had come in to Scotland Yard. “What’s all this about a Victory Finance Company?” asked Barrod. “Why should you have got your eye on them, Miss Fratten?” 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. “Who’s this Mangane?” he said. “Why’s he doing your work for you?” Poole flushed at the curtness of the enquiry. “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.” “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.” 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 p. m. 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.