Sir Leward nodded in dismissal and his two subordinates left the room, Poole following the Chief Inspector to the office which the latter shared with three other Chief Inspectors. Barrod sat down at his desk and started to go through some papers. Poole waited in silence for a minute and then, thinking that perhaps his superior had forgotten his presence, he coughed discreetly. Barrod lifted his head and looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Yes?” he said. “Any instructions, sir?” “You’ve had your instructions from the Chief.” Inspector Poole felt slightly uncomfortable—as if there was a hitch somewhere. “I report progress through you, I suppose, sir, as usual?” “Sir Leward told you to report to him. You’d better do as you’re told. This case has nothing to do with me.” Decidedly, a hitch. “Very good, sir.” Poole left the room, wondering just what the trouble was. He was not at all pleased at getting on the wrong side of Chief Inspector Barrod at this stage of his career, though he could not see what he himself had done to bring this about. Perhaps the Chief Inspector had forgotten his Kruschen that morning—or taken an overdose. More probably, he had been himself ticked off about something and this was just a case of the office-boy taking it out of the cat. Anyway, Poole did not propose to allow himself to be put out by this little cloud on the horizon. The story that he had heard had rather intrigued him. For the moment, of course, there was very little in it; from a criminal point of view there would probably prove to be nothing in it at all. But the chief characters concerned were undoubtedly interesting. In the first place, Sir Garth Fratten, the great banker, whose reputation for financial ability amounting almost to genius had penetrated well beyond the bounds of the City. Then there was his daughter, Miss Fratten. Sir Leward had not, of course, revealed the physical side of his attraction to her—he had not referred in any way to her appearance or qualities; but it was quite clear that she was a girl of character and determination; she would almost certainly be an interesting person to meet. Finally there was the doctor, Sir Horace Spavage—a man of established reputation, “Physician in Ordinary to the King.” If it turned out that there had been foul play—and he had given a death certificate of “natural causes”—he would be in a funny position. Poole decided first of all to visit the doctor. If there was anything questionable about Sir Garth’s death it was essential to find out the actual cause. So far he was very vague on this subject.