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. 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. “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.” Poole looked at him questioningly. “Queen Anne’s Gate is the one way—the two Frattens. And Hessel may or may not have been in it.” “And this woman ‘Daphne,’ sir?” “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.” 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. 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. “Have you see your brother, Miss Fratten?” he asked. “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.”