Mr. Hessel, however, was not at Fratten’s Bank; the manager thought he was away in the country as he had not returned since the week-end. His address was so-and-so. Poole returned to the Yard and, taking out his note-book, went through the whole case from beginning to end to see whether any fresh light struck him. As he read, he felt a growing conviction that Hessel _must_ have known of the projected attack upon his friend. Upon his friend! It was impossible to believe that any man could be guilty of such treachery—the luring of a friend to his death—the act of a Judas. Deep in these thoughts Poole was startled by a call to the telephone—a call from Brussels. Faint but distinct came the voice of Sergeant Gower. He had called at 175 Rue des Canetons and found it a mean tobacconist’s shop kept by an old woman of the name of Pintole. The lady had blankly denied all knowledge of anyone of the name of Lessingham but a combination of threat and bribery—threat of the Bureau de Police and the flourishing of a hundred-Belgian note—had at last pierced her obstinacy and she had confessed that a gentleman of that name had once called there and arranged for her to receive—for a consideration—any letters addressed to him there—and to destroy them. No, he never came there himself—she had not set eyes on him since his first visit, more than a year ago. Poole instructed his subordinate to call at the headquarters of the Brussels Police and try to trace Lessingham through them, but he felt small hope of success—the trail, he was sure, led back to London. Nothing was to be gained by beating about the bush now; he must go to the offices of the Ethiopian and General and try to get in touch with Lessingham through them. Although it was the middle of the luncheon-hour Poole made his way at once to the City and, having found that both Captain Wraile and his secretary were out at lunch, tried to pump the junior clerks on duty. Wraile, however, evidently knew how to discipline his staff—with the exception of the clerk whom Mangane had been able to bribe; anyhow, Poole could get nothing from them but a request to wait till Mr. Lacquier, the secretary, returned. When he did return the result was little better—Mr. Lessingham was to be found at the offices of the Rotunda Syndicate—137A Monument Lane. This was nothing more than he had learnt on the previous afternoon—but it was all that he was to learn on the subject from that office, even when Captain Wraile returned and graciously received him.