At the same time, back at his office in Lincoln’s Inn—where also he lived, in considerable bachelor comfort—Mr. Menticle emptied his dispatch-case on to the table before him. From the heap of documents he selected one, a parchment, less soiled than most of the others. He ran his eye over its brief contents, looked for a minute out of the window, as if in deep thought, then slowly tore it across and across. CHAPTER V Sir Leward Marradine Takes Interest The sudden death of Sir Garth Fratten, interesting and, in financial circles, important as it had been, was not sufficiently sensational to remain in the public memory more than a day or two after the funeral. But it was not entirely forgotten. About three days later, Sir Leward Marradine, the Assistant Commissioner in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard, called the attention of Chief Inspector Barrod to an advertisement in the Personal Column of _The Times_. “Duke of York’s Steps. Miss Inez Fratten will be glad to hear from the gentleman who accidentally stumbled against her father, Sir Garth Fratten, on Thursday 24th October, some time after 6 p.m. Write 168 Queen Anne’s Gate, S.W.” “Make anything of that, Barrod?” asked the A.C.C.¹ “I wonder if it’s in any other papers.” ¹ Assistant Commissioner (Crime). “Yes, sir, a lot of them. Many of the “pennies” have got a paragraph about it. It’s just the sort of thing they seize on to and try and work up into a ‘sensation.’” “I wonder what the girl’s got in her mind,” muttered Sir Leward. “Hardly a matter for us, is it, sir?” asked his subordinate. “No, not at—not as far as I know. You needn’t bother about it, Barrod; I know the girl slightly—I’ll go and see her quietly, just in case there’s something behind this. Now, about these Treasury note forgeries; has Murgate reported yet on the Goodge Street plant? I don’t believe myself that that outfit could have produced such high-class work. . . .” Soon after five that evening, Sir Leward emerged from Scotland Yard and crossed Whitehall in the direction of Storey’s Gate, taking off his hat to the delicate Cenotaph which lay on his right. The head of the C.I.D. was a squarely built man of medium height, with long arms and rather rounded shoulders. In spite of the fact that he had been a soldier, he was clean-shaven, whilst his mouth, with its full lips, was intelligent rather than firm. Occupying a succession of comfortable posts at the War Office during the last three and a half years of the War, he had been at hand to slip into this plum of ex-service civilian posts when it fell vacant, being wise enough to relinquish a better-paid but moribund Army appointment before the returning flood of warriors from sea and land glutted both service and civilian markets.