“I don’t. Mr. Mangane might, of course.”
“I’ll ask him. Thank you, Miss Fratten. Now what about your brother? I ought to see him.”
Inez slipped off the sofa to her feet and came towards Poole.
“Let me speak to him first,” she said. “You have a go at Mangane. I promise he shan’t run away.”
The steady gaze of those calm grey eyes, so close to his, intoxicated Poole. He felt for a moment an overpowering impulse to say: “Oh don’t, please, bother any more; I won’t do anything to hurt your brother or you.” With a wrench he recalled himself to his duty. He must do it, however unpleasant it was—still, there might be something in the idea of her seeing her brother first—she might make him talk. He decided to take the risk.
“Very well, Miss Fratten,” he said. “I’ll do that.”
Guided by Inez, Poole found Mangane in his slip of an office on the other side of the study. When the girl had departed Mangane turned to his visitor with a sardonic smile.
“Well, Inspector, what can I do for you? Shall I be out of order if I ask you to sit down and have a smoke?”
“I’d like to smoke a pipe more than I can say,” replied Poole with a smile. “I haven’t had one since breakfast. Not even when I took the jury into the mortuary. I’m very glad to find you, sir.”
Mangane shrugged his shoulders.