Poole found himself admiring the calmness and poise of this woman, who, if she was what he thought her, must know herself to be face to face with deadly peril—at the very least, an appalling ordeal. He could not be certain that she was the girl Inez Fratten had pointed out to him on Friday evening and who had slipped him at Charing Cross. He had not had a close view of “Daphne,” who, in any case, was wearing a hat and an overcoat. This girl was certainly of much the same build, a slim, graceful figure, with short, fair hair and extremely attractive brown eyes. She was dressed in a black skirt and grey silk shirt, with a touch of white at her throat. “I have to ask you one or two questions, Miss Saverel,” he said, “some of them routine questions—in connection with the death of Sir Garth Fratten. You perhaps know that Sir Garth was invited by your Chairman, Sir Hunter Lorne, to join the Board of the Company; we have reason to believe that that invitation was not acceptable to every member of the Board; can you confirm that?” “I can’t,” replied Miss Saverel calmly. “You mean you don’t know?” “How should I?” “Surely you must have heard some conversation about it—the matter must have been discussed in your presence at one time or another?” Miss Saverel shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. “I’m afraid I must press you for an answer, Miss Saverel.” “You can press as much as you like. Even if I knew anything I shouldn’t tell you; there is such a thing as being loyal to your employers.” “Not in the eyes of the law, if it involves shielding criminals. Please think again, Miss Saverel.” The girl merely shook her head. Poole could not help admiring her attitude; whether she was a guilty party or not she was playing the right game for her side. He tried a new and more direct attack. “Then I must ask you something about yourself. This is quite a routine question, as a matter of fact—I have to ask it of everyone even remotely connected with the case; where were you on the evening of Thursday 24th October, between six and seven? That is roughly the time, I should tell you, at which Sir Garth Fratten was killed.” Miss Saverel seemed not in the least disturbed by the question. “I was here till six, anyhow,” she said. “I may have been here longer. I’ll have a look in my diary—it’s in the other room—you can come with me if you think I’m liable to bolt.” Poole opened the door for her and watched her go down the passage and enter the small room next door; he heard Mr. Blagge speak to her and her reply; immediately afterwards she came out with a diary in her hand. “October 24th,” she said, turning over the pages. “October 24th—here it is—oh yes, I was here till quite late that evening—look.” She showed him the diary; under the date, October 24th, were written, in a bold, clear hand, the words: “Captain W. and Chairman discussed Annual Report a. m. Typed draft till 7.” “You were here till seven?” “I was, for my sins—and no overtime.”