“Was he?”
“Why, yes; why, of course he was!”
“The first time I spoke to you, Mr. Hessel, you told me that on that very evening, a few minutes before his death, Sir Garth was talking to you about some trouble with his son—about the son’s lack of affection for his father. You said yourself that they did not understand one another, that Sir Garth was unjust to his son—his adopted son, it now appears.”
Hessel looked pale and troubled.
“Yes, yes, Inspector,” he said. “That may be so. But what I said in no way implied that there was serious trouble between them; at bottom, I am quite certain, they were both deeply attached to one another.”
“I happen to know, sir,” the detective persisted, “that there was serious trouble between them. I also know that Mr. Ryland Fratten has not satisfactorily accounted for his whereabouts at that hour—and I know other things. Now I want, sir, direct answers to two questions, if you will be so good as to give them to me. First, do you believe that the man who knocked into Sir Garth on the Steps that evening was Mr. Ryland Fratten?”
“No, I do not!” exclaimed Hessel emphatically.
“Very well, sir; now, do you give me your assurance that, beyond all reasonable doubt, it was not Ryland Fratten?”
Poole’s steady eyes searched into the depths of the harassed face of the banker; they saw doubt, anxiety, and, finally, determination.
“I . . . I . . . yes, I am sure—absolutely sure—that it was not Ryland,” said Hessel.