Barrod, however, was a fair-minded man, and though he had no high opinion of his new Inspector, he did not allow the latter to be aware of the fact. It was with no misgiving, therefore, that Poole answered the summons to report himself to the A.C.C. Certainly his appearance, as he respectfully acknowledged Sir Leward’s greeting, did not belie his reputation. Standing about five feet ten inches, he had the straight hips, small waist and wide shoulders of the ideal athlete, though his clothes were cut to conceal, rather than accentuate, these features. His face, except for the eyes, was not remarkable; the chin was well-moulded rather than strong, the mouth quietly firm, and the forehead of medium height. But the eyes were, to anyone accustomed to study faces, an indication of his character—grey, steady eyes that looked quietly at the object before them, with a curiously unblinking gaze that allowed nothing to escape them. They had, for a detective, the distinct disadvantage that, to anyone who had encountered them, they were not easily forgotten.
“Sir Leward wants you to look into a case for him, Poole,” said the Chief Inspector. “It would probably save time, sir,” he added turning to Marradine, “if you gave him the facts and your instructions yourself.”
Marradine repeated his account of his interview with Miss Fratten and his own impressions on the subject.
“You’ll see, Poole,” he said, “that so far there is no real case to investigate; the doctor signed a death certificate without question, nobody has laid any information or in any way hinted at foul play. And yet I’m not satisfied—and clearly Miss Fratten is not satisfied. I want you to make one or two very quiet and discreet inquiries. It mustn’t get about that Scotland Yard is moving in the matter—we don’t want to bring a hornet’s nest about our ears. Of course, you will have to act in your official capacity—the people whom you question will have to know that we are interested—but it must not go any further. Impress that upon them. I would suggest your seeing the doctor—Spavage, I think his name was—and the solicitor. Possibly that chap Hessel, who was with Sir Garth when he died.”
Chief Inspector Barrod had been turning the pages of a Medical Directory.
“Sir Horace Spavage, M.D. 1902, L.R.C.B. Lond. 1910, etc., etc., Phys. in Ord. to H.M. the King. Cons. Phys. Heart Hospital . . . is that the chap?” he asked.
“Yes, that’ll be him; I remember, the name now—Sir Horace Spavage. The solicitor you’ll have to get from Miss Fratten—I don’t know anything about him. When you’ve had a talk with them, come and see me and we’ll decide whether it’s worth while going any further.”
Sir Leward nodded in dismissal and his two subordinates left the room, Poole following the Chief Inspector to the office which the latter shared with three other Chief Inspectors. Barrod sat down at his desk and started to go through some papers. Poole waited in silence for a minute and then, thinking that perhaps his superior had forgotten his presence, he coughed discreetly. Barrod lifted his head and looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“Yes?” he said.
“Any instructions, sir?”