Put on her mettle by this cavalier treatment, Inez ran up to her room, put on a hat and a pointed fox fur, and was soon bowling along in a taxi to Rollinson’s. With an air of considerable _empressement_ she demanded to see the manager and, as her appearance and her card were sufficiently important to open such an august portal, she soon found herself in that aristocratic gentleman’s room. Having already divulged her name, Inez knew that it was no good trying to invent some cock-and-bull story to cloak her inquiry; the report of the inquest was in all the papers that morning, including, of course, the account of Ryland’s abortive liaison with an unknown young lady in St. James’s Park. Very wisely, Inez decided to take the manager entirely into her confidence. Needless to say, the poor man was easy game for Inez, who, when she chose to exert her full powers, could wring sympathy out of a University Professor; had she not, only a few hours previously, derailed an ambitious young detective under full steam? Mr. Rodney-Phillips (in private life, Rodnocopoulos) became at once her ardent collaborator in the search for truth—and “Daphne.” Inez produced the handkerchief. “This is our only clue,” she said. “Is it possible to identify the scent? If anyone can do it, I know you can.” Mr. Rodney-Phillips bowed and held out a fat white palm. The handkerchief being placed on it, he conveyed it to within about six inches of his fine nose, closed his eyes, and gave a long, slow, and utterly refined sniff. Instantly he opened his eyes. “Why, certainly, madame,” he exclaimed. “This is one of our own perfumes—one of our choicest, and most ‘chic’ conceptions—‘Breath of Eden.’ It is, of course, exclusively purveyed by ourselves; there is every hope of our being able to identify the purchaser by the help of your description of the lady—though, of course, a certain amount is sold over the counter to casual purchasers. I will send for Miss Gilling, our head assistant.” Miss Gilling, however, was less hopeful—was, in fact, rather bored by the enquiry. There were, she declared, a number of ladies among their clientele, answering broadly to the vague description which was all that Inez could produce. The scent was a popular one and was sold in considerable quantities to both regular and occasional customers. Inez’s hopes were dashed by the uncompromising and unhelpful pronouncement, but the manager was not going to allow his promises to be so lightly upset. “But we must enquire, Miss Gilling,” he exclaimed. “The books must be examined. I have promised Miss Fratten that we will identify the purchaser.” Instantly Miss Gilling pricked up her ears and discarded the pose of supercilious languor that she had hitherto adopted. “Miss Fratten?” she exclaimed. “Are you Miss Fratten? Oh, then I think I can help you. I have myself on more than one occasion supplied this very perfume to the order of your . . . of Mr. Ryland Fratten!” CHAPTER XIII Eye-Witnesses