Poole nodded; he saw no point in discussing Ryland’s conduct with Miss Fratten—that must be done with Ryland himself. “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.” “Anyhow it proves that he’s not going to bolt,” said Inez. “If he was, he could have done it yesterday.” Poole laughed. “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?” Inez looked at him steadily for some seconds before speaking. “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. “Did you go in your car?” Inez looked up in surprise. “How did you know I’d got a car?” “You’d be very exceptional if you hadn’t. Is it a two-seater?” “It is—why?” “Coupé?” “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.” 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. Mangane greeted him almost eagerly. “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?” 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. “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.