“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.” “And when was he in last?” “Thursday evening, as a matter of fact, Inspector. He was here sometime and hadn’t left by the time I left myself.” “Thank you, Mr. Blagge; and now, Miss Saverel—where does she live?” “I’m afraid I really can’t say that—I’ve never had occasion to enquire.” “Can you find it out without asking?” “Oh yes, I can look in the address-book. I’ll do so at once.” Mr. Blagge was only away a few seconds and returned with a small note-book in his hand. “Here it is, you see, Inspector: 94 Bloomsbury Lane, W.C.” “Bloomsbury?” Poole quickly smothered his surprise. “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.” The manager nodded and made his way to the room next door, which he shared with the secretary. “Inspector Poole, of Scotland Yard, wants to see you, please, Miss Saverel,” he said solemnly. 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. “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. “Take that round at once, please, Smithers,” she said, then closing the door, walked down the short passage to the Board Room. “You want to see me?” she asked lightly.