“If it is material, I can tell you,” he replied. “We were talking of Sir Garth’s son, Ryland Fratten. He was worried about him. They were a case of father and son, both very charming people, not understanding one another. I always thought Sir Garth rather unjust to Ryland.” Poole had pricked up his ears. “What was the trouble between them, sir?” But Hessel evidently thought that he had said enough. “Ah, Inspector,” he replied, “I don’t think I can enter into what amounts to little more than gossip—it’s not quite my line. So far as our conversation that evening went, it concerned Ryland’s affection or apparent lack of affection for his father. That is what I can tell you of my own knowledge; beyond that I am not prepared to go.” Poole decided not to press the point. He tried a fresh tack. “Sir Garth was a rich man, Mr. Hessel, and of course, in his way, a powerful man. I suppose it is possible that he may have made enemies?” But Hessel was not to be drawn. He smiled and shook his head. “Aren’t we verging a little bit on the melodramatic, Inspector?” he said. “I suppose your suggestion is that some City magnate hired an assassin to put a hated rival out of the way. That may have been the custom a couple of centuries ago, but hardly today—quite apart from the fact that I can’t see how you make the death out to be anything but accidental.” Poole realized that he had now lost the sympathy of his audience; he wisely decided to go. Thanking the banker for his help and courtesy, as well as for his tea, the detective made his way out into the street. When he called upon Mr. Menticle in the afternoon he had learned that the latter lived in Lincoln’s Inn, as well as working there, and might well be at home later in the day. He decided now to try his luck again. He arrived at Mr. Menticle’s chambers at about six o’clock and found that the owner had “sported his oak.” In ordinary circumstances Poole, as an Oxford man, would have respected this appeal for privacy, but as it was he felt that the chariot wheels of justice must roll through even this sacred tradition. He knocked firmly on the outer door.