Then, as to the appearance of Sir Garth Fratten’s assailant, there was much difference of opinion. Tarker had described him as “getting on for middle-age,” while Wagglebow thought him “undoubtedly young”; but then Tarker was himself a young man and Wagglebow an old, which would probably account for the difference, each judging from his own standpoint. The observant Press was probably near the mark in putting him at thirty-five.
The consensus of opinion pointed to a bowler hat, but the overcoat varied from “light” (Lossett), through “medium grey” (Press), to “not quite black” (Wagglebow). All seemed agreed on the subject of a moustache, but whereas Press and Wagglebow thought him of “medium” or “ordinary” size, Lossett had described him as “decidedly tall.”
The question of the man’s “class” was unsatisfactory. Poole had not questioned his earlier witnesses specifically on this point—he blamed himself for not doing so—but he had certainly gathered the impression, both from them and previously from Mr. Hessel, that he was of middle class, a clerk or responsible messenger. Press, however, probably an expert witness on this subject, had been absolutely certain that the man was a “gentleman”—by which he probably meant someone accustomed to command obedience. It was a point which might be of the very first importance and Poole made a note to question Lossett, Tarker, Wagglebow, and possibly Miss Moon, as well as Mr. Hessel, about it in the near future.
On the really vital point of the blow, however, there was remarkable unanimity of opinion; not one had seen a blow struck or believed it had been struck, whilst two—Lossett and particularly Mr. Wagglebow (who might be regarded as a most reliable witness)—were absolutely certain that a blow had not been struck. This was a most serious matter; it left a really vital gap in the chain of evidence.
For some time the detective sat pondering over this problem and gradually the glimmerings of an idea took shape in his mind. They were so vague, however, that he deliberately put them aside until he had got more information by which to test them. In the first place he determined to try and see Mr. Hessel again that evening and with that object in view, put a call through to the Wanderers’ Club to enquire whether that gentleman was in. While waiting for a reply, he sent for Sergeant Gower, who had been detailed to work under him in this case. Before starting out that morning, Poole had detailed Sergeant Gower to go to the Admiralty and make enquiries about the identity of any possible messenger, either to or from the Admiralty, answering the description given by Mr. Hessel, on the evening of 24th October. The task had not, it appeared, taken Gower long; every incoming message would automatically go through the Registry, as would all outgoing messages, except those sent privately by very senior officers who could afford to ignore, and did sometimes ignore, the regulations. The number of plain-clothes clerks who could be so employed was strictly limited, and when it was further reduced by the condition of a moustache—in a naval office such appendages were as scarce as its marines—it did not take long to discover that no such messenger had been either from or to the Admiralty on the evening in question. As Poole had expected, the Admiralty message was nothing but a myth.
At this point, the hall porter of the Wanderers’ rang through to say that Mr. Hessel was not in the Club—and would not divulge whether he had been in it that day or was expected. Cursing the ultra-discretion of Clubland, Poole determined to try Hessel’s rooms, of which he had previously obtained the address. No reply could be extracted from the flat in Whitehall Court. Nothing daunted, Poole determined to walk round there; it was just possible that Mr. Hessel was at this hour himself walking home from club or office. He was right; when he got to the great block of flats behind the War Office, he found that the banker had just come in.
Mr. Hessel received the detective with a friendly smile. At Poole’s request, he repeated his account of the accident, but without throwing any fresh light on the question of the blow. He had not actually seen the man knock against Sir Garth, but he felt sure that he must have been conscious if anything so definite as a blow had been delivered. As to time, he had no means of fixing precise limits, but he would say soon after six. Poole thanked him for his information and turned to the question of appearance.
“Would you say that the man was a gentleman, sir?” he asked; “perhaps I ought to put it rather differently: did he appear to be a man of leisure, a business or professional man, a clerk—or what?”
Hessel thought for a time, before answering.
“Now you press me,” he said. “I find it rather difficult to answer. From his remarks—something about a message to the Admiralty, as I told you—I certainly formed the unconscious impression that he was of the clerk type. But I am not really at all sure. He was quite a nice-looking, pleasant-spoken young fellow; he might really quite well have been a professional man, I suppose. His clothes were not very smart, so far as I remember—but of course that tells one little in these hard times.”