“That’s a bargain then. It’s just this, Mr. Fratten. I gathered from you that you went up that fire-escape to try and overhear what Wraile and Lessingham were talking about; how did you know they were going to be there, and how did you know about the escape?” “I was there two or three nights before—as I believe you know. I heard Wraile and his secretary—as I believed her to be then—I didn’t recognize her voice—talking about Lessingham—that he’d be there on Tuesday evening after the office closed. I found the fire-escape, because I went back that same night to look for it—as I was going home it suddenly struck me that there might be such a thing and that if there were, it was the very way to hear what was going on.” “Good for you, sir,” said Poole. “But why didn’t you tell me what you were after—that you were on the trail of this Rotunda business?” “Why indeed?” broke in Inez. “Because he was a pig-headed idiot! He wouldn’t tell me when I saw him next morning—snubbed me when I asked him what he was up to—so I didn’t tell him about Miss Saverel being his precious Daphne. Nearly cost him his life, that particular bit of pig-headedness did.” “I’m afraid I’m partly to blame, Inspector,” interposed Mangane. “I put you both on to the same trail without letting the other know. I knew Fratten didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing and I thought that if I told him you were on it too, he might whip off.” “So I should have,” said Fratten. “I don’t suppose any of you’ll understand, but I wanted to do something useful for once in my life, without shouting about it. You see, I’ve behaved like a first-class swine over this whole business—both before and after my father’s death. There’s one question that you haven’t asked me, Inspector, and I know you want to—you’re a real brick not to have let it out. You see, I know that you went to that chap Silence and found out about Sir Horace’s letter—he told me when I repaid him the other day. I want you all to know about that—yes, you too, Mangane—then I shall have got everything off my chest and be able to start again.” Behind the tea-table Inez’s hand crept along the sofa and slipped into Ryland’s. “You know I was engaged to a girl at the ‘Inanity’—Julie Vermont? One says ‘engaged,’ but I don’t think either of us ever thought of getting married—it was just rather fun—and quite a common thing with fellows who went with that crowd. But she meant business—money. When I suggested we should break it off—we’d had quite enough of each other—she talked of breach of promise. I needn’t tell you the whole story—it worked out at £15,000 in the end—practically blackmail—she evidently knew how I stood with my father. I was pretty desperate—I tried to get it out of him—wrote to him. He sent for me and gave me hell—you remember that, Inez—it was the day he had that accident—I couldn’t help it then—he’d got my letter and sent for me. He practically turned me out. You know about that.