“Absolutely. I never saw or heard of him again.”
Poole thought for a while, trying to find some fresh line of approach.
“It’s probably quite immaterial,” he said at last, “but could you by any chance tell me what was the subject of your conversation with Sir Garth that evening? You said that you were so engrossed in it that you went out of your way.”
The slight raising of Hessel’s eyebrows had a curious effect of rebuke upon the detective.
“If it is material, I can tell you,” he replied. “We were talking of Sir Garth’s son, Ryland Fratten. He was worried about him. They were a case of father and son, both very charming people, not understanding one another. I always thought Sir Garth rather unjust to Ryland.”
Poole had pricked up his ears.
“What was the trouble between them, sir?”
But Hessel evidently thought that he had said enough.
“Ah, Inspector,” he replied, “I don’t think I can enter into what amounts to little more than gossip—it’s not quite my line. So far as our conversation that evening went, it concerned Ryland’s affection or apparent lack of affection for his father. That is what I can tell you of my own knowledge; beyond that I am not prepared to go.”
Poole decided not to press the point. He tried a fresh tack.