“I’ll be very glad to help you, Inspector,” he said. “I do know a little about this business. Sir Garth asked me to make some enquiries himself and I made an appointment or two for him that I fancy had something to do with it. I won’t bother you with details now; I shall be able to give you something more worth having in a day or two.” Thanking Mangane, Poole left the house, without—as he had secretly hoped—catching a glimpse of Miss Fratten. Returning to the Yard, he collected Dr. Vyle (by telephone) and three intelligent plain-clothes men and having coached the latter in their parts, sent one of them to fetch Mr. Barrod. Asking the Chief Inspector to represent Mr. Wagglebow; Dr. Vyle, Mr. Lossett; and one of the constables, Miss Peake; Poole set the remaining constables, Rawton and Smith, to walk side by side down the broad stone staircase, while he himself waited behind a corner at the top. The lights were turned out so that only the feeble daylight lit the stairs. When the two constables were about half-way down, with Barrod a few steps immediately behind and Dr. Vyle to their right rear, Poole came running down after them and, stumbling, bumped into the left shoulder of Detective Constable Rawton; as he did so, he swung his closed right fist with a vicious half-hook into the centre of Rawton’s back. With an involuntary, but realistic, “Ow!” Rawton staggered against Smith, who held him up and asked anxiously what was the matter. “Nothing, mate; only a 5.9 in the small o’ me back” said Rawton ruefully. Poole apologized profusely and then made swiftly off down the stairs and disappeared round a corner to the left, whilst the third constable, entering with gusto into his part, came and clucked round the other two in the manner he considered appropriate to a highly strung and imaginative female. “Well, sir,” asked Poole, returning, “any possibility of mistakes?” “Of course not; not the way you do it—much too obvious. You should . . .” “You have a shot at it, sir,” said Poole, slightly nettled at this reception of his best effort. “I’ll take your place. We’ll do it again.” “Could Kelly change with me, sir?” inquired Rawton anxiously. “He’s a single man; I’ve a wife and kids dependent on me.” Poole laughed. “General Post,” he said. “Doctor, will you take the lady; Kelly you be Sir Garth, and Rawton, you Lossett.” The reconstruction performance was repeated, with an altered cast. Chief Inspector Barrod stumbled at a point rather farther behind his victim than Poole had done, and fell with nearly his full weight against the back of Kelly’s shoulder. “Christ, I’m killed!” yelled that unfortunate. “What have ye in y’r fist, Chief?” Barrod chuckled delightedly and extracted an ebony ruler from up his sleeve. “That’ll leave a bruise all right—I’ll back mine against yours, Poole—and I’ll bet you didn’t notice anything more than the fall.”