“Plenty. I only gave that as the first step. If you know of anything else—if you can make any other suggestion that would give us a line to work on, I should be only too grateful.” Inez curled herself into one corner of the big sofa. “I wish you’d smoke or something,” she said—“while I’m thinking.” Poole did not fall in with this suggestion but he sat down on the nearest chair. He was not sure what his chief would think of the line he was taking, but for the moment, it was very pleasant to sit and look at this delicious young creature, with the attractive frown of thought on her brow. “There’s just one thing that occurs to me,” she said at last. “For more than a week before he died, my father seemed rather worried about something. He’d given up working after dinner for some time, but during the time I’m speaking of, he used to go off to his study soon after dinner and stay there till nearly bedtime. I went in once to see what he was up to and try to get him out of it—it wasn’t good for him. He’d got a whole pile of papers on his desk—balance sheets and things, and he was making a lot of notes on some foolscap. It wasn’t like him to be worried—he always took business so calmly. I don’t suppose there’s anything in it.” “You don’t know what the papers were?” “I don’t. Mr. Mangane might, of course.” “I’ll ask him. Thank you, Miss Fratten. Now what about your brother? I ought to see him.” Inez slipped off the sofa to her feet and came towards Poole. “Let me speak to him first,” she said. “You have a go at Mangane. I promise he shan’t run away.” The steady gaze of those calm grey eyes, so close to his, intoxicated Poole. He felt for a moment an overpowering impulse to say: “Oh don’t, please, bother any more; I won’t do anything to hurt your brother or you.” With a wrench he recalled himself to his duty. He must do it, however unpleasant it was—still, there might be something in the idea of her seeing her brother first—she might make him talk. He decided to take the risk. “Very well, Miss Fratten,” he said. “I’ll do that.” Guided by Inez, Poole found Mangane in his slip of an office on the other side of the study. When the girl had departed Mangane turned to his visitor with a sardonic smile. “Well, Inspector, what can I do for you? Shall I be out of order if I ask you to sit down and have a smoke?” “I’d like to smoke a pipe more than I can say,” replied Poole with a smile. “I haven’t had one since breakfast. Not even when I took the jury into the mortuary. I’m very glad to find you, sir.” Mangane shrugged his shoulders. “If you must, you must,” he said. “I want to ask you about Sir Garth’s business affairs. Have you any reason to suppose that one can get a line there as to the motive of his murder?” “You’re convinced that it was murder?” “Must have been—look at the wound—the bruising.” “Couldn’t it have been done when he fell?”