“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.” “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.” As he entered Scotland Yard, Poole met Sergeant Gower. “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.” “He’s not far out,” said Poole. “Thank you.” 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. 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 _tête-à-tête_ 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.