“Now, sir,” he said. “I’ve decided to ask your help. I know a little bit about finance generally, but the details of a finance company like this are rather beyond me. You probably know something about this already; perhaps Sir Garth consulted you. I’ve got no one whom I know better than you to consult. If I started nosing about in the City myself—cross-questioning these people—they’d probably shut up like oysters, and if there’s anything wrong the criminals would be warned. Anything you did in that way would come much more naturally. Now, will you help me? Will you look into this Victory Finance Company business and see if you can give me a line?—I can give you an idea or two of my own to work on perhaps. I expect you want to clear up this business of Sir Garth’s death as much as most of us; will you help?”
A curious expression had come into Mangane’s face as the detective propounded his request; it ended in a smile.
“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.”