This rather water-tight alibi sounded to the detective much less genuine than the more loose and casual one of Captain Wraile; Miss Saverel had so clearly impressed her late exit upon Canting by referring to a horse whose victory could be exactly dated by reference to the sporting press. Poole was prepared to bet that if he questioned the clerks and Mr. Blagge he would find that she had also drawn their attention to her presence in the office at the last possible moment. When he had time he would get a time-schedule down on paper and see what her limits—if she was indeed the driver of the wanted car—must have been; he would then know exactly what he had got to tackle. In the meantime, he must get in touch with Lessingham before closing time.
There were two obvious ways of doing this; one by going to the address given him by the Victory Finance Company—the Hotel Antwerp in Adam Street; the other by trying the office of the Rotunda Syndicate. Obviously, Lessingham would not be at his hotel at four o’clock in the afternoon; he might be at his office. Poole went to the nearest telephone-box and looked up the Rotunda Syndicate; it did not figure in the directory.
On second thoughts the detective realized that the Rotunda Syndicate was just the kind of concern (from what he had heard of it) that would not be in the Telephone Directory, though it might be on the telephone. There remained the Ethiopian and General Development Company, which would certainly have the address, or its managing-director, Captain Wraile; the latter was closer at hand but Poole thought he had been disturbed quite enough for one afternoon.
To the offices of the Ethiopian and General, therefore, Poole made his way and, after asking for the manager—who, of course, was not in—obtained what he wanted, without too great a strain upon his skill and veracity, from the head-clerk.
137A Monument Lane was the address of the Rotunda Syndicate and, when found, proved to be a tall and narrow building squeezed between two more imposing edifices. It also proved to have no lift, and Poole had the pleasure of climbing six flights of stone stairs—only to find a locked and unresponsive door at the top.
“One man show, for a monkey,” thought Poole.
Nobody in the building knew anything about Mr. Lessingham, of the Rotunda Syndicate, but a clerk on the floor below had occasionally seen a stoutish middle-aged chap with a stoop mounting to, or descending from, the top floor. Once or twice, also, he had seen a girl, who looked as if she might be a typist. Poole realized that he had stupidly forgotten to ask Mr. Blagge for a description of Lessingham, but he felt pretty certain that this must be he.
There remained the Hotel Antwerp; at least something could be learnt about Lessingham there, even though it was not likely to produce a meeting. On reaching Adam Street, Poole was surprised to find that the Hotel Antwerp was a small and rather shabby affair, which seemed hardly the place to provide congenial accommodation for a financier, even if he were not a particularly stable one. However, there was no accounting for taste; possibly Mr. Travers Lessingham preferred to economize on his bedroom in order to allow of expansion elsewhere.
Within a few minutes Poole was closeted in the manager’s office with Mr. Blertot, himself a citizen of the no mean city from which his establishment took its name. This, the detective decided, was a case where authority, rather than tact, was required. With the more select hotels and, still more with clubs, it was inadvisable to display the mailed fist—managers and secretaries, not to mention hall-porters, in those places, were extremely jealous of the confidential status of their clients and members, and needed very gentle handling if any information was to be obtained. But a small, second-rate hotel desired above all things to be on good terms with the police; therefore Poole produced his official card and corresponding manner.
“I am, as you see, a police-officer, Mr. Blertot,” he said “an Inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard. I require some information about one of your patrons, and I must impress upon you how serious would be your position if you withheld information or divulged the fact that you have been asked for it.”