiously at +Wraile.</p> + +<p>Sir Garth continued: “All I want is just to know +roughly your general policy. Then, if you’ll give me a +copy of your last Annual Report and Balance Sheet and +a Schedule I’ll take them away and just run through +them in my spare time. You won’t mind that, I’m +sure.”</p> + +<p>The Chairman shortly, but not too clearly, outlined +the history and activities of the company, and calling +in the manager, introduced him to Sir Garth. Fratten +looked at him with interest, and evidently realized at +once that not here would he find what he was looking +for.</p> + +<p>“The other members of your Board,” he said when +Mr. Blagge had left. “Would you mind letting me +know who they are?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, of course; I quite forgot that—stupid of +me, what? There’s old Lord Resston—he never turns +up—holds 15% of the shares and draws his guineas—great +disappointment to me. Wraile here comes pretty +regularly twice a week; I’m here most days. The only +other director’s a chap called Lessingham—Travers +Lessingham—very shrewd; doesn’t show up much, +though—other irons in the fire, I suppose. Still, when he +comes, his advice is worth having. That’s our Board. +Then there’s Blagge, our manager, whom you’ve met; +Miss Saverel, our very capable secretary, and a couple +of junior clerks.”</p> + +<p>Fratten nodded. “And do you suppose your +fellow-directors will care for me to join you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>For a second Sir Hunter hesitated, but before the +pause could become awkward—or even apparent—Wraile +slipped into the breach—as he had so often done +in France.</p> + +<p>“Speaking for myself, sir,” he said, “I shall consider +it a great honour to work with you.”</p> + +<p>The General shot him a grateful glance.</p> + +<p>“Of course, I must formally consult my colleagues,” +he said, “but, naturally I don’t expect anything but a +warm welcome.”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter had burnt his boats.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Sir Garth, rising, “I’ll look into +these papers and let you have a decision within a week +or two—it’ll take me a little time—I’m an old-fashioned +methodical man and I don’t rush my decisions. +Good-day to you, Lorne; good-day, Captain Wraile.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll come down with you, my dear fellow—nearly +my lunch time—can I persuade you to . . .” the door +closed behind them and Wraile was alone. He stood +for a moment in thought, then touched a handbell twice. +The inner door opened and a young woman, tall, fair, +and attractive, came into the room.</p> + +<p>“Dictation, please, Miss Saverel.”</p> + +<p>The secretary pulled a chair up to the table and opened +her note-book.</p> + +<p>“My dear Lessingham . . .”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV. <br> The Expected Happens</h2> + +<p>One evening, about a fortnight later, Sir Garth +Fratten and Leopold Hessel walked down the steps of the +“Wanderers,” in St. James’s Square, of which rather +large-hearted club Hessel was a member, and turned +towards Waterloo Place. Fratten usually spent an hour +or so at his club, or that of one of his friends, in the +evening and walked home afterwards across the Park +to his house in Queen Anne’s Gate. It was, in fact, the +only exercise that he got in the day.</p> + +<p>“Thanks for my tea, Leo,” said Sir Garth. “First-rate +China tea it was too—I wonder where you get it?”</p> + +<p>Hessel smiled. “That’s one of the advantages of +being not too exclusive,” he said. “We’ve got members +from all parts of the world and in all sorts of business; +it’s rather a point of pride with us that each member +who can should help the club to get the best of +everything. That tea is unobtainable on the market—Rowle +gets it for us, he’s a Civil Servant in Hong Kong; we’ve +got more than one tea-merchant, but they can’t produce +anything to touch it.”</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, then continued: “I wanted +to ask you, Fratten, whether you’ve really settled to go +into that Finance Company. Inez told me a couple +of evenings ago that she was afraid you had, but I hope +that she misunderstood you.”</p> + +<p>He looked questioningly at his companion.</p> + +<p>Fratten, being conscious of unspoken criticism, +answered brusquely, “Certainly I have. I don’t know why +you all make such a fuss about the thing—it’s quite +unimportant.”</p> + +<p>“That it certainly is not, in the sense that it +endangers your health. But I am afraid it is no use +protesting further. You found the Company sound?”</p> + +<p>For a second Sir Garth seemed to hesitate, then: +“Oh yes, sound, certainly sound—and interesting,” he +added with a peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” said Hessel, “and you will throw yourself +into it with all your strength and wear yourself +out.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Leo; don’t be so fussy. Look here, I +want to talk to you about Ryland; I want your +advice.”</p> + +<p>For a few paces Hessel walked on, without seeming +to attend to what his friend was saying; then he +evidently wrenched his mind back from its wanderings.</p> + +<p>“Ryland?” he said. “Not another scrape, I hope?”</p> + +<p>The banker frowned. “Scrape is hardly adequate,” +he said. “The young fool has got himself engaged to +some chorus girl and now—as usual—he’s had enough +of her and wants to break it off—naturally she wants +money. He wrote to me the other day asking for +money—I found his letter when I got back from the +Hospital Board the day I had that shock. I sent for +him and we had an almighty row—both lost control of +ourselves, I’m afraid. I’m rather ashamed of that, +but what shocks me so much is that he should have +said the things he did. He’d got some queer ideas in +his head about entail—he spoke in the most callous +and unfeeling way. I was hurt, Leo—deeply hurt. I +thought that, at bottom, he was really fond of me.”</p> + +<p>“So he is, Fratten, so he is, of course,” interjected +Hessel. “You said yourself that you both lost your +tempers—one says all sorts of things that one doesn’t +mean when one loses one’s temper—then one’s sorry +for them and probably one’s too stupid or sensitive to +say so. Ryland’s all right really, I’m sure he is—a +young ass about women, of course, but his heart’s all +right.”</p> + +<p>Fratten sighed. “I hope you’re right,” he said. “My +God, what a heavenly evening—what a view!”</p> + +<p>The two men had reached the top of the broad flight +of steps leading from Waterloo Place down into the +Mall. Above their heads towered the tall column from +which the soldier-prince gazed sadly out over the +London that had forgotten him. Daylight had gone, but +the lamps revealed the delicate outline of the trees in +the Green Park, their few remaining leaves gleaming a +golden-brown wherever the light caught them. In the +background it was just possible to get a glimpse of the +delicate white beauty of the Horse Guards building, +its clock-tower illuminated by hidden lights; beyond, +on the right the sombre mass of the Foreign Office +loomed up against the purple sky. The soft evening +fog mellowed the whole scene to one of real beauty.</p> + +<p>Fratten stood for a moment drinking it in; his +companion waited with him, but seemed to have little eye +for his surroundings. He had lighted a cigar and gave +some attention to the way in which it was burning.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever thought,” he asked as they moved on, +“of getting Ryland to take up the stage professionally—either +as an actor or producer? He has considerable +talent, I believe. It seems to me that real work of any +kind, however . . . hold up!”</p> + +<p>They had got about half-way down the triple flight +of steps, when a man, evidently in a great hurry, +running down the steps from behind them, stumbled and +fell against Sir Garth, catching hold of his arm to +recover his own balance. Fratten did not fall, though he +might have done so had Hessel not been on his other +side to steady him.</p> + +<p>“I—I beg your pardon, sir,” stammered the intruder. +“I’m in a great hurry; I hope I haven’t hurt you?”</p> + +<p>The speaker was a well-built man of rather more than +average height, without being tall. He appeared to be +somewhere in the thirties and wore a dark moustache.</p> + +<p>“Are you all right, Fratten; are you all right?” asked +Hessel, anxiously looking in his companion’s face. Sir +Garth had closed his eyes for a minute, and in the dim +light he appeared to be rather white, but he soon pulled +himself together and smiled at his companion.</p> + +<p>“Quite all right, Leo,” he said.</p> + +<p>“In that case, sir,” said his “assailant,” “if you’ll +forgive me—I’ll be off—great hurry—important +message—Admiralty . . .” and he was off, dashing down the +steps as before and disappearing in the direction of the +great building across the road on the left. A small +group of people had collected but when they found that +nothing really exciting had happened they quickly +dispersed—all except one middle-aged lady who fluttered +round Sir Garth, chattering excitedly about “dastardly +attack,” “eye-witness,” “police,” etc., until Hessel +brusquely requested her to take herself off. Hessel +himself was not a little excited; he insisted on +cross-examining his friend as to his symptoms, begged him +to take a cab and, when he refused, took him by the +arm and almost led him along, gesticulating energetically +with his free hand, in which the lighted cigar still +glowed. Sir Garth thought that he had never before +seen his friend display so markedly the reputed +excitability of his race.</p> + +<p>Fratten himself appeared to be very little upset by +the incident; he listened with some amusement to Hessel’s +exhortations and allowed himself to be shepherded +across the Mall. The pair stopped for a second on the +island in the middle to allow a car to pass and then +crossed slowly to the other side; they had reached the +footway and taken a step or two towards the Horse +Guards Parade when Fratten uttered a sharp ejaculation, +staggered, and then, gasping for breath, sank slowly +down into a limp bundle on the ground. Hessel had +been quite unable to hold up the dead-weight of the +body through whose arm his own was linked; in fact +he was nearly pulled to the ground himself. He threw +himself on his knees beside his friend and peered +anxiously into his face.</p> + +<p>What he saw there was deeply disturbing. Sir Garth’s +face was deadly pale in the dim light, his eyes stared +up, unseeing but agonized; his mouth was open and set +as if in a desperate effort to breathe. But the gasping +breaths had ceased, the body was quite still.</p> + +<p>Hessel clasped and unclasped his hands nervously.</p> + +<p>“Fratten;” he said. “Fratten; can you hear me?”</p> + +<p>No answer came from the still figure on the ground.</p> + +<p>Hessel looked up at the ring of pale faces hovering +above him.</p> + +<p>“Has anyone got a car?” he asked, “or a taxi?”</p> + +<p>“Shall I fetch a doctor, sir?” asked one of the crowd.</p> + +<p>“Or a policeman?” asked another.</p> + +<p>“Or an ambulance?”</p> + +<p>“No, no, a car. I want to get him to his own +house—quite close here. His own doctor—knows all about +this. Sir Horace Spavage. Heart—I’m afraid . . . a +car . . .”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a car here,” said a newcomer who had pushed +his way through the crowd and heard the last words. +“A limousine—he’ll be comfortable in that.” (“Not +much use to him, though,” he muttered to himself.) +“Lend a hand, somebody; I’ll take his shoulders. Put +a hand under his head, will you?”</p> + +<p>Very carefully the limp form was carried to the car +and deposited on the soft cushions of the back seat. +Hessel got in beside it and took his friend’s hand, which +felt to him deathly cold. The owner of the car got in +beside the driver and in less than two minutes they had +reached Queen Anne’s Gate. Fortunately, as Hessel +thought, Inez was not in and Sir Garth was carried into +the morning-room and laid on the big sofa. There was +no lift in the house and Hessel did not like, he told +Golpin, to risk the climb to the second floor.</p> + +<p>Within ten minutes Sir Horace Spavage had arrived. +One glance at the white and agonized face was enough.</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear!” he said. “So soon?”</p> + +<p>Kneeling down by the sofa, he picked up one of his +patient’s hands, held the wrist for a few seconds +between his fingers and thumb, and laid it quietly down +again. Then, undoing the front of the shirt and vest, +he laid his hand on the bare chest and tapped it firmly +with the rigid fingers of his other hand. Even to +Hessel’s untutored ears, the sound produced was curiously +muffled and dull. Sir Horace rose slowly to his feet, +putting away the stethoscope which he had automatically +slipped round his neck.</p> + +<p>“Yes; as I thought,” he said. “The aneurism has +burst.”</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The funeral of Sir Garth Fratten took place on the +following Monday. The actual burial was at Brooklands +and was attended only by members of the family +and a few close personal friends. Ryland and Inez +were the chief mourners, Ryland looking very subdued +and unhappy, and Inez worn out with misery but erect +and calm—and very beautiful in her black clothes. A +few distant cousins had come to establish a relationship +which the dead man had allowed to remain distant +during his life, whilst Leopold Hessel, Laurence +Mangane, Sir Horace Spavage, and Mr. Septimus Menticle, +the family solicitor, were also present.</p> + +<p>In London a memorial service was held at St. +Ethelberta’s, one of Wren’s most beautiful—and +threatened—City churches. The church was packed with City +men of all types and standings. A Director of the Bank +of England was present to represent that august institution +officially, together with members of the committees +of Lloyds and the Stock Exchange. All the directors of +Fratten’s Bank, except of course Hessel, were there, and +Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, a notable figure even +among men of note, represented the Victory Finance +Company. Every member of the staff of Fratten’s +Bank, which was closed for the day—a unique circumstance—was +there, from the chief cashier to the latest-joined +stamp-licker. The City felt that one of its big +men had gone—one of the fast-disappearing pre-war +type—and it was, beneath its inscrutable surface, +genuinely moved.</p> + +<p>When the burial at Brooklands was over, the party +returned to Queen Anne’s Gate. Inez, with quiet dignity, +poured out tea and then excused herself and retired, +leaving Ryland to act as host to the rather uncomfortable +and ill-assorted gathering. When tea was finished +a move was made to the dining-room and as soon as the +gloomy committee was seated round the big mahogany +table, Mr. Menticle produced the last will and testament +of his late client. Placing a pair of gold pince-nez +upon his aquiline nose, he cleared his throat and, in a +precise voice, read the contents of the crisp document +in his hand. The distant cousins were all agreeably +surprised by what they heard, the staff of Fratten’s Bank +were remembered to a man—and girl, various charities +were mentioned, though not unduly, and the residue of +the estate was divided equally between “my two +children, Ryland and Inez Fratten.” Leopold Hessel was +appointed sole executor with a generous legacy and the +instruction that Sir Garth’s private and business papers +should be in the first place scrutinized by him and their +disposal left to his sole discretion.</p> + +<p>“There, gentlemen!” said Mr. Menticle, when the +reading was over, “that represents the attested wishes of +a very big and generous man; if, as one who has known +him and his family and affairs for many years, I may +be allowed to say so, it represents also a very reasonable +and well-balanced distribution of the goods which he +largely created himself and which, as we know, it was +as impossible for him as for any other to take with him +out of this world. With your permission, gentlemen—yours +especially, Mr. Fratten—I will now withdraw. I +have, I am sorry to say, other work awaiting me at my +office which this sad occasion has caused me to neglect.”</p> + +<p>When the last of the ghouls had left, Ryland Fratten +returned to the dining-room and sank again into the +chair he had just left. For minutes he sat there, +motionless, staring at the polished surface of the table, his +face an expressionless mask—except for the eyes, in the +depth of which a look of some agonized emotion seemed +to lurk—sorrow, remorse, fear?</p> + +<p>The door opened quietly and Inez’ wistful face peered +round it.</p> + +<p>“There you are, Ry!” she said. “I’ve been hunting +for you everywhere, since I heard the front door slam. +I thought perhaps old Menticle had got his teeth into +you about the will or something. What are you doing +in here all by yourself, old man?”</p> + +<p>Ryland turned his haggard face towards her, an +attempt at a smile quivered on his mouth, and then his +head sank into his folded arms and a deep sob shook his +body.</p> + +<p>Inez slipped on to the chair next to him and threw her +arm across his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Ry,” she said. “What is it? My dear, tell me.”</p> + +<p>A look of anxiety and almost more than sisterly tenderness +came into her eyes as Ryland sat motionless, +unanswering.</p> + +<p>At the same time, back at his office in Lincoln’s +Inn—where also he lived, in considerable bachelor comfort—Mr. +Menticle emptied his dispatch-case on to the table +before him. From the heap of documents he selected +one, a parchment, less soiled than most of the others. +He ran his eye over its brief contents, looked for a +minute out of the window, as if in deep thought, then +slowly tore it across and across.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>CHAPTER V. <br> Sir Leward Marradine Takes Interest</h2> + +<p>The sudden death of Sir Garth Fratten, interesting and, +in financial circles, important as it had been, was not +sufficiently sensational to remain in the public memory +more than a day or two after the funeral. But it was +not entirely forgotten. About three days later, Sir +Leward Marradine, the Assistant Commissioner in +charge of the Criminal Investigation Department of +Scotland Yard, called the attention of Chief Inspector +Barrod to an advertisement in the Personal Column of +<i>The Times</i>.</p> + +<blockquote class="advert"> + + <p>“Duke of York’s Steps. Miss Inez Fratten will be glad + to hear from the gentleman who accidentally stumbled + against her father, Sir Garth Fratten, on Thursday 24th + October, some time after 6 p.m. Write 168 Queen Anne’s + Gate, S.W.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“Make anything of that, Barrod?” asked the A.C.C.<a +href="#fn" id="fnref">¹</a> +“I wonder if it’s in any other papers.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, a lot of them. Many of the “pennies” have +got a paragraph about it. It’s just the sort of thing +they seize on to and try and work up into a ‘sensation.’ ”</p> + +<p>“I wonder what the girl’s got in her mind,” muttered +Sir Leward.</p> + +<p>“Hardly a matter for us, is it, sir?” asked his +subordinate.</p> + +<p>“No, not at—not as far as I know. You needn’t +bother about it, Barrod; I know the girl slightly—I’ll +go and see her quietly, just in case there’s something +behind this. Now, about these Treasury note forgeries; +has Murgate reported yet on the Goodge Street plant? +I don’t believe myself that that outfit could have +produced such high-class work. . . .”</p> + +<p>Soon after five that evening, Sir Leward emerged +from Scotland Yard and crossed Whitehall in the direction +of Storey’s Gate, taking off his hat to the delicate +Cenotaph which lay on his right.</p> + +<p>The head of the C.I.D. was a squarely built man of +medium height, with long arms and rather rounded +shoulders. In spite of the fact that he had been a +soldier, he was clean-shaven, whilst his mouth, with its +full lips, was intelligent rather than firm. Occupying +a succession of comfortable posts at the War Office +during the last three and a half years of the War, he had +been at hand to slip into this plum of ex-service civilian +posts when it fell vacant, being wise enough to relinquish +a better-paid but moribund Army appointment before +the returning flood of warriors from sea and land glutted +both service and civilian markets.</p> + +<p>The sight of the Cenotaph reminded Marradine that +Remembrance Day was nearly at hand again. This annual +ceremony, the heart of which lay so close to his +own work, always filled him with an intensity of +patriotic and heroic feeling. What a wonderful sight +it must be for those million dead Britons to look +down—if they could look down—upon the dense black and +white sea of their comrades and descendants, motionless +and silent in memory of them. To see the King—head +of the greatest Empire the world has ever known—and +all his ministers, his admirals and generals, standing there +in reverence, with bared heads. Quaint in a way, when +you thought of some of the million whose memory they +were hallowing—scoundrels, a lot of them, cowards a +good many, and the great bulk only fighting and dying +because they had to. Still it was a noble death. +War itself was a noble, an heroic affair, in a way, +bringing out all that was best in a man. Sir Leward +felt a thrill of pride that he himself had been a soldier.</p> + +<p>The great Government offices were emptying now +and the hurrying crowds of men and women, all with +the eager look of “home and supper” in their eyes, gave +to the familiar scene an air of vitality, slightly +romanticized by the soft haze of autumn twilight.</p> + +<p>As Marradine expected, Inez Fratten was at home and +in the middle of tea in the comfortable morning-room +next to the front door. She was looking even more +attractive than Sir Leward remembered and he was glad +when a dark young man who was with her, introduced +by some name faintly resembling his own, muttered +some excuse and departed. Marradine accepted a large +cup of tea and a muffin.</p> + +<p>“How nice of you to call,” said Inez, smiling sweetly—as +she would have called it—at him, after Sir Leward +had murmured suitable words of consolation. As a +matter of fact Inez was rather at a loss where to “place” +her visitor; she remembered meeting him at some +dinner, that he was something important under the +Government, and that he had paid her rather heavy-handed +attention after dinner, but she was not sure whether, +under his official manner, he was young-old, or +old-young, “rather a dear,” or “a pompous ass.” She didn’t +even know whether it was worth the bother of finding +out. His first words, however, quickly switched her +mind off these trivial matters to one of, for her, intense +interest.</p> + +<p>“I saw your advertisement in <i>The Times</i>, Miss Fratten. +I wondered whether I could help you in any way—I +daresay you know that I’m at Scotland Yard.”</p> + +<p>“I hadn’t quite realized it—I knew you were something +important,” said Inez. “I hope you don’t think +it was very silly of me to put that advertisement in.”</p> + +<p>“What was in your mind? Don’t tell me, of course, +if you don’t want to—I’m not here officially—but if +I’m to help . . .” Marradine left the sentence +unfinished.</p> + +<p>Inez thought for a minute. She wasn’t sure that she +quite liked what she saw of her visitor, but obviously +he could find out far more for her than she could +herself. Anyhow, she couldn’t very well do any harm by +talking to him.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t got anything very definite in my mind,” +she replied. “But it seems to me so odd that that man +who knocked into father—who must, quite accidentally +of course, have been the cause of his death—shouldn’t +have shown any sign—written to me, or something.”</p> + +<p>Sir Leward waited for a moment or two to see if +there was more to come. It was a curiously lame +explanation; he felt that there should be more in it than +that—but evidently there was not.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think, perhaps, that you’re rather exaggerating +the man’s responsibility?” he suggested. “I do +remember something about Sir Garth having been +jogged by somebody a little time before he fell. But +the doctor—whoever he was—can’t have thought much +of it; or at any rate, he was evidently expecting your +father’s death at any time, otherwise he would hardly +have given a death certificate without an inquest.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, of course he expected it,” said Inez, with a +touch of impatience. “At least, he says so now. I +knew nothing about it—about his being seriously ill—till +about a fortnight before, and then I didn’t know +for some time that it was an aneurism—we were told +it was heart disease. It’s all come so very +suddenly—I feel somehow that something’s wrong.”</p> + +<p>With most women Sir Leward would at this point +have said something soothing and platitudinous, taken +a solicitous farewell, and put the matter out of his mind. +The whole thing seemed to him so simple—a storm in +a tea-cup. But Inez attracted him; he liked her pale +beauty, her calm but decided manner—he liked particularly +the peculiar droop at the corners of her mouth +when she smiled. It would be easy to see more of her.</p> + +<p>“I expect the chap just hasn’t noticed about your +father. Those people live curiously localized lives—his +own office stool and his circle in Balham. They +often are quite unaware of what’s going on in the world +outside that. Probably he’ll see this advertisement, +though—or someone’ll talk about it in front of him. +Then he’s sure to turn up or write. Will you let me +know? I might be able to help.”</p> + +<p>Marradine rose to go—he knew the importance of +brevity in any kind of visit—it enhanced the value, +tantalized the imagination.</p> + +<p>“By the way,” he asked, as he shook hands. “Who +was the young fellow I so unkindly drove away? Not +your brother, of course?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Mangane? He’s father’s secretary—was, I +mean. There’s a good deal to clear up—he’ll be going +soon, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Been here long?”</p> + +<p>“A month or so, I think.”</p> + +<p>Sir Leward opened his mouth to ask another question, +but thought better of it and went away, leaving +Inez, as he had intended, still wondering about him.</p> + +<p>Arriving at his office in Scotland Yard at about ten +the next morning, Sir Leward sent for Chief Inspector +Barrod. It wouldn’t do to let Barrod know how trivial +he thought the matter, so he piled on the interest a +bit.</p> + +<p>“It’s just possible that there’s something in this +Fratten business, Barrod,” he said. “Miss Fratten is a +shrewd, level-headed girl, not likely to make a mountain +out of a molehill. She’s not at all satisfied with +the cause of death; it seems that they’d said nothing +to her about an aneurism, which was apparently the +trouble—I confess I thought it was heart failure +myself—shows how carelessly one reads things when one’s not +particularly interested. Sir Garth was a rich man, of +course, and a big man—he may have had enemies. +Probably there’s nothing in it, but—a wisp of smoke, +you know.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector was not impressed; he wasn’t +even interested. He remained silent. Sir Leward was +conscious of the lack, and covered it by a still more +decided manner.</p> + +<p>“We’ll look into it,” he said. “Put someone on who’s +not too heavy in the foot. You know what I mean. +Who have you got?”</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Barrod allowed a faint smile to hover +on his lips, but he spoke seriously enough.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just got the man you want, sir. Poole. Just +promoted Inspector—you’ll remember that you put him +up yourself, sir, after that Curzon House impersonation +case. Well-educated officer, sir—public school and +college man.”</p> + +<p>The fact of the matter was that Barrod himself +thought very little of Detective-Inspector Poole and +was delighted to have the opportunity of pushing him +off in search of a mare’s nest. Poole was of a type that +he did not care for—well-educated, “genteel” (Barrod +thought), probably soft, and certainly possessed of a +swelled head. A failure—or at any rate, a +fiasco—would do him no harm.</p> + +<p>“Does he know anything about finance?” asked Sir +Leward.</p> + +<p>Barrod raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Finance, sir? Do you mean accountancy, or—or +what I might call ‘high finance’?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I’d ‘fined’ the subject down so +closely, Barrod. I meant finance generally—accountancy +would certainly come into it—stock markets, bill-broking +and so on. Hardly ‘high finance’—that’s more +international banking, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“That was rather Sir Garth Fratten’s line, wasn’t it, +sir? He was a banker, and certainly had an +international reputation.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not quite the same thing, I should say, as +being an international banker—Fratten’s was a small +private bank.—I should have thought it was more of +a family affair. Still, I confess I’m very ignorant on +the subject.”</p> + +<p>“So am I, sir—an abstruse subject. Anyway, I’m +afraid Poole won’t have it. I believe he did go through +a course of economics sometime—I’m not quite +sure when. I don’t know what he learnt at it.”</p> + +<p>“Probably his way about a balance sheet—which is +more than most of us know. What about women? +Can he keep his head or is he liable to be vamped?”</p> + +<p>“That Radinska woman didn’t put it over him in the +Curzon case, anyhow, sir.”</p> + +<p>“No, nor she did—I remember. Good-looker, too. +Bit of a St. Anthony. On the whole he sounds the man +for the job.”</p> + +<p>“I think he is, sir,” agreed the Chief Inspector, with +an inward chuckle.</p> + +<p>“Call him up, then, if he’s here. May as well get on +with it at once.”</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Barrod pulled the house-telephone +towards him.</p> + +<div class="footnotesep"></div> + +<p id="fn" class="footnote">¹ Assistant Commissioner (Crime). +<a href="#fnref">↩︎</a></p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI. <br> Inspector John Poole</h2> + +<p>Detective-Inspector John Poole had had, as Chief +Inspector Barrod had told Sir Leward Marradine, a good +education. That is to say, he had been to a private school, +one of the smaller public schools, and to the University of +Oxford, where he had been an exhibitioner of St. James’s +College. It was at Oxford that the seed of his rather +eccentric ambition had been sown in him. His father, a +country doctor with a comfortable practice, had intended +him at first to follow in his own footsteps, but when John +began to show signs of brain power above the family +average, without feeling any of the “call” to a career of +healing that is so essential to success in that profession, he +had substituted the Bar as the goal of the boy’s academical +efforts. John had a cool, clear brain, the facility to express +himself concisely, and a capacity for hard and persistent +work—a dogged pursuit of results—all admirable +qualities in a barrister.</p> + +<p>For a time young Poole followed the course laid down +for him willingly enough. He took his Law Prelim. in +his stride, and settled down to the pursuit of Final +Honours—a First if possible, a Second as very second +best. At the same time he did not neglect either the +athletic or social side of University life. In his third year +he got an Athletic Half-Blue, running as second string +in the Low Hurdles, whilst in the summer he played +cricket for his College and once figured, but without +conspicuous success, in a Seniors’ Match. He began to +rehearse a small part in <i>The Winter’s Tale</i> for the +O.U.D.S. but, finding it took too much of his time, +mostly spent in hanging about watching the stars spread +themselves, he gave it up and took to political and other +debating societies.</p> + +<p>It was at a meeting of the Justice Club that he first +made his mark. The society was debating the rights and +wrongs of a certain celebrated criminal trial, and Poole, +rising as a comparatively unknown member when the +discussion had reached a stage of considerable confusion +and imminent collapse, had reviewed the evidence for the +prosecution from so original a standpoint and with such +logical precision that the “jury” had returned an +enthusiastic and overwhelming majority for the defence. +As a result of this speech, Poole had been elected a +member of the Criminologists Club, a much older and more +reputable body, at whose meetings celebrated old +members often attended and spoke. Here he had met Harry +Irving, whose personality had fired John with his own +enthusiastic interest in the fascinating subject of crime. +On another occasion the principal speaker—not a +member—was the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan +Police, who, speaking on the subject of police work +generally and criminal investigation in particular, had +definitely opened John Poole’s eyes to the possibility of +crime investigation as a career.</p> + +<p>At first the young undergraduate thought of becoming +an independent investigator—a private detective—possibly +after a short career at the Bar with the object +of picking up the legal side of the work. But after +thinking over again all that the Chief Commissioner had +said, and reading such books on the subject as he could +lay his hands on, Poole came to the conclusion that the +powers and machinery of the official police gave them +such an overwhelming advantage over the “amateurs” +that in the Force itself alone lay the prospects of really +great achievement.</p> + +<p>For the high offices in the Police Force, the Chief +Constables of County Constabularies, the Chief and +Assistant Commissioners of the Metropolitan and City +Police, it was not of course necessary to have been a +policeman. Such posts usually went to soldiers and +sailors, or even occasionally to barristers, though in some +of the Borough Police forces promotion from the ranks +was becoming more common. But, from the first +moment, Poole set his mind on one post, for which—though +it was generally so filled—he did not consider +that an army or navy training was sufficient. He +wanted to be Head of the Criminal Investigation +Department of Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>He quite appreciated the commonly accepted attitude +that a Chief Commissioner or a Chief Constable (outside +Scotland Yard) needed a wider training, a broader +outlook, than were to be obtained by step-by-step +promotion in the police force. But for the particular and +expert work of criminal investigation, for a degree of +experience and proficiency such as he believed a great +chief of the C.I.D. ought to have, he did not believe +that any soldier, sailor, or barrister was qualified. On +the other hand, he doubted, as did the authorities and +public opinion generally, whether any policeman, as at +present recruited, had the necessary qualifications, of the +broader kind, either; in fact, he doubted whether, under +present conditions, <em>any</em> individual living was properly +qualified for the post he sought.</p> + +<p>Poole therefore determined to qualify himself by +obtaining both the broad outlook and the expert +knowledge which he postulated. He completed his time at +Oxford, taking a Second Class in Law at the end of his +third year; then, in order to get some insight into the +legal side of his work, he was called to the Bar and was +lucky enough to get into the chambers of Edward +Floodgate, the well-known criminal lawyer, who afterwards +leapt into fame in the course of the astounding +Hastings trial. With Floodgate he remained for a year, +working with great energy to acquire as much knowledge +and experience as possible in the short time at his +disposal. At the age of twenty-three he joined the +Metropolitan Police as a recruit, and after serving for +fifteen months as a Constable in “C” Division, succeeded +in catching the eye of the authorities and was +transferred to the C.I.D. at Scotland Yard. At the age of +twenty-seven he was promoted Sergeant and soon +afterwards was lucky enough to figure prominently in two +celebrated cases, in the latter of which, known as the +Curzon case, he had come under the notice of Sir Leward +Marradine himself. The A.C.C. was so impressed by +the intelligence and persistence displayed by the young +Detective-Sergeant that he put his name down for +accelerated promotion, a step, as we have seen, not fully +approved by Chief Inspector Barrod, in whose section +he worked.</p> + +<p>Barrod, however, was a fair-minded man, and though +he had no high opinion of his new Inspector, he did not +allow the latter to be aware of the fact. It was with +no misgiving, therefore, that Poole answered the +summons to report himself to the A.C.C. Certainly his +appearance, as he respectfully acknowledged Sir Leward’s +greeting, did not belie his reputation. Standing +about five feet ten inches, he had the straight hips, +small waist and wide shoulders of the ideal athlete, +though his clothes were cut to conceal, rather than +accentuate, these features. His face, except for the +eyes, was not remarkable; the chin was well-moulded +rather than strong, the mouth quietly firm, and the +forehead of medium height. But the eyes were, to +anyone accustomed to study faces, an indication of his +character—grey, steady eyes that looked quietly at the +object before them, with a curiously unblinking gaze +that allowed nothing to escape them. They had, for a +detective, the distinct disadvantage that, to anyone +who had encountered them, they were not easily +forgotten.</p> + +<p>“Sir Leward wants you to look into a case for him, +Poole,” said the Chief Inspector. “It would probably +save time, sir,” he added turning to Marradine, “if you +gave him the facts and your instructions yourself.”</p> + +<p>Marradine repeated his account of his interview +with Miss Fratten and his own impressions on the +subject.</p> + +<p>“You’ll see, Poole,” he said, “that so far there is no +real case to investigate; the doctor signed a death +certificate without question, nobody has laid any +information or in any way hinted at foul play. And yet +I’m not satisfied—and clearly Miss Fratten is not satisfied. +I want you to make one or two very quiet and discreet +inquiries. It mustn’t get about that Scotland Yard is +moving in the matter—we don’t want to bring a +hornet’s nest about our ears. Of course, you will have +to act in your official capacity—the people whom you +question will have to know that we are interested—but +it must not go any further. Impress that upon +them. I would suggest your seeing the doctor—Spavage, +I think his name was—and the solicitor. +Possibly that chap Hessel, who was with Sir Garth when +he died.”</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Barrod had been turning the pages +of a Medical Directory.</p> + +<p>“Sir Horace Spavage, M.D. 1902, L.R.C.B. Lond. +1910, etc., etc., Phys. in Ord. to H.M. the King. Cons. +Phys. Heart Hospital . . . is that the chap?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’ll be him; I remember, the name now—Sir +Horace Spavage. The solicitor you’ll have to get +from Miss Fratten—I don’t know anything about him. +When you’ve had a talk with them, come and see me and +we’ll decide whether it’s worth while going any further.”</p> + +<p>Sir Leward nodded in dismissal and his two +subordinates left the room, Poole following the Chief +Inspector to the office which the latter shared with three +other Chief Inspectors. Barrod sat down at his desk and +started to go through some papers. Poole waited in +silence for a minute and then, thinking that perhaps +his superior had forgotten his presence, he coughed +discreetly. Barrod lifted his head and looked at him +with raised eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Any instructions, sir?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve had your instructions from the Chief.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Poole felt slightly uncomfortable—as if +there was a hitch somewhere.</p> + +<p>“I report progress through you, I suppose, sir, as +usual?”</p> + +<p>“Sir Leward told you to report to him. You’d better +do as you’re told. This case has nothing to do with +me.”</p> + +<p>Decidedly, a hitch. “Very good, sir.”</p> + +<p>Poole left the room, wondering just what the trouble +was. He was not at all pleased at getting on the wrong +side of Chief Inspector Barrod at this stage of his career, +though he could not see what he himself had done to +bring this about. Perhaps the Chief Inspector had +forgotten his Kruschen that morning—or taken an +overdose. More probably, he had been himself ticked off +about something and this was just a case of the +office-boy taking it out of the cat. Anyway, Poole did not +propose to allow himself to be put out by this little +cloud on the horizon.</p> + +<p>The story that he had heard had rather intrigued him. +For the moment, of course, there was very little in it; +from a criminal point of view there would probably +prove to be nothing in it at all. But the chief +characters concerned were undoubtedly interesting. In the +first place, Sir Garth Fratten, the great banker, whose +reputation for financial ability amounting almost to +genius had penetrated well beyond the bounds of the +City. Then there was his daughter, Miss Fratten. Sir +Leward had not, of course, revealed the physical side of +his attraction to her—he had not referred in any way +to her appearance or qualities; but it was quite clear +that she was a girl of character and determination; she +would almost certainly be an interesting person to meet. +Finally there was the doctor, Sir Horace Spavage—a +man of established reputation, “Physician in Ordinary +to the King.” If it turned out that there had been +foul play—and he had given a death certificate of +“natural causes”—he would be in a funny position.</p> + +<p>Poole decided first of all to visit the doctor. If +there was anything questionable about Sir Garth’s death +it was essential to find out the actual cause. So far he +was very vague on this subject.</p> + +<p>Leaving Scotland Yard, the detective crossed Whitehall, +automatically raising his hat to the Cenotaph as he +did so. Having been too young to serve in the Great +War, and having himself lost no near relations in it, he +naturally did not feel the same personal interest in the +national memorial as those who had, but he liked the +custom of this quiet salute and always observed it. +Taking a S.C. Bus, he was soon crashing down the wide +thoroughfare from which the Empire is governed. +Past the delicate Horse Guards building, nestling +between the sombre Treasury and the great barrack of +the Admiralty; past the pretentious <i>massif</i> of the new +War Office, its grossness shamed by the dignified beauty +of its small neighbour “Woods and Forests”; through +the lower part of Trafalgar Square, threatened now by +the shadow of architectural disaster; into the whirl of +one-way traffic round the Guards Crimean Memorial; +through the blatant vulgarities of Piccadilly Circus and +up between the glaring new commercial palaces of Regent +Street; Poole at most times had an eye for London, +for its beauties and its tragic blunders, but today his +mind was upon the problem in front of him.</p> + +<p>Automatically he got down at Oxford Circus, +disengaged himself from the “monstrous regiment” of +female shoppers, and cutting across Cavendish Square, +turned into the long and sombre avenue of Harley +Street.</p> + +<p>“This dates him a bit, doesn’t it?” Poole muttered to +himself, as he glanced up at the name of the street.</p> + +<p>Fortunately for him, Sir Horace’s house was at the +Cavendish Square end, so that he was saved a possible +ten minutes walk of infinite dreariness. Only one +plate was on the massive door, he noticed as he rang +the bell. Probably that meant that Sir Horace lived +here, poor devil. The door was opened by a man-servant +in a white jacket. Poole explained that he had +no appointment but that, if Sir Horace had a quarter +of an hour to spare in the near future, he would like to +consult him upon a matter of some importance. The +man-servant showed Poole into a waiting-room faintly +redolent of mutton and retired, bearing with him Poole’s +private card. After the customary twenty minutes +wait, the man-servant returned to say that, owing to the +failure of a patient, Sir Horace was fortunately able to +see Mr. Poole at once—the usual formula of the +unengaged.</p> + +<p>Poole was shown into a large room, full—or so it +seemed—of dark heavy furniture and a countless array +of signed photographs; on the big writing-table, Their +Gracious Majesties; on the mantelpiece, Their various +Royal Highnesses—mostly ten or twenty years younger +than life; on occasional tables and round the walls the +lesser, but still noble fry: Caroline Kent, Minon +Lancashire, Grace Wilbraham-Hamilton, George +Gurgles—“truthfully yours,” leaders of fashion, men and women +of the world, actors and actresses—of the type eligible for +“birthday honours”—sportsmen, financiers—yes, +prominently now, though probably retrieved by recent +notoriety from comparative obscurity, an indifferent +portrait of “Garth Fratten.”</p> + +<p>Naturally, Inspector Poole did not take in all these +photographic “warrants” at one glance, rather they +impressed themselves upon his sub-conscious notice and +gradually presented themselves one by one, during the +course of the interview, to his observant eye. At the +moment he was engaged in taking in the principal +feature of the room, Sir Horace Spavage himself. Sir +Horace was not a tall man, he was in fact, about five +foot six, but he was, as he liked to put it, a man of +good proportions and of a noticeable presence. His hair +was now white and rather long, he had a curling white +moustache, good teeth—too good to be true—and more +than a suspicion of side-whiskers. He wore a frock-coat +and a double cravat embellished by a fine pearl +pin.</p> + +<p>When Poole entered, Sir Horace was standing behind +his desk, tapping the former’s card against his well-kept +nails. After a quick glance at his visitor, to see +perhaps if he looked sufficiently noble to be shaking +hands with, Sir Horace abandoned any such intention +that he may have fostered, and waved to a chair.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Mr.—er—Poole. What may I have the +pleasure of doing for you?”</p> + +<p>The detective remained standing. He handed across +the table his official card.</p> + +<p>“That will explain who I am, sir. I thought it better +not to send it in by your servant; the matter is +confidential.”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace frowned. He also remained standing.</p> + +<p>“What is it you want, Inspector? I have only a few +minutes. My next patient . . .”</p> + +<p>“I quite understand, sir. I have been instructed to +make one or two enquiries about the death of Sir Garth +Fratten. Some question has been raised about the actual +cause of death—about the circumstances, too, that led +up to it. As regards the first question, you, naturally, +can give us the information we want.”</p> + +<p>“You will find the necessary information in my death +certificate, Inspector. I don’t understand the necessity +for your coming to me about it. The matter was all +in order.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so, sir, but I shall be glad, all the same, if you +will tell me about it in your own words. Possibly some +amplification of the information contained in the +certificate may clear things up.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, ‘clear things up’? There is +nothing to clear up, so far as I know.”</p> + +<p>“Probably not, sir, but we want to be quite certain +on that point. I understand that the cause of death +was the rupture of an aneurism. Can you tell me +how long Sir Garth had suffered from +this—disability?”</p> + +<p>The physician stood for a moment looking down at +the writing-pad in front of him, his fingers playing an +irritated tattoo on the woodwork of the table. Then, +with a shrug of the shoulders, he sat down, signing to +the detective to do the same.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, “I suppose I had better do what +you want, though it seems a complete waste of +time—yours as well as mine. Sir Garth Fratten had been +suffering from a thorasic aneurism for about a year. It +was very slight at first, and I had hoped by treatment—the +injection of gelatine solution—to cure it. Within +the last three months, however, the dilatation had +noticeably increased. I ordered complete rest—owing to the +position, in the chest, an operation was out of the +question—but Sir Garth was a self-willed man and would +not listen to reason. He preferred, he said, to die in +harness rather than lead an idle and useless life, though +he did agree to knock off a certain amount of his work. +There was always great danger of the aneurism bursting +in the event of sudden shock and, though I hadn’t +expected it quite so soon, I was in no way surprised when +it occurred.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I’m very ignorant, sir,” said Poole. +“Would you mind telling me, not too technically, what +an aneurism is?”</p> + +<p>This was pie to Sir Horace and he answered with a +better grace than he had yet shown.</p> + +<p>“An aneurism is a blood-containing cavity, the walls +of which are formed from the dilatation of an artery, +or of its surrounding tissues. The dilatation is due to +local weakness, caused by injury or disease. You might +say that the general effect was rather like the ballooning +of an inner tube through the outer cover of a motor +tire. Naturally, if the aneurism bursts, the blood +escapes from the artery into the pleura and death rapidly +ensues. Do I make myself clear?”</p> + +<p>“Quite, sir. Now can you tell me if it is the case +that Sir Garth’s family was in ignorance of this +condition?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. Not, that is to say, at the time of +his death. It is true that for some time Sir Garth told +his family and friends that it was his heart that was +troubling him—he considered that deception, I believe, +to be a euphemism. But he made no stipulation to me +about it and I myself told his son what was the matter +with him. The boy and his sister were worried by a +slight accident that had occurred to Sir Garth—only +a week or two before his death, it was, as a matter of +fact—and young Fratten came up here to see me about +it. I wrote him out a note of explanation to show his +sister—he wasn’t sure that he could explain it to her +himself. It was obviously desirable that they should +know, so that they could use their influence to restrain +him from overdoing himself.”</p> + +<p>Poole felt a slight stirring of interest as he listened, +though he was not sure exactly what had aroused it. +But he was now coming to the awkward part of his +interrogation.</p> + +<p>“About the actual cause of Sir Garth’s death, sir. I +understand about the aneurism bursting, but what +exactly caused it to burst?”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace fidgeted with a paper-knife.</p> + +<p>“Surely,” he said, “your people read the papers? +There was a slight accident, very slight. Someone +stumbled against Sir Garth, upset him to a certain +extent. No doubt it was a shock, as it was on the +occasion of which I have already spoken—he was nearly +run over in the City by a motor-bicycle. The shock +and excitement were quite sufficient to burst the aneurism. +I had no difficulty in deciding the cause of death +and in giving a certificate to that effect.”</p> + +<p>Poole took the plunge.</p> + +<p>“You will forgive me, sir,” he said, “but I shall be glad +if you will tell me whether you are quite sure that there +is no possibility of mistake. Is it impossible that death +was due to some other cause, such as a blow? Some +deliberate cause, that is to say?”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace sat up abruptly.</p> + +<p>“What on earth do you mean, sir?” he exclaimed. +“Are you throwing doubts upon my diagnosis?”</p> + +<p>“Not for a minute,” Poole hastened to assure him. +“I fully accept the cause of death as being the rupture +of the aneurism, but I would like to know whether it +could possibly have been deliberately brought +about—by a blow, for instance. May I ask whether you +examined the body for any signs of a blow—any wounds +or bruising?”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace sprang to his feet, his face flushed, his +eyes congested with anger.</p> + +<p>“This is beyond sufferance!” he exclaimed. “You +come here and cross-question me about the way I carry +out my duties! Me, a Physician to His Majesty the +King! Sir Wilfred (he was referring to the Home +Secretary) shall hear of this! It is preposterous!”</p> + +<p>He struck a hand-bell angrily:</p> + +<p>“Of course there was no wound or bruising. The +cause of death was quite simple and in accordance with +my certificate. The whole of this questioning is +ridiculous. Have the goodness to remove yourself, sir. +Frazer, show this man out.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Poole retired with what grace he could, but +with a smile at the back of his mouth. As the front +door closed sharply behind him, he said to himself:</p> + +<p>“That chap’s got the wind up.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII. <br> Significant Information</h2> + +<p>After a quick luncheon and a visit to the library of +the Yard to look up “Aneurism” in the Encyclopedia +Britannica, in order to check Sir Horace’s description, +Inspector Poole presented himself at 168 Queen Anne’s +Gate. On this occasion he did not present his private +card, as he thought it unlikely that Miss Fratten would +see him on that alone, and he certainly did not intend +to entrust his official card to a butler or footman, who +would certainly start talking about “a visit from the +police”; instead, he enclosed his official card in an +envelope with a note explaining that Sir Leward Marradine +had instructed him to call.</p> + +<p>Poole was standing in the large and comfortable hall, +waiting for the return of the butler, when a door on one +side opened and a tall young man with a dark moustache +came out into the hall and walked towards the staircase. +Throwing a glance at Poole, the newcomer hesitated, +a puzzled expression on his face, then stopped +abruptly and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Good God; Puddles! What on earth . . . where +have you sprung from?”</p> + +<p>For a moment Poole struggled with an effort of memory; +then a smile broke on his face, and he took a step +forward with extended hand:</p> + +<p>“Mangane! Laurence Mangane!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly he checked himself and his hand dropped to +his side, a peculiar expression replacing the smile on his +face.</p> + +<p>“Good-afternoon, sir,” he said.</p> + +<p>A look of amazement came into Mangane’s face and +he, too, checked his approach.</p> + +<p>“ ‘Sir’?” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you +talking about?”</p> + +<p>Poole glanced round to see if anyone else was present.</p> + +<p>“I’m Detective-Inspector Poole, sir,” he said.</p> + +<p>Slowly Mangane’s face cleared and he broke into a +broad grin.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, yes,” he said. “I’d forgotten all about +your quaint career. So you’re a detective, are you? +And an Inspector at that? Jolly good work. I . . .”</p> + +<p>Poole made a gesture to stop him. The butler was +coming downstairs.</p> + +<p>“Miss Fratten will be down in a few minutes, sir. +Will you step this way, sir, please?”</p> + +<p>He led the way into the morning-room; Poole +followed and Mangane brought up the rear. When the +door had closed behind the butler, Mangane took the +detective’s arm and gave it a friendly shake.</p> + +<p>“Now, Puddles,” he said, “tell me all about it, and +drop this ‘sir’ nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” replied Poole. +“If I don’t sink myself completely in my identity as a +policeman it may make my position impossibly difficult +if I run across any of my old friends in an official +capacity. I thought at one time of changing my name when +I joined the Force but that seemed making rather a +mystery of the business. It’s possible, for instance, that +I may have to question you, among other people. +That’s absolutely confidential at the moment, please. +But if I do, you can see for yourself that I can only do +it as an unidentified policeman. You understand that, +don’t you—sir?”</p> + +<p>Mangane slowly nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see,” he said. “You’re probably right, though +I don’t like it. If at any time you do relax your . . .”</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by the opening of the door into +the hall. Inez Fratten walked in, Poole’s note in her +hand. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she saw the two +men talking together. Mangane evidently divined at +once what was passing in her mind—the suspicion that +he might be trying to “pump” the detective as to his +business there.</p> + +<p>“Inspector Poole and I are old friends, Miss Fratten,” +he said. “I haven’t seen him for a great many years, +though.”</p> + +<p>Inez’s face at once cleared and broke into a smile.</p> + +<p>“How jolly,” she said. “Then I shan’t be afraid of +him. It makes me feel fearfully inquisitive though; I +can’t help imagining that he ran you in at some time in +your indiscreet past.”</p> + +<p>She laughed lightly, and Poole fell an instant victim +to her charm. Mangane threw a glance of enquiry at +the detective, who nodded.</p> + +<p>“We were at Oxford together,” said Mangane.</p> + +<p>Inez just checked herself in time from an exclamation +that would have been hardly polite to the policeman.</p> + +<p>“Better than ever,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve met +again.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it’s not much use to us,” said Mangane. +“Poole insists upon remaining a policeman with a number +and no old friends. I’ve no doubt he wouldn’t have let +me tell about Oxford if he hadn’t known that you must +be wondering why we were talking to each other. But +I mustn’t stop here talking; you’ve got business, of +course.”</p> + +<p>He touched Poole’s shoulder and walked quickly out +of the room. Inez made a mental note that he had gone +up a step.</p> + +<p>Poole’s interview with Inez Fratten did not reveal +anything fresh. She talked about her advertisement +and told him that she had not yet had any reply to it. +She explained how Mr. Hessel had told her and her +brother of the accident to their father in the City, and +had warned them to stop him, if they could, from taking +on some fresh work that he was contemplating; she +did not tell him of the stormy interview that Ryland had +had with her father on the same evening nor of the +difficulty she had had in getting into touch with her brother +again after that unfortunate occurrence; she explained +how she had cross-questioned her father about his illness +and how the latter had at last testily advised her to find +out all about it from Sir Horace Spavage; finally, how +Ryland had, at her request, gone up and interviewed Sir +Horace—she was laid up with a chill and could not go +herself—and had brought her back a note explaining all +about the aneurism.</p> + +<p>“I was horribly frightened about it,” she said, “but +father was quite hopeless—you couldn’t turn him, once +he had made up his mind to a thing. I feel pretty sure +that he would have killed himself with overwork, even +if it hadn’t been for this accident. That doesn’t make +me any the less want to get hold of the rotter who +knocked into him, and hasn’t the decency to come and +say he’s sorry,” she added vindictively.</p> + +<p>“I expect we shall find him, Miss Fratten,” said +Poole. “In the meantime, will you tell me the name of +your father’s solicitor?”</p> + +<p>And with the name and address of Mr. Septimus +Menticle of Lincoln’s Inn, Poole took his +departure.</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle, however, was not in, and Poole was +wondering what else he could do to further the enquiry +when it occurred to him that Sir Leward had added the +name of Mr. Leopold Hessel to the list of his preliminary +investigations. The detective had gathered that Mr. +Hessel was a director of Fratten’s Bank, so turned his +steps now in that direction. He was lucky enough to +find Mr. Hessel still in the bank. As soon as Poole had +explained his business, the banker motioned him to a +chair and sent for an extra supply of tea.</p> + +<p>“Now, just what is it you want to know, Inspector?” +asked Hessel. “About the accident—though it was +scarcely as much as that really—before Sir Garth’s +death? I’ll tell it you as well as I can, though it’s +extraordinarily difficult to be clear in one’s mind, even +about the most trivial happenings, when one has to be +exact. We were walking from my club in St. James’s +Square towards Sir Garth’s house in Queen Anne’s +Gate—you know it, I expect. He always walked home +across the Park in the evening, though generally from +his own club. On this occasion he happened to have +had tea in my club and I was walking part of the way +home with him; we got absorbed in a topic of +conversation and I went on with him past the Athenæum and +the Duke of York’s column, though I had not at first +intended to go that way. As we went down the steps, +some man, who was apparently in a hurry, stumbled +and fell against Sir Garth, who in his turn knocked +against me.”</p> + +<p>“Just one minute, sir, please,” interrupted Poole. +“I’d like to get it quite clear. You say that the man +stumbled and fell against Sir Garth. Could you define +that rather more closely? What was the actual degree +of force with which he struck into Sir Garth?”</p> + +<p>Hessel thought for a minute.</p> + +<p>“It’s just as I said,” he replied—“so difficult to be +exact. I was talking, of course, and not noticing very +much what was going on around me. I think I was +just conscious of some slight noise or commotion—an +exclamation, perhaps, and then Fratten staggered +against me. Not very heavily—I don’t think he would +have fallen if I had not been there. But he was +upset—clearly shaken—I suppose it was a shock. The man +was very apologetic—seemed quite a decent fellow. As +Fratten appeared to be really none the worse there +seemed to be no point in detaining him—he was in a +hurry—and said something about the Admiralty and a +message. He ran on down the steps in that direction +and Sir Garth and I walked slowly on—I took his arm +in case he was still feeling shaken. Just after we had +crossed . . .”</p> + +<p>“May I interrupt again one minute, sir? Before you +leave the incident on the Duke of York’s Steps—can +you say definitely whether or not the man who stumbled +against Sir Garth actually struck him? Struck him +with his fist, that is to say, or some instrument, with +sufficient force to cause his death?”</p> + +<p>Hessel stared at the Inspector with surprise.</p> + +<p>“I see,” he said. “That’s what you’ve got in your +mind? I wonder what put the idea there—still, I +suppose that’s not my business. No, I should say myself +pretty definitely that such a thing did not occur. I +feel quite sure that I must have been aware if any force +of that kind had been used. Besides, there were any +number of people about—there is always a stream of +them going that way towards Victoria and Waterloo +at that time of day. Some of them must surely have +noticed if any blow had been struck.”</p> + +<p>Poole thought over this point for a moment; it +seemed unanswerable.</p> + +<p>“I see, sir,” he said. “There really were, then, a +lot of witnesses of the occurrence?”</p> + +<p>“Any number. A small crowd collected round us +at once.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t take any of their names, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t; it never occurred to me to—the whole thing +was a pure accident and at the time I thought it +unimportant. If Sir Garth had fallen dead at once, it might +have been different; but, as you know, he did not do +so till after we had crossed the Mall. By that time they +had probably all dispersed, and in any case I am afraid +I was so upset that I didn’t think of it—only of getting +him home as quickly as possible.”</p> + +<p>“I quite understand, sir,” said Poole. “Now about the +actual death. You said that you had crossed the Mall.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we crossed the Mall all right and were walking +towards the Guards Memorial when he suddenly staggered, +made a sort of choking, gasping sound and sank +to the ground. He nearly pulled me down with him. +I had my arm linked through his, as I told you. I believe +he died almost at once, though I did not realize it +at the time.”</p> + +<p>“It must have been a great shock for you, sir. I suppose +there was no further accident just before the fall?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, nothing. Evidently it was the result of the +shock he received on the steps. After all, it was only a +hundred yards or so away.”</p> + +<p>“And the man concerned, of course, had disappeared +by then?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely. I never saw or heard of him again.”</p> + +<p>Poole thought for a while, trying to find some fresh +line of approach.</p> + +<p>“It’s probably quite immaterial,” he said at last, “but +could you by any chance tell me what was the subject of +your conversation with Sir Garth that evening? You +said that you were so engrossed in it that you went out +of your way.”</p> + +<p>The slight raising of Hessel’s eyebrows had a curious +effect of rebuke upon the detective.</p> + +<p>“If it is material, I can tell you,” he replied. “We +were talking of Sir Garth’s son, Ryland Fratten. He +was worried about him. They were a case of father and +son, both very charming people, not understanding one +another. I always thought Sir Garth rather unjust to +Ryland.”</p> + +<p>Poole had pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>“What was the trouble between them, sir?”</p> + +<p>But Hessel evidently thought that he had said +enough.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Inspector,” he replied, “I don’t think I can +enter into what amounts to little more than gossip—it’s +not quite my line. So far as our conversation that +evening went, it concerned Ryland’s affection or +apparent lack of affection for his father. That is what +I can tell you of my own knowledge; beyond that I +am not prepared to go.”</p> + +<p>Poole decided not to press the point. He tried a fresh +tack.</p> + +<p>“Sir Garth was a rich man, Mr. Hessel, and of course, +in his way, a powerful man. I suppose it is possible +that he may have made enemies?”</p> + +<p>But Hessel was not to be drawn. He smiled and +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t we verging a little bit on the melodramatic, +Inspector?” he said. “I suppose your suggestion is that +some City magnate hired an assassin to put a hated +rival out of the way. That may have been the custom +a couple of centuries ago, but hardly today—quite apart +from the fact that I can’t see how you make the death +out to be anything but accidental.”</p> + +<p>Poole realized that he had now lost the sympathy of +his audience; he wisely decided to go. Thanking the +banker for his help and courtesy, as well as for his tea, +the detective made his way out into the street. When +he called upon Mr. Menticle in the afternoon he had +learned that the latter lived in Lincoln’s Inn, as well as +working there, and might well be at home later in the +day. He decided now to try his luck again.</p> + +<p>He arrived at Mr. Menticle’s chambers at about six +o’clock and found that the owner had “sported his +oak.” In ordinary circumstances Poole, as an Oxford +man, would have respected this appeal for privacy, but +as it was he felt that the chariot wheels of justice must +roll through even this sacred tradition. He knocked +firmly on the outer door.</p> + +<p>There was no answer to his first knock, but he had the +curious feeling that the silence within had become even +more silent. He knocked more sharply and soon heard +footsteps approaching, followed by the opening of the +inner door; he stepped back a pace and the heavy outer +door swung slowly out towards him. In the doorway +stood a curious figure, which might have stepped out of +a page of Dickens; an elderly man, dressed in baggy +subfuscous trousers, a worn velvet jacket, and a tasselled +cap, such as Poole imagined to have been extinct since +Balmoral lifted its ban upon smoking. The face underneath +the cap, however, was by no means Victorian; the +nose certainly was aquiline and carried a pair of gold +pince-nez, but the skin was clear and healthy, the +mouth sensitive, and the eyes bright and intelligent. +Probably Mr. Menticle amused himself in his solitude by +posing as a participator in Jarndyce and Jarndyce.</p> + +<p>At the moment there was a frown of displeasure on +the lawyer’s fine brow. He remained in the doorway, +waiting for his visitor to explain his presence.</p> + +<p>“I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Poole. “My +card will explain my insistence.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle took the card, glanced at it, and, with +a short nod, signed to Poole to come in.</p> + +<p>“Shut the outer door behind you,” said Mr. Menticle. +“It may prevent our being disturbed.”</p> + +<p>Poole thought he caught a slight emphasis on the +“may” and a faint chuckle from the retreating figure of +his host. He followed, and found himself in a remarkably +comfortable room, with a soft carpet, two easy-chairs, +and a blazing wood fire. The walls were lined +with bookcases, with an occasional well-balanced +engraving, whilst over the fireplace hung a photograph of +an O.U. Cricket Eleven. Poole checked with difficulty +his natural inclination to go straight up and look +at it.</p> + +<p>“Take a chair, Inspector,” said the lawyer, pointing to +the least worn of the two. “You’ve come just in time +for a glass of sherry.”</p> + +<p>He opened an oak corner cupboard and brought out a +cut-glass decanter, two tulip sherry-glasses, and a tin +of biscuits.</p> + +<p>“Amontillado,” he said. “Sound stuff. Not to be +found everywhere in these days.”</p> + +<p>The two men lifted their glasses to each other. +Poole’s glance lifting for an instant to the photograph +over the fire, Mr. Menticle allowed his gaze to rest for +a time upon his visitor’s face, before he spoke.</p> + +<p>“What year were you up?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Poole stared at him, then broke into a laugh.</p> + +<p>“You’re very quick, sir,” he said. “ ’17 to ’19. St. +James’s.”</p> + +<p>“Get a blue?”</p> + +<p>“Half-blue, sir—Athletic. I played in a Seniors +match once, but didn’t get any further in cricket.”</p> + +<p>“ ’Tics, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And now you’ve taken to police work—C.I.D. +Very interesting career. And I suppose you want to +forget all about Oxford when you’re on your job?”</p> + +<p>“That’s exactly what I do want, sir. Curiously +enough it’s come out twice today, and I’m rather +annoyed with myself for letting it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Inspector, I’ll forget about it now. What +did you want to see me about?”</p> + +<p>“It’s about the death of Sir Garth Fratten, sir.”</p> + +<p>Poole was watching the lawyer very closely when he +said this, and he thought he saw a shadow of distress or +anxiety come into his eyes. He gave no other sign, +however, and the detective continued.</p> + +<p>“We have been given to understand that there are +some grounds for uncertainty about the circumstances +of the death. I must say frankly that so far we have +very little to go on, but I have been instructed to make +certain preliminary investigations, in which you, sir, +as the family solicitor, naturally take a prominent +place.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle nodded but did not volunteer any +statement.</p> + +<p>“There are one or two points, sir,” Poole continued, +“which I thought might help us. In the first place, the +will. I could of course, get particulars from Somerset +House, but I shall get a very much clearer idea of it if +you will go through the principal features of it +with me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle gave the suggestion a moment’s thought, +then nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “I think I can do that. I might refuse, +of course, but you would get the information just +the same, by using your powers, and I should merely +have established an atmosphere of hostility.”</p> + +<p>He rose, and, leaving the room, presently returned +with a bundle of papers which he laid on the table +beside him. Poole could not help admiring the cool +common sense with which his host made a virtue of +necessity.</p> + +<p>“The will is a very simple one,” said Mr. Menticle, +laying it out on his knees, and running over its clauses +with his finger. “Sir Garth left comfortable though +not large legacies to various distant relations, to his +employees at the bank and to his domestic staff. There +are various bequests to charities and two special legacies +of £5000 each, one to myself and one to his intimate +friend, Mr. Leopold Hessel, whom he appointed his sole +executor. But taking all these together, the total forms +a very small portion of his fortune, the residue of which, +after paying all duties, was divided equally between Mr. +Ryland and Miss Inez Fratten.”</p> + +<p>“His son and daughter?” said Poole and, as Mr. +Menticle made no comment, took silence for consent.</p> + +<p>The detective had jotted down the outline of the will +as Mr. Menticle sketched it. He ran his eye over it +again.</p> + +<p>“And the residue will amount to?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Impossible to say yet. Sir Garth had very wide interests. +The death duties, of course, will vary according +to the total amount dutiable.”</p> + +<p>“But roughly?”</p> + +<p>“Roughly, between four and five hundred thousand +pounds, I should say.”</p> + +<p>“So that Mr. Ryland and Miss Inez Fratten will each +get over £200,000.”</p> + +<p>“Presumably.”</p> + +<p>“Large sums,” said Poole, “even in these days. Very +large compared with the other legacies, I gather. What +was the largest of those?”</p> + +<p>“Mine and Mr. Hessel’s. None of the others +amounted to more than an annuity of £100.”</p> + +<p>“Hardly enough to invite murder—still, one never +knows. Now, Mr. Menticle, I am going to ask you a +straight question. Do you believe that any of these +legatees, residuary or otherwise, had any inducement to +bring about the premature death of the testator?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle rose abruptly from his chair and, walking +over to the window, pulled aside the curtain and +looked out on to the November night. Coming back +into the room, he stood in front of the fire, with one foot +on the fender, seeming to seek for inspiration from the +blazing logs.</p> + +<p>“That is a very direct question,” he temporized.</p> + +<p>“It is,” said the detective, “and I want your answer, +please, Mr. Menticle.” The expression of Poole’s face +would have told anyone who knew him that, having got +his grip, nothing now would cause him to relax it.</p> + +<p>At last the lawyer straightened his shoulders and, +turning his back to the fire, looked down at his +interlocutor.</p> + +<p>“I think I must tell you,” he said, “that a week or +so before his death, Sir Garth instructed me to draw +up a new will. I was to have brought it to him to sign +the morning after he actually died.”</p> + +<p>“There were important alterations?” Poole’s voice +was tense.</p> + +<p>“There was one. Ryland Fratten was cut out of the +will as a residuary legatee.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII. <br> Ryland Fratten</h2> + +<p>Poole sat for a while in silence, allowing this significant +piece of information to sink into his mind.</p> + +<p>“That means, then,” he said at last, “that if Sir Garth +had died on the evening of the 25th of October instead +of the 24th, Miss Inez Fratten would have inherited the +whole of the residuary estate of her father—nearly half +a million pounds—and her brother would have had +nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Not nothing. He was to have received an annuity +of £300; Sir Garth did not want him to be quite +destitute—he doubted Ryland’s ability to earn a living for +himself, and to a certain extent he blamed himself for +bringing the boy up in the expectation of idle riches.”</p> + +<p>“Still, it meant £300 a year instead of £10,000?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“That,” thought Poole to himself, “may be +considered to be a motive for murder.”</p> + +<p>Aloud, he said: “Did Mr. Ryland Fratten know of +this new will?”</p> + +<p>“That I cannot say for certain,” replied the lawyer. +“I gathered that Sir Garth had made use of some +expression—something about ‘cutting off’ or +‘disinheriting,’ perhaps—that might have given Mr. Ryland an +idea of what was in the wind.”</p> + +<p>“But did he know that the new will was to have been +signed on the day you say it was—25th October?”</p> + +<p>“That again I don’t know—I should doubt it.”</p> + +<p>Evidently that was a point that must be looked into; +Poole made a mental note of it and turned to another +line of approach.</p> + +<p>“And the cause of the change, sir?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle, who had been standing all this time, +returned to his chair on the other side of the fireplace +and slowly filled and lit a long-stemmed brier pipe. +Poole got the impression that the lawyer was taking time +to arrange his ideas. After a draw or two, and the +use of another match, Mr. Menticle replied to the +question that had been addressed to him. He spoke slowly +and deliberately.</p> + +<p>“It was, I think, the culmination of a long series of +disagreements and even quarrels between the two. Sir +Garth was a man of very strict, perhaps narrow, views, +particularly as regards women and money. Ryland, on +the other hand, though an attractive and charming +boy—in my opinion—is very weak on both these points. +His head is turned by every girl he meets, with the +inevitable consequence of entanglements, and he has no +idea of the value of money. When I tell you that he +was very keen on everything to do with the theatre +and moved in—shall I say—rather Bohemian circles, +you can understand what those two weaknesses led him +into.”</p> + +<p>Poole nodded. “Definite trouble?”</p> + +<p>“Definite trouble. About two years ago he got +engaged to a young lady of the name of Crystel—Pinkie +Crystel—that was her stage name; her real name was +Rosa Glass—I know because I had to negotiate the +ransom, so to speak. That cost Sir Garth £10,000. He +was very angry—not without reason. Ryland was +repentant, swore to leave chorus girls alone, promised +definitely not to get engaged again without his father’s +consent. Within a month the chorus girl business had +begun again—he could not keep away from them—and +they cost him money—more than his allowance. From +time to time Sir Garth had to hear of it, had to stump +up—comparatively small sums, it is true; still the +irritation was there. At the same time Ryland, who really, +I am sure, was devoted to Sir Garth, felt his affection +being chilled by repeated rebukes. He saw less and less +of Sir Garth, ceased living in the house—steered clear +of him as far as possible. Miss Inez, naturally, was +miserable about it—did everything to bring them +together, but without success—they were both obstinate +men.</p> + +<p>“Finally, about a fortnight before Sir Garth’s death, +he received a letter from Ryland saying that he had got +entangled with another girl—I don’t know the name in +this case—and that she was asking for £20,000 or +matrimony—and Ryland was straight enough to say that he +had found he didn’t like her after all and simply couldn’t +marry her. Naturally there was a flare up; unfortunately +Sir Garth read the letter when he got back to +his house just after having an unpleasant shock—a +narrow escape from being run over—in the City. No +doubt he was feeling unwell; he sent for Ryland, who +happened to be in the house—as a matter of fact I +believe the boy had come there to face the music—had a +first-class row with him and finally packed him off with +a ‘curse and a copper coin,’ as it used to be called. +Ryland left the house and never returned to it in Sir +Garth’s lifetime, and then only at Miss Inez’ urgent +entreaty, as she herself told me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle turned to the table beside him and +began rummaging among the papers that he had +brought in.</p> + +<p>“That, Inspector,” he said, “is all I have to tell +you—and I have not enjoyed telling it. Here, if you wish +to see it, is the revised—and unsigned—will. After the +funeral and the reading of the effective will, I so far +forgot myself as to tear this one across—I was upset. +But here are the four pieces, they are still quite good as +evidence if required—though only corroborative +evidence—of mystery, of course. Being unsigned, they +are no absolute evidence of Sir Garth’s intention; I might +have drafted the will out of my own head, for all +anyone knows. There are also, of course, the rough draft +and my own notes taken at the time of Sir Garth’s +instructions to me, but none of them bears Sir Garth’s +signature, nor, I believe, any of his handwriting—he +made no corrections.”</p> + +<p>Poole felt that, for the moment, he had got as much +out of Mr. Menticle as he could expect, though he would +almost certainly have some more questions to ask him +later on. It was by now nearly eight o’clock and the +detective felt he had done a fairly full day’s work. In +any case, he wanted time to think over things before +going any further. Being a single man, living in cheap +rooms in Battersea—(he had refused to allow his father +to supplement his professional earnings)—he had formed +the habit of taking his meals at a variety of inexpensive +restaurants in different parts of London. Without +revealing his professional identity, he made a point +of getting into conversation with the proprietors and +waiters, and sometimes with the habitués of these +places, with the result that he had picked up a good deal +of valuable knowledge about London life, and had made +a number of potentially useful friends.</p> + +<p>On this occasion, he made his way to the “Grand +Couronne” in Greek Street, Soho, and after ordering +himself a special risotto and a large glass of +Münchener—which had to be fetched from “over the way,” the +restaurant possessing no licence—set himself to review +the progress he had made. In the first place he knew +fairly thoroughly the nature of the disease which had +resulted in Sir Garth Fratten’s death, together with the +circumstances which had led up to it; he had a fairly +clear picture of the scene on the Duke of York’s Steps, +when the accident which caused his death had occurred; +he had, he thought, solved the mystery surrounding the +nature of the disease—the ignorance of the family and +friends was evidently a foible of Sir Garth’s, and even so, +not very closely adhered to; finally he had discovered +that one person at any rate had a very strong motive +indeed for desiring the death—and the death within +very narrow limits of time—of the late banker.</p> + +<p>Not very much perhaps, but still, more than was +known twenty-four hours ago.</p> + +<p>His satisfaction was somewhat modified when he +turned to a consideration of the progress he had <em>not</em> +made.</p> + +<p>He did not know, in the first place, whether a crime +had been committed at all—a rather vital point! +Assuming that it had, he did not know who had +committed it, nor how it had been committed. If he had +found one person with a motive, he had by no means +eliminated all possible alternative suspects—in spite of +Mr. Hessel’s chaff, he still believed that rich and +powerful men often made dangerous enemies. On that line +alone he had a great deal of ground to cover. He had, +in fact, a long way still to go before he even created a +case, let alone solved it.</p> + +<p>Finishing his modest dinner, he invited the manager, +Signor Pablo Vienzi, to join him in a cup of coffee and +a cigar. Signor Vienzi was only too willing, but was +unable to repay this hospitality by any useful information. +Poole’s discreet pumping revealed only the fact +that the proprietor had never heard either of Mr. +Ryland Fratten or of Miss Pinkie Crystel—though +Poole did not expect much help from the latter line. +The detective paid his bill, said good-night, and went +home to bed.</p> + +<p>Arriving at Scotland Yard soon after nine the next +morning, Inspector Poole went through the small +amount of routine work that awaited him and made his +way to the room of the Assistant Commissioner. On +his way there, he hesitated outside the door of Chief +Inspector Barrod. He felt that the correct procedure +was for him to report in the first place to his +immediate superior, and through him, if necessary, to Sir +Leward. But Chief Inspector Barrod had been very +curt and decided on the point, and Poole, with some +misgiving, complied with this short-circuiting of +established routine.</p> + +<p>Sir Leward himself had only just arrived and was +going through his letters when Poole reported, but, +remembering the charms of the young lady who had inspired +this investigation, the Chief sent away his +secretary and listened to the detective’s report.</p> + +<p>“Does Mr. Barrod know about this?” he asked, when +Poole had finished.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. He told me to report direct to you.”</p> + +<p>“Better . . .” Sir Leward checked himself, remembering +the Chief Inspector’s obvious lack of interest. “All +right, we’ll keep it to ourselves for the moment. Now +what’s the next step?”</p> + +<p>“That’s as you decide, sir. If I might make a +suggestion, I think I ought now to interview Mr. Ryland +Fratten and find out whether he knew about that will +and the date of its signature.”</p> + +<p>“He’d hardly tell you, would he?”</p> + +<p>“He might, if he were off his guard; or at any rate +he might make some statement which might later be +proved false. Assuming, that is, for the moment, that +he is guilty. And that’s a big assumption, sir, when we +don’t even know that there has been a crime.”</p> + +<p>“No. I suppose we don’t. Still, it looks more like +it than it did. You’ve done very well, Poole, to get so +far with so little to go on.”</p> + +<p>Poole shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t do well with the doctor, sir. I don’t know +now whether he examined the body for marks of +violence or not; he only said that there weren’t +any.”</p> + +<p>“A different thing, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; he was angry and wanted to get rid of me. +I oughtn’t to have let him get angry. He wasn’t an +easy subject though, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet he wasn’t; I know those knighted +physicians—benighted, most of them.”</p> + +<p>It took Poole the better part of the day to find Ryland +Fratten. He had not the heart to go and ask Inez Fratten +for her brother’s address; it was so like asking her to +help in putting an halter round his neck. He did not +care, either, to ask the butler at Queen Anne’s Gate; he +did not want to start any gossip yet in that quarter. +He ran him to earth at length, by dint of trying all +the theatrical and semi-theatrical clubs in London in +turn.</p> + +<p>The “Doorstep” Club, in Burlington Gardens, caters +for a mixed clientele—(it is a proprietary affair, and a +very profitable one at that)—of young bucks interested +in boxing, horse-racing, and the stage. Apart from +the young bucks themselves, many of the leading +jockeys, the more amusing actors, and the least +unsuccessful boxers, were members of the club, though their +subscriptions were in many cases “overlooked” by the +intelligent proprietor. Poole was admitted, presumably +on the strength of his good looks or his athletic figure, +by a hall porter who ought to have known better. He +was shown into the small and dark room on the +ground-floor-back which was reserved for visitors, and his +private card: “John Poole, 35 Vincent Gardens, S.W.”—a +guileless looking affair—sent up by a “bell-hop” +to Mr. Fratten.</p> + +<p>Ryland Fratten appeared after about ten minutes, +with a half-finished cocktail in one hand and a +cigarette in the other.</p> + +<p>“Sorry to keep you waiting. Have a cocktail. Here, +boy, wait a minute. What’ll you have? Strongly +recommend a ‘Pirate’s Breath.’ ”</p> + +<p>“No, thanks,” said Poole, omitting the “sir” in the +presence of the boy. “I won’t keep you a minute.”</p> + +<p>“Quite sure? All right; hop it, Ferdinand.”</p> + +<p>When the door had closed behind the boy, Poole held +out his official card.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry to bother you in your club, sir,” he said. +“I didn’t quite know where to find you.”</p> + +<p>Ryland Fratten looked with surprise at his visitor. +His first impression of him had suggested anything but +a policeman.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?” he asked. “Not the usual +car-obstruction rot?”</p> + +<p>Poole smiled.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. It’s rather a confidential matter. I wondered +if I might have a talk with you somewhere where +we shan’t be disturbed—your rooms, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t got much in the way of rooms,” said +Fratten, “and they’re a long way off. No one’s in the +least likely to barge into this coal-cellar. I wish you’d +have a drink. Have a cigarette, anyway.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, sir. I’ve been instructed to ask you +for certain information regarding the death of your +father, Sir Garth Fratten.”</p> + +<p>Poole watched his companion closely as he said these +words. He saw the light-hearted, careless expression on +his face change to one of serious attention—Ryland +Fratten was listening now, very carefully.</p> + +<p>“To be quite frank,” the detective continued, “we are +not quite satisfied with the circumstances surrounding +Sir Garth’s death; there really should, strictly speaking, +have been an inquest, though Sir Horace Spavage informs +us that he was perfectly satisfied that death was +due to natural causes, arising out of his disease, and that +he had no hesitation in giving a certificate. Can you by +any chance throw any light on the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. What sort of light?”</p> + +<p>“You weren’t with your father, or near him, when the +accident occurred?”</p> + +<p>“No, I wasn’t,” said Fratten. “I didn’t hear anything +about it till my sister got on to me at Potiphar’s +in the middle of supper. I’d been to a show—she didn’t +know how to find me.”</p> + +<p>Poole noticed that he did not give any indication of +his lack of touch with his father; still, he had not been +definitely untruthful on the subject.</p> + +<p>“Were you surprised when you heard of your father’s +death?”</p> + +<p>“It was a great shock, naturally, but I wasn’t really +surprised; I knew that he was very ill—that he had +something the matter with him that might cause his +death at any time.”</p> + +<p>“Heart trouble, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—no. That is to say, I used to think it was +heart trouble, but actually it was a thing called an +aneurism—something wrong with an artery.”</p> + +<p>Poole wondered whether the sudden correction was +a slip or a lightning decision that deception was too +dangerous. For all his careless manner, Fratten had +intelligent eyes and Poole was not at all convinced that +he was a fool. He decided to try fresh ground—and +to take a risk over it.</p> + +<p>“There’s a point I wanted to ask you about the will,” +he said. “When did you discover that your father was +making a fresh will?”</p> + +<p>“When he . . . Good God, what do you mean? +What are you suggesting?” Fratten had sprung to his +feet and his dark eyes blazed out of a white face. +“Are you trying to make out that I killed my father? +You damned swine! You can take yourself straight to +hell!”</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment glaring down at Poole, then +swung on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming +the door behind him. The detective rose slowly to his +feet. A glow of satisfaction was spreading over him. +This was something better than he had hoped. That +second correction, within a bare minute of the first, +was unmistakable. Fratten had begun automatically +to answer the question about his knowledge of the new +will, had pulled himself up with a jerk and, to cover +the slip, had put up a display of righteous indignation. +He had been extraordinarily quick, too, at picking up +the implication of Poole’s question. It was obvious, of +course, but only a clever man could have picked it up +so instantaneously. Undoubtedly the plot was +thickening.</p> + +<p>Poole picked up his hat and had taken a step or two +towards the door when it opened and Ryland Fratten +came back into the room. His face was still white but +his eyes were calm.</p> + +<p>“I’ve come to apologize,” he said. “I had no right to +say that to you—I didn’t really mean it to you +personally—of course you’re only doing your duty. Will you +please forgive me?”</p> + +<p>When Poole left the club a minute or two later, most +of the satisfaction had died out of him. Instead, he +had a curious sensation of shame at ever having felt +satisfaction.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX. <br> Silence</h2> + +<p>Thinking over his interview with Ryland Fratten, +Poole felt rather uncertain as to what deduction to +draw from it as to his character. Undoubtedly he was +a much more intelligent—and consequently a potentially +more dangerous—man than he had expected to find. +On the other hand, without any practical justification, +Poole realized that he rather liked what he had seen of +him. Obviously, he must not build on such slender +material and he cast about in his mind for the best +means of studying Fratten’s character more closely. +His sister, Inez, was out of the question; Mangane was +possible, but Poole did not quite like the idea of pumping +him. Finally it occurred to him that his own past +history might provide a key to the problem.</p> + +<p>In his undergraduate days, and to a lesser extent as +a young barrister, he had not been above a little mild +stage-door flirtation, during which he had made the +acquaintance of various stage-door keepers, and +especially that of Mr. Gabb of the “Inanity.” It was +probable that Mr. Gabb knew the life-stories of more lights +of the musical-comedy stage, together with their +attendant moths, than any man in London. It was more +than probable that he would know Ryland Fratten, and +quite likely the history of his entanglement. Anyhow +it was worth trying.</p> + +<p>Returning quickly to his lodgings, Poole invested himself +in the suit of immaculate evening clothes, the light +black overcoat, and “stouted” top-hat, which were the +carefully preserved relics of his less sombre past. There +had always seemed a possibility of their coming in useful, +and now Poole was glad of his foresight in keeping them +by him and in good order. After standing himself a +good, though light, dinner and a half-bottle of Cliquot +at the Savoy Grill, with the object of imbibing the +necessary “atmosphere,” Poole strolled round to the +stage-door of the “Inanity” a little before nine. He +knew that the interval would not take place before a +quarter past at the earliest, so that he had plenty of time +for a heart-to-heart with Mr. Gabb.</p> + +<p>The result more than fulfilled his expectations. Gabb +knew Ryland Fratten well, and all about his various +affairs of the heart. He liked him, but he clearly felt +a certain contempt for a man who, no longer a callow +boy, wasted his life in fluttering about these tinsel +attractions. Fratten’s latest flame was Miss Julie Vermont; +she had a small speaking part in the piece now on. +The affair had lasted about six months—longer than +usual—and more serious than usual, though there had +been a hitch in it lately.</p> + +<p>At this moment, the swing-door leading into the +theatre was pushed open and a girl in the exaggerated +dress of a parlour-maid so popular on the lighter stage, +stood for a moment in the doorway. She was extremely +pretty, in a rather hard way, with closely-shingled +auburn hair; Poole noticed a diamond and platinum ring +on the third finger of the well-manicured hand that +held open the door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Gabb,” she said, “if Mr. Gossington comes round +tell him I can’t come out tonight, will you?”</p> + +<p>Gabb made an inarticulate grunt and scribbled upon +a pad in front of him. With a quick glance at the +attractive figure of the detective, the girl vanished.</p> + +<p>“ ‘Talk of the devil,’ ” said Gabb; “that’s his girl—Mr. +Fratten’s that is—Miss Vermont. At least she was, +but it’s cooled off a bit lately, I think, diamond ring and +all. Maybe something to do with his father’s death. +Anyway he hasn’t been round lately and she’s been +going out with this young Gossington—Porky Gossington’s +boy in the Blues, he is. Here’s the interval now, +sir.”</p> + +<p>Poole drew back as a trickle of young men in evening +clothes, mostly bareheaded, came round from the main +entrance. Poole watched with sympathetic amusement +the well-remembered and unchanging scene: the confident +assurance of the accepted cavalier, chaffing Gabb +and exchanging pleasantries with the little cluster of +girls who occasionally poked their heads through the +swing-door; the shy diffidence of the fledgling presenting +his first note, his blush of delight when it returned +to him with an evidently favourable answer, his +crestfallen retreat at the verbal message: “Miss Flitterling +is sorry she’s engaged,” or, worse still: “No answer, +sir.” It was all very laughable, and very pathetic, +thought the emancipated Poole.</p> + +<p>Feeling that, for the moment, the stage-door keeper +had yielded as much information as could be extracted +without arousing suspicion, Poole said good-night and +walked out into the Aldwych. He had not gone far +when he felt a touch on his arm and, looking down, saw +a small and shabby individual ambling along beside +him.</p> + +<p>“Beg pardon, guv’nor,” said his new acquaintance, +“but if yer wants hinformation abaht the Honerable +Fratten, I’m the chap with the goods.”</p> + +<p>Wondering how this seedy creature could know of +his question, the detective looked at him more closely +and presently remembered that he had seen him come in +with a note for Gabb when he and the latter had been +talking together. Probably the man had picked up the +name then; possibly he had hung about outside and +caught a bit more—and was now out to take advantage +of his eaves-dropping. Probably whatever information +he proffered would be worthless, if not purely imaginary, +but it was never safe to turn one’s back upon the most +unlikely source of news.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it?” he asked carelessly.</p> + +<p>The man smiled. “It’s sumfing worf ’aving, sir,” he +said. “ ’Arf a Fisher’d do it.”</p> + +<p>Poole, of course, in his official capacity, had no need +to pay for information, but he did not wish yet to reveal +himself as a police-officer. His informant probably +took him for a jealous rival—if not an injured +husband.</p> + +<p>“How am I to know it’s worth paying for?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Dahtin’ Thomas, ain’t yer? S’posin’ I tells yer one +bit an’ keeps the other up me sleeve till yer pays? Then +yer’ll know what quality yer buyin’.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Poole, “fire away.”</p> + +<p>His companion leant closer to him and said in a +husky whisper.</p> + +<p>“E’s paid ’er off!”</p> + +<p>“Paid her off? Who? What d’you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Fratten. E’s paid off that Vermint gurl—blood-money, +breach-o’-prom., alimony—whatever yer calls +it. Five bob a week she’d ’a bin lucky to git if she’d +moved in my circles—at the <em>worst</em>,” he added with a +leer.</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” asked Poole, who was now +definitely interested.</p> + +<p>“ ’Eard ’er buckin’ about it to ’er pals. Not much I +don’t see an’ ’ear rahnd the ‘Hinanity’—worf sumfin’ +sometimes. That’s the first part, mister—the rest’s +better.” He held out his hand.</p> + +<p>With some repugnance Poole slipped a ten-shilling +note into the grimy palm. The man spat on it and +tucked it into his belt.</p> + +<p>“I knows where ’e got it from—the spondulics to pay +’er with.” He paused for encouragement, but receiving +none, continued: “I ’eard ’im this time, it was, +arstin’ a pal where ’e could raise the wind—said ’e’d +tried all the usual—father, ‘uncles,’ Jews, Turks an’ +other infidelities—nuthin’ doin’—’ad enough of ’im. +This pal put ’im on to a new squeezer—chap called +‘Silence’ in Lemon Street, back o’ the Lyceum. Seen +’is place meself—neat an’ unpretenshus. That’s the +chap. That’s worf anover, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>Poole shook his head.</p> + +<p>“We’ll stick to our bargain for the moment,” he said. +“What’s your name, in case I want you again?”</p> + +<p>But that was asking too much.</p> + +<p>“That ain’t part o’ the bargain,” he said. “If yer +wants me, yer can alwys find me—round the +‘Hinanity’—Mr. Gabb’ll give yer a reference.”</p> + +<p>And with a peck at his cap the man was gone.</p> + +<p>Poole felt that this might well be a useful line of +inquiry; he turned his steps automatically towards the +Lyceum—of course, it was long past business hours but +he might as well have a look at the place.</p> + +<p>Lemon Street proved to be a very short and very dark +alley that ran out of Wellington Street almost +immediately behind the Lyceum Theatre. There were not +more than half a dozen houses in it, all gloomy and +nondescript. On the third of them, Poole descried a +small black plate over an electric door-bell, inscribed +in white with the one word: <span class="sc">Silence</span>. It looked more +like an injunction than a name. The detective was +conscious of being intrigued. Stepping back across the +street to get a better view of the house he became aware +of a glimmer of light over the fanlight of the door—it +appeared to come from a room at the back—possibly +in this queer neighbourhood and with an unusual +clientele, office hours might be so unconventional as to +include ten o’clock at night. Deciding to put this +theory to the test, Poole went back to the door and +touched the bell. He heard no answering trill; but in +a moment or two the door opened silently and at the +same time a light, shaded so as to throw its beam upon +anyone on the doorstep while leaving the passage in +darkness, was switched on.</p> + +<p>Poole could just make out a dim figure beyond the +door, then the light was switched off, and a hand +beckoned to him to enter. He did so and the door closed +quietly behind him whilst the figure led the way down +the passage to a room at the back. Poole could see now +that the man who had admitted him was short and +slightly hunchbacked, and, when he turned to motion +Poole to a chair in the inner room, that his face was +sallow and covered with faint pockmarks, whilst his +hair was black and meagre. Truly a figure worthy of +its setting.</p> + +<p>“Silence?” said Poole, by way of opening the +interview. The man bowed but did not speak.</p> + +<p>Feeling that this was an occasion when his diplomacy +would probably be outmatched, the detective produced +his official card.</p> + +<p>“I am Inspector Poole, of the Criminal Investigation +Department, Scotland Yard,” he said in a crisp voice. +“I have come to ask you for information regarding a +sum of money advanced by you to Mr. Ryland Fratten.”</p> + +<p>This was banking rather heavily upon the slender +framework of his late informant’s credibility. Poole +was relieved to see an unmistakable flutter of apprehension +pass over the otherwise inscrutable features in front +of him. Following up his advantage, Poole assumed his +most official manner.</p> + +<p>“You will probably realize,” he said, “that you will +be well advised not to attempt to conceal any phase of +this transaction. The consequences of any deception +would be very serious for you.”</p> + +<p>He paused to let these words sink in.</p> + +<p>“What precisely do you want to know?” Silence +asked, in a low but curiously refined voice.</p> + +<p>“I want to know how much you lent Mr. Fratten, on +what security, and at what rate of interest?”</p> + +<p>The man remained silent, his fingers beating a tattoo, +his eyes cast down upon the writing-pad before him.</p> + +<p>“My business is supposed to be confidential,” he said +at last.</p> + +<p>“I realize that, but if the police require information it +will be advisable for you not to withhold it.”</p> + +<p>Poole knew that this was a delicate point as between +police and public, but a man engaged in such a business +as this probably was, could afford to run no risks. He +was not mistaken.</p> + +<p>“I lent Mr. Fratten £15,000 for three months only, at +10% per month. The rate of interest is high but Mr. +Fratten’s reputation is not good. I know well what +trouble others in my profession have had to recover +their advances. I could only do business on very special +terms.”</p> + +<p>“And the security?”</p> + +<p>“A note of hand only.”</p> + +<p>“Surely something more? If Mr. Fratten’s reputation +is so bad, what expectation could you have had of being +repaid within three months?”</p> + +<p>The moneylender fidgeted uneasily.</p> + +<p>“He showed me a letter,” he said at last, “a letter from +his father’s (Sir Garth Fratten’s) doctor. I gathered +from it that Sir Garth’s expectation of life was very +short; Mr. Fratten was his heir. I took a risk; it +came off.”</p> + +<p>A shadow of a smile crossed the pale face. Poole +felt a shudder of repugnance—this gambling upon a +man’s life was an ugly business. Ugly enough, from +the moneylender’s point of view—hideous when +applied to father and son.</p> + +<p>He learnt nothing more of interest from the rather +melodramatic moneylender, except the significant fact +that the transaction was affected on 17th October, +exactly half-way between the date of Ryland Fratten’s +threatened disinheritance by his father and the latter’s +death. After a thoroughly blank and unpromising +beginning, Poole felt that the day had ended well. He +went home to bed, carefully folding his evening clothes +before putting them away until next time.</p> + +<p>The following day was a Sunday, but on Monday +morning Poole reported again to Sir Leward and the +latter, after hearing what he had to say, decided that the +time had come to call Chief Inspector Barrod into their +councils. Barrod listened with attention to the précis of +the case given by Poole, but showed no sign of making +any amends for his former scepticism.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said, “you’ve got the motive all right; +you’ve probably got the murderer; but have you got the +murder?”</p> + +<p>Sir Leward looked at Poole. The latter nodded.</p> + +<p>“I agree,” he said, “that’s the missing link up to date. +So far there is nothing to prove that a murder has been +committed.”</p> + +<p>“And how are you going to prove it?”</p> + +<p>“In the first place, we ought to have a look at the +body.”</p> + +<p>“Exhumation?”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you agree, Barrod?” asked Sir Leward, turning +to the Chief Inspector, who had remained silent.</p> + +<p>“If you want to go any further, sir, yes.”</p> + +<p>Marradine was not quite so sure now that he did want +to go further; the chances of “seeing more of” Inez +Fratten, under favourable conditions, whilst pursuing +her brother for murder, were hardly promising. Still, +he had gone too far now to turn back.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, “get an exhumation order and +let me have the surgeon’s report as soon as possible.”</p> + +<p>“What about re-burial, sir? If it’s to be done without +attracting attention it’ll be much better to do it +straight-a-way—that is to say, if you decide not to +proceed with the case. On the other hand, if you do +proceed, there’ll have to be an inquest and, if it’s not too +far gone, the jury’ll have to view the body. In that +case it had better come straight up to the mortuary +here.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Sir Leward testily, “what do you suggest, +Barrod?”</p> + +<p>“Either that you come to Woking yourself, sir, and +have the preliminary examination there—in which case, +if there’s nothing you can give the order for the re-burial +on the spot; or else that you authorize me to take +the decision in the same way.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t know that there need necessarily be +visible signs on the body, even if a murder has been +committed. The cause of death was the rupture of an +artery due to shock—the shock need not necessarily +have left marks.”</p> + +<p>“I think you’ll find it difficult, sir, to persuade a +coroner’s jury, let alone a petty jury, to bring in a +verdict of murder if there aren’t any marks. Personally I +don’t see how your murderer could count on death +ensuing from a mere push—there must have been a +blow—and if there was a blow, there must be a mark.”</p> + +<p>So it was eventually decided, that Barrod, Poole and +a surgeon should proceed to Brooklands Cemetery that +night, exhume the body by arrangement with the +Cemetery authorities, and carry out a preliminary +investigation on the spot. If there was the smallest +suspicious sign, the body was to be brought to London and +subjected to expert examination. If not, it was to be +re-buried at once and a further conference would be +held the next day to decide whether or not to drop the +case.</p> + +<p>As the three officials travelled down to Brooklands by +the 5.10 train that evening, Poole thought that Chief +Inspector Barrod was treating him with more respect +than he had previously done, but he did not discuss the +case upon which they were engaged. Probably, thought +Poole, he did not want to commit himself. Instead, the +talk turned entirely on another case which had just +closed, and in which the police-surgeon had been actively +engaged. The train reached Brooklands at 5.55 and as +soon as it was dark the work of the exhumation began. +It took nearly an hour to bring the coffin to the surface +and even then the actual exposure of the body took +some time, owing to its being enclosed in a lead shell, +a possibility which neither Barrod nor Poole had taken +into account.</p> + +<p>At last the grisly work of unwinding was completed +and the body laid upon a table. Naturally, after ten +days, the flesh was beginning to show signs of decomposition, +and to Poole’s untrained eye it appeared as if these +marks might conceal what he was looking for. But the +doctor had no such misgivings. Running his eye and +his fingers rapidly over the chest, he shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Nothing here,” he said. “Turn it over.”</p> + +<p>“It would be on the back,” muttered Poole.</p> + +<p>The nauseating odour emitted by the moving of the +body drove Poole to the door for a breath of fresh air. +When he returned, he found the more hardened Barrod +and the surgeon closely examining a mark upon the left +centre of the back. The whole surface was stained, as +was inevitable, but in one spot there was a deeper and +more clearly defined stain. The surgeon pressed it +gently with his sensitive fingers, then, producing a +magnifying-glass, turned the beam of a powerful electric +torch on to the spot and examined it with minute +attention. After a couple of minutes he straightened his +back.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “this is more than ordinary +post-mortem staining; there clearly has been rupture of +small capillary vessels. That means a blow, and from +the look of it, a violent and concentrated blow.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>CHAPTER X. <br> The Inquest</h2> + +<p>The inquest on the exhumed body of Sir Garth Fratten +was held at Scotland Yard, as any unnecessary movement +was considered undesirable in view of the stage of +decomposition that had been reached. For a similar +reason it was arranged to hold the first stage of the +inquest at once, without waiting for the collection of +further evidence. After the inspection of the body by +the jury, evidence as to identity, cause of death, and +other preliminaries, an adjournment could be obtained +and the body decently re-buried.</p> + +<p>As can be imagined, the news of the prospective inquest +was received with intense interest, and even excitement, +by the press and public. The applications for +the few available seats ran into hundreds, and for every +curious spectator who found a place in the body of the +court, twenty were turned away. When the Coroner, +Mr. Mendel Queriton, took his seat at eleven o’clock on +Wednesday 6th November, the room was packed to +suffocation—so much so, indeed, that the jury, filing +back from their unpleasant duty, demanded and +obtained a wholesale opening of windows.</p> + +<p>After the preliminary formalities, the first witness +to be called was Sir Horace Spavage. Sir Horace identified +the body and gave evidence as to the cause of death. +He explained the nature of the disease, using very much +the same terms and similes as he had done to Poole, but +the detective noticed that the distinguished physician +did not now display the same confidence and impatience +as he had done on the first occasion.</p> + +<p>“Knows he’s skating on thin ice,” thought Poole.</p> + +<p>Having listened to what Sir Horace had to say, the +Coroner caused to be handed to him a narrow sheet of +paper, on which were visible both printed and written +words.</p> + +<p>“That, Sir Horace, is the certificate of death signed +by you immediately after Sir Garth Fratten’s death?”</p> + +<p>“It is.”</p> + +<p>“In it you certify that death was due to natural causes +arising from the rupture of a thorasic aneurism?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“You still hold that view?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I know of no facts which would cause me +to alter my opinion.”</p> + +<p>“That death was due to natural causes?”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace inclined his head.</p> + +<p>“Did you examine the body?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally. I exposed the chest and percussed it, and +finding it dull, knew that the aneurism had burst and +that the chest was full of blood. It was exactly as I had +expected—I may say that it was inevitable.”</p> + +<p>“You found no signs of violence?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not.”</p> + +<p>“Did you examine his back?”</p> + +<p>“I did not. Why should I?”</p> + +<p>“You knew there had been an accident.”</p> + +<p>“The gentleman who had been with Sir Garth, +Mr.—er—Hessel, certainly told me that there had been some +slight <i>contretemps</i>—that someone had stumbled into Sir +Garth and upset him; I should not have described it as +an accident.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean by that that it was intentional?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. I mean that it was too slight to be +described as an accident. Still, I will accept the word, +if you like.”</p> + +<p>The Coroner bowed.</p> + +<p>“And in spite of all this you did not consider it +necessary to hold a post-mortem or to ask for an +inquest?”</p> + +<p>“I did not. As I have already said, I had known +for a considerable time that Sir Garth had been +suffering from an aneurism of dangerous size that was +liable to rupture at any time in the event of shock or +sudden violent physical exertion. When I was +summoned and found that the aneurism had burst and +that there was a history of shock—that this slight—er—accident +had occurred, I had no hesitation in signing +this certificate.”</p> + +<p>“And you still hold that view?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. As I have said, no fresh facts have been +brought to my notice which might cause me to alter +it.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly, Sir Horace, the course of this inquiry may +cause you to reconsider the correctness of your action. +That is all, thank you; you may stand down.”</p> + +<p>Sir Horace glared at his tormentor, but, finding +nothing to say, stood down.</p> + +<p>Ryland Fratten was now called. After identifying +the body and answering a few formal questions about +himself and his father he was, at a sign from the +Coroner, about to stand down when Chief Inspector Barrod +rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“May I ask this witness some questions, sir, please?”</p> + +<p>The Coroner looked rather surprised, but signified +his consent. He had been given to understand that +the police did not intend to press the inquiry beyond +preliminaries at the present hearing—certainly not as +regards their suspect. Still, presumably Chief Inspector +Barrod knew what he was about.</p> + +<p>The fact was that Barrod, after watching Ryland +Fratten give evidence, had formed the opinion that this +was just the type of young and attractive gentleman +whom his rather inexperienced colleague—of a similar +type himself—might find it difficult to tackle successfully. +It will be remembered that the Chief Inspector, +while appreciating Poole’s education and qualifications, +did not set great store by them—even thought them +rather dangerous. He decided, therefore, to take this +opportunity to examine Fratten himself.</p> + +<p>“You are your late father’s heir, Mr. Fratten?”</p> + +<p>“I was one of his heirs.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so. You and your sister—your half-sister, +that is—Miss Inez Fratten, are joint residuary legatees?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You each inherit a very large sum of money?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it is.”</p> + +<p>“How much?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“But approximately how much? You must know +that.”</p> + +<p>“It is very difficult to say, till all the accounts are +in and probate granted. My solicitor would be able +to tell you better.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle half rose from his chair near the +Coroner’s table, but Barrod signed to him to sit down.</p> + +<p>“I am asking you, please, Mr. Fratten. Roughly, +now; somewhere about a quarter of a million, eh?”</p> + +<p>There was a gasp from the crowded court; it sounded +a vast sum.</p> + +<p>“Roughly, perhaps it is.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. Now would you mind telling me, what +were your relations with your father?”</p> + +<p>Ryland seemed to draw back into himself. He was +clearly distressed by the question; but he answered it.</p> + +<p>“They were not good, I’m afraid,” he said in a low +voice. “I was a pretty rotten son. I got into debt and +displeased my father in other ways. He had very little +use for me.”</p> + +<p>“You had a serious quarrel a week or so before your +father’s death?”</p> + +<p>At this point Mr. Menticle, who had been showing +increasing signs of indignation, scribbled on a piece of +paper and had it passed to the Coroner. The latter +read it and nodded to him, but, possibly because the +Chief Inspector had shifted on to fresh and less +dangerous ground, took no immediate action.</p> + +<p>Barrod questioned Fratten as to his knowledge of the +nature of his father’s disease, as Poole had done, but +this time eliciting a quite straightforward reply. He +did not touch on the question of the new will. Finally:</p> + +<p>“There is just one formal question I must put to you, +Mr. Fratten. Where were you personally at the time +of your father’s death?”</p> + +<p>Ryland Fratten’s hesitation was barely noticeable +before he answered.</p> + +<p>“As a matter of fact I was in St. James’s Park,” he +said.</p> + +<p>A glint shone in the Chief Inspector’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“What were you doing?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Coroner!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The Coroner held up his hand.</p> + +<p>“You need not answer that question unless you like, +Mr. Fratten,” he said. “I do not know where this +examination is trending, but I think it probable that +you would be wise to consult your solicitor, and to be +represented by him.”</p> + +<p>Fratten gave him a smile of gratitude.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” he said. “It isn’t really a case of a +solicitor. I am not afraid of incriminating myself, +but I do rather dislike exposing myself to ridicule. I +was waiting in St. James’s Park, at the Buckingham +Palace end of the Birdcage Walk, to be picked up by a +girl.”</p> + +<p>“Picked up by a girl! Do you mean . . . ?”</p> + +<p>“I mean,” interrupted Fratten, blushing hotly, “that +a girl—a lady—had arranged to pick me up there in +her car.”</p> + +<p>Barrod held him for nearly a minute under his +stare.</p> + +<p>“And who, sir, was this—er—lady?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean you can’t or you won’t?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you,” Fratten repeated.</p> + +<p>Barrod opened his mouth as if to renew his interrogation, +but, apparently changing his mind, resumed his +seat, with a sardonic expression.</p> + +<p>“That’s all, sir,” he said, rising and bowing to the +Coroner.</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle had boldly walked across to Ryland’s +side and engaged him in a whispered conversation. The +Coroner indulged him by writing up his notes. Having +finished his colloquy, Mr. Menticle turned to the +Coroner.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Fratten has asked me to represent him, sir,” he +said. “I trust I have your permission.”</p> + +<p>The Coroner looked at him, a curious expression on +his face.</p> + +<p>“It occurs to me, Mr. Menticle,” he said, “that such +a course may give rise to some difficulty. I understand +that you are yourself to give evidence before this +inquiry. Under the circumstances would it not, perhaps, +be better . . .” he left the sentence unfinished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle turned slowly red and then deathly +white.</p> + +<p>“I . . . I had forgotten, sir,” he stammered. Pulling +himself together he turned to his client and after +a further consultation, asked leave to have Mr. Raymond +Cullen called to represent Mr. Fratten in his place.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said the Coroner, “let it be so. We will +adjourn now for the luncheon interval.”</p> + +<p>When the Court re-opened, a clean-shaven and +acute-looking young man was seen to be sitting next to +Ryland Fratten—evidently Mr. Raymond Cullen. Hardly +had the Coroner taken his seat when a small, +quaintly-dressed woman rose from her seat at the back of the +Court.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Coroner,” she said, in a high, penetrating voice. +“I want to give evidence in this case. I saw the whole +thing. A brutal outrage it was, a . . .”</p> + +<p>“Order, order,” called the Coroner’s Officer, glaring +fiercely at the interrupter.</p> + +<p>“If you wish to give evidence, madam,” said the +Coroner, “you should communicate with the police, or +with my Officer, in the proper manner. In the meantime, +I will call the witnesses as I require them. Dr. +Percy Vyle.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Vyle, the police-surgeon who had been present +at the exhumation, described his share in the +proceedings at Brooklands. He explained the nature of the +marks which he had discovered and his reasons for +believing them to have been caused by a blow before +death. In his opinion the blow had been a severe one, +caused not by the flat of a hand or even a doubled fist, +but rather by a blunt instrument, such as the knob +of a stick. In answer to a question by Mr. Cullen +he had no hesitation in saying that the blow could +not have been delivered after death—the appearance +of the bruise was not consistent with post-mortem +injury.</p> + +<p>Dr. Vyle was succeeded by Inspector Poole, who +corroborated the surgeon’s account of the exhumation. +After him came distinguished Home Office experts +enlarging, at an enlarged fee, upon what had already been +said about the bruising on the dead man’s back. +Cullen’s questions beat upon this weight of official +testimony with as much effect as rain upon a +steam-engine.</p> + +<p>There followed the important testimony of Mr. Leopold +Hessel. The banker repeated the account of his +last walk with his friend that he had given to Poole. +He said nothing, and was not asked, about the subject +of the conversation that had so engrossed them, but +otherwise Poole could notice no discrepancy. Hessel +repeated his assertion that he did not see how a blow +could have been struck without his being aware of it, +though he admitted that he could not be absolutely +positive. Still, there had been a number of other +witnesses present and none of them had given any signs of +having seen violence used.</p> + +<p>“I did!” exclaimed the same shrill voice from the +back of the room. “I told you at the time that I +saw—a murderous attack—a gang of . . .”</p> + +<p>“Order, there,” roared the Coroner’s Officer.</p> + +<p>“Remove that person,” exclaimed the Coroner +himself sharply.</p> + +<p>The quaint little figure was led from the room by a +large policeman, protesting loudly.</p> + +<p>Proceeding, Mr. Hessel told of how his friend +had pulled himself together, seemed to be really +quite recovered, how they walked on slowly, +arm-in-arm, and then of the sudden collapse and, as +was now known, almost instantaneous death of Sir +Garth.</p> + +<p>“And he said nothing before he died?” asked the +Coroner.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. He seemed to gasp—more than once, as +if he was choking. And then he collapsed, almost +pulling me down with him. He never spoke.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hessel himself spoke in a quiet, restrained voice, +but it was evident that he was deeply affected.</p> + +<p>“You are—you were Sir Garth’s closest friend, were +you not, Mr. Hessel?”</p> + +<p>“In a sense, I suppose I was. He was very good to +me.”</p> + +<p>“You are his sole executor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And he left particular instructions that his papers +were to be committed to your charge?”</p> + +<p>“That is so.”</p> + +<p>“Have you been through them?”</p> + +<p>“Cursorily only.”</p> + +<p>“From what you have seen or from what you know, +have you formed any opinion as to who could have +wished to bring about his death?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely no. Even now, even after what all these +expert medical witnesses have said, I find it difficult to +believe that Sir Garth was murdered, or even that there +was an attack upon him. I know it must sound +unreasonable in the face of such testimony, but I simply +cannot bring myself to believe it.”</p> + +<p>The Coroner gave an almost unnoticeable shrug of the +shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Fortunately the unpleasant duty of finding a verdict +on that point does not fall to your lot, Mr. Hessel,” +he said. “I have no more to ask you.”</p> + +<p>It was now late in the afternoon and the lights had +been lit some time. Mr. Queriton glanced at his +watch.</p> + +<p>“There is time to take one more witness,” he said, +“and that will be the last—we will then adjourn—Mr. +Septimus Menticle.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer looked anything but at his ease as he took +his stand. As his examination proceeded, however, his +face gradually cleared. He was asked about the will—the +effective will, for which probate was now being +applied. He gave its outline from memory and handed +a copy of it to the Coroner, who, after a brief glance, +passed it on to the jury. He gave a rough estimate +of the figures concerned and explained the difficulty of +stating them accurately at the moment. He was not—to +his intense relief—asked about the new will, the +will that was never signed; probably it was only an +agony deferred but he was human enough to be thankful +for the reprieve. It looked as if his evidence, and +the day’s work itself, were finished when the Coroner, +blotting his notes, put a careless question, apparently as +an afterthought.</p> + +<p>“Practically,” he said, putting his papers together, +“Sir Garth’s two children divide the estate, so that, had +he died intestate, the result would have been +approximately the same?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle did not answer. The Coroner looked up.</p> + +<p>“Eh?” he said, “that is so, is it not?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Am I obliged,” he asked, “to answer hypothetical +questions?”</p> + +<p>“You are obliged to answer the questions I put to +you,” said Mr. Queriton sharply.</p> + +<p>The lawyer slowly nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“In that case,” he said, “the answer is in the negative.”</p> + +<p>“What? They would not have divided it? Why +not?”</p> + +<p>“The whole—or practically the whole—would have +gone to Miss Inez Fratten. Mr. Ryland Fratten is not +Sir Garth Fratten’s son.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI. <br> The Intervention of Inez</h2> + +<p>As the room cleared, at the adjournment of the Inquest, +Chief Inspector Barrod turned to his subordinate.</p> + +<p>“There you are, Poole,” he said. “I’ve given you a +start on that young fellow. You stick to it now and +don’t leave go till you’ve got him. You’ll have to keep +him shadowed now.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir, I’ve arranged to go round and see +him at his house this evening—I’ll go into that girl +question then. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I just want +to catch Mr. Menticle to get a bit more out of him +about this parentage business.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you’ll want that. I slipped a line to the Coroner +not to press it too far in Court; we’ve done enough +for the moment, as far as the public’s concerned.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector caught Mr. Menticle before he had +left the precincts of the Yard and the latter invited him +to walk down the Embankment with him towards the +City.</p> + +<p>“All in my way,” he said, “and a minute’s tram run +back for you. I always walk down this bit of the +Embankment on an autumn evening if I can—one of the +loveliest views I know—London at its best.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; I wonder how many of us would have +realized that if it hadn’t been for Whistler.”</p> + +<p>They walked on for a minute or so in silence.</p> + +<p>“You want me to amplify about Sir Garth and Mr. +Ryland,” said the lawyer.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir, but in the first place I’d like to know why +you didn’t tell me when I came to see you on Friday,” +said the detective dryly.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t ask me, Inspector,” replied Mr. Menticle +with a chuckle, “and yet I told you no lies. If you +could review our conversation now you would find that +I never referred to them as father and son—always as +Sir Garth and Mr. Ryland.”</p> + +<p>“I see, sir. I suppose you had some object. It seems +a pity.”</p> + +<p>“I still hoped that there was nothing behind your +inquiries—that you would drop the case.”</p> + +<p>“It makes it harder than ever for us to drop a case, +sir, when we find that information is being withheld +from us,” said Poole quietly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Inspector. I accept your rebuke; it would +have been wiser to have been quite frank. Now about +the past; there is really not much that I did not say in +Court, though I noticed that the Coroner was not +pressing me. Sir Garth Fratten was, as you know, married +twice, his first wife dying in 1902 and his second in +1918. By the second wife he had one daughter, Miss +Inez Fratten, born in 1905, but by his first wife he had +no child. A child was, however, born to her a short +time before their marriage. Sir Garth was, I believe, +aware of what was about to occur before he asked her +to marry him—he was deeply attached to his first wife, +almost worshipped her—and, he adopted the child as his +own son. That was Ryland Fratten. Sir Garth could, +of course, make him his heir or co-heir, but that is +quite a different thing to his becoming the automatic +heir in the event of intestacy. It was for a similar +reason, I believe, that Sir Garth refused the suggested +offer of a baronetcy—he did not wish it known that +Ryland was not his son. That is all, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Did Ryland know that he was not Sir Garth’s son?”</p> + +<p>“To the best of my belief he did not. Unless in +that last quarrel that they had, Sir Garth divulged the +fact to him; he did not tell me one way or the other, +but evidently the break was very complete.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me who was Ryland’s father?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Menticle shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I never knew. I doubt if anyone does know, unless +the man himself is still alive.”</p> + +<p>As there appeared to be nothing more to be learnt +in this direction, Poole said good-night to Mr. Menticle +and returned to the Yard. After arranging for the +shadowing of Ryland Fratten, the detective made his +way to Queen Anne’s Gate to keep his appointment. +The butler, who evidently recognized him and had had +his instructions, showed him straight into the +morning-room, which was empty. He had not been waiting a +minute, however, when the door opened and Inez Fratten +came in. Poole inwardly cursed the butler for his +stupidity, but Inez’s first words explained what had +happened.</p> + +<p>“I’m so sorry to butt in, Mr. Poole,” she said. “I +know you’ve come to see Ryland but I want to see you +first. Ry came back from the inquest—I wasn’t there, +you know; Mr. Menticle said I wasn’t needed—in an +awful state. He seems to think that the police suspect +him of murdering father. I needn’t tell you what +nonsense that is, but I do want to know what has made +him get that impression.”</p> + +<p>Poole fidgeted from one foot to the other. This +was a new experience. Inez looked at him with growing +wonder.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens, Mr. Poole,” she said, “surely <em>you</em> +don’t think that?”</p> + +<p>Her voice was strained and anxious, but her eyes +were full of courage. Poole thought what a glorious +creature she was and how much he would like to have +such a sister to stick up for him when he was in trouble.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t what I think, Miss Fratten,” he said, realizing +that he must say something. “The investigation has +not got very far yet—we certainly haven’t reached the +stage of accusing anybody.”</p> + +<p>“But you are frightening Ryland; you must be, or +he wouldn’t be in such a state. I don’t mean that he’s +<em>frightened</em>,” she hurried to correct an unfortunate +impression, “but he’s frightfully miserable. What is +it?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I really can’t tell you, Miss Fratten. I’m +not at liberty to . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rot!” Inez tapped the floor impatiently with her +foot. “I don’t want any deadly secrets, but I must +know why you have got your knives into Ry. Come, +Mr. Poole, you must see that I’ve got to know—put +yourself in my place. He’s my brother—all I’ve got +now. And who can I ask except you? You must +tell me.”</p> + +<p>Poole took a minute to think over his position. Obviously +he could not give away the cards that the police +held. Still, he would like to help the girl if he could +do so consistently with his duty, and it was possible +that he might get useful information at the same +time.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do what I can, Miss Fratten,” he said at last, “and +you might be able to help. As you yourself appear +to have suspected from the first, your father’s death was +not due to an accident—it was deliberately brought +about—and apparently by somebody who knew and +took advantage of his dangerous state of health. Having +established that much, we have to look about for a +probable author of the crime. When there is nothing +more direct to go on, one usually turns first to two +considerations: motive and opportunity. Taking motive +first, the most direct line to follow is pecuniary +advantage—the will. In Sir Garth’s will, the only people +who benefit largely are yourself and your brother, +Mr. Ryland Fratten. That is nothing in itself, but there +are one or two other points that make it impossible for +us to overlook Mr. Fratten in our search.”</p> + +<p>“And me, I suppose,” said Inez.</p> + +<p>“The ‘other points’ that I spoke of don’t refer to +you, Miss Fratten.”</p> + +<p>“What are they?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you that. That’s motive—not so important +by itself, but combined with opportunity, very +vital. Now, this is where you may be able to help, +Miss Fratten—your brother as well as us. At the +inquest this afternoon Mr. Fratten was asked where he +had been at the time that your father was killed. He +answered that he was in St. James’s Park—not half a +mile from the spot—waiting for a lady to pick him up +in a car. He wouldn’t give her name.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord,” said Inez, “sounds thin doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It does.”</p> + +<p>“But then you don’t know Ryland. He’s a hopeless +fool about women. You want me to find out about +her?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not asking you to, Miss Fratten. But if your +brother really has a sound explanation of what certainly +sounds like a very poor alibi—the sooner we know about +it the better.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do what I can. But look here, Mr. Poole, why +should you put so much emphasis on the will as a +motive? Surely there may be plenty of others?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty. I only gave that as the first step. If you +know of anything else—if you can make any other +suggestion that would give us a line to work on, I should +be only too grateful.”</p> + +<p>Inez curled herself into one corner of the big sofa.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d smoke or something,” she said—“while +I’m thinking.” Poole did not fall in with this suggestion +but he sat down on the nearest chair. He was not +sure what his chief would think of the line he was +taking, but for the moment, it was very pleasant to sit +and look at this delicious young creature, with the +attractive frown of thought on her brow.</p> + +<p>“There’s just one thing that occurs to me,” she said +at last. “For more than a week before he died, my +father seemed rather worried about something. He’d +given up working after dinner for some time, but during +the time I’m speaking of, he used to go off to his study +soon after dinner and stay there till nearly bedtime. I +went in once to see what he was up to and try to get +him out of it—it wasn’t good for him. He’d got a +whole pile of papers on his desk—balance sheets and +things, and he was making a lot of notes on some +foolscap. It wasn’t like him to be worried—he always took +business so calmly. I don’t suppose there’s anything +in it.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what the papers were?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t. Mr. Mangane might, of course.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll ask him. Thank you, Miss Fratten. Now what +about your brother? I ought to see him.”</p> + +<p>Inez slipped off the sofa to her feet and came towards +Poole.</p> + +<p>“Let me speak to him first,” she said. “You have a go +at Mangane. I promise he shan’t run away.”</p> + +<p>The steady gaze of those calm grey eyes, so close to +his, intoxicated Poole. He felt for a moment an +overpowering impulse to say: “Oh don’t, please, bother +any more; I won’t do anything to hurt your brother +or you.” With a wrench he recalled himself to his +duty. He must do it, however unpleasant it was—still, +there might be something in the idea of her seeing her +brother first—she might make him talk. He decided +to take the risk.</p> + +<p>“Very well, Miss Fratten,” he said. “I’ll do that.”</p> + +<p>Guided by Inez, Poole found Mangane in his slip +of an office on the other side of the study. When the +girl had departed Mangane turned to his visitor with a +sardonic smile.</p> + +<p>“Well, Inspector, what can I do for you? Shall I +be out of order if I ask you to sit down and have a +smoke?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to smoke a pipe more than I can say,” replied +Poole with a smile. “I haven’t had one since breakfast. +Not even when I took the jury into the mortuary. I’m +very glad to find you, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mangane shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“If you must, you must,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I want to ask you about Sir Garth’s business affairs. +Have you any reason to suppose that one can get +a line there as to the motive of his murder?”</p> + +<p>“You’re convinced that it was murder?”</p> + +<p>“Must have been—look at the wound—the bruising.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t it have been done when he fell?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly. The localized nature of . . .” Poole +checked himself. “Anyhow, for the moment we are +assuming that. Now, had he any business enemies?”</p> + +<p>“Heaps I should think. But I don’t know of any. +What I actually mean is that he must have run up +against people from time to time, but I’ve never heard +of anyone bearing him any malice.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t suggest anything?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“About his business papers—his personal ones; what’s +become of them?”</p> + +<p>“So far as I know, they are all here. Mr. Hessel is +his executor; he has the keys.”</p> + +<p>“Has he been through them at all, or taken any +away?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. He locked the study up and except +for a short time, nobody’s been in there since. +The housemaids are getting rather restive.”</p> + +<p>“And no one else could have got at them?”</p> + +<p>“No. He sent for me directly the body was carried +upstairs—Sir Garth was brought into the morning-room +first, you know, and as soon as the doctor had finished +his examination, the body was carried upstairs. Hessel +sent for me at once and said that he knew Sir Garth +had appointed him sole executor and that it would be +well to lock up all the papers and so on at once. I took +him into the study—it’s next door to the morning-room, +you know—between that and this. I took him into +the study and showed him where everything was. We +locked everything up—we got Sir Garth’s keys, by the +way—the wall safe was locked already and so were +some of the drawers in his desk. I was able to show +Mr. Hessel pretty well what the different drawers +contained—Sir Garth was a very methodical man. After +that we locked all three doors of the room—the one +into the hall, the one into the morning-room, and this +one.”</p> + +<p>“So that after that, nobody could have got into the +study without Mr. Hessel’s knowledge and consent. +But before that, was the door leading from the study to +the hall locked?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no.”</p> + +<p>“So that anyone could have got into the study from +the hall?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Or, of course, from this room?”</p> + +<p>Mangane smiled.</p> + +<p>“Or, of course, from this room.”</p> + +<p>“But as far as you know, no one did go in there +between the time of Sir Garth’s being brought back and +your going in with Mr. Hessel to lock up?”</p> + +<p>“No. Nobody went in through this room, because +I was in here myself, and I certainly didn’t hear anyone +go in from the hall.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” said Poole. “I expect you think +I’m being very fussy, but I want to examine those +papers presently and I like to know first what chance +there has been of their being disturbed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh they’ve been disturbed. I told you they had, +once. The day after the will was read, Mr. Hessel +came here with Menticle, the solicitor, and we went into +the study and together ran through the papers in the +table and in the ‘In’ and ‘Pending’ baskets—just in case +anything wanted attending to at once. There was +nothing of importance.”</p> + +<p>“You were all three together in the room all the +time?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; we were only there about a quarter of an hour. +Mr. Hessel said he hadn’t time to do more then. I’ve +been trying to get him to come along and tackle the job +but he keeps on putting it off. I believe the old chap’s +really rather upset.”</p> + +<p>“I can quite believe it. He told me that Sir Garth +had been extraordinarily good to him.”</p> + +<p>Poole paused for a minute to jot something down +in his note-book. “There’s just one thing more I want +to ask you,” he continued. “Miss Fratten says that +her father was working rather hard every evening +latterly on something that seemed to worry him. Do you +know what that was?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” replied Mangane. “That was about a +finance company he thought of going into—he was +looking into its dealings to see if it was sound. I don’t +quite know why he wanted to go into it—beneath his +notice I should have thought. There may have been +some personal reason, of course. I shouldn’t have +said he was particularly worried about it—he was +interested, certainly—he always was in anything he took up.”</p> + +<p>Poole nodded.</p> + +<p>“What was the company?”</p> + +<p>“The Victory Finance Company—quite a small +affair, as those things go nowadays.”</p> + +<p>“Did you come across the papers when you went +through with Mr. Hessel and Mr. Menticle?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, they were all there—with his notes.”</p> + +<p>“Could I see them?”</p> + +<p>“I should think so—but you’d have to ask +Hessel—he’s got the keys.”</p> + +<p>The detective nodded and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Now if I could just see the butler for a minute,” he +said, “and then perhaps Miss Fratten . . .” He slurred +the sentence off; it was better not to let Mangane know +about his allowing the girl to talk to her brother first.</p> + +<p>The dignified Golpin, interviewed in the morning-room, +was able to assure Poole that there were no duplicate +keys to the study, that no one had entered it from +the hall between the time of Sir Garth being brought +back and Mr. Hessel locking it up with Mr. +Mangane—he had been in the hall himself all the time, +telephoning for the doctor from a box under the stairs, +waiting to admit Sir Horace, etc.—and that Mr. Hessel +had not been back to the house, except for the reading +of the will—when he had certainly not entered the +study—and on the occasion when he, Mr. Menticle and +Mr. Mangane had all been into the study together. The +detective thanked him and was asking him to go and +enquire whether Mr. Fratten could now see him, when +the door opened and Inez came in. Poole thought that +the girl looked paler than when she had left him an hour +or so before, and there were shadows under her eyes. +But her voice was firm enough.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Poole,” she said, when Golpin had disappeared, +“I’m going to ask you for another favour. Will you +leave my brother alone tonight? You won’t get +anything more out of him; I haven’t myself—anything +really useful—and I terribly want him not to be more +upset. I’m going to find out more as soon as ever I +can, and if you will leave him alone now, I give you +my word of honour that I will tell you everything I +find out—<em>everything</em>, even if it doesn’t look well for +him. Will you trust me?”</p> + +<p>Poole looked at her. He was taking a big risk if +anything went wrong now—if the man slipped away, +unquestioned. But he felt absolutely certain that the girl +was straight and meant what she said. He nodded his +head.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said with a smile. Then, remembering +his position, added more formally: “Very well, +Miss Fratten, I will do what you ask.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII. <br> “Breath of Eden”</h2> + +<p>When Inez left the detective on the first occasion, she +found her brother, where she had left him, in her own +sitting-room, hunched up in an arm-chair and staring +gloomily at the fire. If environment has the effect upon +human spirits with which it is now popularly credited, +there was no excuse for the expression on Ryland’s +face—Inez’ room was as cheerful as any London room +in November can possibly be. The walls and ceilings +were painted in three shades of peach, the floor covered +with a thick carpet of chestnut brown. The small +Heal sofa, and two arm-chairs, were upholstered in an +old-fashioned cretonne, with cushions of green and +brown loosely flung in unsymmetrical profusion. A +rosewood baby-grand piano, a sofa-table, acting now as a +writing-table, a small china cabinet, two or three +delicate Sheraton chairs and old tray tables, and a walnut +fire stool completed the furniture of the room. Over +the mantelpiece hung a Chippendale mirror, while a +pair of exquisite girandoles and two coloured Bartolozzi +engravings were the only other ornaments on the walls. +Vases of chrysanthemums and autumn foliage, Florentine +candle-lamps, and a brisk coal and wood fire gave +the finishing touches to a very charming effect.</p> + +<p>Inez herself, in a dark grey georgette which made a +perfect background for a single string of exquisitely +graded pearls, was very far from detracting from the +beauty of her surroundings as she slipped on to the arm +of the chair beside her brother. Her beauty was only +enhanced by the sombre colour of her clothes and her +face now showed none of the anxiety which her +interview with the detective must have engendered.</p> + +<p>“Ry,” she said softly, while her fingers gently +caressed her brother’s shoulder, “who was the mysterious +lady of the Birdcage Walk?”</p> + +<p>Ryland looked up at her quickly.</p> + +<p>“Who told you about that?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>Inez smiled.</p> + +<p>“Anybody who had been at the inquest might have, +I suppose; but as a matter of fact, the handsome but +earnest Mr. Poole did.”</p> + +<p>Ryland tried to jump up from the chair, but Inez +pressed him gently back.</p> + +<p>“Blast the fellow! Has he been bullying you again?” +he said angrily.</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t; I bullied him. He came to see you but +I waylaid him. I . . .”</p> + +<p>“But why should he . . .”</p> + +<p>“Don’t interrupt, Ry; let me tell my simple story in +my own old-fashioned way. Odd as it may seem, I +wanted to know what had been happening today that +had worried you so much. You didn’t tell me anything +worth hearing so I went to the <i>fons et origo mali</i> and +turned it on. It was a bit sticky—‘not at liberty to +divulge’ and all that sort of eyewash—but it’s a nice +young man really and responded to my womanly +appeal—as one sister to another effect, you know.”</p> + +<p>Ryland snorted.</p> + +<p>“It’s quite all right, Ry; I didn’t vamp him—at least, +not much. He told me what you seem to have told the +Coroner, and pretty thin we both thought it. He +naturally wanted to hear a bit more; that’s what he +came here for—to put you through it—third degree—in +quite a nice, gentlemanly sort of way. Well, knowing +what sort of a Ryland my brother Ryland is, I +thought I saw him getting a bit mule-headed and +sticking his toes in and giving a general representation of +a man who has got nothing good to tell and won’t tell it. +So I told him to go off and apply third, fourth and even +fifth degrees to the pantry boy while I asked you what +it was really all about. You see, I start with the +advantage of knowing that you are telling the truth, +however thin it may sound, so I . . .”</p> + +<p>“Inez, did you know that father wasn’t—wasn’t my +father?”</p> + +<p>Inez started.</p> + +<p>“Ry!” she said. “Haven’t you been listening to +what I was saying?”</p> + +<p>“Did you know, Inez?” repeated her brother.</p> + +<p>Inez looked at him, in a curious expression on her +face.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Ry, I knew,” she said quietly.</p> + +<p>“Who told you?”</p> + +<p>“Mother—but she made me promise not to breathe a +word about it to anyone.”</p> + +<p>“Why should you know, and not me? Surely I had +a right to know if anyone had.”</p> + +<p>“I think father didn’t want anyone at all to know—out +of kindness really—people of that generation—Victorians—had +odd ideas about its being shameful to +be the child of an unmarried mother.”</p> + +<p>There was silence for a minute or more as Ryland +sat with a look of deepening bitterness, staring into the +fire.</p> + +<p>“Then I’m not your brother?” he said at last.</p> + +<p>Again that curious expression, half contemptuous, +half tender, came into Inez’ face.</p> + +<p>“Fancy that!” she said lightly, slipping from her place +on the arm of Ryland’s chair.</p> + +<p>Ryland, catching the ironical note in her voice, looked +up questioningly, but Inez only returned to her original +attack.</p> + +<p>“Now then, what about this Birdcage lady?” she +asked. “It wasn’t Julie Vermont was it? I thought +you were off her.”</p> + +<p>Ryland shook his head impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Oh dry up about her,” he said.</p> + +<p>Slightly changing her tactics, Inez gradually coaxed +the story out of him. It was a curious story; in the +first place he did not know who the girl was, nor where +she lived, but he was none the less very much in love +with her (he always thought that—for a month or +two). It appeared that about ten days previously he +had been leaving his rooms in Abingdon Street when he +noticed, just outside his door, a girl struggling to change +the back tire of a Morris saloon car. A glance had +been enough to show him that she was attractive and +therefore a fitting subject for a good deed. He had +offered his services, which were accepted, and—in not +too great a hurry and with a maximum of mutual +help—the task had been accomplished. An offer of a wash +and brush up had followed (fortunately Ryland had a +well-kept bath-room, with lavatory basin, clothes-brush, +etc., that Inez sometimes used when she came to see +him) and was laughingly accepted. The girl was +uncommonly pretty—prettier than he had at first realized—with +dark hair, large dark eyes, and small, well-kept +hands. The whole interlude having lasted nearly half +an hour, she had offered to drive Ryland wherever he +had been going—she herself not being in any hurry. +Ryland had made a feeble attempt to pretend that he +was going to lunch alone and tried to induce her to +join him, but she had laughingly pointed out the time—it +was half past eleven—and firmly dropped him at the +“Doorstep” Club—but not before he had extracted a +promise from her to have tea with him at +Rumpelmayer’s on the following day.</p> + +<p>“That was a good tea, as teas go,” said Ryland, +reminiscently, “but the drive afterwards was much better. +We went out in her car to Richmond Hill and sat there, +looking out over the river—devilish romantic in the +twilight, I can tell you. We must have been there an +hour or more.” Ryland was smiling now; the memory +of that evening had momentarily blotted out much +that had happened since.</p> + +<p>“You sat there for an hour or more,” said Inez, +“talking about—what?”</p> + +<p>“Oh I don’t know; nothing in particular.”</p> + +<p>“I only ask,” said Inez airily, “because I want to +know what one does talk about when one picks up a +young man and takes him out to Richmond. You +might be more helpful; anyhow, what do you <em>do</em>?”</p> + +<p>“What on earth are you talking about?” exclaimed +Ryland. “<em>You</em> can’t do that.”</p> + +<p>“And why not?”</p> + +<p>“Because you . . . oh, it’s this silly sex equality +stuff you’ve got in your head, I suppose. Let me tell +you, it doesn’t work—not where that sort of thing’s +concerned anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you hold each other’s hands,” went on Inez +inexorably. “Do you kiss? Rather familiar with a +complete stranger, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, will you? I don’t like to hear you talking +like that.”</p> + +<p>“All right, all right. Go ahead with your love’s +young dream.”</p> + +<p>Ryland frowned at her, but Inez’ face bore an +expression of such innocent appeal, that he burst into a +laugh.</p> + +<p>“Curse you, Inez; you’re pulling my leg. Well, as a +matter of fact we didn’t get much forwarder really that +evening—self-possessed young person she was. I tried +to fix up something for next day but she said she +was going away. The best I could get out of her was +that she would take me for another drive on the +following Thursday. She said she’d pick me up in St. +James’s Park—at the end of the Birdcage Walk—as soon +after five as possible. It sounded rather surreptitious +and jolly and of course I agreed. I got there at a quarter +to five and waited till nearly seven, but she never +came. I haven’t seen her since—as a matter of fact, +I’ve hardly thought about her.”</p> + +<p>The gloomy look had returned to Ryland’s face; the +story had brought him back to grim facts.</p> + +<p>“But who is she, Ry? Where does she live?” asked +Inez.</p> + +<p>“I tell you I don’t know. Daphne—that’s all she’d +tell me in the way of a name. And she wouldn’t tell +me where she lived. I believe she’s got a job +somewhere—that was why she wouldn’t come to lunch—but +where or what it is I don’t know and she wouldn’t +tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Can you get hold of her? How did you propose +to meet again? I suppose you were going to?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t get hold of her. She was going to meet me, +and as she didn’t I don’t know in the least where she +is.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord,” said Inez. “It is a blank wall—and a +thin story. What was she like?”</p> + +<p>“I told you—dark hair, dark eyes, about your height.”</p> + +<p>“Dark eyes? What colour?”</p> + +<p>“Oh I don’t know—brown, I suppose. Or it may +have been her eyelashes that were dark.”</p> + +<p>“What a rotten description. What did she wear?”</p> + +<p>“Oh the usual sort of thing. Brownish-grey coat +and skirt and one of those small hats—reddy-brown I +should think. Brownish stockings.”</p> + +<p>“That identifies her precisely,” said Inez sarcastically. +“You’re quite hopeless. Wasn’t there <em>anything</em> to +distinguish her from twenty-thousand other shop-girls?”</p> + +<p>“She wasn’t a shop-girl! She was . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, a princess in disguise of course—especially +the disguise. But wasn’t there anything?”</p> + +<p>Ryland thought for a minute. Suddenly his face +brightened.</p> + +<p>“There was! Scent! Marvellous stuff—simply made +you feel wicked all down your spine.”</p> + +<p>“Pah! Patchouli, I should think—fines it down to +ten thousand, perhaps. Look here, Ry, you’ve got to +find this girl. Put a notice in the Agony +Column—‘Daphne, Birdcage Walk. Broken-hearted. Write Box +something. Boysie’—or whatever silly name you let +her call you. Seriously, you <em>must</em> find her. It’s not +the least use your seeing this detective with a story like +that. I’ll put him off. And just you get your nose +down to it and do some finding.”</p> + +<p>So it was that Inez returned to the morning-room +with her tale of woe. It wasn’t true, of course; but on +the other hand, her promise to tell Poole everything +that she found out was honestly given; she had pledged +her word of honour—a mysterious distinction, +surviving perhaps from schoolroom days.</p> + +<p>The period of grace won for him by his sister’s diplomacy +did not at first appear likely to be of great benefit +to Ryland Fratten. He spent most of the evening in +almost voiceless gloom, growled at Inez whenever she +talked to him—especially when she tried to get him to +take some interest in his own predicament—and left +the house for his lodgings soon after half past nine.</p> + +<p>On the following morning, however, he appeared in +time for breakfast, looking much more his usual, cheerful +self. Inez was already in the breakfast-room, brewing +coffee; Ryland went up to her, put his arm round +her waist, and kissed her affectionately.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I’ve no right to do that now,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Just as much as ever you had,” replied Inez.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I didn’t know it before. Where ignorance +is bli . . . I mean,—no, I don’t; I’m getting muddled. +What I really mean is, that there’s no fun in breaking a +rule if you don’t know you’re breaking it. In other +words, now I’ve no right to kiss you—I really want to.”</p> + +<p>A faint flush appeared on Inez’ usually calm face.</p> + +<p>“You’d better get yourself something to eat,” she said +crisply. “Your mind’s not very clear before food.”</p> + +<p>Ryland laughed.</p> + +<p>“My mind’s been working to some tune since I saw +you last. I’ve got a clue!”</p> + +<p>Inez turned quickly.</p> + +<p>“What?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“That scent! You remember, I told you that Daphne +used a very attractive scent; well, I’ve found it. That’s +to say I’ve found a handkerchief of hers that still smells +of it. I remembered last night that she’d dropped her +handkerchief getting out of the car and I’d pinched +it—rather romantic—something to remind me of +her—that sort of thing.”</p> + +<p>“So as not to get her muddled up with half a dozen +others?” said Inez. “How thoughtful of you, Ryland. +Let’s smell the beastly stuff.”</p> + +<p>If Inez had expected the usual cheap sickly scent +that she had spoken of, she must have been greatly +surprised. The handkerchief—a fine cambric, with a thin +edging of lace—gave off a very faint bitter-sweet +perfume which was quite unlike anything she had met +before. She at once became interested. The scent was +so unusual that there seemed quite a possibility that it +might be traced. She suggested to Ryland that he +should take the handkerchief to one or two of the +leading perfumers—Rollinson in Bond Street, Duhamel +Frères, Pompadour in the Ritz Arcade—and ask them +whether it was one of their creations. But Ryland +seemed to have lost interest in the subject as soon as his +sister took it up; he declared that the whole thing was +nonsense—he wasn’t going to traipse round London +making a fool of himself, just because some silly +detective was getting excited about a mare’s nest.</p> + +<p>Inez was furious with him, but neither gibes nor +entreaties could stir him to make the suggested enquiries. +Eventually she declared that she would do it herself, +thinking perhaps that that might move him; he merely +told her that she could if it amused her.</p> + +<p>Put on her mettle by this cavalier treatment, Inez ran +up to her room, put on a hat and a pointed fox fur, +and was soon bowling along in a taxi to Rollinson’s. +With an air of considerable <i>empressement</i> she demanded +to see the manager and, as her appearance and her card +were sufficiently important to open such an august +portal, she soon found herself in that aristocratic +gentleman’s room. Having already divulged her name, Inez +knew that it was no good trying to invent some +cock-and-bull story to cloak her inquiry; the report of the +inquest was in all the papers that morning, including, of +course, the account of Ryland’s abortive liaison with an +unknown young lady in St. James’s Park. Very wisely, +Inez decided to take the manager entirely into her +confidence. Needless to say, the poor man was easy game +for Inez, who, when she chose to exert her full powers, +could wring sympathy out of a University Professor; +had she not, only a few hours previously, derailed an +ambitious young detective under full steam? Mr. +Rodney-Phillips (in private life, Rodnocopoulos) became +at once her ardent collaborator in the search for +truth—and “Daphne.”</p> + +<p>Inez produced the handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“This is our only clue,” she said. “Is it possible to +identify the scent? If anyone can do it, I know you +can.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Rodney-Phillips bowed and held out a fat white +palm. The handkerchief being placed on it, he conveyed +it to within about six inches of his fine nose, +closed his eyes, and gave a long, slow, and utterly +refined sniff.</p> + +<p>Instantly he opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly, madame,” he exclaimed. “This is +one of our own perfumes—one of our choicest, and most +‘chic’ conceptions—‘Breath of Eden.’ It is, of course, +exclusively purveyed by ourselves; there is every hope +of our being able to identify the purchaser by the help +of your description of the lady—though, of course, a +certain amount is sold over the counter to casual purchasers. +I will send for Miss Gilling, our head assistant.”</p> + +<p>Miss Gilling, however, was less hopeful—was, in fact, +rather bored by the enquiry. There were, she declared, +a number of ladies among their clientele, answering +broadly to the vague description which was all that Inez +could produce. The scent was a popular one and was +sold in considerable quantities to both regular and +occasional customers.</p> + +<p>Inez’s hopes were dashed by the uncompromising and +unhelpful pronouncement, but the manager was not +going to allow his promises to be so lightly upset.</p> + +<p>“But we must enquire, Miss Gilling,” he exclaimed. +“The books must be examined. I have promised Miss +Fratten that we will identify the purchaser.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Miss Gilling pricked up her ears and +discarded the pose of supercilious languor that she had +hitherto adopted.</p> + +<p>“Miss Fratten?” she exclaimed. “Are you Miss Fratten? +Oh, then I think I can help you. I have myself +on more than one occasion supplied this very perfume to +the order of your . . . of Mr. Ryland Fratten!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII. <br> Eye-Witnesses</h2> + +<p>Poole realized that before pinning the crime of +murdering Sir Garth Fratten to any individual, he must +first find out, or at any rate try to find out, how that +murder had been committed. It was clear enough +<em>when</em> it was done but, so far, in spite of the presence of +a number of witnesses, it was not at all clear <em>how</em> it was +done.</p> + +<p>In addition to Hessel, a number of witnesses had written +to or communicated in other ways with the police, +offering to give evidence at the inquest as to the +“accident” on the Duke of York’s Steps. Preliminary +investigations had suggested that none of these witnesses +had any very different story to tell than had already +been provided by Hessel, and it had not been thought +necessary to call them for the initial stages of the +Coroner’s enquiry. Poole, however, had their addresses +and, on the morning after his interview with Inez +Fratten—and his failure to interview Ryland—he +determined to make a round of visits and go exhaustively +into the question of what the eye-witnesses of the +accident had seen.</p> + +<p>The first name on his list was that of Mr. Thomas +Lossett, of 31 Gassington Road, Surbiton, employed at +Tyler, Potts and Co., the Piccadilly hatters. Mr. +Lossett proved to be what was popularly known as the +“hat-lusher” at this celebrated establishment—that is to +say, he wore a white apron and a paper cap and ironed +or blocked the hats of the firm’s aristocratic clients. +By permission of the manager, whom Poole took into +his confidence, the detective was allowed to interview +Mr. Lossett in a small room set aside for the storage +of customers’ own silk hats when out of town—from +the comparative emptiness of the shelves Poole deduced +that the practice of silk-hat farming was in decline.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lossett was a loquacious gentleman of about fifty. +He was, it appeared, in a position to give an exact +account of the incident because he had been only a few +yards away from Sir Garth when the accident occurred. +He had first noticed the gentlemen as they stood +underneath the Column before beginning the descent of the +steps. He was on his way from Piccadilly to Waterloo—he +often walked, if it were a fine evening, being +a firm believer in the value of pedestrian exercise—and +his attention had been attracted to the two +gentlemen by the fact that they both wore top-hats—a +comparatively rare phenomenon on a week-day in these +degenerate times. Descending the broad steps a little +behind and to the side of them, his attention had never +really left them and he had been fully aware of the +hurried descent of a man in a light overcoat and a +bowler hat, who stumbled just as he was passing the two +gentlemen and knocked against Sir Garth Fratten—as +Mr. Lossett had afterwards discovered the taller of the +two to have been.</p> + +<p>Poole questioned Mr. Lossett closely on the actual +impact, and obtained a very clear statement. Lossett had +seen the man before he actually struck against Sir Garth +and was perfectly certain that no blow had been struck +with the hand or with any instrument. He had stumbled +against Sir Garth’s side, rather than his back, and +had clutched the banker’s arm to prevent himself from +falling. As for his appearance, he was decidedly tall +and wore a black moustache. He had spoken in what +Mr. Lossett described as a “genteel” voice, had +apologized handsomely, saying that he was in a great hurry +to get to the Admiralty, and, as Sir Garth appeared to +be all right, had hurried off in the direction of that +building. Lossett had not himself waited to see what +became of Sir Garth, as he had not too much time in +which to catch his train; he had been intensely surprised +to read of the fatal outcome of the accident, as it had +seemed to him so trivial. He put the time of the +accident at somewhere between 6.15 and 6.30.</p> + +<p>The detective was distinctly disappointed by this +account. It was so very clear and certain, and gave no +indication as to how the banker had received the fatal +blow in his back. No amount of cross-questioning +could shake the hat-lusher on that vital point.</p> + +<p>Pondering over the problem which this evidence +provided, Poole made his way to the Haymarket, where he +found Mr. Ulred Tarker, a clerk in the offices of the +Trans-Continental Railway Company. Mr. Tarker, +interviewed in the manager’s own room, had not a great +deal of light to throw on the subject. He had not +noticed either the two bankers or the man who had +stumbled against them before the occurrence; then, +hearing a commotion behind him, he had looked round +and seen what he believed to be two men supporting a +third between them. Two of the figures were evidently +elderly gentlemen of good standing, the third a younger +man, dressed very much as ninety-nine men out of a +hundred at that time and place, in the evening rush to +one of the stations, would be dressed—a dark suit and +either a bowler or a trilby hat—Mr. Tarker was not +sure which. Although he had stopped for a second or +two to see what the excitement was about, Mr. Tarker +had soon realized that it was nothing interesting and had +gone on his way, not noticing anything more about +any of the three figures concerned. He had not seen +any blow struck, but then he had not looked round till +after the accident. The third man, the one not wearing +a top-hat, had appeared to him middle-aged or getting +on that way, and probably had a moustache. He had +left the office soon after 6.15 and walked straight to +the Duke’s Steps and so on to Westminster.</p> + +<p>That was all, and Poole felt that he had wasted his +time.</p> + +<p>Katherine Moon, a cashier at the Royal Services Club, +Waterloo Place, proved more interesting. She had +waited for a minute or two in Waterloo Place for a +friend to join her; half-past six was the time arranged; +during that time she had noticed a man in a light +overcoat waiting at the corner of Carlton House Terrace, +to one side of the Steps; she had noticed him because +for a second she had thought he might be the friend for +whom she was waiting, though she had quickly seen +that he was taller than her friend and wore a moustache, +which her friend did not. That was all that she had +seen; she had no real reason for connecting him with +the tragedy and had not at first done so, but on hearing +of the exhumation and having previously read Miss +Fratten’s advertisement, she had put two and two +together and wondered whether they could possibly make +four. Poole thought her a particularly smart girl; there +had been so very little really to connect the two +incidents in her mind, and yet the detective felt that she +might well be right.</p> + +<p>Four more names remained on the Inspector’s +list—three from the Haymarket neighbourhood, and one +from Paddington Square. Poole was puzzled for a +moment to find practically all the witnesses coming +from such a conscribed area, till he realized that the +number of people who would use the Duke of York’s +Steps as a homeward route after the day’s work must be +closely limited—it was a distinctly long way to Victoria +or Waterloo and not too close even to St. James’s Park +Underground Station.</p> + +<p>Mr. Raffelli, owner of a small antique shop in Haymarket +Passage, had not, it transpired, seen the accident +at all, but had been present when Sir Garth’s body was +carried to the car, arriving on the scene probably five +minutes after he fell. More wasted time, thought +Poole.</p> + +<p>After a hurried luncheon at Appenrodt’s, the detective +called on Mr. Julian Wagglebow, employed in the +London Library. Mr. Wagglebow, a precise old gentleman +who disliked being hurried, described how, after +finishing his day’s work, which consisted of indexing a +number of newly-purchased books, at 6 <span class="sc">p. m.</span>, he had +proceeded to Hugh Rees’s shop in Lower Regent Street, +to buy a copy of <i>The Fond Heart</i> for his daughter, whose +birthday it was. Leaving Hugh Rees’s he had walked +down past the Guards Crimean Memorial and the new +King Edward statue—a misleading representation, Mr. +Wagglebow thought—to the Duke of York’s Steps. +Being rather short-sighted he was descending the Steps +slowly and carefully when he was startled by someone +rushing down past him. “That man will have an accident +if he isn’t careful,” he had thought to himself, +and sure enough, at that very moment, the man had +stumbled and lurched against a gentleman in a top-hat +who was walking with another gentleman, similarly +attired, just in front of him, Mr. Wagglebow.</p> + +<p>Poole interrupted at this point, to impress upon his +informant the extreme importance of an <em>exact</em> description +of the accident. The exact description was forthcoming +and it was as disappointing as that of Mr. Lossett, +the hat-lusher. The man had <em>lurched</em> against Sir +Garth—rather heavily, it is true, but he had not struck +him. No, his shoulder had not struck Sir Garth in +the back; it had been more of a sideways lurch against +Sir Garth’s arm—perhaps at an angle of forty-five +degrees, if the Inspector knew what he meant by +that—between the back of the arm and the side of the +arm. That was natural, because the lurch, although to +a certain extent sideways—as if the ankle had turned +over—had also been forwards, because of the pace at +which the man was descending the steps. Mr. Wagglebow +was able to be so precise because, as he had +already explained, he had at that very moment been +thinking to himself that if that man were not more +careful he would have an accident, and sure enough +he did have one—as Mr. Wagglebow was watching +him.</p> + +<p>This certainly was clear evidence and the detective +saw that Mr. Wagglebow would be a difficult man to +shake in a witness box. As to the man’s appearance, +Mr. Wagglebow was less clear—he had not been particularly +interested by the individual but rather by the +incident, which had so exactly borne out his warning. +He believed that the man wore an overcoat—he could +not say of what colour, but probably not quite black—and +a bowler hat. He had appeared to be of ordinary +size and appearance—a young man, undoubtedly. At +the foot of the Steps, Mr. Wagglebow had turned to +the right towards St. James’s Park Suspension bridge, +and had seen no more of the parties concerned. +Allowing for the time spent in buying the book at Hugh +Rees’s Mr. Wagglebow thought that he could not have +reached the Steps before 6.30.</p> + +<p>The last name in this neighbourhood was that of +Hector Press, of Haymarket Court. Haymarket Court +proved to be a block of bachelor flats just behind His +Majesty’s Theatre, and Mr. Press, a valet employed in +the flats by the management, to look after such of +the residents as had not their own men to valet them. +Mr. Press wore a neat black suit, well oiled hair, and +blue chin. His voice was carefully controlled and he +displayed a slight tendency to patronize a “policeman.” +He had, he said, submitted his name as a witness since +reading the account of the inquest in last night’s +evening paper, because he had been struck by a possible +discrepancy between the evidence there given and his +own observation. On the evening in question (something +after six—he couldn’t say nearer), he had been +going from Haymarket Court to visit an acquaintance +in Queen Anne’s Mansions—he usually had an hour +or two off, between five and seven if he had got the +gentleman’s dress clothes ready—but on reaching the +top of the Duke of York’s Steps, he suddenly remembered +that Captain Dollington required his bag packed +for a visit to Newmarket. Shocked by his forgetfulness, +he had whisked quickly round and had been +nearly cannoned into by a gentleman walking just +behind him. This gentleman had evidently been startled +or annoyed by the check to his progress because he had +sworn at Mr. Press in a manner that caused the valet to +stare at him as he hurried on. So it was that Mr. Press +had seen the gentleman break into a run down the steps +and, a few seconds later, to stumble and knock against +two gentlemen in tall hats who were about half-way +down. The particular point that Mr. Press wished +to make was that this gentleman had been referred to +in the evidence as an Admiralty messenger, or, if not +quite that, at any rate the impression had been given +that he was a man of the clerk class, taking a message +to the Admiralty. Now Mr. Press had had great +experience of gentlemen and he not only knew one when +he saw one, but still more when he heard one. The +particular oath which had been hurled at him had +unquestionably been a gentleman’s oath and the voice was +a gentleman’s voice. Of that Mr. Press had no doubt +at all and he was prepared to state his opinion on oath. +Questioned by Poole, the valet was not prepared to say +for certain that a blow had not been struck but he had +certainly not seen one, though he had been watching +the gentleman right up to the moment of the collision. +As to appearance and clothes, he had no hesitation in +saying that the gentleman was of medium height, about +thirty-five years of age, and wore a dark moustache, +together with a bowler hat and an overcoat of medium-grey +cloth—the latter by no means new or well cared +for. He had not gone down the Steps to see what had +happened, as he was in a hurry to get back and pack +Captain Dollington’s bag.</p> + +<p>Poole felt that this might prove to be the most +useful information that he had yet received, though it +still left him in the dark as to how Sir Garth had come +by his injury. His last remaining witness, who had +written from an address in Paddington Square and +wished to be interviewed there, was a clerk employed +in the Chief Whip’s office at the House of Commons. +Probably Mr. Coningsby Smythe did not wish it to get +about in the House that the police had been interrogating +him—perhaps he feared that it might damage the +credit of the Government, but Poole did not feel +inclined to wait till a late hour and journey all the way +up to Paddington when his information was waiting +for him so close at hand. Accordingly he made his +way to the House and, by the good offices of one of the +officials, obtained a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. +Smythe in a corner of the Visitors’ Lobby.</p> + +<p>Mr. Smythe, it appeared, had been returning to the +House after delivering an important note to a +Minister (Mr. Smythe was very discreet) at the Carlton +Club. As he walked down the Duke of York’s Steps, +he had noticed two gentlemen in top-hats about to +cross the Mall. He had wondered, such was the rarity +of the “topper” in these degenerate days (Mr. Smythe +was unconsciously echoing the hat-lusher) whether the +two gentlemen were Members, and had hurried his steps +in order to satisfy his curiosity. They had checked on +an island in the middle of the Mall and he was within +ten or fifteen yards of them when they crossed the +second half. His view of them had been interrupted +for a moment by a passing car and the next he saw +of them, the taller of the two was just sinking to his +knees, and so to the ground, while the shorter—Mr. +Hessel, it now appeared—tried to hold him up. Mr. +Smythe had hurried to the spot—had, in fact, been the +first there—but Sir Garth had not spoken, nor even +moved again. Mr. Hessel was evidently deeply +distressed, and kept wringing his hands and calling his +friend’s name. He, Mr. Smythe, had suggested calling +a doctor, but at that moment a gentleman had offered +a car and he had helped to lift Sir Garth into it.</p> + +<p>Poole was getting impatient, but concealed his +feeling.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” he said. “But what about the accident; +did you see that?”</p> + +<p>“But I’ve just told you, Inspector!”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; I don’t mean that. The accident on the +Steps, when Sir Garth was knocked into.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Inspector, I didn’t see that. I saw Sir +Garth practically die—I thought you would wish to +know about it.”</p> + +<p>Smothering his annoyance, the detective thanked Mr. +Coningsby Smythe for his information and released +him to his important duties. As he left the House, +Poole remembered that there was one name that he had +not got on his list—that of the woman who had caused +a disturbance at the Inquest. It was a hundred to one +against her having anything of importance to +say—probably she was one of the many half-witted people +whose object in life is to draw attention to themselves; +still, Poole had been in the Force long enough to learn +that it was never safe to turn one’s back upon the most +unpromising source of information.</p> + +<p>Returning to the Yard, he obtained the name and +address which the woman had given to the Coroner’s +Officer: Miss Griselda Peake, 137 Coxon’s Buildings, +Earl’s Court. It was now nearly five o’clock and Poole +felt that the lady would almost certainly be at home +for the sacred office of tea-drinking. He proved to +be right; Miss Peake was at home—in a small room on +the seventh floor (no lift) of Coxon’s Buildings, and +received him with great dignity and the offer of +refreshment.</p> + +<p>“I have been expecting to hear from Scotland Yard, +Officer,” she said. “I have important information to +give and I should have been heard by the Coroner. I +thought him an ill-mannered official, but still I +understand that red-tape is red-tape and I am prepared to +meet the wishes of the authorities.”</p> + +<p>Miss Peake spoke calmly, with none of the excited +shrillness of her appearance at the Inquest. Perhaps +the environment of her home was soothing. She was +a very small woman, of about fifty-five, dressed in the +period of the nineties. Her long, tight-sleeved dress was +youthful in cut and ornament and probably represented +a well-saved relic of her young days. Possibly her +mind had never advanced beyond that age—she both +looked and spoke like a figure from the <i>Strand +Magazine</i> in the days of L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace.</p> + +<p>“I was present at the time the outrage was committed +on Sir Garth Fratten,” she said, impressively. “I was +standing—two lumps, Officer?—at the foot of the Steps +at the time, or rather, I should say, half-way between +the foot of the Steps and the carriage-way—the new +carriage-way, you know—it has all been altered—Germanized—a +grave mistake I always feel. I happened +to be waiting there, watching the Members on their +way from the Cartlon to the House—Mr. Balfour often +passes that way—a great man, Officer, a charming +speaker, but I fear that he will never be a leader. I +saw two gentlemen, evidently Members, coming down +the Steps, and the next moment I saw it all. A +dastardly outrage, Officer!”</p> + +<p>Miss Peake’s voice rose suddenly in a shrill cry of +excitement. Her eyes blazed and she rose to her feet, +nearly pushing over the tea-table as she did so. +Evidently the poor lady’s mind could not stand +excitement.</p> + +<p>“A brutal attack!” she cried. “Ruffians—a gang of +ruffians—Fenians!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly she sank back into her chair, looked dazedly +about her, and passed her hand over her eyes. After a +moment, she spoke again in a dull, level voice.</p> + +<p>“The man rushed down the Steps after committing +his fell deed,” she said. “I saw him leap into a waiting +vehicle and drive away. The villains! The cowards! +Nihilists! Radicals!”</p> + +<p>Once more the excitement had seized her and she +broke into shrill cries, only half intelligible. Poole +saw that it was useless to expect any lucid account from +her. Waiting only for a quiet moment in which to +take his leave, he thanked poor little Miss Griselda for +her valuable help, and left her to finish her tea in +peace.</p> + +<p>“Please tell the Secretary of State that I am at his +service at any time,” said Miss Peake as she ushered him +out of the door.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV. <br> Sir Garth’s Papers</h2> + +<p>Although he had had a hard day’s work and it was +nearly six o’clock, Poole felt that he had made so little +progress that he could not leave things as they were. +Consequently, he returned to the Yard, and taking his +note-book and a sheet of foolscap, set himself to analyse +the evidence that he had obtained during the day. As +was only to be expected, there were discrepancies in +the accounts of the incident which the various +eye-witnesses had given him. In the first place, the “time” +was very vague—varying from “some time after six” +by Press, to “not before six-thirty” by Wagglebow. +The evidence of Tarker and Miss Moon, however, made +it fairly certain that the time was well after 6.15. +Referring to his note-book Poole discovered that he had +not got a definite statement by Mr. Hessel on the +subject—he made a note to get it at the first opportunity.</p> + +<p>Then, as to the appearance of Sir Garth Fratten’s +assailant, there was much difference of opinion. Tarker +had described him as “getting on for middle-age,” while +Wagglebow thought him “undoubtedly young”; but +then Tarker was himself a young man and Wagglebow +an old, which would probably account for the +difference, each judging from his own standpoint. The +observant Press was probably near the mark in putting +him at thirty-five.</p> + +<p>The consensus of opinion pointed to a bowler hat, but +the overcoat varied from “light” (Lossett), through +“medium grey” (Press), to “not quite black” +(Wagglebow). All seemed agreed on the subject of a +moustache, but whereas Press and Wagglebow thought him +of “medium” or “ordinary” size, Lossett had described +him as “decidedly tall.”</p> + +<p>The question of the man’s “class” was unsatisfactory. +Poole had not questioned his earlier witnesses specifically +on this point—he blamed himself for not doing so—but +he had certainly gathered the impression, both from +them and previously from Mr. Hessel, that he was of +middle class, a clerk or responsible messenger. Press, +however, probably an expert witness on this subject, +had been absolutely certain that the man was a +“gentleman”—by which he probably meant someone +accustomed to command obedience. It was a point which +might be of the very first importance and Poole made a +note to question Lossett, Tarker, Wagglebow, and possibly +Miss Moon, as well as Mr. Hessel, about it in the +near future.</p> + +<p>On the really vital point of the blow, however, there +was remarkable unanimity of opinion; not one had +seen a blow struck or believed it had been struck, whilst +two—Lossett and particularly Mr. Wagglebow (who +might be regarded as a most reliable witness)—were +absolutely certain that a blow had <em>not</em> been struck. This +was a most serious matter; it left a really vital gap in +the chain of evidence.</p> + +<p>For some time the detective sat pondering over this +problem and gradually the glimmerings of an idea took +shape in his mind. They were so vague, however, that +he deliberately put them aside until he had got more +information by which to test them. In the first place +he determined to try and see Mr. Hessel again that evening +and with that object in view, put a call through to +the Wanderers’ Club to enquire whether that gentleman +was in. While waiting for a reply, he sent for +Sergeant Gower, who had been detailed to work under +him in this case. Before starting out that morning, +Poole had detailed Sergeant Gower to go to the +Admiralty and make enquiries about the identity of any +possible messenger, either to or from the Admiralty, +answering the description given by Mr. Hessel, on the +evening of 24th October. The task had not, it +appeared, taken Gower long; every incoming message +would automatically go through the Registry, as would +all outgoing messages, except those sent privately by +very senior officers who could afford to ignore, and did +sometimes ignore, the regulations. The number of +plain-clothes clerks who could be so employed was +strictly limited, and when it was further reduced by the +condition of a moustache—in a naval office such appendages +were as scarce as its marines—it did not take long +to discover that no such messenger had been either from +or to the Admiralty on the evening in question. As +Poole had expected, the Admiralty message was nothing +but a myth.</p> + +<p>At this point, the hall porter of the Wanderers’ rang +through to say that Mr. Hessel was not in the Club—and +would not divulge whether he had been in it that +day or was expected. Cursing the ultra-discretion of +Clubland, Poole determined to try Hessel’s rooms, of +which he had previously obtained the address. No reply +could be extracted from the flat in Whitehall Court. +Nothing daunted, Poole determined to walk round +there; it was just possible that Mr. Hessel was at this +hour himself walking home from club or office. He +was right; when he got to the great block of flats behind +the War Office, he found that the banker had just +come in.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hessel received the detective with a friendly +smile. At Poole’s request, he repeated his account of +the accident, but without throwing any fresh light on +the question of the blow. He had not actually seen +the man knock against Sir Garth, but he felt sure that +he must have been conscious if anything so definite as +a blow had been delivered. As to time, he had no +means of fixing precise limits, but he would say soon +after six. Poole thanked him for his information and +turned to the question of appearance.</p> + +<p>“Would you say that the man was a gentleman, sir?” +he asked; “perhaps I ought to put it rather differently: +did he appear to be a man of leisure, a business or +professional man, a clerk—or what?”</p> + +<p>Hessel thought for a time, before answering.</p> + +<p>“Now you press me,” he said. “I find it rather +difficult to answer. From his remarks—something about +a message to the Admiralty, as I told you—I certainly +formed the unconscious impression that he was of the +clerk type. But I am not really at all sure. He was +quite a nice-looking, pleasant-spoken young fellow; +he might really quite well have been a professional man, +I suppose. His clothes were not very smart, so far as +I remember—but of course that tells one little in these +hard times.”</p> + +<p>“You saw him quite clearly, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes—quite.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible that he was someone that you know +by sight—disguised?”</p> + +<p>Hessel stared at the detective.</p> + +<p>“Who do you mean?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I am not for the moment suggesting that he was +anyone in particular, but I should just like to be certain +whether such a thing was or was not a possibility. If, +as we think, this man made a deliberate attack upon Sir +Garth, he would almost certainly be disguised. The old +idea of the false beard and glasses is rather played out +now—partly because beards are so little worn, partly +because false ones seldom look real, and partly because +it is now realized that a very slight alteration of a face +can completely change it. This man wore a dark +moustache; probably he was a clean-shaven man. I +rather gather that his voice was ‘refined,’ but not quite +that of a gentleman.” (For the moment, Poole thought +it better to keep to himself Press’s evidence about +the “gentlemanly oath.”) “A lower or middle class +man would have difficulty in counterfeiting a gentleman’s +voice, but a gentleman could easily convey the +other impression—especially if he knew something about +acting.”</p> + +<p>Slowly an expression of astonishment, almost of +horror, crept into Hessel’s face.</p> + +<p>“Good God, Inspector,” he said. “You are +suggesting that—that it might be Ryland!”</p> + +<p>“Is it impossible, sir?” pressed Poole, leaning forward +eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Ryland! Ryland! His height, yes, perhaps—even +his figure. But—oh no, it is impossible, Inspector. I +should have recognized him, of course. Besides, the +whole idea is unthinkable; he is a charming boy, +devoted to his father. . . .”</p> + +<p>“Was he?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes; why, of course he was!”</p> + +<p>“The first time I spoke to you, Mr. Hessel, you told +me that on that very evening, a few minutes before +his death, Sir Garth was talking to you about some +trouble with his son—about the son’s lack of affection +for his father. You said yourself that they did not +understand one another, that Sir Garth was unjust to +his son—his adopted son, it now appears.”</p> + +<p>Hessel looked pale and troubled.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Inspector,” he said. “That may be so. +But what I said in no way implied that there was <em>serious</em> +trouble between them; at bottom, I am quite certain, +they were both deeply attached to one another.”</p> + +<p>“I happen to know, sir,” the detective persisted, +“that there <em>was</em> serious trouble between them. I also +know that Mr. Ryland Fratten has not satisfactorily +accounted for his whereabouts at that hour—and I +know other things. Now I want, sir, direct answers +to two questions, if you will be so good as to give +them to me. First, do you believe that the man who +knocked into Sir Garth on the Steps that evening was +Mr. Ryland Fratten?”</p> + +<p>“No, I do not!” exclaimed Hessel emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir; now, do you give me your assurance +that, beyond all reasonable doubt, it was <em>not</em> Ryland +Fratten?”</p> + +<p>Poole’s steady eyes searched into the depths of the +harassed face of the banker; they saw doubt, anxiety, +and, finally, determination.</p> + +<p>“I . . . I . . . yes, I am sure—absolutely sure—that +it was not Ryland,” said Hessel.</p> + +<p>Poole looked at him quietly for a second or two, as if +to give him time to change his mind; then, with some +deliberation, made an entry in his note-book.</p> + +<p>“Now, sir, if I may, I want to ask you about a quite +different point. When I first spoke to you—last +Friday, I think it was—I asked you whether you thought +Sir Garth had any enemies; you rather naturally pooh-poohed +the idea, or at any rate the implication, and said +that of course the death was accidental. I was not in +a position to press you on the point at that time—it was +before we had definite information to work on—but +now that we know for certain that Sir Garth was murdered +I must return to that point. You are, I believe, +Sir Garth’s executor, and have sole control of his +business affairs—his papers and so on. No doubt you have +been through them; can you tell me whether you have +found anything to indicate that Sir Garth was threatened, +or in danger, or likely to be in danger, or engaged +in any work which was bringing him into opposition +with dangerous people? I am afraid I am being rather +vague, but you probably see what I am trying to get +at. We are trying to establish a motive for this crime, +and, of course, to find out a possible author of it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hessel answered at once, quietly but firmly.</p> + +<p>“In the first place, Inspector, I cannot agree with +your assumption that murder has been committed—that +of course is only my personal view. Leaving +that—assuming your view for the moment—you implied +just now that Ryland Fratten had killed his father; +now you are asking me to provide you with an entirely +different type of murderer—if I may say so, a rather +melodramatic type. What am I to understand by this +sudden change of front?”</p> + +<p>“I think that you misunderstood me, sir,” said Poole. +“I did not imply that Mr. Ryland Fratten <em>was</em> the +murderer; I asked you for your opinion as to whether +he possibly <em>might</em> be; I am looking into various +alternatives. Perhaps you will let me have a reply to my +questions.”</p> + +<p>Hessel frowned; Poole’s remark hinted at a rebuff.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I can help you, Inspector—not by +direct information, that is. As a matter of fact, I have +not been through Sir Garth’s papers, except very +cursorily with Mr. Menticle and Sir Garth’s secretary—Mangane. +I am afraid I have been rather remiss; Mangane +has been pressing me to do it—I have rather shirked a +task that is very unwelcome to me—prying into my dead +friend’s affairs. Now, if you like, we will go round to +the house this evening, and look into them together—then +you can get the information you want directly from +the source. Let me see, it’s not far off eight o’clock; +will you come and have some food with me? In the +meantime, we will warn Mangane that we are coming +round. Yes? Capital.”</p> + +<p>The arrangement suited the detective well. He +would, as Hessel had said, get direct access to Sir Garth’s +papers—untouched, as seemed fairly certain, except +for the hurried survey that Menticle, Hessel and +Mangane had all supervised. Secondly, he would, by +dining with him, get an excellent opportunity of sizing +up Mr. Hessel himself, and Poole always liked to form +a personal opinion of the chief characters in a +problem—Hessel was obviously a very important character, with +his first-hand evidence that he was able to give and +his intimate knowledge of the dead man’s affairs. Poole +realized that Mr. Hessel was not altogether in sympathy +with him—probably he had been too brusque in pressing +him for answers to difficult questions; this would +be an opportunity of gaining the banker’s confidence.</p> + +<p>By tacit consent, the case under investigation was +not referred to during the meal at Rittoni’s, that quiet +but very high-grade restaurant below one of the great +shipping offices in Cockspur Street. Hessel was an +excellent host, not pressing hospitality upon his guest, +but seeming to understand by instinct the type of +food and wine to suit both taste and occasion. He was +a good talker, too, full of quiet but extremely +interesting information, and with an individual sense of +humour. He did not in any way monopolize the +conversation, but drew the detective out—not on the +subject of his work, but in an expression of opinion and +experience on the general affairs of life. Undoubtedly, +both men felt an increased respect for one another by +the time they had walked across St. James’s Park—passing, +without reference, the scene of Sir Garth’s +death—to the Fratten’s home in Queen Anne’s Gate.</p> + +<p>Mangane was waiting for them, together with a +severe-looking head-housemaid ready to remove—as +soon as Hessel unlocked the neglected room—the outer +coverings of dust; it was patent from her expression +that she regarded men’s methods with anything but +approval.</p> + +<p>As soon as the housemaid had finished and gone, +Hessel, who kept Mangane in the room to help him +find his way about, took out his keys and unlocked the +writing table drawers. It was at once apparent that +Sir Garth had been an extremely methodical man. Each +drawer was labelled to show the general subject with +which it dealt. “Bank,” “Hospital,” “Private +Accounts,” “Personal,” “Company Boards,” “Investments” +etc., and in each drawer the different subdivisions +of the same subject were filed in paper jackets. +Quickly but methodically Poole examined each drawerful +in turn; in that labelled “Company Boards,” he at +once found a jacket marked “Victory Finance +Company,” the concern which Mangane had told him had +been the subject of Sir Garth’s investigations each +evening up to the time of his death—investigations which +his daughter had thought were causing him considerable +worry. Poole said nothing about this jacket at +the moment but passed on to another drawer until he +had been through them all.</p> + +<p>“He kept everything of importance in these drawers, +did he, sir?” he asked, looking up at Hessel.</p> + +<p>“So far as I can see, everything, except that there’s +a certain amount of money, notes and silver to the +value of £200 or £300, some old private account ledgers, +and a bundle of private letters in that safe in the wall.”</p> + +<p>Poole pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>“Private letters?” he said. “May I have a look at +them?”</p> + +<p>“If you like—or rather, if you must. They are all +old letters; from what I could see they are all in the +same hand—a woman’s—and the signature—a Christian +name only—is that of Sir Garth’s first wife.”</p> + +<p>Poole nodded.</p> + +<p>“I see, sir,” he said. “Perhaps I should just look +through them. It will take a little time; if you will +just count the letters—initial them if you like—I will +give you a receipt for them and let you have them +back in a day or two. I need hardly say that unless +they have any bearing on the crime they will remain +absolutely private. May I also take Sir Garth’s private +account book and those company jackets?—I will give +you a receipt for those too. The Fratten’s Bank papers, +I take it, are all in order, sir? You would know about +that.”</p> + +<p>Hessel smiled.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, I think, Inspector, but don’t take my +word for it. You had better take them too—we shall +have to get you a cab.”</p> + +<p>Having made out the necessary receipts, Poole +declined Mr. Hessel’s chaffing offer of transport, but +borrowed an attaché case from Mangane, and made +his way home. Late as it was, he still did not give up +the day’s work, but sat down to examine his booty.</p> + +<p>Turning at once to the subject that interested him +most, he took up the jacket of the Victory Finance +Company; he found that it contained a copy of the +company’s last Annual Report, to which was attached +a type-written schedule of investments and advances, +and three sheets of notes in the dead man’s +handwriting.</p> + +<p>The Annual Report was in places underscored in +pencil; Poole could not see any particular significance +in these markings. The list of investments and +advances was not marked at all, but corresponding +headings appeared on Sir Garth’s sheets of notes, with the +banker’s comments upon each.</p> + +<p>Apparently, so far as Poole’s limited knowledge of +the subject took him, the Victory Finance Company +was in the habit of investing a certain proportion of its +money and lending the remainder. The list of investments +appeared to have passed Sir Garth’s scrutiny with +little criticism, most items having a simple tick against +them, and a few the words “discard,” “enlarge,” +“concentrate,” “doubtful” and so on. The list of advances +was more fully annotated; evidently the banker had +been at pains to scrutinize the antecedents and +activities of each of the concerns to which the Victory +Finance Company had lent money. In all but three +cases—the South Wales Pulverization Company, the +Nem Nem Sohar Trust, and the Ethiopian and General +Development Company—there was a tick against +the name, as if Sir Garth had been satisfied of its +soundness; in the case of the S. W. Pulverization Company +and the Nem Nem Sohar Trust there was a separate +sheet of notes for each, ending with the underscored +words “<i>overcapitalized</i>” in the first case, and “<i>too +political</i>” in the second. In the case of the Ethiopian +and General Development Company there were no such +notes.</p> + +<p>Poole sighed as he finished his scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“This is going to be deep water for me,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>A quick scrutiny of the other “Company Boards” +jackets showed the detective that Sir Garth had either +resigned his seat or was contemplating doing so, or +else that the work was of so simple or nominal a +character as to be of no importance. The jacket dealing +with Fratten’s Bank was clearly too big a subject to be +tackled that night—and Poole was extremely doubtful +of finding the clue that he was looking for in that +well-established concern.</p> + +<p>There remained the personal letters—the bundle of +faded letters in a woman’s hand. Poole felt a guilty +sense of intrusion as he opened the first. For nearly +an hour he sat, not noticing how the time went on, +reading the beautiful and tragic story of a woman’s +life—her humiliation, her courage, her love, her deep +gratitude to the big-hearted man who had given her a +new life. There was nothing in the letters that Poole +did not already know, no scrap of help to him in his +difficult task, but rare tears of sympathy stood in the +detective’s eyes as he reverently returned the last letter +to its carefully-treasured envelope.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV. <br> “Eau D’Enfer”</h2> + +<p>Inez Fratten, on hearing from the sedate Miss Gilling +that the scent she had been trying to trace to Ryland’s +mysterious charmer had been actually bought by Ryland +himself, felt a chill of apprehension creep over +her—a chill so vivid as to be almost physical. What +could it mean? It was possible, of course, that Ryland +had given it to the girl himself, but from the way he +had spoken of it—as a possible clue to her identity—that +seemed quite out of the question. A reference to +Miss Gilling confirmed this view; the last purchase had +been made several weeks—possibly two months—ago, +and Ryland had said that he had only met the girl +about a fortnight previously.</p> + +<p>Was Ryland lying, then? The thought sickened +her. That he should lie to her, and at such a time, +would have seemed to Inez impossible had she not +known, only too well, the streaks of baser metal in +Ryland’s alloy—he was weak, if not worse, about both +women and money; might he not also be a liar—a liar +of this calibre? And if a liar, a liar to her, Inez, about +so desperately serious a subject, might he not be even +worse? Inez shuddered again as the thought forced +itself upon her.</p> + +<p>Thanking, though perfunctorily, Mr. Rodney-Phillips +and Miss Gilling for their help, Inez made her way out +into the street. The same chain ran repeatedly through +her head and she had walked as far as the bottom +of St. James’s Street before realizing where she was +going. Having got so far on the way home, she decided +to go straight back and have it out with Ryland—if +he was still at home. But why—the thoughts kept +turning over in her head—why should he have told +her this silly lie? Was it just to put her off? If so, +why again? To gain time? If so, what for? The +thought flashed into her like a stabbing knife—to get +away? To get her out of the way while he made +off?—made off from her, who had practically given her +word as bail to Inspector Poole! It was a terrible +thought; she forced herself to stop thinking till she +could get face to face with the truth.</p> + +<p>To her intense relief, she heard that Ryland was +still in the house—Golpin had seen him go into the +morning-room only a few minutes previously. Inez +walked straight to the door, opened, and shut it firmly +behind her. Ryland was sitting at the writing table, +with several sheets of foolscap, covered with what +appeared to be aimless scribblings, in front of him. Inez +walked across the room and dropped the handkerchief +on the table in front of him.</p> + +<p>“You bought that scent yourself,” she said. “Why +did you tell me the handkerchief belonged to that +girl—Daphne?”</p> + +<p>Ryland looked up in surprise, which deepened when +he saw the cold look on her face and realized the hard +inflection of her voice.</p> + +<p>“Bought it my . . . ?” Ryland picked up the handkerchief +and sniffed it. A frown appeared on his face; +he sniffed again, and then again.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I am a fool. That’s +Julie’s handkerchief. I remember now; I bought her +some of that stuff myself—from Rollinson’s probably. +I quite thought that was Daphne’s scent. I am a fool, +Inez. I’m most awfully sorry to give you all that +trouble for nothing.”</p> + +<p>Inez looked at him with cold contempt; the icy +fingers of doubt and fear were clutching at her heart +again.</p> + +<p>“Do you expect me to believe that?” she asked. “Am +I such a complete fool?”</p> + +<p>“Inez, what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that you’re telling me lies. You couldn’t +have made such a mistake; you deliberately deceived +me. Probably the whole story’s a lie—there is no +Daphne. And if there’s no Daphne. . . .”</p> + +<p>She did not finish the sentence, but stood staring +at Ryland. She saw his face turn slowly white; the +colour seemed literally to drain out of it before her +eyes. His eyes grew large and seemed to sink into his +haggard face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, +but only a hoarse sound came from it. He licked his +parched lips, and a gulp moved the Adam’s apple in his +throat.</p> + +<p>“Inez!” his voice was little more than a whisper, +but the agony in it was unmistakable. He moved his +hand towards her—“you don’t believe . . . ? You +don’t . . . Inez, not <em>you</em>?”</p> + +<p>A look of anguished appeal came into the dark +eyes. Inez felt a quiver of doubt—of hope, almost. +Was it possible that Ryland, her Ryland, could be what, +for a moment, she had thought him? But there can +have been no softening in her face, because Ryland’s +hand dropped to his side; beads of perspiration came +on to his white forehead; the look of appeal changed +to one of bitter determination; without a word he +turned and walked towards the door. Inez watched +him go—for five steps—then:</p> + +<p>“Ry,” she said. “Ry, I don’t mean it! I don’t +believe . . . I can’t . . . Ry, tell me what it means! +Tell me!”</p> + +<p>Ryland stopped and turned slowly towards her. +His lips quivered; suddenly he put his hands to his +face and a deep sob shook him. Inez ran to him +and flung her arms round him—pulled him down to +the sofa beside her, pressing her cheek against his +hair.</p> + +<p>“Ry! Ry!”</p> + +<p>“Oh Inez!” he sobbed. “How could you, how could +you?”</p> + +<p>“Ry, my darling! Ry, don’t! I was a beast—a +swine. Oh, Ry, my darling, forgive me!”</p> + +<p>Ryland lifted his face and looked at her with +deepening wonder in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Inez! You’ve never called me that before! Why +do you call me that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh Ry, you little fool—can’t you see?”</p> + +<p>She looked into his eyes, the delicious smile twitching +at the corner of her mouth, while tears sparkled in her +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Inez—but I was—till yesterday I was your brother!”</p> + +<p>“No, never, never! I’ve always known you weren’t.”</p> + +<p>“And yet . . . ?”</p> + +<p>Inez nodded vigorously, a sob still choking her voice.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and yet . . . and yet. . . . Aren’t I a fool, +Ry?”</p> + +<p>Ryland looked deeply into her lovely face. It was +more than a minute before he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Inez, I’m the most unworthy beast any girl could +love—and especially you. I’m a waster, a liar, a dissolute +rotter, a fool, pretty nearly a thief, pretty nearly +everything—except what, for a minute, I thought you +thought I was. How can you love me?”</p> + +<p>Inez smiled at him calmly.</p> + +<p>“That’s not the point, Ryland. The point is that +I’ve just told you, in the most immodest way, that I +love you—that I’ve always loved you—and you haven’t +said a word about loving me. Do you?”</p> + +<p>The man would have been inhuman who could have +turned his back on the wistful loveliness of her +expression. Ryland shyly took her hands in his.</p> + +<p>“Inez, I’ve only known you about twelve hours—except +as a sister—and being a sister is the most +complete disguise imaginable. I wonder if you’ll believe +me; since last night—since you told me about my not +being your brother—you’ve appeared to me someone +entirely different. I’ve thought about you—I couldn’t +think why. I haven’t consciously thought about you, +but when I was trying to think about something +else—about this horrible muddle—I have found myself +thinking about you. I didn’t know what it was—I +was rather annoyed even. Oh, Inez, what a fool I +am! What a fool I’ve been! I’m simply and absolutely +unworthy of you!”</p> + +<p>Inez rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think you are, Ry,” she said, “at the present +moment. It’s for you to decide whether you want to +stay like that. In the meantime you can just forget +what I’ve told you. Now, what about this +handkerchief?”</p> + +<p>Ryland slowly flushed—a healthier colour than the +ghastly whiteness of ten minutes ago.</p> + +<p>“What I told you was true, Inez. I did make a +mistake.” He grinned feebly. “I believe it was partly +your fault. I told you just now that I kept on +finding myself thinking about you when I wanted to be +thinking about this Daphne business. Good Lord, +doesn’t that seem a ghastly business now—how could +I ever—but I’m not going to talk about that. You +know I’m a fool—you’ve always known I was a fool—and +yet . . . ! Now, I’ve got to show you whether +I’m always going to be one—or not.”</p> + +<p>Inez nodded gravely. There was a minute’s silence, +each deep in thought. Inez was the first one to +break it.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Ry,” she said. “You were very positive +this morning about that handkerchief—you said you +remembered her dropping her handkerchief when she +got out of the car and your bagging it. Now you +say that you made a mistake and that it was one of +Julie Vermont’s. Do you mean that you <em>didn’t</em> pick +up one of Daphne’s handkerchiefs?”</p> + +<p>Ryland looked perplexed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course I did—I know I did—but this can’t +be it.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Inez triumphantly, “where is the one +you did pick up—Daphne’s?”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, Inez—I see what you’re getting at; probably +I’ve still got it somewhere! By Jove, that’s an +idea; I’ll go and hunt for it.”</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet and dashed impetuously out +of the room.</p> + +<p>“Hi, Ry, come back a minute!” called Inez, but the +slamming of the front door told her that he was gone. +The girl smiled happily, almost for the first time since +the trouble had begun; it really seemed as if Ryland +was making an effort at last—and at least she had +destroyed the old false relationship between them, +whatever might come of the new.</p> + +<p>Leaving the morning-room, Inez walked across the +hall to the little room on the other side of the study. +She knocked at the door and, in response to Mangane’s +answer, opened it and walked in. The secretary’s face +brightened as he saw her. He sprang to his feet and +offered her the small arm-chair beside her table.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe I’ve been in here before, Mr. +Mangane,” said Inez—“not since you came. Mr. Dune +always had the window shut—I couldn’t face it—I did +come in once to ask him about something—it was +awful.”</p> + +<p>Mangane laughed.</p> + +<p>“I can promise you fresh air, Miss Fratten—and a +welcome. As I face north, the only sunshine will be +what you bring yourself—that’s terribly old-fashioned +and stilted, isn’t it? But the door does face south, so +even the gloomy Golpin brightens the room a bit +when he comes in.”</p> + +<p>“What you want are some flowers; how rotten of +me not to have thought of it before. I’m so sorry.”</p> + +<p>Inez whisked out of the room and returned in a +minute with two vases of chrysanthemums—yellow and +russet—from her own sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Mangane almost blushed with pleasure and +stammered his thanks.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Mangane,” said Inez, “I want your help. +I believe Inspector Poole has asked you about it +already—I told him to. It’s about those papers that +father was fussing over every night just before he +died. Do you know what they were?”</p> + +<p>“The Victory Finance Company, I expect you mean. +Yes, Poole did ask about them; he’s got them now.”</p> + +<p>Inez’s face brightened.</p> + +<p>“Has he? Then that means that he’s following up +that line!”</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily, I’m afraid, Miss Fratten. He took +all the Company papers he found in your father’s +table, and the Bank papers, and his private accounts. +The Victory Finance just happened to be among them; +he didn’t seem specially interested in them.”</p> + +<p>Inez’s face fell. Then her air of determination +returned. “Then we must follow it ourselves,” she said. +“Can we get those papers back?”</p> + +<p>“I expect so; he said he’d bring them back in a day +or two. We shall have to get Mr. Hessel’s leave.”</p> + +<p>“Oh bother Mr. Hessel; you must get hold of them, +Mr. Mangane. In the meantime, will you talk to +Ryland about them? Explain to him what they +are—you know something about them, I expect?” +Mangane nodded. “Make him understand about them—see +if he can’t find something to take hold of. There +must be a clue somewhere—there simply must. I +know the police think Ryland killed father but of +course he didn’t! Anyone who knows him, knows +that.” (Inez had forgotten her own terrible doubts of +an hour ago.) “I don’t believe it’s got anything to do +with the will. I believe it’s some business enemy. You +don’t know of anyone, do you?”</p> + +<p>Mangane shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t, Miss Fratten. Poole asked me +that.”</p> + +<p>“Then we must hunt for him. I believe those papers +are the key. You understand that sort of thing; you +could see things that we should miss. Oh, I’m +asking you an awful lot! But you will help us, won’t +you?”</p> + +<p>Mangane looked steadily into her eager face.</p> + +<p>“I’d do anything to help you, Miss Fratten,” he said +quietly.</p> + +<p>The front door opened and shut and Ryland’s voice +was heard talking to one of the servants. Inez excused +herself and hurrying out led the way to her own +sitting-room. Ryland’s face was serious; there was +none of the jubilation of the early morning, but he +held out his hand and again there lay in it a woman’s +cambric handkerchief. Inez seized it eagerly and put +it to her nose.</p> + +<p>“Pouf!” she said, dropping it hurriedly. “My aunt, +what stuff!”</p> + +<p>“It is a bit fierce, isn’t it? I rather like it, though.”</p> + +<p>“You would; it’s the sort of stuff men do like.”</p> + +<p>She sniffed the handkerchief again; it gave off a +strong, pungent, almost burnt, odour—much too strong +to be attractive to a woman, and yet clearly possessing +a quality of rather oriental fascination.</p> + +<p>“Hot stuff.”</p> + +<p>“It is, and it’s Daphne’s; I remember it +unmistakably now. Can we trace it, do you think?”</p> + +<p>“We can try. I doubt if it’s Rollinson’s—or any +respectable London perfumers. It’s more likely Paris—a +small shop behind the Opéra; more likely still, it’s +Port Said. But we can try.”</p> + +<p>Ryland held out his hand for it.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Inez. “This is my job; you’d make a mess +of it—men are too bashful to worry shops. You go and +talk to Mangane now; he’s got a job for you—I’ve been +talking to him.”</p> + +<p>Laid on to her new scent, Inez once more set out +upon the trail. Returning to Rollinson’s, she found +Mr. Rodney-Phillips noticeably less accommodating +than upon the occasion of her previous visit. One sniff +of the handkerchief was enough for him; he had never +sold, nor ever would sell such a low-class perfume; he +knew of no establishment (he had no cognizance of +“shops”) which might be likely to deal in it; he wished +her good morning.</p> + +<p>Duhamel Frères were slightly more helpful. They +produced no such article themselves, though they believed +that there was a certain demand in Paris for similar +effects. They were willing to refer the enquiry to +their Paris house if Madam would leave the handkerchief +with them. After a moment’s thought, Inez borrowed +a pair of scissors and snipped a quarter off the +unknown Daphne’s five-inch square of absurdity.</p> + +<p>“Pompadour” was interested. Madame Pompadour, +who ran the business herself, with two good-looking +assistants, knew Inez by name, and was intrigued by +what she had read of the Inquest on Sir Garth’s death; +she was still more intrigued by what Inez, taking one +of her quick decisions (which seldom erred on the side +of discretion) told her. She did not agree with Mr. +Rodney-Phillips that it was a low-grade perfume; on +the contrary, it was in its way a work of art, though +the taste which demanded it might not be high. She +made nothing of the kind herself, but she knew one or +two small undertakings which might have produced +it. She gave Inez, in the first place, two addresses: +“Orient Spices” in North Audley Street and “Mignon” +in Pall Mall Place.</p> + +<p>Inez took the nearest one first. She found “Mignon” +to be a small, dark shop in the celebrated passage which +leads from Pall Mall, nearly opposite Marlborough +House, into King Street. It was faintly lit by electric +candles in peculiar-looking sconces. There was a heavy +reek of exotic perfume, and a very pretty but too +highly coloured houri was in attendance. The girl +looked as if she were more accustomed to being cajoled +by members of the other sex, but she was not proof +against the ingenuous (and ingenious) charm of Inez’s +appeal; she proved, in fact, to be, beneath her rather +spectacular exterior, a very simple and friendly girl, +deriving from no more dashing a locality than Fulham.</p> + +<p>Once more Inez revealed the nature of her quest; +Mignon’s assistant—she answered popularly to the name +of “Mignonette”—was thrilled to the tips of her pink +and pointed finger-nails. She applied the remaining +three-quarters of Daphne’s handkerchief to her pretty +nose and, after one sniff, exclaimed excitedly:</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s our <i>Eau D’Enfer</i>!”</p> + +<p>“What?” cried Inez, eagerly. “You know it?”</p> + +<p>“We make it! Or rather it’s made for +us—exclusively. Fearfully distangy—quite unique.”</p> + +<p>“But could you trace it to anyone particular?”</p> + +<p>“Might; there aren’t so many that buy it. I believe +I can remember most of them that’s had it this year. +D’you want men or women?”</p> + +<p>Inez thought for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Women in the first place,” she said. “It’ll be +almost impossible to trace it through men, unless you +know the woman they were buying it for.”</p> + +<p>Mignonette screwed her face into a pretty frown of +thought.</p> + +<p>“There’s old Lady Harlton—nasty old hag—sixty if +she’s a day—’twouldn’t be her. Then there’s Mrs. van +Doolen—she’s no chicken either—pretty hot stuff +though.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said Inez. “Daphne must be fairly +young.”</p> + +<p>“Well then, there are a couple of actresses—Gillie +Blossom—you know her, of course—and Chick Fiennes” +(she pronounced it Feens) “—she’s at the Duke’s +Cabaret show now, I think.”</p> + +<p>“What’s she like?”</p> + +<p>“Very small—petite, she calls herself—strong +American accent.”</p> + +<p>“No good,” exclaimed Inez impatiently. “Isn’t there +one with dark hair—must be attractive, voice and all.”</p> + +<p>Neither of the girls noticed that the small door at +the back of the shop had opened and that a woman +dressed in black, her large chest draped with a string +of huge artificial pearls, was listening to them. The +proprietess’ face was hard now, but years ago it must +have been beautiful.</p> + +<p>“Nobody dark except Gillie,” said Mignonette.</p> + +<p>“She’s no good—Ry would know her,” said Inez.</p> + +<p>“Well, the only other good-looker I can think of +is . . .”</p> + +<p>“Miss Vassel!”</p> + +<p>Both girls started and turned towards the figure in +the doorway.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by revealing the names of +customers? It is absolutely forbidden.” Turning to +Inez: “I don’t know who you are, Madam, or what you +want, but will you please leave my shop.”</p> + +<p>A glance showed Inez that neither argument nor appeal +would be the slightest use here. She shrugged her +shoulders and turned to the door. As she did so, she +shot a glance at Mignonette and saw that unrepentant +young woman jerk her head as if to indicate “round the +corner.” At the same time she spread out the fingers of +one hand.</p> + +<p>Outside, Inez glanced at her watch; it was ten minutes +to five—the girl’s meaning was obvious. Turning +in the direction that Mignonette’s nodded head indicated, +Inez walked up the passage into King Street and +there waited, looking at the bills outside the St. James’s +Theatre. She had not long to wait; at five minutes +past five Mignonette appeared, in a neat mackintosh and +small black hat.</p> + +<p>“I always come out for a cup of tea at five,” she +said. “We don’t close till eight, so as to catch the +swells going to their clubs. The old woman’s in a +tearing hair.”</p> + +<p>“Come and have some tea with me,” said Inez. In +five minutes they were in Rumpelmayer’s, with an +array of marvellous cakes before them.</p> + +<p>“There is one other,” resumed Mignonette, “but she’s +not dark. She’s jolly good-looking though—scrumptious +figure. Matter of fact I believe she lives +somewhere near me—I’ve got a dig in the Fulham Road and +I’ve seen her walking along it several times in the +morning when I start for work. She’s generally rather +quietly dressed then—looks as if she might be in a job +herself—but I’ve seen her on Sunday mornings too in +a car, looking pretty posh—same chap with her each +time—nice-looking chap, too.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of a car?” asked Inez eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know, I’m afraid. I’m not up in them. But +it’s a two-seater of sorts, one that shuts up if you +like.”</p> + +<p>“But who is she?”</p> + +<p>“Funny thing is I don’t know her name. Whenever +she’s been to us, she’s paid for the stuff and taken it +away.”</p> + +<p>“But could you show her to me?”</p> + +<p>“I should think so; if you like to come down to my +place one morning early we’d look out for her.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will—I’ll come tomorrow. Bother it, +I wish she’d got dark hair.”</p> + +<p>“P’raps she has—sometimes,” said Mignonette +laconically.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI. <br> Reconstruction</h2> + +<p>When Poole reached Scotland Yard on the morning +after his perusal of Sir Garth’s papers, he went straight +to the room of Chief Inspector Barrod. That officer +had just arrived but was quite ready to hear Poole’s +report before going through his own papers. He listened +without interruption while the detective detailed +his various interviews of the previous day and nodded +his approval of the <i>résumé</i> of the evidence which Poole +had compiled and now laid before him.</p> + +<p>“What’s your conclusion?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t formed one yet, sir, though I have got +an idea. My great difficulty is to see how the blow +was struck—in the face of that evidence. Two good +witnesses practically swear that no blow was struck in +the scuffle on the steps, and yet it’s impossible to +believe that that was an accident. I’m convinced that +that fellow gave a false account of himself and was +probably disguised. I wondered, sir, whether you +would help me stage a reconstruction of that, to see +whether it really would have been possible to strike +that blow without anyone noticing it. I thought on +the broad staircase leading up to the big hall; we ought +to have the doctor to see that we hit hard enough.”</p> + +<p>Barrod agreed readily enough, but asked for an hour’s +grace to enable him to clear his “in” basket. To fill the +time, Poole walked across to Queen Anne’s Gate and +asked to see Mr. Mangane. He had brought with him +the “Company Board” jackets and explained to the secretary +the conclusions he had so far arrived at. Mangane +confirmed his belief that nothing significant was to be +found in any but the Victory Finance Company file. +Poole opened the latter.</p> + +<p>“Now, sir,” he said. “I’ve decided to ask your help. +I know a little bit about finance generally, but the +details of a finance company like this are rather beyond +me. You probably know something about this already; +perhaps Sir Garth consulted you. I’ve got no +one whom I know better than you to consult. If I +started nosing about in the City myself—cross-questioning +these people—they’d probably shut up like +oysters, and if there’s anything wrong the criminals +would be warned. Anything you did in that way +would come much more naturally. Now, will you +help me? Will you look into this Victory Finance +Company business and see if you can give me a +line?—I can give you an idea or two of my own to work +on perhaps. I expect you want to clear up this business +of Sir Garth’s death as much as most of us; will you +help?”</p> + +<p>A curious expression had come into Mangane’s face +as the detective propounded his request; it ended in a +smile.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be very glad to help you, Inspector,” he said. +“I do know a little about this business. Sir Garth asked +me to make some enquiries himself and I made an +appointment or two for him that I fancy had something +to do with it. I won’t bother you with details now; +I shall be able to give you something more worth +having in a day or two.”</p> + +<p>Thanking Mangane, Poole left the house, without—as +he had secretly hoped—catching a glimpse of Miss +Fratten. Returning to the Yard, he collected Dr. +Vyle (by telephone) and three intelligent plain-clothes +men and having coached the latter in their parts, sent +one of them to fetch Mr. Barrod. Asking the Chief +Inspector to represent Mr. Wagglebow; Dr. Vyle, Mr. +Lossett; and one of the constables, Miss Peake; Poole +set the remaining constables, Rawton and Smith, to +walk side by side down the broad stone staircase, while +he himself waited behind a corner at the top. The +lights were turned out so that only the feeble daylight +lit the stairs. When the two constables were about +half-way down, with Barrod a few steps immediately +behind and Dr. Vyle to their right rear, Poole came +running down after them and, stumbling, bumped +into the left shoulder of Detective Constable Rawton; +as he did so, he swung his closed right fist with a vicious +half-hook into the centre of Rawton’s back. With an +involuntary, but realistic, “Ow!” Rawton staggered +against Smith, who held him up and asked anxiously +what was the matter.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, mate; only a 5.9 in the small o’ me back” +said Rawton ruefully.</p> + +<p>Poole apologized profusely and then made swiftly +off down the stairs and disappeared round a corner to +the left, whilst the third constable, entering with gusto +into his part, came and clucked round the other two in +the manner he considered appropriate to a highly strung +and imaginative female.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” asked Poole, returning, “any possibility +of mistakes?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not; not the way you do it—much too +obvious. You should . . .”</p> + +<p>“You have a shot at it, sir,” said Poole, slightly nettled +at this reception of his best effort. “I’ll take your +place. We’ll do it again.”</p> + +<p>“Could Kelly change with me, sir?” inquired Rawton +anxiously. “He’s a single man; I’ve a wife and kids +dependent on me.”</p> + +<p>Poole laughed.</p> + +<p>“General Post,” he said. “Doctor, will you take the +lady; Kelly you be Sir Garth, and Rawton, you +Lossett.”</p> + +<p>The reconstruction performance was repeated, with +an altered cast. Chief Inspector Barrod stumbled at +a point rather farther behind his victim than Poole +had done, and fell with nearly his full weight against +the back of Kelly’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Christ, I’m killed!” yelled that unfortunate. +“What have ye in y’r fist, Chief?”</p> + +<p>Barrod chuckled delightedly and extracted an ebony +ruler from up his sleeve.</p> + +<p>“That’ll leave a bruise all right—I’ll back mine against +yours, Poole—and I’ll bet you didn’t notice anything +more than the fall.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, your body was between me and his back. +But I don’t think that answered Wagglebow’s +description of the accident.”</p> + +<p>“And I saw the blow, sir, anyhow,” said Rawton. +“I’m sure Lossett, if I’m placed right, couldn’t have +said that he was sure no blow was struck.”</p> + +<p>“I think I should have known he’d been violently +struck, sir,” said Smith, who had taken the part of Mr. +Hessel.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector looked nettled at the reception +of his rendering.</p> + +<p>“All right, have it your own way,” he said. “How +much further does it take us?”</p> + +<p>“If I might bring the doctor along to your room, +sir, and have a talk?” answered Poole. “That’ll do, +you three—many thanks for your help. Kelly if you’re +really hurt you’d better show yourself in the +surgery.”</p> + +<p>“It’s no surgery I’m needing, sir; ’tis a mortuary I’m +for.”</p> + +<p>The man’s half-doleful, half-laughing face restored +even Barrod to good humour.</p> + +<p>“I’ll come and take your last wishes when you’re +ready, Kelly,” he said.</p> + +<p>A minute later the three men were seated at the +Chief Inspector’s table.</p> + +<p>“I fancy it amounts to this, sir,” said Poole. “The +blow wasn’t struck on those steps at all.”</p> + +<p>“And the Peake woman’s evidence?” queried Barrod.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s a looney. No, sir; I don’t understand +what that affair on the steps means—I’m convinced +it has a meaning; but I believe Sir Garth was struck +where he fell.”</p> + +<p>Barrod stared at him in silence for several seconds.</p> + +<p>“Humph!” he said at last.</p> + +<p>“Now look here, doctor,” said Poole, turning to the +surgeon, “how soon after he was struck would you +expect a man in that condition to fall—struck as Sir +Garth was, that is, on the danger spot?”</p> + +<p>“At once.”</p> + +<p>“But he <em>might</em> have walked a certain distance after +being hit?”</p> + +<p>“A few steps perhaps—half a dozen.”</p> + +<p>“But surely you don’t exclude the possibility of his +having walked further—from the Duke of York’s Steps +to the place where he fell?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where he fell. I always assumed that +it was a few paces beyond the Steps—you never told +me anything to make me assume anything else. How +far away did he fall?”</p> + +<p>“Thirty or forty yards.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, impossible! At least—wait a minute. +If the injury to the aneurism was only slight—a very +slight tear or puncture, so that the blood only oozed +out, then he might have walked the distance you +say before collapsing. If it burst on impact, he must +have fallen within half a dozen paces.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t say which kind of injury it was?”</p> + +<p>“Not definitely now. It might have begun with a +small tear and then become larger—it would look like +a burst.”</p> + +<p>Poole stared at him.</p> + +<p>“And what are you driving at, Poole?” asked the +Chief Inspector. “That Hessel himself struck +Fratten?”</p> + +<p>Poole looked at his Chief coolly.</p> + +<p>“That’s jumping a bit far, sir, but we’ve no proof +at the moment that he didn’t—only his own story.”</p> + +<p>“What about that chap at the House of Commons; +didn’t he see Fratten fall?”</p> + +<p>“Smythe? He saw them walking in front of him, +then a car came between them and when it cleared, +Fratten was going down. He saw no blow—at least he +said nothing about one.”</p> + +<p>“On which side of Fratten was Hessel walking?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir. Coming down the Steps, of +course, he was on Fratten’s right.”</p> + +<p>“And probably was here. Find out about that, +Poole, and also whether Hessel is right- or left-handed. +Anyhow I don’t believe it. Hessel said, if I remember +aright, that he had his arm through Fratten’s—Smythe +can probably confirm that; he could hardly have taken +it out and struck him a violent blow without someone +seeing. We’ll assume the linked arms and the +left-handedness for a moment; come on, we’ll try it.”</p> + +<p>The imagined scene was reconstructed. It required +a noticeable effort on Poole’s part to strike the Chief +Inspector in the back; it was hardly credible that such +a thing could have been done, unnoticed—still, there +was no absolute impossibility.</p> + +<p>“Check those points, Poole, and call for witnesses +of the actual fall and death. Everybody’s +concentrated on the accident on the Steps so far.”</p> + +<p>After giving the necessary orders for advertising for +the required witnesses, Poole made his way to the +House of Commons. Mr. Coningsby Smythe kept him +waiting this time, just to indicate his own importance, +but when he did come, was quite definite. He remembered +quite well that the shorter man was on the right. +Furthermore, he was sure that only one car had passed +between them; he did not believe that the shorter man +could have disengaged his arm and struck a blow during +the fraction of time that the obscuring had lasted. +The detective thanked him for his help, cautioned him +not to reveal what he had been asked, and made his +way back to the Yard.</p> + +<p>As he walked, he puzzled his brain as to the best way +to find out about Mr. Hessel’s right- or left-handedness. +It sounded so simple and yet, in fact, with the +restrictions that the circumstances imposed, it was by no +means simple. He could not ask either Hessel himself +or his immediate circle of friends and acquaintances—the +question so obviously implied a terrible +suspicion. If Hessel had been a man who played games, +either now or in the past, it would have been easier, +but it was fairly certain that he was not. It would +be quite easy to find out, by observation, whether he +wrote with his right or left hand, but that would be +no proof (in the event of his writing with his right) +that he was not ambidextrous—many people use one +hand for writing and the other for throwing a cricket +ball. The brilliant detectives of fiction—Holmes, +Poirot, Hanaud (not French, he was too true to life)—would +have devised some ingenious but simple trick by +which the unsuspecting Hessel would have been tested +in both hands simultaneously. As it was Poole could +think of nothing better than to put a plain-clothes +man on to shadow the banker and watch his unconscious +hand action. It was unimaginative, but it might +produce a result.</p> + +<p>Back at the Yard, Poole telephoned through to the +appropriate Divisional police-station and inquired as to +the name and whereabouts of the police constable on +duty in St. James’s Park at the point nearest to the scene +of Sir Garth’s death on that night; he learnt that the +man—P. C. Lolling—was at that moment off duty but +would be back at the station a little before two in +preparation for his next tour. Poole was just +wondering what to do in the meantime when he was +summoned to Chief Inspector Barrod’s room.</p> + +<p>“What’s this young Fratten up to?” the latter asked +as Poole entered.</p> + +<p>Poole’s expression was sufficient answer to the +question.</p> + +<p>“That chap that you put on to watch him, Fallows, +rang up when you were out to say that Fratten had +slipped him—a deliberate slip, he thought it was—the +old back-door trick. What’s his game?”</p> + +<p>“Has he taken anything with him, sir—luggage?”</p> + +<p>“Fallows didn’t know—I asked him that; he’d rung +up directly he realized that Fratten was gone. He’s +gone back to Fratten’s lodgings now to find out about +his kit. You must get on to this, Poole; I don’t mind +telling you that I think you’ve given that young man +too much rope—you haven’t pressed him hard enough. +This business of Hessel’s now; what’s your idea there? +What’s the motive?”</p> + +<p>“Not much at the moment, sir. He’s down for +£5,000 in the will, of course—not much, unless a +man’s desperately in need of money; I’ve no proof that +Hessel is—but then I haven’t been looking for it. I’m +going to now, though. I haven’t been through Sir +Garth’s Fratten’s Bank papers yet; there may be a +suggestion there, though it’s hardly possible that Sir Garth +suspected anything wrong—he seems to have trusted +Hessel completely.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t think much of that line,” said +Barrod. “Hessel could have found a better place than +that to hit Fratten in—St. James’s Park’s a bit public.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly, sir; that’s got to be explained, whoever did +it. But we must remember this—barring his son and +daughter, nobody’s so likely to have known about the +aneurism as his best friend, Hessel.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever ask him if he knew?”</p> + +<p>“No, but I’m going to.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t mind your following that up so long +as you don’t drop young Fratten. If he slips you, +Poole, you’re for it.”</p> + +<p>There was a knock at the door and a constable +came in.</p> + +<p>“Young lady to see Inspector Poole, sir,” he said. +“Name of Fratten.”</p> + +<p>The two seniors exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>“Show her in here,” said Barrod.</p> + +<p>In half a minute, Inez Fratten appeared. Her +cheeks were flushed and her eye sparkled.</p> + +<p>“I’ve foun . . .” she began, but Barrod interrupted +her.</p> + +<p>“Where’s your brother, Miss Fratten?” he asked +abruptly.</p> + +<p>Inez stared at him.</p> + +<p>“My brother?”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, miss; I mean Mr. Ryland +Fratten.”</p> + +<p>“But what do you mean— ‘where is he?’ ”</p> + +<p>“Was he at your house this morning?”</p> + +<p>“No; no, as a matter of fact, he wasn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Or last night?”</p> + +<p>“No, he didn’t come to dinner last night either; as +a matter of fact, I particularly wanted to see him. But +he doesn’t live with me, you know; he’s got lodgings +in Abingdon Street.”</p> + +<p>“He’s done a bolt, Miss Fratten; you’re not asking +me to believe that you don’t know about it.”</p> + +<p>“A bolt! I’m quite certain he hasn’t! What makes +you say he has?”</p> + +<p>Barrod explained.</p> + +<p>“Pooh!” said Inez; “that doesn’t mean he’s bolted, +that simply means he’s fed up with being watched—so +would anyone be. He’ll be at his lodgings +tonight—probably at our house before then. D’you want to +see him?”</p> + +<p>“I want to know where he is. You’d better tell him +not to play that game again, Miss Fratten—if it is a +game; it’ll be landing him in trouble.”</p> + +<p>“It won’t,” said Inez defiantly. “It won’t, for the +simple reason that I’ve found the girl he was with that +evening!”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” exclaimed both men simultaneously.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m pretty sure I have; that’s why I wanted +Ryland—so that he could identify her. But it’s more +than a coincidence that the one clue we’d got has led +straight to the very place I’ve been suspecting.”</p> + +<p>She turned to Poole.</p> + +<p>“Who do you think ‘Daphne’ is, Mr. Poole?—the girl +who threw herself at Ryland’s head and then left him +kicking his heels at the very time and place that would +make things look bad for him—she’s Miss Saverel, +secretary of the Victory Finance Company!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII. <br> This Way and That</h2> + +<p>Inez explained to the two detectives how she had +obtained from Ryland the handkerchief with an unusual +scent which had belonged to Daphne, the mysterious +girl who alone could have confirmed, or at any rate +supported, his alibi. She told of her tracing it to +“Mignon’s” and of how the assistant there had fined +down the likely owners to a single one whom she herself +knew by sight. She told of how she had gone down +the following morning to the girl’s room in the Fulham +Road and how the girl had presently pointed out to her +a young woman, simply but well dressed, who was +walking along the other side of the road. Inez had +followed her to South Kensington Station, and thence +in the Underground to the Monument, from where the +girl had walked to an office in Fenchurch Street. Inez +had not dared to follow her into the building but, after +a discreet interval, had scrutinized the names on the +board and among them found, to her intense excitement, +that of the Victory Finance Company. After a +few minutes’ thought, she had applied to the hall +porter as to whether he knew if a friend of hers, Miss +Tatham (a creature of her imagination) was still +employed with the Victory Finance Company, to which +the porter had replied that so far as he knew the only +young woman employed by the Company was Miss +Saverel, who had only that minute arrived—but she +could obtain further information from the Company +itself—on the fourth floor—he offered her the lift. +Inez had declined his offer, given him a shilling and +departed. She had herself tried to find Ryland but, +failing to do so, had come in to Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>“What’s all this about a Victory Finance Company?” +asked Barrod. “Why should you have got your eye on +them, Miss Fratten?”</p> + +<p>Poole explained the connection and told the Chief +Inspector briefly of his own examination of Sir Garth’s +file connected with it and of the enquiries that +Mangane was making for him. After some further discussion +it was arranged that Poole should meet Miss Fratten +at the Monument Station at half-past five that +evening and that together they should trail Miss Saverel +to her home, after which the detective would consider +whether to question her. If Ryland Fratten could be +found in the meantime, he was to be brought along, +in order to identify his “Daphne.” As soon as Inez +had gone, Barrod turned to his subordinate.</p> + +<p>“Who’s this Mangane?” he said. “Why’s he doing +your work for you?”</p> + +<p>Poole flushed at the curtness of the enquiry.</p> + +<p>“He’s doing something for me that I couldn’t do +nearly so well myself. I can trust him, I know; we +were at . . . I knew him well before I joined the +Force.”</p> + +<p>“That’s no reason for trusting anyone,” said Barrod. +“Take a word of advice from me, young man, and +don’t call in any gifted amateurs—you’ll get let down +one of these days if you do.”</p> + +<p>Feeling considerably nettled at the two rebukes he +had had from his superior that morning, Poole made +his way out into Whitehall. Owing to Miss Fratten’s +visit, he had missed his rendezvous with P. C. Lolling +at the police station, but the sergeant in charge had +told him over the telephone whereabouts the constable +was likely to be found; Poole found him, in fact, +talking to the Park-keeper who lodged in the Admiralty +Arch. Having detached the constable from his gossip, +Poole questioned him as to his knowledge of the +tragedy on October 24th. Lolling had seen nothing +of the incident. He had noticed a crowd at the spot +where—he afterwards learnt—Sir Garth had fallen, but +as he approached it, it had dispersed—not, presumably +because of his awful presence but because the body +had at that moment been put into a car and driven +away. He had made a note of the incident in his +note-book, the time being recorded as 6.40 <span class="sc">p. m.</span></p> + +<p>Foiled once more in his attempt to get first-hand +evidence of the death, Poole was about to turn away, +when Lolling volunteered that he knew of somebody +who had seen the accident—the gentleman’s death, that +was. Curiously enough he had been discussing that +very subject with his friend, Mr. Blossom, the +Park-keeper, when the Inspector had come up. Mr. Blossom, +it appeared, had an acquaintance who had actually +seen . . . At this point Poole interrupted to suggest +that Mr. Blossom should be asked to tell his own +tale.</p> + +<p>The Park-keeper had not, fortunately, gone far afield. +He was secretly thrilled at meeting the detective who +had charge of the Fratten case, but the dignity of his +office did not allow him to reveal the fact. It was the +case, he said, that an acquaintance of his, a Mr. +Herbert Tapping, a tuning-fork tester—had actually +witnessed the death of Sir Garth Fratten. He had had an +argument with Mr. Tapping only yesterday, after reading +the account of the Inquest. He, Mr. Blossom, had +advanced the thesis that Sir Garth had been done in +by his companion, the Jewish gentleman, at the place +where he fell, but Tapping had countered this by replying +that he had actually seen Sir Garth fall and that +Mr. Hessel could not have struck him—he was holding +his arm at the time that Sir Garth staggered and fell. +Moreover, Mr. Tapping had gone so far as to state that +nobody else was near enough to strike a blow at that +time; he himself was about the nearest and he was +fifteen yards away. Mr. Tapping’s theory was that the +blow had been struck by the “Admiralty messenger” on +the Duke of York’s Steps, or, alternatively, that +someone had thrown a stone at Sir Garth.</p> + +<p>Poole asked for and obtained the address of Mr. +Herbert Tapping and, thanking Blossom for his help, +made his way towards the Underground Station at St. +James’s Park. As he walked, he turned over in his +mind the baffling problem which this new evidence—if +Mr. Tapping confirmed his friend’s story—only +helped to deepen. Reliable witnesses stated +categorically that Sir Garth had not been struck on +the Steps; now a new witness, possibly reliable, said +that he had not been struck at the spot where he +fell. Where, then, in the name of goodness, had he +been struck?</p> + +<p>Mr. Tapping had suggested a stone; the idea was a +wild one; who could throw a stone so accurately as +to strike the small vital spot in Sir Garth’s back—and +from where had it been thrown? No one had been +seen doing such a thing. Coningsby Smythe, of +course—the House of Commons clerk—had been close behind +but he had—according to his own story, at least—been +separated from Fratten by a passing car. . . . +Poole stopped dead. A passing car! That must have +been within a few feet of Fratten! He had actually +fallen a little distance beyond the carriage way, but he +might have staggered a step or two before falling. +Was it conceivable that he had been struck by +someone in that car?</p> + +<p>Poole’s brain raced as he searched aspect after aspect +of this theory. Another thought struck him: Miss +Peake had said that she had seen Sir Garth’s assailant +on the Steps “leap into a waiting vehicle and drive +away.” Poole remembered the words clearly, though +he had not taken them down; the old-fashioned +“vehicle” had caught his memory. Miss Peake, of course, +was mad—quite useless as a witness—but, if he remembered +rightly, that sentence had not been spoken in the +hysterical outburst, that had shown him how hopeless +she was, but in one of her more lucid moments. He +had thought nothing of it at the time; her hysteria had +discounted everything she had said—and, of course, +she was clearly wrong in saying that the man had struck +Fratten on the Steps—the evidence of Hessel, Lossett, +and Wagglebow, all independent of one another, was +too strong to allow of any doubt on that head.</p> + +<p>Poole decided to take the first opportunity of +testing the car theory; the test might even be made at +the very spot if it were done late enough at night; in +the meantime he would go back and question both P. C. +Lolling and the Park-keeper, Blossom—if Miss Peake’s +story were true and there had been a waiting “vehicle” +somewhere near the Admiralty Arch, one of them +might have seen it.</p> + +<p>There was no difficulty in finding Lolling; he had +not, apparently, moved twenty yards from where +Poole had first found him, and was talking to a mounted +constable; the detective wondered whether conversation +might not be rather a weakness of P. C. Lolling’s. +Lolling himself appeared to be aware that appearances +did not favour him, for he hastened to explain to the +Inspector that he had just been questioning the mounted +constable about the events of 24th October—apparently +the latter’s beat took him occasionally down the Mall. +It had not done so, however, on the evening in question; +he knew nothing of the circumstances of Sir Garth’s +death, nor, in reply to Poole’s enquiry had he seen +anything of a suspicious-looking car “loitering” in the +neighbourhood of the Admiralty Arch. Lolling, to his +infinite regret, was equally unable to help Poole in +his new quest, though he thought it more than likely +that his friend the Park-keeper could. The united +efforts of Poole, Lolling and the mounted constable, +however, failed to reveal the present whereabouts of Mr. +Blossom; after wasting half an hour in fruitless search, +Poole gave it up, directing Lolling to send the +Park-keeper to Scotland Yard as soon as he came off +duty.</p> + +<p>It was now too late to go in search of Mr. Tapping +if he was to keep his rendezvous with Miss Fratten, so +Poole decided to look in at Scotland Yard and refer +his new theory to Chief Inspector Barrod, prior to +taking the Underground from Westminster to the +Monument. Barrod, however, had just gone across to the +Home Office with Sir Leward Marradine, on some diplomatic +case that was worrying the government, so Poole +had to cool his heels for half an hour before starting for +the City.</p> + +<p>The evening rush had already begun when Poole +reached the Monument. The shoals of small fry would +not be released till six o’clock, but at 5.20 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> when +the detective emerged from the “east-bound” platform, +a steady stream of superior clerks, secretaries and +managers, was pouring into the “west-bound” as quickly as +was consonant with their dignity.</p> + +<p>To Poole’s surprise, Inez Fratten was already waiting +for him. Dressed in a dark mackintosh—there had been +intermittent drizzle all day—and a small black hat, the +detective did not at first recognize her as she stood, +meekly waiting, in a corner just out of the rush of +passengers. Her smile of welcome sent a thrill of pleasure +through him and seemed to brighten up the drab +surroundings of the east-end station.</p> + +<p>“You’re very punctual, Miss Fratten,” said Poole. “I +hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”</p> + +<p>“You’re before time,” replied Inez. “I came early +because I suddenly got a qualm that she might get off +at five. She hasn’t been this way, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>Together they made their way upstream towards +Fenchurch Street. A squad of newsboys hurrying out +with the last editions alone seemed to be going in the +same direction as themselves—everyone else was +making for home and supper. Poole thought gloomily of +the amount of work he had in front of him before his +own supper was likely to be eaten; a further sigh escaped +him as he thought of the loneliness of the “home” that +awaited him at the end of the day; he did not often +think of that aspect of his work—its endlessness, its +loneliness; perhaps the presence of the girl at his side +had started a train of thought that had better be +promptly quenched.</p> + +<p>A glance at Inez showed him that she had no such +thoughts; her eyes were alive with interest as she scanned +each approaching female face; so far as she was +concerned, the hunt was up and the thrill of it had thrust +into the background the sadness of her loss and the +anxiety of her “brother’s” position.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Ald House, the two hunters took up a +position outside, and to one side of, the entrance. To +avoid an appearance of watching they had arranged +to stand as if in conversation, Poole with his back to +the entrance and Inez Fratten, half-hidden by him, +facing it; in this way she would be able to see +everyone who came out and her own presence would be +unlikely to attract the attention of their quarry. For +a time they actually did converse, Poole doing most +of the talking—about plays, books, politics, +football—any subject that came into his head—while Inez +answered in monosyllables and kept her gaze steadily +fixed upon the entrance. After half an hour of it, +however, even Poole’s eloquence—inspired as it was +by the happy necessity of gazing into those enchanting +eyes—began to dry up. Fortunately the six o’clock +rush made their presence less conspicuous than it had +been, and for another quarter of an hour Poole did +little more than look at Inez while she kept her +unwavering eyes focussed on the doorway through which +“Daphne” must come.</p> + +<p>By 6.15 the stream had begun to thin; only an +occasional junior clerk or typist hurried eagerly from +office or counting-house towards bus or train, buttoning +up coat collars or huddling under umbrellas as the +gusts of rain swept down upon them. It was none +too pleasant standing in the open street; besides, now +that it was emptying, their continued conversation had +an air that lacked conviction.</p> + +<p>They discussed their course of action. They might +move into the entrance and watch from some dark corner, +or—now that there was no crowd to obscure the line +of vision—they might take up a position further from +the spot they had to watch. On the other hand their +quarry’s continued failure to appear suggested that +she might after all have left earlier in the day and they +be wasting their time by further waiting. They had +reached the point of discussing the possibilities of +enquiry when footsteps coming out of the entrance hall +of Ald House caught their ear. Instantly they resumed +their former attitudes; Poole with his eyes fixed +upon Inez’ so that he could read hope or disappointment +in their expression. He had not long to wait; he +heard the two quicker steps of someone taking the two +stone steps from Ald House on to the pavement and on +the instant a look of astonishment flashed into the girl’s +eyes. He heard her quick gasp of surprise and then the +steps passed behind him and he turned his head to look; +a man, of medium height and slightly built, was walking +away from them, his coat collar turned up and his soft +hat pulled low over his eyes. He had not gone ten steps +when he checked, as if hesitating whether to go on or +turn back. As he turned his head back towards the +house he had left the light from a passing lorry fell upon +his face; it was Ryland Fratten.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII. <br> The Method</h2> + +<p>Whether Fratten recognized him or not, the detective +could not be certain; he did not appear to look at him, +but turned away and walked off at the same pace as +before. Poole gave a quick glance at his companion’s +face and saw that its expression had changed slightly, +from astonishment to puzzlement—there was a slight +frown of thought on Inez’s brow as her eyes followed +Ryland’s retreating form.</p> + +<p>Poole had to think, and decide, quickly. What was +Ryland Fratten doing here? He had said that he did +not know the whereabouts of “Daphne”; Inez Fratten +presumably had not told him—she had said that she +had not seen Ryland since she picked up Daphne’s trail. +Could it be that he was in some way connected with +the Victory Finance Company? If he were, it was most +unlikely that his father had known about it; it was an +uncomfortable thought. Should he himself follow +Ryland now—Ryland, who had slipped the police that +morning? It would mean losing Daphne, for the time +being at any rate—unless Inez Fratten followed her +alone. Poole did not like the idea; if Daphne were +really the dangerous woman that Ryland’s story indicated, +she was capable of playing some desperate trick +on anyone who crossed her path; it was a melodramatic +thought, but not entirely discountable.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Ryland Fratten was nearly out of +sight; Poole was on the point of telling Inez to go +home and himself following Ryland when the girl +seized his arm; at the same instant footsteps in Ald +House again caught his ear. A second later two people, +a man and a woman, came out of the entrance and +turned towards the Monument station; as they passed, +the man glanced casually at Poole and Inez but took +no notice of them.</p> + +<p>“That’s she!” whispered Inez excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Who’s the man?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>The short glance that Poole had got at him had shown +a man of rather more than medium height, well-built +and carrying himself well, with an expression of +strength and a close-cut moustache. The woman he +had not time to observe, except that she was +good-looking. Once again Poole’s mind had to work quickly. +Should he follow these people and let Fratten go? He +would get into trouble if the latter disappeared from +the view of the police, but on the other hand he badly +wanted to know, not only who “Daphne” was and +where she lived, but who her companion was. His +decision was helped by the fact that Ryland was no +longer in sight; he would follow the pair now and +keep his eyes open for Ryland.</p> + +<p>As they followed—at a very discreet distance—Poole +arranged his plan of action with Inez. If, as +seemed likely, Daphne and her friend took the +Underground, Poole would enter the coach on one side of +theirs, Inez that on the other; this would make them +less conspicuous and would double the watch on their +quarry.</p> + +<p>As Poole had expected, the couple they were following +turned down into Monument Station. Poole and +Inez kept in the background and, when a westbound +train appeared, took their seats in separate coaches as +arranged. Through the double glass doors Poole could +get a fair view of Daphne and her friend. The +girl—Poole thought that she might be anything between +twenty-five and thirty—was distinctly pretty. Her +small close-fitting hat concealed her hair but she +certainly gave the impression of being fair. The man +was rather older, with a firm chin and rather +tight-lipped mouth below his clipped moustache; his eyes +were light and his general colouring suggested brown +hair. The pair, sitting close to the central doors of +their coach, seemed to be talking quietly about trivial +matters; they certainly showed no sign of being aware +that they were watched.</p> + +<p>At Cannon Street and Mansion House more belated +workers got in; though the big rush was over the +train was fairly full; there were no strap-hangers, +however, so Poole saw no necessity to get any closer. At +Charing Cross there was a fairly large exodus; this, +with the subsequent oncoming passengers, kept the +detective fully employed in maintaining his watch. The +man and woman, however, remained seated and as the +doors began to slam Poole relaxed his vigilance.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the pair jumped to their feet and, slipping +out of the double doors, hurried towards the exit stairs. +Poole leaped up and dashed for his own door; as ill-luck +would have it some railway official was in the act of +closing it and Poole had to exert all his strength to force +it open. Even then the man tried to push him back, +shouting angrily to him to keep his seat; with a great +effort Poole forced his way out on to the platform; +the train had by that time gathered speed and the +detective fell heavily to his hands and knees. More +railwaymen gathered round him and his first opponent +seized him angrily by the arm and shouted excitedly +about “assault.”</p> + +<p>Poole saw that he might be seriously delayed if he +stopped to explain. With a sudden wrench he burst +his way clear and dashed up the stairs, followed by the +loud shouts of the officials. The ticket collector at the +top tried to bar his way, but the detective dodged past +him and made for the entrance. By the time he got +out the other passengers had dispersed, though there +were plenty of people about; there was no sign of +Daphne and her companion, but a taxi was disappearing +past the Playhouse and Poole felt convinced that his +quarry were in it. Not another cab was within sight +and before he had time to go in search of one or to +make enquiries a couple of railroad porters had seized +him and pulled him back into the entrance hall, where +they were soon joined by the stationmaster and the +angry victim of his assault.</p> + +<p>Poole had no difficulty in explaining what had +occurred and his ample apologies soon elicited the +sympathy and help of his former pursuers. Exhaustive +enquiries established the probable identity of the +taxi—which had been noticed waiting for fares—and, after +taking its number, and the name of its driver (an +habitué of the station rank) Poole started to walk back +to Scotland Yard. Inez Fratten had not appeared and +it was clear that the sudden move of the quarry had +been too quick for her; she would probably get out at +Westminster or St. James’s Park and go either to +Scotland Yard or to her own home—there was no point in +Poole’s searching for her.</p> + +<p>The detective felt thoroughly displeased with himself; +he had got a sight of two, if not three, people +whose whereabouts ought to be known to the police +and he had allowed all three to escape him; following +his double rebuke from Barrod earlier in the day this, +unless it could be quickly remedied—he was too honest +a man to conceal it—would be serious for him.</p> + +<p>Having decided to make a clean breast of his failure +to his superior, Poole was none the less sensibly +relieved to discover that Chief Inspector Barrod had +already gone home; something might be done during the +remainder of the evening to restore the situation. In +the first place, he set in motion machinery to trace +the taxi which had just picked up Miss Saverel and +her friend at Charing Cross Underground Station—a +very simple matter in view of his probable knowledge +of the driver’s identity. He found plenty else to keep +him busy. The plain-clothes man he had put on to +watch Hessel had returned; Poole sent for him and +learnt that the man had established beyond reasonable +doubt that the banker was right-handed; he had seen +Hessel use his right hand to blow his nose, use his +latch-key, light a match, carry an umbrella—more +important still, change the umbrella into his left hand +in order to use his right for picking up a fallen +handbag; he had not seen him use his left hand for any +active purpose. It was not conclusive evidence, but it +was convincing.</p> + +<p>Following on the heels of the plain-clothes man came +the Park-keeper, Blossom. P. C. Lolling had told him +to report to Inspector Poole at Scotland Yard as soon +as he came off duty, and though he doubted whether +he was under any obligation to do so, Blossom was too +deeply interested in the case to stand on his dignity. +Poole explained to him something—not all—of his +theory of a waiting motor-car and was at once rewarded +by a definite response.</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, I saw the very car!” exclaimed the +Park-keeper excitedly. “A two-seater it was—Cowpay I +think they call them—the sort that shuts up like a +closed car but opens down when you wants ’em to. It +was standin’ there near the arch—about opposite the +Royal Marines’ statue I should say—for quite a time +that evening. There was a girl in it—couldn’t see much +of her, ’cause she’d got a newspaper up in front of +her as she made out to be readin’. She wasn’t readin’ +it all the time though, ’cause I saw her watching up the +Mall—towards the Duke’s Steps, now I come to think +of it—as if she was waitin’ for someone—her young +man I took it to be. I didn’t see him come, nor I +didn’t see her move off—more’s the pity—but I know +she was there soon after six, ’cause I saw her when I +come out from my tea, and I knew she was there for +some time ’cause I didn’t go into the Park at once but +stayed talkin’ to a friend or two—that was how I +come to notice that she was watchin’ for someone. +She was gone at seven when I come back that way +again.”</p> + +<p>Poole was deeply stirred by this information; it fitted +in so exactly with the theory that he had begun to +form. He tried his utmost to get a description of the +girl but Blossom could only say that she seemed youngish +and didn’t wear spectacles; he asked for the number +of the car: Blossom had not noticed it, though he +had noticed the type of body; he couldn’t even give +the make, though it wasn’t a Rolls, a Daimler, or an +original Ford—the only makes he could recognize. It +was desperately tantalizing, but even without +identification or exact descriptions the information was of +great value.</p> + +<p>Having got so far, Poole felt that the time had come +for another reconstruction. He was so eager to make +it that he decided not to wait till the small hours +of the night but to take advantage of the quiet period +between the ingoing and outcoming of the theatres. +Chief Inspector Barrod would not, of course, be +present—Poole did not feel inclined to face the unpopularity +of recalling his superior officer from his evening’s +recreation—but Barrod’s presence, though helpful, was +also rather damping. Discovering that neither +Detective-Constable Rawton nor his Irish mate had yet gone +off duty, Poole arranged for them to report to him at +half-past nine; he also secured the services of a closed +police car. Having made these preparations he took +himself off to the nearest restaurant for a little +supper.</p> + +<p>During his meal, the detective studiously switched +his mind off his problem—thought was bad for +digestion—and read the evening paper, but over a cup of +coffee and a pipe he allowed it to return to the +absorbing subject. One point in particular worried +him—the identity of the girl in the waiting car. The +obvious inference was that she was the “Daphne” who +had lured Ryland Fratten into a compromising situation +and left him there to incur inevitable suspicion—the +“Daphne” who, according to Inez Fratten, was +Miss Saverel, secretary of the Victory Finance +Company. It was a tempting theory—so tempting and so +obvious as to make him mistrust it.</p> + +<p>The thought that worried him was that the whole +theory of this girl—her incarnation as Daphne and +her identity as Miss Saverel—depended so far upon the +evidence of the two Frattens—the two people (Poole +hated himself for the thought) who really benefited +by the death of Sir Garth. It was true that he had +himself seen a reputed Miss Saverel this evening and +that she and her companion had behaved in a highly +suspicious manner by giving him the slip at Charing +Cross. But, now that he came to analyse it, their conduct +was not necessarily suspicious—it was only so if she +were the girl the Frattens said she was; there might be +a perfectly natural and simple explanation of their +action—a forgotten appointment—a sudden change of +mind.</p> + +<p>The girl in the waiting car: was it conceivable—a +horrible thought—that she was Inez Fratten herself? +Poole realized that he had no knowledge of her +whereabouts that evening; he only knew that when her +father’s dead body was brought back to the house she +was “out.” He made a note to look into the matter—an +odious duty but a duty that must be done—and +then, shaking the matter from his mind, walked back +to Scotland Yard. He found that the Charing Cross +taxi-driver had already been traced. The man could +give no clear information about his fare; he only +knew that a lady and gentleman had engaged him at +Charing Cross and paid him off at Piccadilly +Circus—a dead end.</p> + +<p>Soon after half-past nine the police car pulled up +close to the Marines South African Memorial, a hundred +yards or so west of the Admiralty Arch, and the +experimental party emerged. Poole had brought Sergeant +Gower with him to act as a witness and he now +directed Detective-Constables Kelly and Rawton to +walk slowly arm-in-arm from the Duke’s Steps across +the Mall, passing over the “island” on their way. +Sergeant Gower was to follow them at about twenty paces +distance, representing Mr. Coningsby Smythe, and +Poole himself, armed with a walking stick with a +rubber ferrule, took up his post in the car.</p> + +<p>From where he sat, nearly a hundred yards away +from the Duke’s Steps, it was only with difficulty that +he could make out the figures of the two detectives; it +might be darker now than it was at 6.30 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> on the +24th October, but Poole doubted whether the visibility +was much worse, especially as there were no other +foot-passengers about to distract the eye.</p> + +<p>He could just see them as they approached the Mall +and at what he considered the appropriate moment, he +gave an order to the driver of his car. Acting under +previous directions, the man drove slowly to the point +where the two detectives were crossing and, as they +left the island, pulled in as close behind them as he +could, without obviously checking speed or altering +direction. As the car passed behind them Poole leant out +of the left-hand window and jabbed fiercely at Rawton’s +back with his stick. The point of it just reached +Rawton, brushing against his right shoulder—Poole +cursed himself for his bad aim.</p> + +<p>“Pull up, Frinton,” he said. “You’ll have to get closer +than that—I only just reached him—no force in the +blow at all.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t think I can get much closer, sir, without +hitting them. You see, my bonnet’s got to clear them +first and by the time the window’s behind them they +must have taken at least another pace. Any closer +would have made them think they were going to be run +over and they’d have skipped.”</p> + +<p>“It was all pretty obvious, Inspector,” said Sergeant +Gower, who had come up. “I can’t believe the gentleman +I’m supposed to be impersonating wouldn’t have +noticed something odd. The car was going much +slower than is natural—unless there’s traffic to check +it, which I gather there wasn’t—and even so I thought +it would run into them. Seems to me Frinton drove +very well and that even so it was obvious.”</p> + +<p>“And even so I didn’t hit Rawton,” added Poole, +frowning. “I may have to get hold of Smythe and +find out if he remembers anything definite about the +pace of the car. Meantime, we’ll try it again. Gower, +you get in the car; go a shade faster, Frinton, and +see if you can get any nearer. I’ll watch.”</p> + +<p>The reconstruction was repeated; Frinton drove faster +and with great skill, missing the two detectives so +narrowly that Sergeant Gower, leaning well out of the +window, was able to reach Rawton with the point of the +stick; the blow, however, was a glancing one, and did +not hurt him.</p> + +<p>“Bad shot, I’m afraid, sir,” said the sergeant, getting +out of the car. “It isn’t easy to make a good one at +that pace.”</p> + +<p>“I thought he was going to knock us over,” said +Rawton. “Made me jump it would, if I hadn’t known +Frinton.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, an’ I saw the Sairgint from the corner of me +oye,” interrupted Kelly. “Lanin’ that far out av the +car y’r little man was bound to shpot him.”</p> + +<p>“Hessel was, you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Ay, him.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be Hessel this time then,” said Poole. “Repeat.”</p> + +<p>There was no doubt about it. With the car coming +so close and Sergeant Gower leaning out to strike, Poole, +in the part of Hessel, could not have failed to notice +what had happened.</p> + +<p>“Can Hessel be in it?” muttered Poole.</p> + +<p>“Could he not have thrown a shtone, now?” asked +Kelly. “That would let the car be further off and the +man not so visible.”</p> + +<p>“We can try it,” said Poole. “But it’ll be harder +than ever to make a good shot. What shall we throw?”</p> + +<p>“Not a stone, sir, please,” begged Rawton. “You +<em>might</em> make a good shot by mistake.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody’s got a tennis ball, I suppose?” queried +Poole.</p> + +<p>Nobody had.</p> + +<p>“Would this do, guv’nor?”</p> + +<p>A small crowd, consisting of P. C. Lolling’s relief +and a City of Westminster street scavenger had by this +time collected. Poole had not noticed the latter till +he spoke. The man was holding in the palm of his +hand what looked like a long, rounded stone, shaped +rather like a shot-gun cartridge, but shorter. Poole +picked it out of the man’s hand and found that it was +made of rubber but was distinctly heavy; close +inspection proved that it had a metal core, to one end of +which was attached a very short fragment of thin +cord.</p> + +<p>“What on earth’s this?” asked Poole.</p> + +<p>“It’s something I picked out of that very grating, +sir. It’s my job to clear them and I often find things +that have fallen through,” replied the man. “I was +puzzled to know what it was and I kept it in my pocket +in case anyone came along and asked about it.”</p> + +<p>“You found it here? When, man, when?”</p> + +<p>“Matter of a fortnight ago, sir. The night after that +poor gentleman died.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch19"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX. <br> The Ethiopian and General Development Company</h2> + +<p>“Good God; it’s a bullet—a rubber bullet!”</p> + +<p>“Weighted with lead!”</p> + +<p>“Phwat’ll the shtring be for?”</p> + +<p>“What gun’ll fire a thing like that—look at the size +of it—it’s bigger than a twelve-bore!”</p> + +<p>“How could that kill a man?”</p> + +<p>“Bust his artery, they said.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a fact.”</p> + +<p>“A bloody shame it is.”</p> + +<p>“Bloody clever I call it.”</p> + +<p>The burst of excited comments, by no means separate +and consecutive, that followed the scavenger’s +revelation was checked by Poole.</p> + +<p>“That’ll do,” he said. “We don’t want all London +here. I’ll do the talking about this—and the +thinking.”</p> + +<p>Poole sent the police-car, with Detective-Constables +Kelley and Rawton in it, back to Scotland Yard, +keeping Sergeant Gower with him. He questioned the +scavenger, whose name was Glant, closely on the +subject of his discovery. The man was positive that he +had found the bullet in the sump below the grating +close to where they stood,—under the curb exactly +between the island and the spot where Sir Garth fell. +The grating had an unusually open mesh and the +bullet—Poole tested the point—could just drop through. +Glant fixed the date clearly enough by the excitement +of having a death practically on his beat; he had not +connected the two in the sense of cause and effect but +merely as the one fixing the date of the other.</p> + +<p>Poole turned the matter over quickly in his mind. +He felt pretty sure that this was the explanation of how +the murder had been committed. Somebody who knew +about the aneurism and realized the nature of the blow +that could cause it to burst without penetrating, or +even abrazing the skin, had devised this missile for the +purpose. What weapon could throw such a missile? +A shot-gun was out of the question—the explosion must +have been heard; an air-rifle was probably precluded +by the size of the bore; a catapult? Probably something +of that kind; for a moment its exact nature was +not of vital importance.</p> + +<p>What did the tag of cord imply? Probably that the +bullet—a significant object if found near the spot—had +been attached to a cord which could be used for +pulling it back into the car after the shot was fired. +The bullet had evidently fallen on to the grating and +dropped through the bars, the cord breaking when the +strain came. In that case, surely the murderer would +have come back to look for and, if possible, remove such +a dangerous clue. Poole turned to the scavenger.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t see anyone search around here, I +suppose,” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say I did, sir.”</p> + +<p>The police-constable—Lolling’s relief—who had been +standing silently by all this time, except when he moved +on two passers-by whose curiosity had been aroused by +the unusual group, now cleared his throat and made +his first contribution to the discussion.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t say but what I’d seen the chap myself, +sir,” he said, with ponderous gravity.</p> + +<p>Poole looked at him questioningly. The constable +continued at his own pace.</p> + +<p>“I was on duty here on the night in question, sir. +I relieved Police-Constable Lolling at about 8 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> +and he informed me of the incident” (he accented the second +syllable). “I took no great note of what appeared +to be a death from natural causes. Soon after I came on +duty I noticed a bloke—a person, sir—a male person, +dressed like a tramp he was—shuffling along down the +gutter and looking about him—scavenging cigarette-ends, +I took it to be. I was standing not far from here +and he didn’t hang about. About an hour later I was +not far away—under those trees to be exact—there was +a slight drizzle—when I saw the same party come back. +He hung about here a bit this time and as I don’t +like that sort of party hanging about on my beat, I +passed him on.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say anything?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, sir.”</p> + +<p>“What did he look like?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t really say, sir. Just a tramp.”</p> + +<p>“Had he a moustache—a beard?”</p> + +<p>“There again I couldn’t say, sir, at this distance of +time. He was a dirty sort of bloke—that’s all I could +swear to.”</p> + +<p>Poole could get nothing more definite; he did not try +very hard—it was obvious that the man would be +effectively disguised. Thanking the constable and Glant +for their help and taking a note of the latter’s address, +Poole walked across the Park in the direction of Queen +Anne’s Gate. He was not feeling in the least tired +now and was eager to press closely along the growing +scent; for a time he thought of looking up Mangane, +to see what the latter had discovered about the Victory +Finance Company, but second thoughts told him that +if he were to throw himself into a complicated financial +maze his brain must first have a night’s rest. With +some regret therefore, he took a bus home from +Victoria Street.</p> + +<p>The following morning he reported the progress of +the case fully to Chief Inspector Barrod. The latter +was unexpectedly reasonable about Poole’s failure to +track either Ryland Fratten or Daphne and her +companion—possibly because he could see from Poole’s +manner that the latter had something besides failure to +report. He listened with close attention to the +combination of evidence and experiment which had led up +to the solving of the “method” of the murder—the +waiting car, the woman driver, and the firing of the +heavy rubber bullet from the passing car.</p> + +<p>“It all points one way, Poole,” he said at last. “Or +rather, it points definitely in one direction and +suggestively—and supernumerarily—in a second.”</p> + +<p>Poole looked at him questioningly.</p> + +<p>“Queen Anne’s Gate is the one way—the two Frattens. +And Hessel may or may not have been in it.”</p> + +<p>“And this woman ‘Daphne,’ sir?”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t exist. She’s been forced on to you by the +Frattens—exactly as a conjurer forces a card. Miss +Fratten’s an attractive woman, Poole—I’ve made a +point of having a look at her since the Inquest—she’s +been playing with you. I’m not going to rub it in, +because I think you’ve learnt your lesson. As for the +girl you followed, she was Miss Saverel of course, going +out with a friend—possibly one of her employers. +There’s nothing significant about her—the significant +part was all put up by the Frattens.”</p> + +<p>Poole realized that this reading was for the moment +unanswerable; he did not, at any rate, intend to argue +about it—but he did not believe it. He arranged for +Sergeant Gower to interview Mr. Tapping, whilst he +himself went across to Queen Anne’s Gate to see +Mangane. It was an infernal nuisance that a +Saturday—followed by Sunday—should intervene just when he +was getting on to a hot scent.</p> + +<p>Before seeing the secretary, however, Poole knew +that he must get through a very unpleasant duty. He +asked for Miss Fratten and was shown into her +sitting-room. Inez received him with an eager smile and an +extended hand. Poole felt a treacherous brute as he +took it.</p> + +<p>“Have you see your brother, Miss Fratten?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he had breakfast here. I asked him what he +was doing at that place last night; he got very +stuffy—told me to mind my own business—or words to that +effect—so I did.”</p> + +<p>Poole nodded; he saw no point in discussing Ryland’s +conduct with Miss Fratten—that must be done with +Ryland himself.</p> + +<p>“My man told me he’d come back to his lodgings last +night—I haven’t had a report about this morning. +Apparently he apologized to Fallows for slipping him and +said he might have to do it again. I hope he +won’t—I shall have to double the watch.”</p> + +<p>“Anyhow it proves that he’s not going to bolt,” +said Inez. “If he was, he could have done it +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>Poole laughed.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps”; he said, “but it might have been a trial +run. What I really wanted to see you about was a +piece of routine work that I ought to have done before—as +a matter of fact I’ve been ragged by my chief for +not doing it. In a case of this kind we always ask +everybody closely connected with it for an account of +their movements at the time that—that is in question. +May I have yours?”</p> + +<p>Inez looked at him steadily for some seconds before +speaking.</p> + +<p>“I see,” she said, speaking slowly. “Yes, I think I +understand. I had been to tea with an old governess +down at Putney. I’ll give you her address so that you +can confirm it; I got there a little before five and left +some time after six.” She sat down at her writing +table and scribbled on a piece of paper.</p> + +<p>“Did you go in your car?”</p> + +<p>Inez looked up in surprise.</p> + +<p>“How did you know I’d got a car?”</p> + +<p>“You’d be very exceptional if you hadn’t. Is it a +two-seater?”</p> + +<p>“It is—why?”</p> + +<p>“Coupé?”</p> + +<p>“No, an ordinary touring hood—it’s a 12 Vesper. +I don’t know what you’re getting at, Mr. Poole, +but if you want to see it, it’s in the garage at the +back.”</p> + +<p>There was a troubled look on Inez’s face that made +Poole curse himself as he said good-bye to her. He had +to pull himself up short when he realized where his +feelings for this girl were leading him.</p> + +<p>Mangane greeted him almost eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got something that’ll interest you, old man—er, +Inspector,” he said. “I won’t bother you—unless +you want them—with details of the investigations I +made yesterday—I’ll just give you the gist of them. +Cigarette?”</p> + +<p>Poole pulled out his pipe and lit it, before settling +himself down in a chair at the side of Mangane’s desk with +his note-book before him.</p> + +<p>“There seems to be no doubt,” continued Mangane, +“that the Victory Finance is a sound and genuine +company. It’s a private company, the four directors +holding all the shares between them; Lorne—Major-General +Sir Hunter Lorne—I don’t know whether you’ve heard +of him—is chairman and holds 60% of the shares; old +Lord Resston holds 15%—he’s only a guinea-pig—never +functions; a fellow called Lessingham has 15%, and +another ex-soldier, Wraile, 10%. Wraile was their +managing-director at one time; he gave that up but +kept his seat on the Board. The present manager’s a +different type—head-clerk, really—Blagge, his name is.</p> + +<p>“The Company’s business is partly investment and +partly loan. Their investment list is very sound—I +can’t pick a hole in it; their loans are more +interesting—and much more difficult to follow. I followed up +your suggestions—those loans that Sir Garth had not +ticked. The first one—South Wales Pulverization—is +a simple case of over-capitalization; the Victory +Finance have burnt their fingers over that, I fancy—they’ll +be lucky if they recover their advances without +interest. Sir Garth spotted that quickly enough—that’s +why he queried it—it’s a bad loan, but there’s +nothing shady about it that I can see.</p> + +<p>“The second one is much more interesting—the Nem +Nem Sohar Trust. It’s a Hungarian company—the +name means something like ‘Never, never, it is +unendurable,’ the Hungarian ‘revise the peace-treaty’ +slogan; nominally the Trust is for land development on +a big-property basis—the sort of thing that would appeal +to a true-blue like Lorne; it is that, but it also has +a strongly political flavour—there is actually a clause +in the charter urging the elimination of Jews from the +national and local government posts. I don’t wonder +Sir Garth put a blue pencil through it—I don’t say +it isn’t a good thing politically or sound financially, but +he’d never touch a thing that was so directly tinged +with politics. Whether you think it’s worth looking +closer into or not, I don’t know—that’s for you to say.</p> + +<p>“The third company that he queried—Ethiopian and +General Development—I looked into more thoroughly, +partly because there were no notes about it. I’d rather +like to know why there are no notes. I told you I +knew something about these investigations of his, and +that I’d made some appointments for him; one of them +was with the managing-director of the Ethiopian and +General. Whether he saw him or not, of course I +don’t know—I only made the appointment. I tried to +see him myself today but he was busy and couldn’t see +me—suggested my coming on Tuesday—apparently +they have a Board-meeting on Monday. But I saw one +of the clerks and I got the company’s last report and +schedule of operations from him; I had to buy +them—there must be something rotten about that show or I +shouldn’t have been able to. I read ’em while I had +lunch—I lunched in the City—and talked them over +with a pal I can trust—didn’t let on what I wanted to +know for, of course.</p> + +<p>“That company, my pal told me, used to be +absolutely sound—a genuine development concern—lending +money and buying up properties that looked promising +or that only needed money to make them pay. +But the Board’s getting a bit ancient and a bit +lazy—inclined to leave things pretty well to their +managing-director. According to my friend, this +managing-director is playing a funny game; he hasn’t been there +more than a year or so but in that time the company’s +lost a certain amount of ‘caste’—nothing definitely +wrong, nothing demonstrably shady—but the City +doesn’t trust it any longer.</p> + +<p>“I gathered that there was one particular undertaking +that was thought to be a bit fishy; a mine in Western +Rhodesia that they’d bought from a thing called the +Rotunda Syndicate. Nothing unusual in that, of +course, but apparently the Ethiopian and General hadn’t +sent out their usual mining engineer to report on it, +but employed a local man out there. The explanation +was that it was a very long way inland and a particularly +unhealthy climate; extra expense, delay, the +possibility of the London man crocking up; so the local +man—probably recommended by the Rotunda—was +employed, reported very favourably, and the Ethiopian +and General bought the property. An unusual way of +doing business, to say the least of it.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t had time to go into the terms of the +sale—I’ll try and get at that on Monday—but there’s one +point—two points rather—that will strike you at once. +The Rotunda Syndicate is Lessingham and the new +managing-director of the Ethiopian and General is +Wraile—both directors of the Victory Finance +Company!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch20"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX. <br> The Rotunda Mine</h2> + +<p>Returning to Scotland Yard, Poole reported this new +and significant development to Barrod. The latter +decided that the time was ripe for a reference to Sir +Leward Marradine and together the three men discussed +the situation and decided on the lines which future +investigations should follow. It was now well past +mid-day on Saturday and nothing much could be done in the +way of further enquiries in the City until the week-end +was past. It was clear that both Wraile and +Lessingham—and probably Miss Saverel as well—must now +be directly interrogated, but, apart from the unlikelihood +of finding any of them now, neither Barrod nor +Poole was in favour of approaching them in a +half-hearted manner. It would be much better to complete +the enquiries about the Ethiopian and General +Development Company first and so have something really +definite with which to confront them. Finally it was +decided that Poole should take his week-end off in the +ordinary way, in order that he might return to the +attack on Monday with the full vigour of both mind +and body.</p> + +<p>Poole was by no means sorry for this decision. Since +the previous Friday he had worked unceasingly at this +case, with only the week-end break. He had worked +very long hours and his mind had been at work even +when his body was not. Though far from tired out, he +was conscious of the effort that was required to keep +going at full steam; he would unquestionably be the +better for a rest and he determined to switch his mind +completely off the case until after he had had his +breakfast on Monday morning. It would not be easy, but +it would be worth doing.</p> + +<p>Ever since he had joined the C.I.D., Poole had given +up all forms of outdoor games and sport except golf +and shooting. He had an aunt—his father’s +very-much-younger sister—who lived in the New Forest, +and with her he often stayed a week-end and played +two or three rounds of golf at Brockenhurst. Miss +Joan Poole was the only one of the detective’s family +who thoroughly approved of his choice of a profession. +His father, still practising in Gloucestershire but +leaving an increasing amount of the work to his young +partner, was always glad to see John, but he was not +prepared to put himself out for him—to depart from +his own hobbies or amusements—in order to provide +the pig-headed young fool with suitable recreation. +Joan Poole, on the other hand, was thrilled at the +possession of a nephew who, she was sure, was going to +become a really big man in a really interesting +profession. She loved having him to stay with her and +stretched her none too ample means to the uttermost in +order to keep a few acres of rough shooting for him.</p> + +<p>On Saturday afternoon, therefore, Poole spent the +hour and a half before it got dark in mopping up seven +rabbits, a cock-pheasant and a wholly unexpected +woodcock, with the help—and some hindrance—of his aunt’s +enthusiastic but quite untrained cocker spaniel. After +tea he settled himself into a large arm-chair in front +of the fire and gave himself up to the joy of +uninterrupted and uneducational reading—an hour of Mary +Webb and one of Henry James. A retired Admiral +and his wife came to dinner, cursed the Government +(the sailor, not his lady) drank three glasses of +indifferent port (again, he) and played two rubbers of still +more indifferent bridge—indifferent in the sense of +being unscientific, but eminently amusing—good, talking, +light-hearted games with a veto on post-mortem +discussion.</p> + +<p>Sunday involved a visit to the local church—Joan +Poole was sufficiently an aunt to think it behooved her +to keep an eye on her nephew’s spiritual welfare, and +after an early lunch, twenty-seven holes of rather +high-class golf. Joan, though over forty, was a really +useful performer and it took John, out of practice as he +necessarily was, all his time to give her half a stroke +and a beating. After tea, more Mary Webb and, as a +contrast to the Victorian James, two of Max +Beerbohm’s incomparable “Seven Men.” After supper—everything +cold and deliciously appetizing on the table—John +yielded himself up to the favourite recreation +of his hostess,—a good long gossip—about relations, +politics, books, neighbours, and the prospects of early +promotion. The latter was approaching forbidden +ground but Poole warded off his aunt’s most +disingenuous leads and, much to her disappointment, said +not one word about the Fratten case. As he sped to +London by the 8 <span class="sc">a. m.</span> train on Monday morning, Poole +felt that he had recreated every tissue in both body and +brain and was ready to exert to the utmost the full +powers of both in an attempt to bring his case to a +successful conclusion.</p> + +<p>On arriving at Scotland Yard, the detective found a +message from Mangane to say that he was starting early +for the City and would ring him up at lunch time if +he had anything to report. That meant that Poole +would have a clear morning in which to tidy up a +variety of small points that needed attention.</p> + +<p>In the first place he went round to the House of +Commons and once more extracted Mr. Coningsby Smythe +from his holy places; Mr. Smythe was inclined to mount +his high horse, but Poole quickly brought him to his +senses by telling him that he would shortly be required +to give evidence in a trial for murder, and warning him +that if he put any difficulties in the way of the Crown +(more effective than the “police” with this type of +witness) obtaining the evidence it required, he would find +himself in severe trouble. Having thus prepared the +way he asked Mr. Smythe if he had noticed anything +about the appearance and behaviour of the car that +had obstructed his view of Sir Garth just before the +latter fell. Mr. Smythe stared at Poole in some surprise, +but seeing that he was in earnest bent his brows +in an effort of recollection.</p> + +<p>“I did not really notice the car, Inspector,” he said +at last. “I was watching the men. I should say that +it was certainly a closed car and not a large one; I think +it was dark in colour.”</p> + +<p>“You did not notice whether it was driven by a man +or a woman—or a chauffeur?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Did anything strike you about the way it was +driven—was it slower than was natural on such a road? +Did it go very near the two gentlemen?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smythe shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I didn’t notice anything special—it +certainly wasn’t going very fast.”</p> + +<p>“Would you say it was a saloon, or a coupé, or just +an open car with the hood up?”</p> + +<p>“I should say certainly not the latter; probably it +was a small saloon—but it might have been a coupé. +I couldn’t really be sure.”</p> + +<p>“Could you swear it was not an open car with the +hood up?”</p> + +<p>“Not swear, no—I didn’t notice particularly enough; +but I have a very strong impression that it was not.”</p> + +<p>With that strong impression Poole had to be satisfied; +confirming, as it did, the testimony of the Park-keeper, +Blossom, it seemed to eliminate Inez Fratten’s +open Vesper. While the question was before him Poole +thought he should have a look at the car, so he went +round to Queen Anne’s Gate and, with Inez’s permission, +had it run out of the garage. One glance was +enough; it was a low, distinctly “sporting” model, with +a hood which, when lifted, fitted closely over the head +of the driver. Poole felt sure that Mr. Smythe could +not possibly have gained the impression of a small saloon +or coupé from this little whippet. He heaved a sigh +of relief, thanked the chauffeur and walked away.</p> + +<p>His next visit was to a gunsmith, a man from whom +he bought his own cartridges and whom he knew to be +an expert in his own line. Poole showed him the rubber +bullet and asked him to suggest a weapon that might +have fired it.</p> + +<p>“We had an idea it might be a powerful catapult,” +he said.</p> + +<p>The gunsmith examined it closely, using a magnifying +eye-glass. After nearly three minutes of scrutiny +he removed the glass from his eye and handed it and +the bullet to the detective.</p> + +<p>“It’s not been fired from a rifled barrel; there’s no +characteristic corkscrew grooving. On the other hand, +there is a very faint longitudinal groove—look at it +yourself—all along each side of the bullet. That +suggests some running pressure along each side. I don’t +see how a catapult would do that, but what about a +cross-bow? The half-open barrel of a cross-bow would +allow very slight expansion of the rubber in the upper +half of the bullet; as the bullet lies in the open +barrel, half of it appears above the wood or metal, whilst +the lower half fits into the half barrel and may be ever +so slightly compressed by it. When the bullet is forced +along the barrel this pressure or friction in the bottom +half and lack of it in the top half would be liable to +cause a slight groove to appear all the way down on +each side—like what you see on that bullet. That’s the +solution that occurs to me, Mr. Poole; I should be +interested to know sometime if it fits in with the +facts.”</p> + +<p>On his way back to Scotland Yard, Poole called in at +Dr. Vyle’s house and, showing him the bullet, asked +whether, if fired from something like a cross-bow, it +was capable of inflicting the injury which had caused +Sir Garth’s death and of making just so much mark on +the flesh as subsequent examination had revealed. The +police-surgeon was intensely interested by Poole’s +“exhibit”; he weighed it in his hand, pinched it, struck +it against his own forehead and examined it minutely +through his magnifying glass.</p> + +<p>“It’s the very thing to do the trick,” he said. “It’s +soft enough to spread a bit on impact—that would both +extend the surface of the blow and act as a cushion to +prevent abrasion; it’s heavy enough—thanks to the lead +heart—to burst, or at any rate puncture, the aneurism +if the propelling force was at all strong. A good +catapult or cross-bow would give that, especially at such +close range; it would be pretty nearly silent, except for +a sort of slap, and I should think it throws pretty +straight. There’s no doubt you’ve got the weapon, +inspector.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got the missile, anyhow, doctor, and it won’t +be my fault if I haven’t got the weapon before long. +Thank you.”</p> + +<p>As he entered Scotland Yard, Poole met Sergeant +Gower.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t find that chap Tapping on Saturday, sir,” +said the Sergeant. “He’d gone off to an annual +conference in Manchester the night before—all the +tuning-fork testers in the country meet there every year and +talk about how it’s done—excuse for a dinner and a +‘jolly,’ his wife told me it was really. Anyhow she +didn’t expect him back till late Saturday night—football +match in the afternoon, Arsenal playing the United +up there. I went again this morning and found him +in—didn’t look to me as if he knew the meaning of the +word ‘jolly,’ but you never know. Anyway, he confirmed +what Blossom said all right: Hessel had his arm +through Fratten’s, he was sure—anyway he never hit +him—Tapping swears to that and to there being no +one else near enough to. He thinks somebody threw +something at him.”</p> + +<p>“He’s not far out,” said Poole. “Thank you.”</p> + +<p>At one o’clock Poole was called to the telephone and +found Mangane at the other end. The secretary +reported that he had made a definite advance and now +needed further instructions as to what move was +required. Poole asked him to come straight to Scotland +Yard and attend a conference with the Assistant-Commissioner; +within a quarter of an hour Mangane had +arrived and the two repaired to Sir Leward’s room, +where Barrod was already in attendance.</p> + +<p>Sir Leward greeted Mangane with some reserve. In +the first place, he was not at all keen on the +introduction of amateurs into Scotland Yard investigations—he +proposed to say a word or two to Inspector Poole +on that head when the case was over; secondly, he +still remembered the look on the secretary’s face when +he (Sir Leward) had interrupted the <i>tête-à-tête</i> tea +at Queen Anne’s Gate on the occasion of his visit to +Miss Fratten. The development of friendly relations +with Miss Fratten—to which he had so much looked +forward—had not materialized, in view of the direction +which the investigations instigated by himself had +followed—the suspecting and shadowing of Ryland +Fratten—not a happy introduction to his sister’s good +graces. Mangane, however, appeared quite unconscious +of Sir Leward’s reserve; he was clearly eager to disclose +the fruit of his morning’s enquiries.</p> + +<p>“As I told Inspector Poole on Saturday, sir,” he +began, “although I knew that the Rotunda Syndicate +had sold their property to the Ethiopian and General, +I didn’t know anything about the terms of sale; today +I’ve been able to find out something about that. It +hasn’t been very easy, because the two parties to the +transaction—Lessingham, representing the Rotunda +Syndicate, on the one side, and Wraile, representing the +Ethiopian and General, on the other—are both hostile +to any form of enquiry. I didn’t attempt to get +anything from Lessingham—that Syndicate obviously +wouldn’t give anything away. I managed it at last +by bribing the same E. & G. clerk who sold me the +Company’s schedule—the one I gave you on Saturday. +It cost me £50—the fellow was taking a pretty big +risk—but the normal means of finding out would have +taken days or weeks and I gather that you’re in a +hurry.</p> + +<p>“The terms are tremendously favourable to Lessingham. +I don’t know, of course, how much of a dud this +mine is—it may be a good thing but there’s quite a +possibility that it’s a group of surface veins and nothing +more—but for the amount of prospecting that’s been +done, even if every test had been favourable, the price +is a fancy one. I’ve got a copy of the report on the +mine here; you’ll see that the Rotunda don’t pretend +to have sunk a tremendous lot in exploration—probably +they knew that if they claimed too much for initial +expenditure (that’s being repaid to them in cash by the +E. & G. D.) there would simply <em>have</em> to be a proper +report. All it amounts to is that they have sunk a +few bore holes at wide intervals (no doubt in the most +hopeful spots) and this optimistic report is based on +the assumption, first, that the whole area is as good +as the bore holes show the carefully chosen spots to be +and, secondly, that the ore continues as such to deeper +levels.</p> + +<p>“It’s a report that wouldn’t deceive a sound +Development Company for a minute—not to the extent of +plunging in as the E. & G. are doing. On the strength +of it—and of course at the instigation of Wraile—they +are forming a Company with a capital of £500,000 +divided into £300,000 in 7% preference shares and +£200,000 in 1/– ordinary shares—that is to say 4 +million shares. The Rotunda—Lessingham—in addition +to having all their initial expenditure in prospecting +etc., refunded to them in cash, are to receive as purchase +price half the ordinary shares—2 million—plus an option +on a further million at 5/– per share if exercised +within six months or 10/– per share if exercised within +a year.</p> + +<p>“The public is to subscribe the £300,000 in Preference +Shares, and to get one Ordinary Share (of 1/–) +thrown in as a bonus for each £1 Preference Share +subscribed. The object of the high premium on Lessingham’s +option, of course, is to create an artificial value +for the Ordinary shares—to make the public think +that they are valuable—and so enable Lessingham, with +the propaganda at his disposal through all three +companies—Rotunda, E. & G. and Victory Finance—especially +the latter—to start a market in them at anything +from 5/– to 7/6 a share and so make a large fortune +out of his allotted two million. If he sells at even 5/– +he makes £500,000 on them, and if the market goes +really well he has his option on another million—in +fact he’s in clover.</p> + +<p>“The new company, when it’s floated, will have a +different name, so that it’s more than likely that +Lessingham’s connection with it will not be known to the +public and the Victory Finance Company will be able +to push it without its Chairman, Lorne, realizing +either—unless he’s a much sharper man than I take him to be.</p> + +<p>“What the Ethiopian and General Board was thinking +of to agree to such terms, I can’t think. Wraile +must have got them pretty well under his thumb. I +believe that what weighed very strongly with them was +that Lessingham said that if they gave him favourable +terms he would arrange for the Victory Finance +Company to make them a big loan for the development of +this mine and other properties on easy terms. The +V. F., being a reputable company, would also help to +create a market at a premium on the ordinary shares. +Lessingham has only a 15% share in the Victory Finance +and is using its money for his own purposes. He’s +the real directing brain of the company; he does +genuinely good work for them—makes big profits for +them by his advice—and makes use of the kudos he so +establishes to land them in an undertaking of this +kind. Eventually, of course, both the Ethiopian and +General and the Victory Finance will be liable to smash +over it. By that time Lessingham will have made his +pile and cleared out—and Wraile too, of course. He’s +only got 10 per cent in Victory Finance and 10 per +cent in E. & G. D.—probably both he and Lessingham +will have sold their shares before the smash comes—but +he can afford to lose them altogether if he’s sharing +with Lessingham in this Rotunda swindle. They’re a +pretty couple.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch21"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI. <br> General Meets General</h2> + +<p>On his return to the offices of the Victory Finance +Company on Monday afternoon, Major-Gen. Sir Hunter +Lorne found awaiting him a note brought by a young +man in a neat dark suit. Sir Hunter tore it open and +read it, a frown, first of surprise and then of annoyance, +deepening on his face as he did so.</p> + +<p>“What the devil? Of all the infernal impertinence!” +he exclaimed, then struck the hand-bell sharply. A +junior clerk appeared at the door.</p> + +<p>“That chap who brought this note still here?” he +asked aggressively.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir Hunter.”</p> + +<p>“Send him in here, then. I’ll . . .” Sir Hunter did +not disclose his intentions, but stood gnawing one end +of his handsome grey moustache and glaring at the +door.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he asked, when the messenger appeared +and the clerk had departed. “Are you a +policeman?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. I’m secretary to the Assistant-Commissioner +in charge of the Criminal Investigation +Department.”</p> + +<p>“This chap Marradine?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; Sir Leward Marradine.”</p> + +<p>“What did he want to send you for? Is the unfortunate +taxpayer to fork out £5 a week for men who are +employed as messengers?”</p> + +<p>“I believe Sir Leward thought that you might +dislike having a uniformed officer sent here, sir.”</p> + +<p>“So I should, by Gad! Damned thoughtful of him; +damned thoughtful! Why didn’t he come himself? +What the devil does he want to know? Why should I +be sent for to Scotland Yard like a . . . like a . . .”</p> + +<p>The General, finding no adequate simile, blew out +his cheeks and snorted. The secretary apparently +thought that these questions were rhetorical and +required no answer; at any rate he gave none. After a +moment’s thought, Sir Hunter stumped out of the +Board Room and into the small office shared by the +Manager and Secretary.</p> + +<p>“Captain Wraile coming in this afternoon?” he +enquired.</p> + +<p>Miss Saverel looked up quickly but it was Mr. Blagge +who answered.</p> + +<p>“No sir, he never comes on Mondays; he has a +Board-meeting in the afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter stood irresolute.</p> + +<p>“Anything I can do, sir?” asked Mr. Blagge.</p> + +<p>“No, no; nothing, nothing,” exclaimed the Chairman +testily. “I’ll attend to it myself. Damned <i>embusqué</i>!” +he added irrelevantly as he returned to the +Board Room. Taking his hat, coat, and umbrella, he +stalked out of the room without a word to Sir Leward’s +messenger, but having slammed the door almost in the +latter’s face, presently opened it again.</p> + +<p>“Give you a lift back,” he said gruffly.</p> + +<p>Within a quarter of an hour the irate general was +being ushered into Sir Leward Marradine’s room at +Scotland Yard. The Assistant-Commissioner rose to +greet him.</p> + +<p>“Very good of you to come, Sir Hunter,” he said +suavely. “We haven’t met since . . .”</p> + +<p>“What does all this mean, eh?” broke in Sir Hunter, +ignoring the other’s extended hand. “Pretty thing +when a man in my position—or any respectable citizen +for that matter—can be hauled out of his office to a +police station without rhyme or reason. What’s it +mean, eh?”</p> + +<p>“It was hardly that, Sir Hunter,” replied Marradine, +keeping his temper with some difficulty. “Won’t you +take that chair? As I told you in my note, we are in +need of some information that you can give +us—information respecting a serious crime. I thought that +it would be much less disagreeable for you to come +here than to have an interrogation carried out in your +own office.”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter reluctantly took the proffered seat.</p> + +<p>“Serious crime, eh? What am I supposed to know +about it? Am I supposed to have committed it? +Have you got someone waiting behind a screen to take +down what I say, or a dictaphone, or some such +infernal contraption? What?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter knew perfectly well that none of this +was the case and that he was behaving rather childishly, +but he was irritated by an entirely extraneous consideration. +He was, in sober truth, jealous of the position +of power occupied by Marradine, a man considerably +junior to him in the Army, a man, furthermore, who +had only served for about five minutes in France and +that only in a soft “Q” job. Lorne had never actually +met him but he had heard of him, and he had heard +nothing to his advantage—a precocious young pup (in +his “young officer” days), a pusher, a bloody red-tab, +and finally, a damned <i>embusqué</i>. Sir Hunter would +not in the least have objected to being interrogated by +a proper detective—he merely objected to +Marradine.</p> + +<p>Sir Leward wisely ignored his visitor’s petulance.</p> + +<p>“It is in connection with the death of Sir Garth Fratten +that I want your help,” he said. Lorne pricked up +his ears. “I understand that Sir Garth was about to +join your Board—that is the case, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter was all attention now.</p> + +<p>“That is so, certainly,” he replied. “I invited him to +join us on—let me see—the 8th of October. He came +to see me and talk things over at my office about three +days later. He seemed satisfied by what I was able +to tell him but asked for some reports and schedules and +said he would let me have his decision in a week or two. +I was expecting every day to hear from him, when he +suddenly died—a tragic business, what? A great loss +to the country and to us.” Sir Hunter shook his head +gloomily.</p> + +<p>“Would you mind telling me why you wanted him +to join your Board?”</p> + +<p>“I should have thought that was obvious enough. +Big man in the City, carry great weight, give great +confidence to investors, what?”</p> + +<p>“Then why did your fellow-directors not welcome +his appearance?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter stared.</p> + +<p>“How the devil . . . ? What makes you think they +didn’t?”</p> + +<p>“It is the case that they did not, then?”</p> + +<p>The Chairman shifted uneasily in his chair.</p> + +<p>“Now you mention it,” he said at last, “one of the +Board wasn’t particularly keen on it—thought Sir +Garth might want to run the show—jealousy really, I +put it at.”</p> + +<p>“And that was?”</p> + +<p>“Lessingham. Able man but liked to have his own +way. I don’t doubt that he’d have come round. I +broke it to him rather suddenly. My fault, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“And Captain Wraile?”</p> + +<p>“You seem to know all about us, eh? Wraile was +willing enough.”</p> + +<p>“But Lessingham strongly opposed it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes. I suppose he did. I thought he was +most unreasonable—most ungrateful to me, too—it isn’t +everyone who could get Fratten on to their Board.”</p> + +<p>“Did Lessingham threaten strong measures if you +persisted?”</p> + +<p>“He threatened to resign.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t talk of anything more serious—violence, +for instance?”</p> + +<p>“Violence? Good God, what are you driving at?”</p> + +<p>“Is he the sort of man who might go to extreme +lengths—even to murder—to get what he wants?”</p> + +<p>“Murder? You mean, . . . you mean—that +Inquest—are you suggesting?” . . .</p> + +<p>Sir Leward nodded.</p> + +<p>“There are pointers that way, I’m afraid, Sir Hunter. +Would you think him capable of that?”</p> + +<p>“Lessingham! Murder! Good God! Good God!”</p> + +<p>The General was plainly knocked off his usual balance. +As Marradine did not really need an answer, he +did not press for it.</p> + +<p>“Now I want to ask you some questions about your +Company’s business,” he said. “You do a certain +amount in the way of loans, don’t you?” Sir Hunter +nodded. “Who advises you on that?”</p> + +<p>“We have no advisers; we—the Board, that is—settle +that for ourselves. We all have a certain amount +of experience—except, of course, Resston, who never +turns up—we put our heads together.” He paused for +a moment, frowning, as if in thought. “As a matter +of fact, now I come to think of it, Lessingham generally +has more to say on the subject than Wraile or I—looks +on it as his pigeon, rather, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Not long ago you advanced a large sum—£100,000—to +the Ethiopian and General Development +Company?”</p> + +<p>The Chairman nodded.</p> + +<p>“On what security?”</p> + +<p>“Their notes—the usual thing.”</p> + +<p>“Were you yourself satisfied with that +transaction—and that security?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, certainly. The Ethiopian and General’s a +sound concern—old established business—quite reliable. +As a matter of fact, Wraile—you were speaking +of him just now—a member of our Board—is managing-director +of the Ethiopian and General; left us to go to +them—they offered him very good terms, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“And naturally he was in favour of the loan.”</p> + +<p>“He was, certainly—and I suppose, naturally.”</p> + +<p>“And the loan was suggested by him? Or by +Lessingham?”</p> + +<p>“By Lessingham, I fancy. Wraile supported it and +I agreed.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Sir Hunter; that’s very frank—very +helpful.”</p> + +<p>Marradine was clever enough to see that his visitor +was now nervous and that a little judicious flattery and +sympathy would enlist his willing help.</p> + +<p>“Do you know much about the operations of the +Ethiopian and General?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say I do; they go in, I believe, for the purchase +and development of properties in Africa and elsewhere, +and also for loans to the same sort of concern. +Very profitable business, I believe, but needs great +experience and flair.”</p> + +<p>“Have you ever heard of the Rotunda Syndicate?”</p> + +<p>“Never, so far as I know.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are not aware that your loan was required +for the purchase of a mine from the Rotunda +Syndicate?”</p> + +<p>“I think I remember something about mining property—I +don’t know that I heard the name—didn’t really +affect me.”</p> + +<p>“It would surprise you to hear that the Rotunda +Syndicate is owned by your fellow-director, +Lessingham, and that your money—your loan—has gone +direct into his pocket—in cash and shares?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter’s face turned slowly a deep shade of red; +the flush spread over his forehead, over his ears, and +even down his neck. Marradine saw a small twisted +vein stand out on one side of his forehead and pulse +violently—a bubble or two appeared at the corners +of his mouth. With considerable tact the +Assistant-Commissioner rose from his seat and walked to a +bookcase, from which he pulled a book of reference. When +he returned, Sir Hunter had largely regained his +composure, but his face was dark with anger.</p> + +<p>“You’re suggesting something very dirty, +Marradine,” he said. “Are you sure of this?”</p> + +<p>“Pretty sure, I’m afraid, Sir Hunter, though I +haven’t seen it proved yet. There’s fraud in it, I’m +afraid—though of that I’ve certainly no proof yet. +The suggestion is that the mine’s a dud, that +Lessingham knows it, and that Wraile knows it.”</p> + +<p>“Wraile! Good God, you don’t say he’s in it? +He—I—I’d have trusted him anywhere. I put him into +our company—as manager; I got him allotted +shares—I—I— He was my Brigade Major in France—a damn +good fellow—damn fine soldier. I can’t believe it, +Marradine—you must be mistaken.”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter rose from his chair and paced agitatedly +up and down the room. Marradine waited for him to +calm down.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got worse than that to tell you, I’m afraid,” he +said. “We suspect that Sir Garth Fratten was +murdered to prevent his joining your Board. So far we +have no evidence pointing to either Wraile or +Lessingham; we’ve only just begun to look for it. But we +have evidence that your secretary, Miss Saverel, was +employed to lure young Fratten into such a position +that suspicion would fall on him. What do you know +of her, Sir Hunter?”</p> + +<p>Sir Hunter was past astonishment now, past +indignation, even past anger. He had sunk back into the +comfortable chair beside Sir Leward’s desk and was +staring helplessly at his persecutor.</p> + +<p>“I—I—nothing, really, nothing,” he stammered. +“Wraile engaged her, soon after he came to us as +manager. Charming girl—quiet, respectful, none of your +modern sauce and legs. I—I don’t . . .” His voice +trailed off as he realized that he was feebly repeating +himself.</p> + +<p>“You don’t remember, of course, anything about her +movements, or Wraile’s, or even Lessingham’s, on the +evening Sir Garth was murdered—” Sir Leward +referred to a paper before him. “Thursday 24th, +October, between 6 and 7.”</p> + +<p>Lorne consulted his pocket-diary.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say I do,” he replied gloomily. “I wasn’t at +the office that afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Any particular reason why you weren’t there?”</p> + +<p>“Matter of fact I was at Newbury—took Fernandez +down—that Argentine millionaire, you know. He +was over here floating a loan and we wanted to get in +on it. We thought a little entertaining might do the +trick—as a matter of fact it did—bread cast on the +waters, what—bright idea really . . .” Sir Hunter +suddenly checked himself, then, after a few moments’ +thought, continued slowly: “It was Wraile’s idea.”</p> + +<p>There was silence, both men evidently absorbed in +their thoughts. Marradine was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>“Fratten was murdered in a very curious way, Sir +Hunter,” he said. “You probably read the story which +came out at the Inquest about the accident on the +Duke of York’s Steps?” Sir Hunter nodded. “That +was evidently a plant of some kind—I don’t quite follow +it. He was actually murdered a few minutes later. +He was shot by somebody out of a car as he crossed +the Mall—he was shot by a heavy rubber bullet fired +from something in the nature of a cross-bow.”</p> + +<p>“Cross-bow?” Sir Hunter sat bolt upright. “Why, +why that’s what Wraile used to use in ’15—when he +was my Brigade Major—for throwing grenades and +things at the Huns!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch22"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII. <br> Miss Saverel</h2> + +<p>A few minutes after Sir Hunter Lorne left the offices +of the Victory Finance Company, Inspector Poole +presented himself at the door and asked the junior clerk +who answered his ring to take a note in to the manager. +A minute later he was himself shown into the Board +Room, where Mr. Blagge, a look of mingled dignity and +anxiety on his face, was awaiting him.</p> + +<p>“No trouble I hope, Inspector?” he asked. “Sir +Hunter Lorne, our Chairman, has just gone out—you +have only just missed him.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Blagge,” replied Poole, “it’s you +I want to see—in the first instance. As a matter of +fact, Sir Hunter is himself at Scotland Yard now, +giving certain information to the Assistant-Commissioner—oh, +no,” he added with a smile, as he saw the look +of horror on the manager’s face, “Sir Hunter himself +is not in trouble. The matter, however, is a serious one, +as serious as could well be.” (Poole knew when to be +ponderous.) “It is concerned with the death of Sir +Garth Fratten, who, you are doubtless aware, was on +the point of becoming a member of your Board when +he died—a sudden and violent death.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Blagge’s reaction was exemplary—pale face, +enlarged pupils, twittering fingers.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Blagge,” continued Poole, “it is in your +power to help the police in the execution of their duty; +I need hardly add that should you attempt to hinder +them you will render yourself liable to arrest as an +accessory after the fact.”</p> + +<p>The manager was now ripe for exploitation.</p> + +<p>“You have as active members of your Board, in +addition to your Chairman, a Mr. Travers Lessingham +and a Captain James Wraile?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Blagge assented with a gulp.</p> + +<p>“Now, I want you to tell me in the first place, +anything that you know about the whereabouts of Captain +Wraile and Mr. Lessingham on the late afternoon of +Thursday, October 24th—the afternoon on which Sir +Garth Fratten met his end.” (Poole groaned in spirit +at the expression, but he felt sure that it would be +unction to the soul of Mr. Blagge.)</p> + +<p>The manager, after a deal of head-scratching and +note-book searching, and after being refused leave by +Poole to consult the secretary or other juniors, at last +evolved the information that Mr. Lessingham had not +been to the office that day at all (he had come in late +on the previous afternoon and remained talking to +Captain Wraile after he, Mr. Blagge, had gone) and that +Captain Wraile had been in in the morning but not +at all in the afternoon—Captain Wraile was, the +Inspector might not be aware, managing-director of +the . . . the Inspector was aware and cut him short.</p> + +<p>“And your secretary, Miss Saverel; where was +she?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Blagge looked at him in surprise but, receiving +no explanation of this curious question, did his best to +answer it. Miss Saverel never left the office before six; +Mr. Blagge was certain that she had not done so on any +occasion within the last three months or more. She +occasionally stayed on late to finish some work—she was +not one to rush off directly the hour struck. Whether +she had done so on the day in question he could not +say; she herself might remember, or, if the Inspector +did not wish to question her, then Canting, the +hall-porter, might do so—he was generally about and had +a good memory.</p> + +<p>This was as much as Poole could expect in this +direction, so he switched to another. How regularly did +Captain Wraile and Mr. Lessingham respectively attend +at the office and what were their respective addresses? +This was a comparatively simple matter and Mr. Blagge +answered with more assurance. Captain Wraile came +to the office about three times a week—generally from +about four to five, but occasionally first thing in the +morning. He attended all Board-meetings, which had +been specially arranged so as not to clash with his +own at the Ethiopian and General Development +Company. Sir Hunter, the Chairman, relied a good deal +upon Captain Wraile’s advice and seldom took an +important decision without consulting him. Mr. +Lessingham, on the other hand, came very seldom—often +not for three weeks at a time and then generally only +for an hour or so at the end of the day. Mr. Blagge +believed that he was a gentleman with a good many +irons in the financial fire, but knew very little about +him. He had, in spite of his irregular attendances, +been of great value to the Board, especially in the matter +of loans, for which he had a “flair” that was almost +uncanny.</p> + +<p>“And the addresses?”</p> + +<p>“Captain Wraile lives in the Fulham Road, No. 223A” +(Poole pricked up his ears). “Mr. Lessingham has his +communications sent to the Hotel Antwerp, in Adam +Street—off the Strand, I fancy it is. I don’t know +whether he lives there regularly or only when he’s in +London; I believe, as a matter of fact, that he has a +good deal of business in Brussels and is there as much +as he is in London—if not more. What we send him +doesn’t amount to much—notices and agenda of +Board-meetings and any special business that the Chairman +wants him to attend to. He said he didn’t want—Mr. +Lessingham that is—he didn’t want prospectuses of +every company and flotation that we were interested in +sent after him—if there was anything important we +were to send it—not otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“And when was he in last?”</p> + +<p>“Thursday evening, as a matter of fact, Inspector. +He was here sometime and hadn’t left by the time I +left myself.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Blagge; and now, Miss +Saverel—where does she live?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I really can’t say that—I’ve never had +occasion to enquire.”</p> + +<p>“Can you find it out without asking?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, I can look in the address-book. I’ll do so +at once.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Blagge was only away a few seconds and returned +with a small note-book in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Here it is, you see, Inspector: 94 Bloomsbury Lane, +W.C.”</p> + +<p>“Bloomsbury?”</p> + +<p>Poole quickly smothered his surprise.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I might see the young lady,” he said. “If +you would ask her to come in here I should not have to +keep you from your work any longer.”</p> + +<p>The manager nodded and made his way to the room +next door, which he shared with the secretary.</p> + +<p>“Inspector Poole, of Scotland Yard, wants to see you, +please, Miss Saverel,” he said solemnly.</p> + +<p>The girl looked up quickly. Her fine, arched eyebrows +rose slightly, but no expression, either of alarm +or excitement, appeared on her attractive face. She sat +for a moment, as if in thought, her eyes fixed on the +centre button of Mr. Blagge’s black coat.</p> + +<p>“All right,” she said. “I’ve just got this to get +off—then I’ll go and see him.” She tapped a few bars +on her typewriter, whisked the paper out, scribbled a +signature, folded and placed the letter in an envelope +and addressed it. Rising, she went out into the narrow +passage and opened the door into the clerks’ room.</p> + +<p>“Take that round at once, please, Smithers,” she said, +then closing the door, walked down the short passage +to the Board Room.</p> + +<p>“You want to see me?” she asked lightly.</p> + +<p>Poole found himself admiring the calmness and poise +of this woman, who, if she was what he thought her, +must know herself to be face to face with deadly peril—at +the very least, an appalling ordeal. He could not +be certain that she was the girl Inez Fratten had pointed +out to him on Friday evening and who had slipped him +at Charing Cross. He had not had a close view of +“Daphne,” who, in any case, was wearing a hat and an +overcoat. This girl was certainly of much the same +build, a slim, graceful figure, with short, fair hair and +extremely attractive brown eyes. She was dressed in a +black skirt and grey silk shirt, with a touch of white +at her throat.</p> + +<p>“I have to ask you one or two questions, Miss Saverel,” +he said, “some of them routine questions—in +connection with the death of Sir Garth Fratten. You +perhaps know that Sir Garth was invited by your +Chairman, Sir Hunter Lorne, to join the Board of the +Company; we have reason to believe that that invitation was +not acceptable to every member of the Board; can you +confirm that?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t,” replied Miss Saverel calmly.</p> + +<p>“You mean you don’t know?”</p> + +<p>“How should I?”</p> + +<p>“Surely you must have heard some conversation about +it—the matter must have been discussed in your +presence at one time or another?”</p> + +<p>Miss Saverel shrugged her shoulders but said +nothing.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I must press you for an answer, Miss +Saverel.”</p> + +<p>“You can press as much as you like. Even if I knew +anything I shouldn’t tell you; there is such a thing as +being loyal to your employers.”</p> + +<p>“Not in the eyes of the law, if it involves shielding +criminals. Please think again, Miss Saverel.”</p> + +<p>The girl merely shook her head. Poole could not +help admiring her attitude; whether she was a guilty +party or not she was playing the right game for her +side. He tried a new and more direct attack.</p> + +<p>“Then I must ask you something about yourself. +This is quite a routine question, as a matter of fact—I +have to ask it of everyone even remotely connected +with the case; where were you on the evening of +Thursday 24th October, between six and seven? That is +roughly the time, I should tell you, at which Sir Garth +Fratten was killed.”</p> + +<p>Miss Saverel seemed not in the least disturbed by the +question.</p> + +<p>“I was here till six, anyhow,” she said. “I may have +been here longer. I’ll have a look in my diary—it’s +in the other room—you can come with me if you think +I’m liable to bolt.”</p> + +<p>Poole opened the door for her and watched her go +down the passage and enter the small room next door; +he heard Mr. Blagge speak to her and her reply; +immediately afterwards she came out with a diary in +her hand.</p> + +<p>“October 24th,” she said, turning over the pages. +“October 24th—here it is—oh yes, I was here till +quite late that evening—look.” She showed him the +diary; under the date, October 24th, were written, +in a bold, clear hand, the words: “Captain W. and +Chairman discussed Annual Report <span class="sc">a. m.</span> Typed draft +till 7.”</p> + +<p>“You were here till seven?”</p> + +<p>“I was, for my sins—and no overtime.”</p> + +<p>“Was anyone here with you?”</p> + +<p>“Not after six. Smithers and Varle, the two clerks +leave then. After that I was alone.”</p> + +<p>“Did anyone see you leave?”</p> + +<p>“Canting may have—the hall-porter. He’s generally +about—but he’d hardly remember the day.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody else?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. I’m afraid you’ll have to take my +word for it—or not.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Miss Saverel; now just one thing more. +Would you mind telling me where you live?”</p> + +<p>He took out his note-book as if to compare her answer +with an address in his book. The girl looked at +him keenly, then moved towards the window.</p> + +<p>“It’s dark in here with that blind down,” she said, +“you can hardly see your book.”</p> + +<p>She pulled the blind up the few inches that it had +dropped, then turned back towards him. Poole realized +that she now had her back to the light, whilst he had +it in his eyes, his back to the door into the outer lobby. +He thought, however, that he could still see her face +sufficiently well to make it unnecessary for him to +manœuvre for position.</p> + +<p>“It’s very charming of you to take such an interest +in me,” she said. “I live in Bloomsbury Lane—94; +fashionable neighbourhood—in my grandmother’s +time.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t ever lived in the Fulham Road, have +you?”</p> + +<p>There was the merest fraction of a pause before the +answer came.</p> + +<p>“The Fulham Road? No, never. You must be getting +me mixed up with Captain Wraile, one of the +directors—he lives there.”</p> + +<p>“But you haven’t lived there yourself?”</p> + +<p>“No, I told you I hadn’t.”</p> + +<p>“But you go there sometimes?” persisted Poole.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you being rather offensive?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Please answer my questions; do you ever go to the +Fulham Road?”</p> + +<p>The girl shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I expect I’ve been down it at times—it’s not out of +bounds, is it?”</p> + +<p>“Have you been there lately?”</p> + +<p>“I may have.”</p> + +<p>“Were you there last Friday morning?”</p> + +<p>Poole felt sure that there was a waver in the assurance +of the fine brown eyes that had looked so calmly into +his.</p> + +<p>“I think you’re trying to insinuate something beastly; +I shan’t answer you.”</p> + +<p>“You refuse to answer?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I do; I don’t know what right you have +to ask me that.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will ask you something else; do you drive +a car?”</p> + +<p>Before there was time for a reply, Poole heard the +door of the room close—the door on to the landing. +He turned quickly and saw standing just inside the +room a well-built, soldierly-looking man—the man +whom he had seen on Friday evening leaving this +building in company with the girl whom Inez Fratten had +declared to be “Daphne.”</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Inspector; my name is Wraile,” he +said. “Blagge told me you were here. Miss Saverel +is rather embarrassed by your question about the +Fulham Road; you see, you’ve stumbled on a secret that +we were trying to keep—Miss Saverel is my wife.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch23"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII. <br> The Hotel “Antwerp”</h2> + +<p>“You see how it is, Inspector,” continued Wraile; “when +I first came here as manager I was very hard up indeed. +We had got married just after the War, when everyone +thought they were millionaires and a golden age +was just beginning. You know how all that dream +crashed; we were driven down into two rooms on a +top floor back—pretty desperate. Then I got this job +and saw a chance of getting Miriam one too—she had +been a typist and secretary in a small business before +we married. There was a secretary here—an elderly +and incompetent female whom I couldn’t stand; I +sacked her and put Miriam in her place—but I didn’t +dare say she was my wife—it would have looked too +like a plant. I gave out that she had been recommended +to me by a friend and as she soon showed herself +absolutely efficient no questions were asked. +Obviously she couldn’t give her real address—mine—so +she gave the address of an old nurse who keeps a +boarding-house in Bloomsbury Lane and who forwards any +letters there may be and is generally tactful. There’s +been nothing criminal about it—but it was a secret +that we could hardly let out—having gone so far—and +she naturally was embarrassed by your questions.”</p> + +<p>Poole wondered just how many of those questions +Captain Wraile had heard. He realized now that he had +not heard the door of the Board Room open but only +close—perhaps deliberately closed to catch his +attention just when he had asked that question about the +car. He wondered, too, whether that manœuvring of +Miss Saverel’s had been less to get her back to the light +than to get his to the door. Could she have known +that Wraile was coming in?</p> + +<p>While Wraile had been talking the detective had +been thinking and had come to the decision not to press +his question about the car; it looked very much as if +the Wrailes were on the alert now and if too much +alarmed—that question about the car had perhaps been +too clear an indication of the extent of his knowledge—might +bolt before his case was ready. He could almost +certainly find out about the car by having Wraile +watched.</p> + +<p>“I quite understand, sir,” he said. “I’m sorry to have +upset Mrs. Wraile—I admit that her answers about the +address made me rather suspicious—I happened to know +that she lived in Fulham Road but that the address she +gave here was a Bloomsbury one. I had to have an +explanation—I’m very glad you happened to come in +and give it.”</p> + +<p>Poole thought he saw a lessening of tension in Captain +Wraile’s face; the latter took out a cigarette-case, offered +one to Poole, which was declined, and took one himself. +His first exhalation of a lung-full of smoke certainly +seemed to indicate relief.</p> + +<p>“Now you’re here, sir,” continued Poole, “perhaps I +may ask you one or two questions. I’ve already +explained to Mr. Blagge and Miss Sav—Mrs. Wraile, that +I am here in connection with the death of Sir Garth +Fratten. It has been suggested that the possibility of +Sir Garth joining the Board was not welcomed by some +of the directors; can you tell me about that?”</p> + +<p>Poole noticed that Mrs. Wraile evidently intended to +remain in the room while he interrogated her husband; +in the ordinary course he did not like to question anyone +in the presence of a third person, but in this case he +realized that whatever passed would be discussed by +Wraile and his wife whether she was there or not; he +thought it might even be useful to have her there as he +might intercept some glance between the two that might +be a guide to him. It was even yet possible that their +connection with the case might be an innocent one; their +joint attitude now might give him an indication as to +whether it was or not.</p> + +<p>Wraile had received the detective’s question, first +with surprise and then with a frown of thought.</p> + +<p>“I expect I know what you mean, Inspector,” he +said at last, “but though there was some disagreement +about it I don’t think it amounted to anything at all +significant. I saw the account of the Inquest; I gather +that you think Sir Garth may have been murdered +and that you’re looking about for a motive. There +may have been some lack of enthusiasm about his joining +the Board but it was a molehill that you mustn’t +make a mountain out of.”</p> + +<p>Wraile’s smile was disarming.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether you know our chairman—Sir +Hunter Lorne? A damn good fellow and a fine +soldier, but not brimming over with tact. He threw +this business at us like a bomb—without a word of +warning—said he’d invited Sir Garth to join the +Board and that he’d as good as accepted. Of course +he’d got no right to invite him without our consent—or +at any rate without consulting us—he’s got a majority +of shares so of course he can outvote us. But his +inviting Fratten without consulting us put us in a very +awkward position and he made out he’d done something +wonderful and was only waiting for the applause. +Lessingham was furious and I confess I was a good deal +irritated myself. When I’d had time to think it over +I came to the conclusion that Fratten’s joining the +Board would, on balance, be a good thing; I told Sir +Hunter so. I don’t know whether Lessingham came +to that conclusion or not—I’ve only seen him once +since and we didn’t refer to it then—it was after +Fratten’s death. You’d better ask him yourself if you +want to know.”</p> + +<p>The detective thanked Wraile for his very lucid and +helpful explanation and asked his “routine” question +about his whereabouts on the evening of 24th October. +Wraile looked in his diary and replied that he must have +been at his office—the Ethiopian and General Development +Company’s office—till nearly half-past five as he +had had an appointment with a man named Yardley, +managing-director of Canning, Herrup, at five and +their talk couldn’t have lasted much less than half an +hour—Yardley might be able to confirm that. He had +then gone to his club, the Junior Services, in Pall Mall, +had tea, and had another interview there with a +potential client—Lukescu, the Roumanian company promoter. +He was at the club certainly till seven, if not +half-past, because Lukescu had been late for his +appointment. There should be no difficulty in proving +that because he had been very annoyed about being kept +waiting and had more than once enquired whether the +man had not come. Probably the hall-porter or one +of the waiters would remember something about it.</p> + +<p>Poole made careful notes of this story and tried to +pin Captain Wraile down to more exact time, but the +latter did not appear to take great interest in the +subject and declared himself quite incapable of being more +exact. The detective realized that he must go to the club +and make some very close enquiries—an extremely difficult +task, as clubs are very reticent about the doings +of their members. There was other work nearer at +hand, however, and Poole, taking a respectful leave of +Captain and Mrs. Wraile, made his way down the four +flights of stairs and introduced himself to the +hall-porter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Canting proved to be a man who did the duty +that he was paid for. His employer gave him, he said, +a good wage to be on duty in the hall, or in his cubby-hole +looking into it, or working the lift, between the hours of 9 +<span class="sc">a. m.</span> and 7 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> on week-days, +9 and 1.30 on Saturdays, with reasonable time off for meals. Being +an old soldier (his row of medals—M.M., 1914 star; +British and Allied Victory Medals; Belgian Croix de +Guerre—showed that his had been no hollow service) +he knew his duty and did it. He remembered 24th +October because General Lorne, under whom he had +served and who had got him this job, had given him a +tip for the Ormonde Plate which had come off. The +General always put him on to anything good that +was going and very seldom let him down—if he did he +sometimes gave him something to make up for it—a +proper gentleman he was. On this occasion the General +had said early in the morning he was going to Newbury +and would not be back again that day.</p> + +<p>That same evening, just before he went off duty at 7 +<span class="sc">p. m.</span>, he remembered Miss Saverel, as she went out, +saying something to him about “Blue Diamond” having +won—had chaffed him about his “Turf successes,” as +she called them. A very nice young lady, pleasant but +not familiar—always said good-night to him when she +left. This had been one of her late evenings; about +once a week on an average she stayed for an hour or +two after the others had gone—probably finishing up +some work. In reply to Poole’s enquiry, Canting was +quite sure that she had not left earlier and come back, +as he had been in the hall or his office (as he rather +euphemistically described his cubby-hole) all the +evening—he always was. Oh yes, he sometimes left it to +work the lift—often during the daytime but seldom +in the evening—it was all “down and out,” not “in +and up” then. After 6 he didn’t suppose he worked +that lift once in a blue moon—certainly he hadn’t +within the last month or so. No, there was no back- or +side-door; everyone coming out had to pass him.</p> + +<p>This rather water-tight alibi sounded to the detective +much less genuine than the more loose and casual one +of Captain Wraile; Miss Saverel had so clearly impressed +her late exit upon Canting by referring to a horse whose +victory could be exactly dated by reference to the +sporting press. Poole was prepared to bet that if he +questioned the clerks and Mr. Blagge he would find that +she had also drawn their attention to her presence in the +office at the last possible moment. When he had time +he would get a time-schedule down on paper and see +what her limits—if she was indeed the driver of the +wanted car—must have been; he would then know +exactly what he had got to tackle. In the meantime, +he must get in touch with Lessingham before closing +time.</p> + +<p>There were two obvious ways of doing this; one by +going to the address given him by the Victory Finance +Company—the Hotel Antwerp in Adam Street; the +other by trying the office of the Rotunda Syndicate. +Obviously, Lessingham would not be at his hotel at four +o’clock in the afternoon; he might be at his office. Poole +went to the nearest telephone-box and looked up the +Rotunda Syndicate; it did not figure in the +directory.</p> + +<p>On second thoughts the detective realized that the +Rotunda Syndicate was just the kind of concern (from +what he had heard of it) that would <em>not</em> be in the +Telephone Directory, though it might be on the telephone. +There remained the Ethiopian and General Development +Company, which would certainly have the address, +or its managing-director, Captain Wraile; the latter was +closer at hand but Poole thought he had been disturbed +quite enough for one afternoon.</p> + +<p>To the offices of the Ethiopian and General, therefore, +Poole made his way and, after asking for the +manager—who, of course, was not in—obtained what he +wanted, without too great a strain upon his skill and +veracity, from the head-clerk.</p> + +<p>137A Monument Lane was the address of the Rotunda +Syndicate and, when found, proved to be a tall +and narrow building squeezed between two more imposing +edifices. It also proved to have no lift, and Poole +had the pleasure of climbing six flights of stone +stairs—only to find a locked and unresponsive door at the +top.</p> + +<p>“One man show, for a monkey,” thought Poole.</p> + +<p>Nobody in the building knew anything about Mr. +Lessingham, of the Rotunda Syndicate, but a clerk on +the floor below had occasionally seen a stoutish +middle-aged chap with a stoop mounting to, or descending +from, the top floor. Once or twice, also, he had seen a +girl, who looked as if she might be a typist. Poole +realized that he had stupidly forgotten to ask Mr. Blagge +for a description of Lessingham, but he felt pretty +certain that this must be he.</p> + +<p>There remained the Hotel Antwerp; at least something +could be learnt about Lessingham there, even +though it was not likely to produce a meeting. On +reaching Adam Street, Poole was surprised to find that +the Hotel Antwerp was a small and rather shabby +affair, which seemed hardly the place to provide +congenial accommodation for a financier, even if he were +not a particularly stable one. However, there was no +accounting for taste; possibly Mr. Travers Lessingham +preferred to economize on his bedroom in order to +allow of expansion elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Within a few minutes Poole was closeted in the +manager’s office with Mr. Blertot, himself a citizen of +the no mean city from which his establishment took its +name. This, the detective decided, was a case where +authority, rather than tact, was required. With the +more select hotels and, still more with clubs, it was +inadvisable to display the mailed fist—managers and secretaries, +not to mention hall-porters, in those places, were +extremely jealous of the confidential status of their +clients and members, and needed very gentle handling +if any information was to be obtained. But a small, +second-rate hotel desired above all things to be on good +terms with the police; therefore Poole produced his +official card and corresponding manner.</p> + +<p>“I am, as you see, a police-officer, Mr. Blertot,” he +said “an Inspector in the Criminal Investigation +Department of Scotland Yard. I require some information +about one of your patrons, and I must impress +upon you how serious would be your position if you +withheld information or divulged the fact that you have +been asked for it.”</p> + +<p>“But yes, of course, of course. Anything I can do,” +the manager—and proprietor—hastened to assure him. +“You have but to say how it is that I can serve you, +sir. My hotel, it is absolutely respectable—absolutely. +I hope, I sincerely hope, that nothing has happened +that will bring discredit upon it.”</p> + +<p>Poole ignored the pious—and probably optimistic +hope.</p> + +<p>“The person in question,” he continued, “is Mr. Travers +Lessingham; I understand that he is a permanent, +or at any rate a regular, visitor here.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Blertot looked surprised.</p> + +<p>“A visitor yes, certainly; but a permanent, a regular, +no, not at all.”</p> + +<p>It was Poole’s turn to look surprised.</p> + +<p>“But is he not staying here now?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh no, indeed no,—not for some time. I get you +the Visitors’ Book; it is all in order, most regular.”</p> + +<p>He sprang to his feet, as if eager to prove the immaculate +compliance of his establishment with the laws of +his adopted land; Poole waved him to his seat.</p> + +<p>“Not necessary at the moment,” he said. “I want to +ask you some more questions first. You might ring +for it, though,” he added as an after-thought. “I +certainly was given to understand that this was Mr. +Lessingham’s permanent address; is not that the case?”</p> + +<p>“In a sense, yes, perhaps it is. Letters for him come +here often; we send them on to him. He has an +arrangement with us to do so—for a small consideration. +He lives mostly, Mr. Lessingham, in Brussels, I +understand, but comes over sometimes for business in +London. Then he comes here, to the Hotel Antwerp; we +make him so comfortable, he says. Sometimes he comes, +but not to stay—to fetch any letters, perhaps to lunch +or dine—our <i>cuisine</i> is first-rate. Ah, here is the book!”</p> + +<p>A waiter, who had previously answered the bell, +laid a large and rather soiled black volume upon the +table before his employer. From the book’s appearance +Poole judged that the flow of visitors was not sufficiently +rapid to necessitate its frequent renewal. The manager +ran his finger quickly up and down the names—scrawling, +ill-written signatures for the most part—written +carelessly or in a hurry with the indifferent pen and +worse ink provided by the management.</p> + +<p>“Ah, see, here he is!” exclaimed M. Blertot. “October +11th, almost a month ago. As I say, he is not regular, +not at all. I look back.”</p> + +<p>An exhaustive search through the book revealed the +fact that for the last two years Mr. Lessingham had +visited the hotel at fairly regular intervals of about three +weeks, sometimes more frequently, sometimes less, but +averaging out at three weeks. Sometimes he stayed for +a night only, sometimes two, three, or even four; there +again, the average was something between two and three. +The letters, mostly in typewritten envelopes, +came—also on the average—about twice a week and were at +once forwarded, with the extra stamp, to Mr. Lessingham’s +Brussels address, unless he had notified the management +that he was on the point of visiting the hotel.</p> + +<p>“And the address?” asked Poole.</p> + +<p>“175 Rue des Canetons, Brussels, IV.”</p> + +<p>“And you know of no other address of his in +London?”</p> + +<p>“No, absolutely.”</p> + +<p>Poole made a note of the address, asked the manager +to let him know at once if Lessingham came to +the hotel, and took his departure. What he had just +learnt puzzled him considerably, but it did not +altogether surprise him. According to Mr. Blagge, +Lessingham had been in London the previous afternoon; he +might of course have arrived from Brussels in the +morning and returned the same night, but according to M. +Blertot, when he did that he generally called at the +hotel for letters. According to Mr. Blagge again, +Lessingham’s visits to the Victory Finance office +corresponded—so far as regards intervals—with his visits to +the hotel; it would be a simple matter to check the actual +dates with the list he had noted down from the “Antwerp’s” +Visitors’ Book. That must remain till tomorrow, +however; Poole did not feel inclined to return to +Fenchurch Street that evening. He wanted, before +taking any further action, to get down to pencil and +paper and work out the possibilities of the Wraile +alibi—male and female. When he knew exactly what he +was up against he would know where to begin in his +task of breaking it down.</p> + +<p>As he walked down the Strand towards Whitehall his +mind reverted, by a natural chain of thought, to the +last occasion on which he had been in that romantic +thoroughfare in connection with the case, and so, by a +further step, to the rather melodramatic interview that +he had had with the hump-backed moneylender, Silence. +It struck him that he had allowed that unsavoury +episode to pass too completely into the back of his +mind; could it be that he had deliberately pushed it +there, influenced, as Chief Inspector Barrod had hinted, +by his sympathy for—perhaps, even his attraction +to—Ryland Fratten’s charming “sister”?</p> + +<p>Now, as he walked, he deliberately forced himself +to review the ugly subject again. Silence had told him +that on 17th October, a week before Sir Garth’s death, +Ryland Fratten had borrowed from him £15,000—at +an exorbitant rate of interest—on the sole security of a +note from Sir Horace Spavage saying that Sir Garth’s +expectation of life was very short. The money was +lent for three months only, so that Ryland must have +expected the death within that period. What justification +had he for doing so? Sir Horace Spavage certainly +had put no such limit on his patient’s life, though he +had not been in the least surprised when death had +come to him so suddenly. He determined to try and +see the actual note, or at any rate to get Sir Horace’s +version of what it contained.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he resolved to review Ryland Fratten’s +connection with the case, to keep a closer eye +upon his movements, and to thrust all unprofessional +sympathy out of his mind. He had taken up the trail +of Lessingham and the Wrailes with such keenness +that he had neglected his first objective; it was not +impossible that Ryland might be involved with them.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch24"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV. <br> Alibi</h2> + +<p>The two trails that Poole was now following—excluding, +for the moment, Ryland Fratten—had diverged; +one remained in London, the other led to Belgium—Brussels. +He had to decide which to follow himself and +which to allot to an assistant. His inclination was to +give Lessingham the place of honour, but if he were +to go off to Brussels now he would be out of touch +with events in London—and he had a feeling that events +would soon become more rapid. It was possible, too, +that though Lessingham’s trail led to Brussels, he +himself might still be in London. Poole decided, +therefore, to send Sergeant Gower to the address in the Rue +de Canetons, whilst he himself investigated the alibis +so kindly provided for him by Captain and Mrs. Wraile.</p> + +<p>Returning to Scotland Yard, he sent for Sergeant +Gower and told him to look up the train and air services +to the Belgian capital and to be ready to catch +whatever would get him there quickest. Gower, who had +the reputation of being a walking Bradshaw, replied at +once that there was an 8.30 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> train from Liverpool +Street to Harwich which would get him to Brussels some +time after 9 <span class="sc">a. m.</span> the following morning. As it was not +barely six there would be no difficulty about catching it; +what were his instructions? The question at once +brought Poole to a realization of the difficulty that +confronted him. It was easy enough to say: find +Lessingham; but, if found, what was to be done with him? +It was not, as yet, a question of arrest; when that time +came the Belgian police might have to be called in. It +was rather a question of interrogation and Poole wanted +to do that himself. For the moment, therefore, he +instructed Sergeant Gower to investigate the address; if +possible get in touch with Lessingham, and then telephone +to him, Poole, for further instructions. He gave +certain definite hours at which he would try to be on +the end of the telephone at Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>When Gower had gone, Poole took a sheet of foolscap +and started to work on the Wraile alibis. Assuming +for the moment that Mrs. Wraile was the driver of the +car, and Wraile the man who had first jostled and then +shot Sir Garth, he jotted down the times within which +each of them must have been away from their alibi. +Reviewing all the evidence as to time, it seemed fairly +certain that the accident on the Duke of York’s Steps +had taken place at 6.30 <span class="sc">p. m.</span>, the death a few minutes +later. With that assumption the time-table worked +out as follows:</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wraile must have been in position near the +Admiralty Arch by 6.25 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> at the latest, probably by +6.20 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> In a car, it would take her quite 15 minutes +to get from Ald House to the Admiralty Arch. She +might therefore have left Ald House at 6.5 or 6.10 <span class="sc">p. +m.</span> That was a significant time: it allowed the remainder of +the staff to have left (and supplied her with the first +part of her alibi) before she left herself. As for her +return, she would probably have dropped her husband +somewhere near his alibi (Pall Mall) and driven straight +back to Ald House; getting there any time after 6.45. +Canting, the hall-porter, had said that she left the +building just before he went off duty at 7 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> It was +a close squeeze, but just possible. How she dodged Canting +so as to make him think that was the first time she +left the building that evening, had yet to be shown.</p> + +<p>Now for Captain Wraile. He must have been near +the top of the Duke of York’s Steps by about 6.20 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> +That was, at the most, five minutes’ walk from his club +(The Junior Services in Pall Mall) which he must have +left at 6.15. If, after the shooting of Fratten, Mrs. +Wraile had driven straight up the Mall and turned past +Marlborough House into Pall Mall she could have +dropped her husband near his club by 6.40. Wraile +had, therefore, only to be absent from his club from +6.15 to 6.40 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> It remained for Poole to find out +whether that could have been done.</p> + +<p>Having completed his schedule, the detective looked +at his watch; it was twenty minutes to seven, a +comparatively quiet time at clubs—and the same staff would +probably be on duty as were there at the time of Wraile’s +alibi for 24th October. Poole put on his hat and +coat, walked out into Whitehall, flung himself on to a +53 bus as it gathered way past the Home Office, and +was duly dropped as it swung past the Guards Memorial +in Waterloo Place. From there it was two minutes’ +walk to the Junior Services—at least two minutes to +come off Wraile’s danger-period.</p> + +<p>Poole knew the ways—the excellent ways—of Club +servants; they would give him no information whatever +concerning their members. He therefore asked for +the Secretary and was lucky enough to find him in.</p> + +<p>Captain Voilance had been a Regular in his young +days, had left the army in order to make a living on +which to keep a young and attractive wife, had made +that living working as a super-shopwalker in a big +men’s outfitting store in New York, had thrown up his +job in August 1914 in order to re-join his regiment and +had lost any chance of recovering it by having his face +mutilated by a bomb in the Hohenzollern Redoubt in +1915. Three years of home duty and constant operations +had not sapped his courage, but they had sapped his +capital, for his pretty wife was bitten by the war fever +for restless enjoyment, and when she left him for a +better-looking hero in 1918, Voilance found himself +with about four hundred pounds, a daughter aged +five, and his honourable scars.</p> + +<p>Fortunately for him, those scars did actually—and +exceptionally—profit him in his search for work. The +Committee of The Junior Services, realizing that a +sentimental public draws the line at grotesque horrors, +appointed him Secretary of their club out of an application +list approaching four figures. They got a very +grateful and a very competent servant.</p> + +<p>After the first shock, Poole realized at once that he +was dealing with a man—not a “correct” machine. He +gave Captain Voilance his professional card.</p> + +<p>“I am a Scotland Yard detective, as you can see, sir,” he +said. “I have come here to get information about one +of your members. I know that clubs don’t give +information about their members to detectives—not till +they’re absolutely forced to. It would take me a little +time to put force into action and I don’t want to +do it—I want willing co-operation. I’ll put my cards +on the table.”</p> + +<p>Poole sketched the history of the case, without +mentioning the name of Lessingham or Mrs. Wraile.</p> + +<p>“My point is this, sir,” he concluded. “A particularly +beastly crime has been committed—apart from the +murder, the attempts to incriminate an innocent man +puts the murderer beyond sympathy. I strongly suspect +Captain Wraile of being at least closely connected +with the crime. He has told me a story which puts +him in this club all the time that the murder was being +prepared for and committed. I want you to help me +either to prove or disprove his story. If it is proved, +then he is cleared; if it is definitely disproved, then +there can be no shadow of doubt that he is a murderer +and that the sooner he ceases to be a member of your +club the better for the club. Will you help, sir?”</p> + +<p>Voilance sat for a minute looking blankly at the +calendar in front of him.</p> + +<p>“I know what my own answer is, Inspector,” he +said. “But I’m bound to consult a member of the +Committee if there’s one in the club. If you’ll wait a +minute . . .”</p> + +<p>Within three minutes he was back.</p> + +<p>“Not one of ’em in,” he reported. “General Cannup +was leaving the club as I came down the stairs—I +wasn’t quick enough to catch him.” A shadow of a +smile flickered across the distorted features. “I must +decide for myself. I’ll do what I can to help you. +What’s the first move?”</p> + +<p>“Time of entering and leaving club—do you keep +a check on that?”</p> + +<p>“We do, as far as possible.” Captain Voilance turned +to the house-telephone. “Send me up the entry book +covering 24th October,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Then,” continued Poole, “I want to know what +Captain Wraile was doing while he was in the club—he +says he had tea and that later a visitor came to see +him—a Roumanian gentleman called Lukescu.”</p> + +<p>“Better have the hall-porter up himself.” Captain +Voilance had recourse once more to the house-telephone. +Within half a minute the porter appeared—a well set-up, +handsome man of about fifty, with a fine show of +medals on his livery.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Parlett. This is Inspector Poole, of +Scotland Yard. He’s making some confidential enquiries +about a member—Captain Wraile. I’ve heard all the +facts of the case and decided that the club shall give +Mr. Poole all the information it can; it’s really in +Captain Wraile’s interest. Sit down, Parlett; now, +Inspector, fire away.”</p> + +<p>Poole drew out his note-book.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got the Entry Book there, Mr. Parlett,” he +said. “Can you tell me what time Captain Wraile +entered the club on 24th October?”</p> + +<p>Parlett turned the pages.</p> + +<p>“5.45 <span class="sc">p. m.</span>, sir. Colonel Croope came in at the same +time.”</p> + +<p>“And left?” More pages turned.</p> + +<p>“7.40 <span class="sc">p. m.</span>, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything about him between those +times?”</p> + +<p>Parlett looked blank.</p> + +<p>“It’s three weeks ago, sir. I’m afraid I . . .”</p> + +<p>“I’ll jog your memory; a foreign gentleman—a Mr. +Lukescu—was to call on him that evening.”</p> + +<p>Parlett’s face at once brightened.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir; now I remember well; the gentleman +was late—Captain Wraile was in a proper fuss about +it. I’ve got the time Mr. Lukescu arrived in the +Visitors’ Book, but I remember well enough—he was +expected at 6.30 but he didn’t come and didn’t come—not +until close on 7. One of the waiters came and told +me that the gentleman was expected at 6.30; I made a +note of it on my pad. He didn’t come, though, and +Captain Wraile kept on popping down to see if he hadn’t +come and been shown somewhere else.”</p> + +<p>It was Poole’s turn to look blank.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say that you saw Captain Wraile +yourself between 6.30 and 7?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir—two or three times.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t say exactly what time? Could it have +been before 6.45 that you saw him?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t say that I’m sure, sir. I only know that +he came along at intervals to ask if his guest hadn’t +come.”</p> + +<p>“And the waiter who told you about Mr. Lukescu +coming—did he bring that as a message from Captain +Wraile?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, sir; came straight from him!”</p> + +<p>“At what time?”</p> + +<p>Parlett scratched his head.</p> + +<p>“Trying to think which one it was, sir; might have +been Buntle or it might have been Gyne—most likely +Gyne—he would have been on the smoking-room bell. +Shall I send for him, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Find out first if he remembers the incident,” said +Captain Voilance. “If not, try Buntle.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t try him, sir; he’s away today—burying a +mother-in-law or something.”</p> + +<p>Poole groaned.</p> + +<p>“It’ll be him for certain, then,” he said. “Just +a moment before you go, Parlett; could Captain +Wraile have left the club without your seeing +him—between those hours you’ve given me, I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Could have, sir; but most unlikely; either I or +one of my assistants is in the box all the time—we +could hardly have missed him—not at that time of +day.”</p> + +<p>“No other door? Ladies’ annex, or anything?”</p> + +<p>The hall-porter snorted.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, there’s not. We leave ladies’ annexes to the +Guards and the Carlton,” with which withering remark +he set out in quest of Mr. Gyne.</p> + +<p>“Looks pretty water-tight so far, doesn’t it?” said +Voilance.</p> + +<p>“It’s an open question yet, sir—my time theory isn’t +burst yet—not definitely, though it looks as if I should +have my work cut out to prove it. That’s the trouble; +the proof lies with me, not with him.”</p> + +<p>Within five minutes Parlett returned, to report +that Gyne knew nothing of the incident—it must have +been Buntle who brought the message. Gyne, however, +remembered Captain Wraile having tea in the smoking-room +at close on six one day about that time—had said +something to him about it’s being so late but he’d had +no lunch.</p> + +<p>Gyne was interviewed and was able to fix the date +as after 19th October because he had been ill for a week +before that, and not within the last week or two—he +was sure of that. On reference to his book Parlett was +able to say that 24th October was the only day since +the club had re-opened after its annual cleaning that +Captain Wraile had come in before dinner-time. That +seemed to fix Gyne’s recollection to 24th October—not +an important contribution in any case. Parlett reported +that he expected Buntle back on duty at 3 <span class="sc">p. m.</span> +the following afternoon. Poole rose to leave but the +Secretary detained him.</p> + +<p>“How long do you go on working, Inspector?” he +asked when Parlett had left. “All night?”</p> + +<p>Poole laughed.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; not always. As a matter of fact I shall +knock off now; nothing more I can usefully do +tonight.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d take pity on a lonely man and come +and dine with me—not here—too near our work. It +would be a treat to me to have a yarn with someone +who isn’t a stereotyped soldier or sailor.”</p> + +<p>Poole was more than delighted to fall in with the +suggestion and the two men spent a pleasant evening, +dining at Pisotto’s in Greek Street and, after a leisurely +meal strung out by much reminiscent conversation, +turning in at the Avenue Pavilion to see the revival +of one of Stroheim’s early masterpieces. It was twelve +o’clock before Poole got into his bed in Battersea—tired, +but much refreshed by his evening’s relaxation.</p> + +<p>The following morning Poole had a long interview +with Sir Leward Marradine and Chief Inspector Barrod, +reporting the result of his visit to the Victory Finance +Company’s office, his interviews with Mr. Blagge, Miss +Saverel, and Captain Wraile—especially the relationship +between the two last, and his failure to get in touch +with Travers Lessingham. In his turn he learnt of Sir +Leward’s interview with the Chairman of the Company +and particularly of Sir Hunter’s declaration as to +Wraile’s experience of such weapons as cross-bows—a +regular genius in inventing devilments of that kind, +Sir Hunter had reported his late Brigade Major to have +been. As a result of the discussion that followed it +was decided that warrants should be issued against +Captain and Mrs. Wraile, to be executed in the event of +Poole being able to break down their alibis, but that +nothing definite could yet be charged against +Lessingham; a good deal must depend on Sergeant Gower’s +report and Poole’s subsequent interview. A statement +from one or both of the Wrailes after arrest might, +of course, implicate Lessingham, but Poole doubted if +either of them was the type to give away a friend.</p> + +<p>“And young Fratten?” asked Barrod. “What about +him?”</p> + +<p>“Oh surely you’re not still after him?” said Sir +Leward, who was hoping to return to favour in Queen +Anne’s Gate. “He’s cleared by the exposure of this +Wraile conspiracy, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“More likely to be in it,” growled Barrod. “Don’t +forget that Poole saw him coming away from the Victory +Finance offices the other day.”</p> + +<p>“Fallows reports he’s been quite quiet lately, sir,” +interposed Poole. “He hasn’t tried to give him the slip +again. I haven’t forgotten about him though, sir—I’m +trying to see where he fits in. There’s someone +else I’m not quite happy about either.”</p> + +<p>“Eh, who’s that?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hessel, sir; if the Wrailes had the close-fitting +time-table I think they had it seems to me more than +a coincidence that Sir Garth should have walked right +into it; I can’t help thinking that he was led into it.”</p> + +<p>Sir Leward whistled. Barrod was silent.</p> + +<p>“Have you questioned him since you had that idea +in your head?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir; it’s only very hazy—and I’ve been afraid +of putting him on his guard prematurely. It’s only +since yesterday that I’ve realized just how close the +Wraile alibi must be. Shall I see him again?”</p> + +<p>It was agreed that Poole should interview Hessel +that morning and try to probe the latter’s possible +connection with the Wrailes and Lessingham. At one +o’clock he was to be back at the Yard in expectation of +a telephone call from Sergeant Gower in Brussels; at +three he was to interview Buntle, the club waiter. It +looked like being another full day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hessel, however, was not at Fratten’s Bank; the +manager thought he was away in the country as he had +not returned since the week-end. His address was +so-and-so. Poole returned to the Yard and, taking out his +note-book, went through the whole case from beginning +to end to see whether any fresh light struck him. As +he read, he felt a growing conviction that Hessel <em>must</em> +have known of the projected attack upon his friend. +Upon his friend! It was impossible to believe that any +man could be guilty of such treachery—the luring of a +friend to his death—the act of a Judas.</p> + +<p>Deep in these thoughts Poole was startled by a call +to the telephone—a call from Brussels. Faint but +distinct came the voice of Sergeant Gower. He had called +at 175 Rue des Canetons and found it a mean tobacconist’s +shop kept by an old woman of the name of Pintole. +The lady had blankly denied all knowledge of anyone +of the name of Lessingham but a combination of threat +and bribery—threat of the Bureau de Police and the +flourishing of a hundred-Belgian note—had at last +pierced her obstinacy and she had confessed that a gentleman +of that name had once called there and arranged for +her to receive—for a consideration—any letters +addressed to him there—and to destroy them. No, he +never came there himself—she had not set eyes on him +since his first visit, more than a year ago.</p> + +<p>Poole instructed his subordinate to call at the headquarters +of the Brussels Police and try to trace Lessingham +through them, but he felt small hope of success—the +trail, he was sure, led back to London. Nothing +was to be gained by beating about the bush now; he +must go to the offices of the Ethiopian and General and +try to get in touch with Lessingham through them. +Although it was the middle of the luncheon-hour Poole +made his way at once to the City and, having found that +both Captain Wraile and his secretary were out at lunch, +tried to pump the junior clerks on duty. Wraile, +however, evidently knew how to discipline his staff—with +the exception of the clerk whom Mangane had been able +to bribe; anyhow, Poole could get nothing from them +but a request to wait till Mr. Lacquier, the secretary, +returned. When he did return the result was little +better—Mr. Lessingham was to be found at the offices of +the Rotunda Syndicate—137A Monument Lane.</p> + +<p>This was nothing more than he had learnt on the +previous afternoon—but it was all that he was to learn +on the subject from that office, even when Captain +Wraile returned and graciously received him.</p> + +<p>Feeling savage, and defeated, Poole made his way +back by bus to Pall Mall. It was four o’clock by the +time he got to The Junior Service Club but he was +soon introduced to the bereaved waiter. Mr. Buntle +proved to be as shrewd a man as the early disposal of his +mother-in-law suggested. He quite well remembered +Captain Wraile sending him with a message to the +hall-porter about a Mr. Lukescu (he pronounced it +Look-askew) being expected. The Captain was sitting in the +small library at the back—the room to which visitors +were generally taken for prolonged conversation; he was +actually sitting at the writing table in the window when +he (Buntle) entered.</p> + +<p>“You don’t remember what time, that was, Buntle?” +asked Poole eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I do so; Captain Wraile asked me what time it was—he +couldn’t see the clock from where he sat, sir. It +was 6.25 pip emma.”</p> + +<p>“6.25! You’re certain?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely, sir; because he said the gentleman was +expected at 6.30 and I thought to myself ‘I must slip +along or he’ll be here before I get there.’ ”</p> + +<p>Poole felt blank depression settle upon him. This +was surely cutting Wraile’s limits too close for +possibility.</p> + +<p>“That clock,” he asked, “is it accurate—does it +usually keep good time? Is it set regularly?”</p> + +<p>“Every day, sir; my own duty, as soon as it comes +through each morning, is to get round and check every +clock in the Club by the time from 2 LO. That clock’s +dead regular.”</p> + +<p>Poole groaned. This was surely defeat.</p> + +<p>“That’s what made me wonder, sir, when I checked +the clocks next day and found this one was ten minutes +fast.”</p> + +<p>Poole leapt to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Ten minutes fast! Do you mean—do you mean +that it had been put on?”</p> + +<p>“Looks re—markably like it, don’t it, sir?” said +Buntle with a wink.</p> + +<p>Poole stared for a second at the clock, then dashed to +the window and threw it open.</p> + +<p>“Where does this give on to?” he exclaimed +ungrammatically.</p> + +<p>“Yard at the back, sir, leading into St. James’s Alley.”</p> + +<p>Poole leaned out. Dark as it was, he could see just +below him the top of a large ash-bin. It would be a +simple matter for an active man to climb out of the +window—and in again.</p> + +<p>“By God, I’ve got him,” exclaimed the detective +eagerly. “Called the waiter in to see him at +6.15—clock at 6.25—slipped out of the window the moment +he was out of the room; back at 6.40 and straight down +to the hall-porter—apparently only 15 minutes +unaccounted for! Now for Mrs.—? What’s her +game?—probably the window-trick again—they generally +repeat themselves.”</p> + +<p>Poole hurried to the nearest call-box and was soon +through to Chief Inspector Barrod at Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>“The bottom’s out of Wraile’s alibi, sir. I’m going +down now to see about his wife’s. But we ought to have +them both shadowed from now on; if you agree, sir, +will you send me down a couple of plain-clothes men to +Ald House, in Fenchurch Street, about thirty yards +west of Tollard Lane? I’ll put them on to their +people.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s all right,” came the reply; “but hold on +a minute, there’s a message for you. Fallows rang +up half an hour ago to say that Mr. Fratten had +slipped him again; he’s trying to pick up the trail.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch25"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV. <br> Justice</h2> + +<p>Three people sat in the Board Room of the Victory +Finance Company—Captain James Wraile, his wife, +and Mr. Travers Lessingham. A fire burnt in the +hearth, the blinds were down, and the clock on the +mantelpiece recorded 6.23. Lessingham was speaking, +in a low and rather nervous voice.</p> + +<p>“The fellow was at my hotel yesterday—they gave +him my Brussels address. It’s ten to one that he’s out +there now.”</p> + +<p>“He’s not that,” interposed Wraile, “because he was +at my office this afternoon. Yesterday evening he was +at my club, sucking in all the details of the alibi I made +for him. I left them vague on purpose when I talked +to him and let him find them out for himself—he’ll +think he’s been clever as hell—till he discovers that +there’s not a quarter of an hour for him to play with. +He can hardly accuse me of bumping into Fratten on +the steps and then bumping him off on the Mall all +within fifteen minutes.”</p> + +<p>“But he’s been down to my office in Monument Lane +too, I tell you,” persisted Lessingham. “A fellow on the +floor below told me—described him to me. He’s on our +track, Wraile.”</p> + +<p>“He may be, but I don’t believe he’s got anything +definite against us. Of course, he must know something +about the Rotunda, but there’s nothing criminal +about that—folly’s not indictable, you know,” he added +with a laugh.</p> + +<p>“What about the General, Jim? I don’t like their +sending for him,” said Mrs. Wraile.</p> + +<p>“I’d forgotten that for the moment. But what can +he tell? Only about the Company’s connection with +the E. & G. and possibly the Rotunda—and that they +know already.”</p> + +<p>“He was very queer when he came back. He didn’t +send for me for his evening letters as he usually does; he +just sent for Blagge and I could hear their voices +booming away through the wall for nearly an hour. I just +caught a glimpse of his face through the door as he +went away—it was quite different—grey and lined and +black under the eyes. He didn’t say good-night to +anyone—as he always does.”</p> + +<p>“Eh, what, my boy?” quoted Wraile. “Of course he +looked grey if the Yard had been putting him through +it—generals aren’t accustomed to that kind of thing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Wraile, that’s all very clever but you’re +not facing facts. They’ve dropped young Fratten, +they . . .”</p> + +<p>“They haven’t; he’s shadowed wherever he goes.”</p> + +<p>“Only by an underling, to keep an eye on him. They +don’t suspect him any longer. There’s no use in +hanging on now—we can never make the market now—too +much’ll be known.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you believe it; unless they prove anything +criminal against us they’ll never put their feet into +business—it’s not their job. I’m going to hang on +as . . .”</p> + +<p>Wraile stopped abruptly, his head cocked on one side +as he looked at the window nearest to him. The blind +was down and nothing was to be seen—nor, as the pause +lengthened, could anything be heard save the steady tick +of the clock on the mantelpiece. After their first +glance of surprise, following his to the window, Wraile’s +two companions turned their eyes back to his face; +evidently they had seen and heard nothing and were looking +to him for an explanation. Wraile rose quietly to his +feet.</p> + +<p>“Someone on the fire-escape,” he whispered, and began +tiptoeing towards the window, signing to his wife +to do the same. Slowly he drew an automatic pistol +from his hip-pocket and waited, his ears straining for a +sound. His wife, on the other side of the window, +quietly watched him, knowing that her instructions +would come; Lessingham remained seated, a look of +strained expectancy on his face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, at a touch from Mrs. Wraile, the blind +flew up; almost simultaneously Wraile flung up the +window and, thrusting the pistol in front of him, called +out: “Put up your hands, you!”</p> + +<p>Lessingham shrank back in his chair, his hands clutching +at the arms. He could see nothing beyond the figures +of Wraile and his wife; unknown danger lurked +beyond. Again the sharp command of the ex-soldier +broke the short silence.</p> + +<p>“Now come in—don’t drop your hands for a second.”</p> + +<p>He drew back slightly and Lessingham could see a +man’s leg flung over the window-sill, followed presently +by a crouching body and two outstretched arms. As the +man straightened himself up and, his hands still above +his head, turned to face his captors, Lessingham gave a +gasp of surprise and, half-rising from his chair, stared +blankly at the intruder. It was Ryland Fratten.</p> + +<p>“Search him, Miriam,” said Wraile curtly. The girl +passed her hands lightly over Ryland’s pockets.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Bit rash aren’t you, young fellow, to come burgling +without a gun?” asked Wraile lightly. “What’s your +game, anyway? There’s no till in a Finance Company’s +office.”</p> + +<p>Ryland paid no attention to him. He was staring in +amazement at the girl beside him.</p> + +<p>“Good God; are you Daphne?” he said at last in a +strangled voice.</p> + +<p>Wraile searched his face closely and evidently gathered +that surprise or misunderstanding would be waste of +time.</p> + +<p>“From which I take it,” he said, “that you’re Master +Fratten, the Banker’s son—or bastard, or whatever you +are. I had a shrewd suspicion of it before you spoke, +though I hadn’t had the good fortune to see you before. +Yes, that’s Daphne—and that makes your position a bit +awkward—you know rather more than is convenient.”</p> + +<p>Ryland stared at him, but soon turned his eyes back +to “Daphne.”</p> + +<p>“What have you done to yourself?” he asked. “I +hardly recognize you.”</p> + +<p>“Wonderful what a difference a black wig makes,” +replied Mrs. Wraile lightly. “Our acquaintance was so +short that I’m quite surprised at your recognizing me at +all.”</p> + +<p>“When you’ve quite done your charming +reminiscences—which, I may say, are hardly tactful in the +presence of the aggrieved husband—we’ll just go through +the mere formality of tying you up, young fellow. Got +any rope about the office, Miriam?”</p> + +<p>“There’s some cord of sorts, I believe in the clerks’ +room.”</p> + +<p>“Get it, there’s a good girl. If it won’t do we’ll have +to use the blind cord. Oh, by the way, you can put +your hands down now—but stand back in that corner +where my gun’ll reach you before your fists can do any +harm.”</p> + +<p>Wraile, for all his bantering manner, did not for a +second take his eye off his captive, while he kept him +covered with an unwavering pistol. Miriam Wraile +was soon back with a length of coarse but strong +packing cord.</p> + +<p>“Now, Lessingham,” said Wraile, “it’s about time you +took the stage—you truss him up—then you’ll be as +guilty as we are. Give it him, darling.”</p> + +<p>Lessingham recoiled from the proffered cord.</p> + +<p>“I—I’d rather not,” he said. “I don’t know how +to—I don’t think I’ve ever tied anything.”</p> + +<p>Wraile looked at him with surprise, not unmixed with +contempt.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right,” he said. “Give it to me. You’ll note +he doesn’t protest against the assault, Fratten; his moral +assent to it is just as incriminating as active participation. +What a pity there’s no one to witness it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll do that for you,” said Ryland. “Don’t +worry; you’re evidently all in it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but the trouble is that—well, you know the old +proverb—too hackneyed to quote.”</p> + +<p>While he was speaking Wraile had tied Ryland’s hands +behind his back and also bound his ankles together, +while Mrs. Wraile kept the unfortunate young man +covered with her husband’s automatic. At the last +words Ryland’s normally pale face turned a dead white, +by comparison with which his accustomed pallor seemed +the glow of health.</p> + +<p>“Just what do you mean by that?” he asked, in a voice +that he was evidently doing his utmost to keep steady.</p> + +<p>Wraile laughed shortly and was about to reply when +Lessingham broke in:</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t like this,” he said. “What are you going +to do, Wraile? You’re not going to . . .”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dry up,” the other broke in curtly, his patience +with his confederate evidently wearing thin. “You +know perfectly well we can’t afford to let this chap +go now.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but can’t we put him somewhere till +we’re—till we’re—you know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know what you mean, and I’m not going to—not +yet—not till I’m at my last gasp do I give up this +chance of a lifetime now that it’s at our very mouths. +No, we’re going through with this—and this young +fool’ll have to be put out of the way.”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you being just the least bit cold-blooded? +discussing the poor boy’s fate in front of his eyes?” +interposed Mrs. Wraile. “Supposing we adjourn to my +office.”</p> + +<p>“Not much, there’s no fire there. We’ll put him in +there if you like. No, don’t shout, Fratten; no one’ll +hear you and you’ll get a bullet for a certainty; as it is, +you’ve got just a hundred to one chance that we may +hit on some way of pulling this off without wringing +your neck. Lessingham will plead for you and I’m sure +your Daphne’ll do all she can for her fancy boy. Come +on, you’ll have to hop.”</p> + +<p>Within two minutes, Ryland Fratten was securely tied +to the table on which Mr. Blagge was accustomed to do +the daily and exciting tasks which were his work in +life. With his back flat along the table top, one arm +tied to each table leg at one end and an ankle to each at +the other—with a ruler stuffed in his mouth and tied +round his head with a duster, Ryland was unable to move +an inch or make the slightest sound.</p> + +<p>“We’ll leave your eyes and ears free,” said Wraile +jokingly—and thereby made, in all probability, the most +vital mistake of his life.</p> + +<p>The door closed, and Ryland was left alone in the dark +and bitter cold—alone with his thoughts and with fear—the +fear of death, immediate and solitary—death without +a word or a look from his friends, from those he +loved—not a touch of the hand from the girl who had +just begun to dawn, in all her loveliness, upon his +awakening consciousness. In a frenzy of rage and terror +Ryland struggled to free his wrists or legs, to shout for +help—even if it meant bringing death upon him; not a +sound could he make, not the slightest loosening of his +bonds could he effect; he could not even move the table +to which he was bound.</p> + +<p>Back in the Board Room, Wraile dropped the chaffing +manner that had carried him through the none-too-pleasant +task of preparing a fellow man for his death. +His face now was hard and drawn. Lessingham greeted +him with a nervous protest.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Wraile,” he cried, “this is madness. You +can’t kill the boy like this—here, in our own office, +without any preparations, any plans. Think of all the time +and trouble we had to take to . . . even that has been +as good as found out. If we do this now, they’re bound +to trace it to us.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, cut it out!” exclaimed Wraile angrily. “D’you +think I’m going to slit his throat here and let him bleed +all over Blagge’s papers? Give me a minute or two to +make a plan, for God’s sake. You must see that we +can’t let the fellow go now. Apart from his recognizing +Miriam—that’s one thing they haven’t spotted +yet—he may have heard everything we were saying in +here. I can’t remember now exactly what we did +say, but we must have given ourselves away pretty +completely.”</p> + +<p>While this wrangle over a man’s life was going on, +Miriam Wraile sat, swinging a leg, on one end of the +Board table, busily engaged in polishing her well-shaped +nails with a small pad taken from her handbag. It was +evident that, as far as she was concerned, the issue would +be settled by her husband—all she had to do was to wait +for orders.</p> + +<p>Lessingham, too, apparently recognized that he could +not, single-handed, oppose the stronger will of his +confederate; he relapsed into gloomy silence. Wraile sat, +his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, deeply +wrapped in thought. Once more silence, save for the +ticking of the clock. . . .</p> + +<p>Slowly the minute hand moved towards the hour; +there was a faint preliminary whirr, a short pause, and +then—ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping, ping. The +noise penetrated to Wraile’s consciousness; he lifted his +head and looked round. As he did so, startlingly loud +in the silent building, three sharp taps sounded upon the +outer door—the door opening on to the staircase.</p> + +<p>The three occupants of the room sat, rigid with +consternation, staring at the door; even Wraile’s usually +calm face mirrored the shock of this startling summons. +In the next room, Ryland had heard it too; hope leapt +into his heart; he concentrated all his strength on one +despairing effort.</p> + +<p>Once again the three knocks—more insistent than +before—shattered the silence.</p> + +<p>“Open this door, please!”</p> + +<p>The sharp, authoritative ring of the voice left no +doubt as to its owner’s status.</p> + +<p>“Police!” gasped Lessingham, clutching at the table +before him, and staring wildly at his companions.</p> + +<p>Miriam Wraile slipped quickly to her husband’s side +and whispered in his ear. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No—no. It may be watched. We must bluff +them,” he whispered. Then, aloud: “Who’s that? +What do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Police officer. Will you open the door, sir, please?”</p> + +<p>“Board-meeting! Papers, Miriam! Take the Chair, +Lessingham!” whispered Wraile. He pushed back his +chair, walked slowly to the door, and—as Miriam slipped +back into the room with a bundle of papers and scattered +them on the table, turned the key and opened the door.</p> + +<p>“What on earth do you want?” he said.</p> + +<p>Without answering, Inspector Poole stepped quietly +into the room, almost brushing Wraile aside as he did so. +The latter took a quick look out on to the landing and +then shut the door, but did not resume his seat. Poole’s +eyes moved quickly round the room, resting for a second +on Lessingham and Mrs. Wraile, and taking in the +details of the scene. There was no expression, either of +disappointment or surprise or pleasure on his face as he +addressed himself to Lessingham, now seated in the +Chairman’s place at the end of the table.</p> + +<p>“Very sorry to disturb your meeting, sir,” he said. +“There’s a report of a man having been seen to enter +your offices by way of the emergency staircase. May +I ask if you have seen him?”</p> + +<p>“A man? No, certainly not,” answered Lessingham. +His glance strayed towards Wraile, who quickly took +command of the situation.</p> + +<p>“How long ago is this supposed to have happened, +Inspector? By the way, Lessingham, this is Inspector +Poole, who came to see me yesterday about poor Fratten’s +death.”</p> + +<p>Lessingham bowed, and Poole half raised his hand to +his bared head.</p> + +<p>“About half an hour ago, sir. The information was +a bit slow getting to us and then we had to find out from +the porter which offices it would be.”</p> + +<p>“Half an hour ago? Oh, no; we’ve been in here +ever since six and Miss Saverel’s been in her office—she’s +only just come in. That’s the only other room that +opens on to the escape. The porter must have made a +mistake.”</p> + +<p>Poole hesitated for a second, as if doubtful what to do +in the face of this direct denial. The momentary pause +was ended by a terrific crash from the adjoining room. +Quicker almost than thought, the detective whipped an +automatic from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Stand back!” he cried. “Put your hands up, Captain +Wraile—all of you—back in that corner.”</p> + +<p>He took a quick step back to the door and, with his +left hand, felt for and turned the key, which he slipped +into his pocket. Still keeping his pistol pointed at the +group across the table, he moved quickly across to the +door into the passage leading to the manager’s and clerks’ +rooms.</p> + +<p>“Stay where you are till I come back,” he exclaimed +sharply and, leaving the Board room door open, darted +quickly into the manager’s office. A glance showed +him a heavy table turned over on its side and on it the +crucified form of Ryland Fratten. Snatching a knife +from his pocket he had just cut the cord binding +Fratten’s right hand when he heard the door of the Board +Room shut and the lock snap. At the same instant a +window was flung up and there came the sound of +hurried footsteps on the iron staircase.</p> + +<p>Poole dashed to his own window, forced back the +catch, threw up the sash and had got one leg across the +sill before he realized that there was no staircase outside +it. A laugh came from the darkness and Wraile’s +mocking voice:</p> + +<p>“Sorry, Poole; I misled you about the fire-escape. +This is the only window that has it. You must try the +stairs!”</p> + +<p>The detective flashed a torch to the sound of the voice +and followed its beam with the pistol in his other hand, +but, though he made out a dim movement below him, +the twisting flights of stairs made shooting impossible, +even had it been advisable. Thrusting his body out as +far as it would go he bellowed with all the force of his +lungs:</p> + +<p>“Hold them, Fallows! Hold them!”</p> + +<p>There came an answering shout from below, a moment’s +pause, and then a terrible cry of fear, followed, +a moment later, by the sickening thud of a heavy body +striking the hard ground.</p> + +<p>Poole sprang back from the window, thrust the knife +into Ryland’s free hand, and darted down the passage +into the clerks’ room. The outer door on to the +staircase was locked, the key nowhere to be seen. It was +useless to return to the Board room; that would mean +certainly one, and probably two locked doors. Placing +the muzzle of his pistol against the keyhole Poole fired +twice, then, drawing back, crashed his heel twice above +the shattered lock. The door, of course, was made to +open inwards and so could not be forced out, but after +two more shots the detective was able to tear his way out +on to the landing. Dashing down the stairs, three +steps at a time, Poole rushed out into the street and up +an alley on the right of Ald House. In a small yard at +the back, he came upon Detective Fallows seated on the +ground, propped against the wall, his face white and a +bleeding cut on his forehead. A few yards away lay a +huddled form. Poole strode up to it and flashed his +torch upon the face. What seemed to be a black wig +had been forced over one ear, a broken dental plate +protruded from the gaping mouth, but, in the bright +beam of light, there was no mistaking the dead face of +Leopold Hessel.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch26"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI. <br> . . . May Be Blind</h2> + +<p>Poole turned back towards his unfortunate +subordinate.</p> + +<p>“What happened?” he asked curtly. “Where’s that +constable?”</p> + +<p>“Revolver, sir, I think,” replied Fallows weakly “—hit +me with it—on the head. Munt ran to the body—when +it fell. I waited—below stairs—there’s a drop. +Chap jumped—hit at me as he came down—knocked me +out. Don’t know—where—Munt is.”</p> + +<p>He gave a gasp and collapsed into unconsciousness. +Poole straightened himself and turned again towards the +alley-way. As he did so, Ryland Fratten emerged from +it, hobbling uncertainly.</p> + +<p>“Sorry I couldn’t get out before, Inspector,” he said. +“My legs were asleep—they’ll hardly carry me now.”</p> + +<p>“What were you doing up—no, never mind that now; +we must find these people.” He ran down into the +street and looked to right and left. From the direction +of Cannon Street Station a disconsolate-looking +uniformed police-constable was approaching at an awkward +shuffle.</p> + +<p>“Where the hell have you been?” demanded the +Inspector angrily. “Where have those people got to?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir,” replied the constable in +an aggrieved voice. “When the body fell, sir, I ran to +it. Then I ’eard a shout, and lookin’ round, saw the +other ’tec bein’ laid out by a bloke with a gun. I +darted after ’im” (the idea of the solid police-constable +Munt “darting” anywhere would have tickled Poole +at any other time). “The girl ’ad gone off down the +alley—’er mate follered ’er. I made after ’im and as I +turned into the street ’e was waiting for me and caught +me slap in the wind with ’is knee—doubled me right +up. ’E pushed me over and give me two more with +the ’eel of ’is boot—in the belly and them parts—brutal +it was, sir. Took me a couple o’ minutes to come +round. But I’d seen which way e’d gone—turned up +Chaffer’s Way there—’undred yards along—leads into +Leadenhall it does. I went after ’em as soon as I could +but I couldn’t see nothing of them.”</p> + +<p>“Did you spread the warning? Did you tell the +nearest possible points or patrols?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I come back to see if I could ’elp that pore +’tec what ’ad been knocked out.”</p> + +<p>“You blasted fool,” exclaimed Poole in a white heat +of rage. “Your superintendent shall hear of this. If +they get away I’ll have you hounded out of the force. +Get off now and telephone to your divisional +headquarters—give them a description—Captain and Mrs. +Wraile—tell them to look out for a two-seater Caxton +coupé and to search all garages in this neighbourhood +for it. Tell them to ring all the garages round here and +warn them not to let that car out—to hold the owners +if they can. Then get round to the men on point duty +round here yourself and warn them—and any patrols +you meet. It’s murder they’re wanted for, mind. Do +this job thoroughly and I may forget the rest. Shift +yourself.”</p> + +<p>P. C. Munt went off at the nearest to a “dart” that he +had ever attained. Poole turned to Ryland.</p> + +<p>“There ought to have been two plain-clothes men +here from the Yard long ago,” he explained. “I was +going to put them on to the Wrailes in any case; luckily +I linked up here with Fallows, who was on your trail, +Mr. Fratten, and we picked up that uniformed fool just +outside. I can’t stop to explain more now, sir, but if +you wouldn’t mind staying with Fallows till I can send +an ambulance—I’ll get on to the Yard and get general +information out. These people’ll make for the ports in +all probability. The roads and railways must both be +watched—they may not use their car. I wish I knew +what garage they used round here—it must be close at +hand—I ought to have asked that fool Munt for the +nearest ones—fool myself.”</p> + +<p>Poole dashed off to the nearest telephone, and was +quickly through to the Chief Inspector Barrod. Within +half an hour every station in London, and many in the +suburbs, was being watched for the Wrailes. Within an +hour all County Constabularies within two hundred +miles of London had been warned of the possible car or +train passengers, whilst every port in the kingdom had +a similar description. A message to the divisional police +in the Fulham district ensured that the Wrailes’ lodgings +would be at once put under watch.</p> + +<p>Poole’s part in this had taken less than ten minutes—the +time of his telephone conversation with Barrod; +immediately it was finished, he rang up the divisional +station, found out that Munt had put his message +through correctly and that all possible steps were being +taken to search for the runaways, and finally asked for +the locations of the nearest garages to Ald House. Only +three were within the five minutes’ walk that Poole, with +his knowledge of Mrs. Wraile’s time-table, put as the +outside limit. Within another ten minutes Poole had +found the car in a garage almost at the back of Ald +House—within less than a minute’s walk. The Wrailes +had not been near it since it had been left there in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Poole again rang up Scotland Yard and arranged for a +plain-clothes man to be posted at the garage, in case +the Wrailes even now came for their car. He also +arranged for all cab ranks and shelters in the +neighbourhood of Ald House to be interrogated—there was a +strong possibility of the Wrailes having picked up a +taxi as they had not taken their car.</p> + +<p>Returning to Ald House, Poole found that the two +plain-clothes men from Scotland Yard had at last turned +up; they had come by Underground from Westminster +and had been held up for twenty minutes by a breakdown +on the line. Soon after their arrival, a police +ambulance had also turned up and removed Fallows and +the body of Leopold Hessel. P. C. Munt, who had been +explaining the situation to the plain-clothes men, +reported that the other gentleman had said that he was +returning to Queen Anne’s Gate and would be there for +the rest of the evening if Inspector Poole wanted him. +The detective felt that Ryland’s explanation of his +peculiar behaviour could now wait; there was no longer +any possibility that he was a confederate of the murderers. +Besides, there was a lot of work still to be done +before he could feel that the net spread for the Wrailes +was complete; in all probability Chief Inspector Barrod +would do all that could be done, but Poole was not +going to leave anything to chance now.</p> + +<p>During the hours that followed, the Victory Finance +offices were searched, the Wrailes’ rooms in Fulham not +only searched but turned inside out; the owners had +not been back since morning and there was no sign of +a hurried flight. Poole collected all the papers he could +lay his hands on for future inspection, but for +immediate use he concentrated on an exhaustive search for +photographs of the fugitives—he wanted to get their +likenesses broadcast through the country with the least +possible delay. A cabinet photograph on Mrs. Wraile’s +writing-table gave an excellent representation of Sir +Hunter Lorne’s late Brigade Major in uniform, but it +was not till a volume of snapshots had been unearthed +and searched that a picture of his wife was forthcoming.</p> + +<p>The rush of work had kept Poole’s mind from the +problem of Hessel’s identity with Lessingham. Although +it had come as a complete surprise, the detective +had felt too suspicious of the banker’s connection with +the case—and particularly with the five minutes following +the “accident”—to be entirely astonished. Now, as +he worked on the creation of the net to catch the living +criminals he felt that he could well thrust the problem +of the dead one into the background until his immediate +task was completed. By the time he got back to his +Battersea lodgings, well after midnight, he had +forgotten all about it and dropped asleep the moment his +head touched the pillow.</p> + +<p>The succeeding days were trying ones for Inspector +Poole. Once the machinery of Scotland Yard and of +the County Constabularies was in full working order, +there was little he could do himself in the way of +pursuit. For days the search went on, at first with +confidence, then with patient hope, finally with dogged +persistence—but little more.</p> + +<p>At a conference with the Assistant-Commissioner on +the morning after the affair at Ald House it had been +decided to take the public fully into the confidence of +the police—primarily in order that the full power of the +press might be brought to bear in the search. Placards +bearing the likeness of James and Miriam Wraile were +posted at every police station and post office; all but the +most dignified newspapers printed similar reproductions, +together with minute descriptions, and every detail of +the escape and many possible and impossible theories and +suggestions. The B.B.C. gave nightly encouragement +to the searchers, both professional and amateur.</p> + +<p>An inquest was held on the body of Leopold Hessel, +at which his identity with the financier, Travers +Lessingham, was revealed, together with his association with +Captain Wraile in the Rotunda Syndicate transactions. +Nothing, however, was said at the first hearing about the +Fratten murder, though naturally the public jumped to +their own conclusions. The circumstances of Hessel’s +death could not, of course, be fully established without +the presence of the Wrailes, and the inquest was +adjourned for a fortnight.</p> + +<p>Poole busied himself in connecting up the carefully +concealed threads which had united this latest Jekyll +and Hyde. Travers Lessingham had apparently been in +existence since the year following the war, though he +had begun his operations in the City in a very minor +key—feeling his way, as Poole phrased it. In addition +to his arrangement with the Hotel Antwerp and Mme. +Pintole of the Rue des Canetons, Hessel had kept a small +studio in the neighbourhood of Gray’s Inn; this he had +used for changing from one identity to the other, and +as the tone of the lower grades of studio life is anything +but inquisitive, there was small risk of anyone giving +him away.</p> + +<p>The actual disguise was a simple matter; a wig of +curly black hair, darkened eyebrows and whitened face, +tinted spectacles (too common in these days to excite +suspicion), a differently shaped dental plate, coat padded +on the shoulder-blades, and waistcoat and trousers in +front—these required no great skill to adjust and +manipulate. His appearances as Lessingham in the City were +so rare that no one had time to get to know him and so +to begin to take an interest in his movements. That at +least was how such of his City acquaintances as admitted +to it explained their deception. The complete details +of his performance would probably never be known +unless the Wrailes chose to reveal it. They must, in +the months of his more active life as Lessingham, have +manipulated a great deal for him—and they would +now, in all probability, never disclose the facts.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Ten days after the escape of the Wrailes,—ten days +in which not one whiff of scent came to the eager +nostrils of the public, so that even their press-fed +enthusiasm was beginning to wane—Inez and Ryland Fratten, +with Laurence Mangane, were sitting at tea in the +morning-room at Queen Anne’s Gate when Golpin entered +to announce that Inspector Poole was waiting in +the hall and would like to see either Miss or Mr. Fratten +or both.</p> + +<p>“Oh, show him in, Golpin,” said Inez. “And bring +another cup. He may have some news.”</p> + +<p>Mangane rose to his feet, but Inez stretched out a +detaining hand.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go,” she said. “He can’t be here ‘with hostile +intent’ now. Ah, there you are, Mr. Poole; come and +have some tea. We thought you’d forgotten all about +us. Have you got any news?”</p> + +<p>Poole smiled and took the chair that Ryland pushed +across to him.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t quite forgotten about you, Miss Fratten; +I’ve come to ask some questions.”</p> + +<p>“Oh‑h!” groaned Inez. “I thought that was over.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite, but to show they aren’t of ‘hostile +intent’—as I think I heard you say—I’ll accept your kind +offer of some tea.” He turned to Ryland. “It’s you, +sir, really, that I want to ask questions. They’re really +more to satisfy my own curiosity than of official +necessity. D’you mind if I do? They’re quite harmless.”</p> + +<p>“No, of course he doesn’t,” answered Inez, who had +seen Ryland hesitate. “But remember—we’ve got our +own curiosity—you won’t do all the asking.”</p> + +<p>Poole laughed.</p> + +<p>“That’s a bargain then. It’s just this, Mr. Fratten. +I gathered from you that you went up that fire-escape +to try and overhear what Wraile and Lessingham were +talking about; how did you know they were going to +be there, and how did you know about the escape?”</p> + +<p>“I was there two or three nights before—as I believe +you know. I heard Wraile and his secretary—as I +believed her to be then—I didn’t recognize her +voice—talking about Lessingham—that he’d be there on Tuesday +evening after the office closed. I found the fire-escape, +because I went back that same night to look for +it—as I was going home it suddenly struck me that +there might be such a thing and that if there were, it +was the very way to hear what was going on.”</p> + +<p>“Good for you, sir,” said Poole. “But why didn’t +you tell me what you were after—that you were on the +trail of this Rotunda business?”</p> + +<p>“Why indeed?” broke in Inez. “Because he was a +pig-headed idiot! He wouldn’t tell me when I saw him +next morning—snubbed me when I asked him what +he was up to—so I didn’t tell him about Miss Saverel +being his precious Daphne. Nearly cost him his life, +that particular bit of pig-headedness did.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I’m partly to blame, Inspector,” interposed +Mangane. “I put you both on to the same trail +without letting the other know. I knew Fratten didn’t +want anyone to know what he was doing and I thought +that if I told him you were on it too, he might whip +off.”</p> + +<p>“So I should have,” said Fratten. “I don’t suppose +any of you’ll understand, but I wanted to do something +useful for once in my life, without shouting about it. +You see, I’ve behaved like a first-class swine over this +whole business—both before and after my father’s death. +There’s one question that you haven’t asked me, +Inspector, and I know you want to—you’re a real brick +not to have let it out. You see, I know that you went +to that chap Silence and found out about Sir Horace’s +letter—he told me when I repaid him the other day. I +want you all to know about that—yes, you too, +Mangane—then I shall have got everything off my chest and +be able to start again.”</p> + +<p>Behind the tea-table Inez’s hand crept along the sofa +and slipped into Ryland’s.</p> + +<p>“You know I was engaged to a girl at the ‘Inanity’—Julie +Vermont? One says ‘engaged,’ but I don’t think +either of us ever thought of getting married—it was +just rather fun—and quite a common thing with +fellows who went with that crowd. But she meant +business—money. When I suggested we should break it +off—we’d had quite enough of each other—she talked +of breach of promise. I needn’t tell you the whole +story—it worked out at £15,000 in the end—practically +blackmail—she evidently knew how I stood with my +father. I was pretty desperate—I tried to get it out of +him—wrote to him. He sent for me and gave me hell—you +remember that, Inez—it was the day he had that +accident—I couldn’t help it then—he’d got my letter +and sent for me. He practically turned me out. You +know about that.</p> + +<p>“Soon after that, Inez got me to go and see Sir Horace +Spavage—the doctor—about father’s health. I couldn’t +understand much of what he said—it was rather +technical—so I got him to write it down. It amounted to +a pretty poor ‘life,’ as the insurance people say. I was +taking the note back to Inez when it occurred to me +that I might use it as security for raising the money. +Most of the money-lenders wouldn’t look at me—I’d +borrowed all over the place and they knew that father +wouldn’t pay up any more—but that fellow Silence will +always go one further than the rest—at a price—and I +took the note to him. He advanced me the £15,000 on +that—for three months—at a terrific rate of interest. +It was a gamble. That’s the awful part about it; I +didn’t properly realize it at the time, but of course +directly he was dead I did—I was gambling with my +father’s life.”</p> + +<p>Ryland stopped and sat, with haggard face, staring at +the cup in front of him. Inez gently squeezed his +hand, the others sat in awkward silence. Poole was the +first to break it.</p> + +<p>“Good of you to tell me that, sir,” he said. “I +appreciate your telling me—I shouldn’t have asked. Well, +it’s your turn now, Miss Fratten.” He looked at his +watch. “I can give you ten minutes—I’ve got to catch +a train.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I’ve got thousands of questions,” exclaimed +Inez. “I want to know about Mr. Hessel—did you +know he was in it? I couldn’t make out from the +inquest.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know he was Lessingham, if that’s what you +mean, Miss Fratten. But I had a very strong suspicion +that he was in the plot to kill your father. Not at +first—he completely deceived me; but as the actual facts +of the murder came out—how it was done and how +closely the Wrailes’ alibis fitted to the actual time of +the attack—it seemed to me that it couldn’t possibly be +a chance that your father and Hessel had walked into +the trap at the one and only time that would fit in with +the alibis that the Wrailes <em>had arranged beforehand</em>—Captain +Wraile, remember, had asked someone to visit +him at the club at seven, and Mrs. Wraile had to be +back in time to see the hall-porter before he went off +duty at seven—and couldn’t get away till appreciably +after six. No—Sir Garth must have been led at the +exactly right moment, into the trap—led by Hessel. I +remember now that the first time I interviewed Hessel +he told me that your father always walked home across +the Park in the evening. That, no doubt, was to make +me think that his walk was well known by other people—and +on that they based their plan—but the <em>exactness</em> +of the time couldn’t have been counted on—it must +have been manufactured.</p> + +<p>“Then there were the ‘Ethiopian and General’ papers—they +were missing from Sir Garth’s carefully collected +wrapper on the ‘Victory Finance Company.’ They +must have been stolen. The opportunities of stealing +them were very slight—Hessel called Mr. Mangane +within a few minutes of Sir Garth’s body being carried +upstairs out of here, and had the study doors +locked—took the keys. He carefully did not come back here +till days afterwards, and then only went into the room +with Menticle and Mr. Mangane as witnesses—to create +the impression that nobody had a chance of touching +anything—that nothing <em>had</em> been touched. Actually, +there was a possibility that they might have been taken +<em>before</em> he and Mangane locked the study. It was +hardly likely that they were moved before the body +was brought back—though not impossible. While the +body was in here, Golpin was in the hall and swears +nobody entered the study. Mangane might have gone in +from his room—nobody else could have because he was +there all the time. But I didn’t think he had—I knew +him personally. There remained the possibility that +Hessel had gone in himself in those two or three minutes +after the body was moved and before he sent for +Mangane. There was no earthly reason why he shouldn’t +have—I came to the conclusion that he did.</p> + +<p>“I should say that there’s no doubt that your father +had begun to smell trouble about the Ethiopian and +General, Miss Fratten, and that his notes made that +pretty clear. No doubt that was why he seemed to you +to be worried—he was unhappy at finding a friend—Sir +Hunter—mixed up in a shady business. That’s why +Hessel only took the ‘Ethiopian and General’ papers. +Why he left the other notes—the details about the +Nem Nem Sohar and South Wales Pulverization and the +queries about all three, which attracted our attention to +the Ethiopian and General,—I don’t know. Probably +he lost his head—or tried to be too clever—it’s generally +one of those alternatives that hangs a murderer.</p> + +<p>“Of course I only came to this point quite late—the +last developments came with a rush and I couldn’t do +everything at once—I had no time to question him +again, though I tried to once—he was away. But we +should definitely have linked him up in a day or two. +Now, Miss Fratten, I’ve taken rather longer than I meant +over that—I haven’t time to answer more +questions—because I’ve got something to tell you.</p> + +<p>“It’s what I really came here for—to read you a letter. +My chief—Sir Leward Marradine—told me to come and +show it to you—reading will be simplest.</p> + +<p>“It’s a letter from Captain Wraile—postmark +‘Liverpool,’ date yesterday—no other indication. This is +what he says:</p> + +<blockquote class="letter"> + + <p class="salutation">“Dear Commissioner,</p> + + <p>I’m taking a leaf out of the book of a man I’ve a great + admiration for—the man who killed Sir John Smethrust. + After he got clear he wrote to Scotland Yard and explained + how he’d done it—said he liked to tidy things up. So do + I. By the time you get this—it will be posted ten days + from now—Miriam and I will be absolutely clear—not + only across the water but across half a continent—start + looking for us if you like. If you find us you’re smarter + than I give you credit for—but you won’t take us + alive—and one or two of you’ll get hurt.</p> + + <p>There are a few details I’d like to make clear. I take it, + as a basis, that you know how the killing was done and the + alibis arranged—your Mr. Poole seemed fairly sharp on that, + though I don’t quite know how he turned up at Ald House + when he did on Tuesday night.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>(“By the way, Mr. Fratten, I was following you. +Fallows rang up that you slipped him and we traced you +there. I was looking for Mrs. Wraile’s way out too—after +finding that her husband had left his club by a +back window I guessed that they’d repeated the trick at +Ald House.”)</p> + +<blockquote class="letter"> + + <p>“After Poole disturbed us, we cut down the escape. Poor + Lessingham didn’t know the rail was missing at one turn—he + went over—quite accidentally, I needn’t assure, Mr. + Commissioner. We slipped your not very vigorous watch-dogs, + got a taxi, and so—by stages that I won’t mention—to the + beginning of our long journey.</p> + + <p>Now about earlier times. Lessingham—Hessel—struck on + me when I was on my beam ends, like many other soldiers. + He was on them too—psychologically, and for a different + reason. He had had a devilish time in the war—‘German + Jew’ and all the rest of it. His one idea was to get his own + back—he was quite unscrupulous—and unreasonable as to + how he did it and who he did it to, though he probably + wouldn’t have picked on his own friend, Fratten, if Fratten + hadn’t stumbled across our path—might have, + though—complexes are funny things.</p> + + <p>You’ve got to the bottom of the Rotunda game by now—I + needn’t bother you with that. By the way, my poor old + General was quite innocent of what was happening—as he + has been all his life—don’t run him in. Resston, too, of + course. Lessingham’s official letters were sent by the clerks + to the Hotel Antwerp and by them to Mme. Pintole, who + destroyed them. But another set, and anything of importance, + was sent privately by Miriam to his own home address—as + Hessel. In that way he was kept absolutely up to date + all the time though he only came near us about once a + month. In the same way, he wrote to her or to me. It all + went swimmingly till Fratten blew in.</p> + + <p>The idea of how to kill him was Hessel’s—I wish I could + claim the credit for it. On the very day that Fratten told + him about having been invited to join our Board he also + told him about having a thorasic aneurism. By the merest + chance, Hessel knew what a thorasic aneurism was—and + where it was—he’d had a relation or someone with + it. What’s more, just after he heard about it, Fratten was + nearly run over by a motor and the shock nearly did him + in—that gave Hessel the idea. The affair on the Steps of + course, we staged to distract attention from the actual attack. + It would probably be put down to an accident and it was a + million to one against my being traced. I don’t know now + how you got on to it. After the ‘accident’ I made for the + car and Hessel led Fratten exactly where we wanted him, + waving a bright cigar end to mark his course. The shooting + was easy, but the damn slug caught somewhere and the cord + broke. I went back to look for it but couldn’t find + it—perhaps you did.</p> + + <p>My own disguise for the part, of course, was very + slight—moustache darkened with grease stick—easily wiped + off—and a clerk’s voice. My overcoat and hat I’d hung on + the visitors’ peg in the passage outside the small library—the + coat was a shabby one, so I’d walked in with it over + my arm. My appointment with Lukescu was made officially + by my office for 6.30—no doubt you checked that—but I + telephoned to him privately not to come till 7. Of course + the times were very carefully worked out and Hessel neatly + steered Fratten into them.</p> + + <p>Just two small points to interest the good Inspector. + When he and Miss Fratten sleuthed us on the Underground + that evening and we slipped out at Charing Cross Station, + we took the only taxi on the rank—pure luck that—we’d + had no time to plan—and then slipped down into the tube at + Piccadilly Circus. When he came to interview Blagge and + ‘Miss Saverel’ at the Conservative office, she sent a note to + me from under his very nose, telling me he was there and + asking me to cut her out. I did.</p> + + <p>Anything more you want to know, you must ask—but + you’ll probably be blue in the face before you get an answer.</p> + + <p class="valediction">Adieu, cher Commissionaire,</p> + <p class="signature">James Wraile.</p> + + <p class="postscript">P. S. I dedicate the identical cross-bow—it’s killed + Boches as well as bankers—to the Black Museum—you’ll find it in the + cloak-room at King’s Cross.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>“That’s the letter, Miss Fratten.”</p> + +<p>“Well I’m dashed, he’s got a nerve,” said Ryland.</p> + +<p>“So they’ve slipped you after all, Mr. Poole,” said +Inez—her voice poised half-way between relief and +disappointment.</p> + +<p>Poole shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Four days ago,” he said, “a bus conductor recovered +from an attack of influenza—and saw our appeal. He +came to me and told me that the Wrailes had boarded +his bus in Leadenhall Street and got off at King’s Cross. +He probably wouldn’t have noticed where they got +off if they’d got off in the crowd at the King’s Cross +stop—but (as I found on pressing him) they got off +one street short of it, by pulling the cord—and he +noticed them. They took that turn to the left—they +didn’t go to King’s Cross or St. Pancras.</p> + +<p>“I searched the neighbourhood and found a garage +from which they took their <em>other</em> car. They were +already slightly disguised—in their walk from the bus +to the garage—evidently they always carried small +sticks of make-up in case a bolt was necessary. They +had bought that car months ago and kept it in that +garage—for the bolt and for one other purpose. That +evening they drove quietly out of London, stopping +somewhere to change their appearance properly—no +doubt a make-up box was part of the car’s equipment. +They drove through the night—no one was looking +out for a Morris saloon with a middle-aged couple in +it—down to their cottage in North Wales—near Ruthin. +From there, of course, it was a simple matter to run +up to Liverpool—yesterday—and post that letter. +They’d taken that cottage last spring and been there +for very occasional week-ends—as the middle-aged Mr. +and Mrs. Waterford—in that Morris car. [‘That’s the +car she drove me in,’ thought Ryland.] Nobody had +paid any attention to them—nobody does now—except +the police. The last link in the story that I’ve +been telling you was completed by us this morning; +their place will be surrounded as soon as it’s +dark—it is already. I’m going down now to take +them.”</p> + +<p>Poole rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“My train’s at seven—I must go. Good-night, Miss +Fratten—thank you for giving me tea—and for all +you’ve done to make a beastly job bearable. +Good-night, Mr. Fratten—you won’t mind if I wish you +good luck? Good-night, Mr. Mangane.”</p> + +<p>He turned on his heel and walked quickly to the +door. The three others still sat, almost petrified by +astonishment at the sudden change of situation. Inez +was the first to recover herself; she sprang to her feet +and ran after Poole shutting the door firmly behind her. +The detective was just opening the front door.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Poole, wait!” she said.</p> + +<p>He turned back to meet her.</p> + +<p>“I just wanted to say—that letter of Captain +Wraile’s—they’re desperate people, Mr. Poole—do be—do be as +careful as you can.”</p> + +<p>Poole looked down into the girl’s flushed face and +sparkling eyes—eyes in which sympathy and anxiety +at least were present. A great longing seized him.</p> + +<p>“If you . . .” he forced back the words that were +surging to his lips. “Thank you, Miss Fratten,” he said. +“I shall do my duty.”</p> + +<p>He turned abruptly, opened the door, and walked +out into the night.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>This transcription follows the text of the edition published by +Payson & Clarke Ltd in 1929. The following changes have been +made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous printer’s +errors.</p> + +<ul> + <li>“Inpector” was changed to “Inspector” (Chapter VI).</li> + <li>“ect.” was changed to “etc.” (Chapter VI).</li> + <li>“Phys,” was changed to “Phys.” (Chapter VI).</li> + <li>“Brittanica” was changed to “Britannica” (Chapter VII).</li> + <li>“occcasionally” was changed to “occasionally” (Chapter IX).</li> + <li>“impossible for use” was changed to “impossible for us” + (Chapter XI).</li> + <li>“Duhamel Freres” was changed to “Duhamel Frères” (Chapter XV).</li> + <li>“testting” was changed to “testing” (Chapter XVII).</li> + <li>“a complicate” was changed to “a complicated” (Chapter XIX).</li> + <li>“realiable” was changed to “reliable” (Chapter XXI).</li> + <li>“fiften” was changed to “fifteen” (Chapter XXV).</li> + <li>“faint preliminary whim” was changed to “faint preliminary whirr” + (Chapter XXV).</li> + <li>“startingly” was changed to “startlingly” (Chapter XXV).</li> + <li>“necesity” was changed to “necessity” (Chapter XXVI).</li> + <li>Seven occurrences of mismatched quotation marks have been repaired.</li> +</ul> + +<p>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the +public domain.</p> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75318 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75318-h/images/cover.jpg b/75318-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17ba60e --- /dev/null +++ b/75318-h/images/cover.jpg |
