Inez’s hopes were dashed by the uncompromising and unhelpful pronouncement, but the manager was not going to allow his promises to be so lightly upset.

“But we must enquire, Miss Gilling,” he exclaimed. “The books must be examined. I have promised Miss Fratten that we will identify the purchaser.”

Instantly Miss Gilling pricked up her ears and discarded the pose of supercilious languor that she had hitherto adopted.

“Miss Fratten?” she exclaimed. “Are you Miss Fratten? Oh, then I think I can help you. I have myself on more than one occasion supplied this very perfume to the order of your . . . of Mr. Ryland Fratten!”

CHAPTER XIII.
Eye-Witnesses

Poole realized that before pinning the crime of murdering Sir Garth Fratten to any individual, he must first find out, or at any rate try to find out, how that murder had been committed. It was clear enough when it was done but, so far, in spite of the presence of a number of witnesses, it was not at all clear how it was done.

In addition to Hessel, a number of witnesses had written to or communicated in other ways with the police, offering to give evidence at the inquest as to the “accident” on the Duke of York’s Steps. Preliminary investigations had suggested that none of these witnesses had any very different story to tell than had already been provided by Hessel, and it had not been thought necessary to call them for the initial stages of the Coroner’s enquiry. Poole, however, had their addresses and, on the morning after his interview with Inez Fratten—and his failure to interview Ryland—he determined to make a round of visits and go exhaustively into the question of what the eye-witnesses of the accident had seen.

The first name on his list was that of Mr. Thomas Lossett, of 31 Gassington Road, Surbiton, employed at Tyler, Potts and Co., the Piccadilly hatters. Mr. Lossett proved to be what was popularly known as the “hat-lusher” at this celebrated establishment—that is to say, he wore a white apron and a paper cap and ironed or blocked the hats of the firm’s aristocratic clients. By permission of the manager, whom Poole took into his confidence, the detective was allowed to interview Mr. Lossett in a small room set aside for the storage of customers’ own silk hats when out of town—from the comparative emptiness of the shelves Poole deduced that the practice of silk-hat farming was in decline.

Mr. Lossett was a loquacious gentleman of about fifty. He was, it appeared, in a position to give an exact account of the incident because he had been only a few yards away from Sir Garth when the accident occurred. He had first noticed the gentlemen as they stood underneath the Column before beginning the descent of the steps. He was on his way from Piccadilly to Waterloo—he often walked, if it were a fine evening, being a firm believer in the value of pedestrian exercise—and his attention had been attracted to the two gentlemen by the fact that they both wore top-hats—a comparatively rare phenomenon on a week-day in these degenerate times. Descending the broad steps a little behind and to the side of them, his attention had never really left them and he had been fully aware of the hurried descent of a man in a light overcoat and a bowler hat, who stumbled just as he was passing the two gentlemen and knocked against Sir Garth Fratten—as Mr. Lossett had afterwards discovered the taller of the two to have been.

Poole questioned Mr. Lossett closely on the actual impact, and obtained a very clear statement. Lossett had seen the man before he actually struck against Sir Garth and was perfectly certain that no blow had been struck with the hand or with any instrument. He had stumbled against Sir Garth’s side, rather than his back, and had clutched the banker’s arm to prevent himself from falling. As for his appearance, he was decidedly tall and wore a black moustache. He had spoken in what Mr. Lossett described as a “genteel” voice, had apologized handsomely, saying that he was in a great hurry to get to the Admiralty, and, as Sir Garth appeared to be all right, had hurried off in the direction of that building. Lossett had not himself waited to see what became of Sir Garth, as he had not too much time in which to catch his train; he had been intensely surprised to read of the fatal outcome of the accident, as it had seemed to him so trivial. He put the time of the accident at somewhere between 6.15 and 6.30.