“Not much at the moment, sir. He’s down for £5,000 in the will, of course—not much, unless a man’s desperately in need of money; I’ve no proof that Hessel is—but then I haven’t been looking for it. I’m going to now, though. I haven’t been through Sir Garth’s Fratten’s Bank papers yet; there may be a suggestion there, though it’s hardly possible that Sir Garth suspected anything wrong—he seems to have trusted Hessel completely.”
“Well, I don’t think much of that line,” said Barrod. “Hessel could have found a better place than that to hit Fratten in—St. James’s Park’s a bit public.”
“Exactly, sir; that’s got to be explained, whoever did it. But we must remember this—barring his son and daughter, nobody’s so likely to have known about the aneurism as his best friend, Hessel.”
The Chief Inspector shrugged his shoulders.
“Did you ever ask him if he knew?”
“No, but I’m going to.”
“Well, I don’t mind your following that up so long as you don’t drop young Fratten. If he slips you, Poole, you’re for it.”
There was a knock at the door and a constable came in.
“Young lady to see Inspector Poole, sir,” he said. “Name of Fratten.”
The two seniors exchanged glances.