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  ‘Nothing of interest,’ Giles said.

  They went through the rest of the desk together, and turned next to the safe. Very little of importance was discovered there, but Hannasyde commandeered a Bank book, and a big ledger, and retired with them to the desk, and studied both for some time in silence.

  Giles began to fill a pipe, and presently remarked: ‘I call this boring.’ Hannasyde grunted. ‘Anything in the Bank book?’ inquired Giles.

  ‘Not at first glance. Seems to have kept his records a bit casually. Doesn’t always show what he sold in order to buy some of these blocks of shares.’ He sighed, and closed the book. ‘I shall have to go into it more thoroughly. Let’s take a look at his filing cabinet.’

  This revealed nothing of any interest. They went quickly through the little that was contained in it, and Giles, yawning, remarked that he was glad he was not a member of the C.I.D.

  ‘A lot of people would be surprised if they knew how dull most of our work is,’ replied Hannasyde. ‘I want to take charge of the Bank book, and the ledger, and that diary, Mr Carrington. I don’t think there’s anything else here. We’ll hope for better luck at his house. Could you meet me at the Poplars at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’ll motor you down there,’ said Giles. ‘I suppose you’re now going to call on Gladys Smith?’

  ‘Gladys Smith wants explaining,’ answered Hannasyde imperturbably. ‘Who is she, and why does she figure all amongst Stock Exchange quotations, and appointments?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find out,’ said Giles cordially. ‘You’ll probably find she’s a typist who applied for a job with Matthews, but I admire your zeal.’

  ‘No sign that he ever employed a typist.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove that he wasn’t going to,’ retorted Giles.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ said Hannasyde placidly.

  But on the following morning, when he got into Giles’ car, he said: ‘My straws are beginning to make a rope, Mr Carrington. She wasn’t a typist in search of a job.’

  ‘What?’ said Giles. ‘Oh, Gladys Smith! So you did go and see her! What was she like?’

  Hannasyde struck a match, and began to light his pipe. ‘She’s a pretty little woman. Not very young, and distinctly common. What you might describe as a comfortable creature. Nice eyes, and a motherly smile.’ He paused, and added between puffs. ‘She’d never heard of Gregory Matthews.’

  Giles burst out laughing. ‘Oh, that’s even better than I expected! My poor Hannasyde, what a blow for you!’

  ‘I didn’t take it like that,’ said Hannasyde, pressing the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with one square thumb. ‘I thought it the most interesting circumstance that has yet come to light. You’re not doing yourself justice, Mr Carrington. Don’t you think it’s a trifle odd that she should never have heard of a man who has her name and address written down in his diary?’

  ‘Perhaps she knows him under an assumed name,’ suggested Giles lightly. ‘Strong aroma of intrigue about this. Was there a liaison?’

  ‘Oh no, she didn’t even recognise his photograph,’ said Hannasyde. ‘No doubt about that.’

  ‘I admit it does seem a trifle queer,’ said Giles. ‘Not altogether helpful, though. Where does the rope you mentioned come in?’

  ‘She took me into her drawing-room,’ said Hannasyde. ‘Cosy little room. Lots of cushions and knick-knacks. You know the style, I expect. There was a large portrait of a man bang in the middle of the mantelpiece. She told me it was her husband.’

  ‘Perhaps it was,’ said Giles charitably.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Hannasyde in his unemotional way. ‘It was a photograph of Mr Henry Lupton.’

  Six

  Henry Lupton?’ repeated Giles, a little blankly. ‘You don’t mean the hen-pecked brother-in-law? Is he keeping a mistress? How extremely funny!’

  ‘May not be so funny,’ said Hannasyde. ‘That’s about the size of it, though. I didn’t get much out of Gladys Smith. She said her husband was a commercial traveller, and often away from home. Great air of respectability about the whole thing. Poor devil!’

  ‘Who? Henry? Seems to have found consolation.’

  ‘Not much consolation if it comes to his wife’s ears.’

  ‘Well, what’s it all about? What have Lupton’s peccadilloes to do with Matthews’ death?’

  ‘Perhaps nothing. But if you remember, Mr Carrington, Gladys Smith figured in Matthews’ diary on May 9th. On the 13th he had an appointment to see Lupton. Doesn’t that seem to you to hang together?’

  Giles frowned. ‘Yes, it might, I suppose. Matthews found out about Gladys Smith and threatened Lupton with exposure if he didn’t jettison her. Is that what you mean? Was he very fond of his sister?’

  ‘He seems to have been fonder of her than of the rest of his family. And from what I’ve heard of him a ruthless piece of blackmail like that would have been just about his mark.’

  ‘He looked a bit of a brute,’ commented Giles. ‘I take it Lupton now steps into the rôle of Chief Suspect, as Kenneth would say. I’m sorry about that: I had some news I hoped would please you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Hannasyde asked.

  Giles smiled. ‘Oh, only your friend Randall. He rang me up last night to find out what you were up to – or so I gathered. Anyway, he’s meeting us at the Poplars today.’

  ‘What for?’ demanded Hannasyde.

  Giles shrugged. ‘Well, he has every right to be present when you go through Matthews’ papers. He’s one of the executors, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve no objection,’ Hannasyde said. ‘But I’d like to know why he wants to be there.’

  ‘You’d better ask him,’ replied Giles. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Quite right,’ approved Hannasyde, and relapsed into meditative silence.

  Randall’s car was not to be seen when they arrived at the Poplars, but the first sound that met their ears when they were admitted into the house was that of Mrs Lupton’s voice. A man’s hat lying on the table beside a pair of brown leather gloves seemed to indicate that her husband might also be present. Hannasyde looked at the hat without appearing to do so, and turned to greet Miss Harriet Matthews, who came out of the library towards him. She was looking flustered, and annoyed, and spoke in an even more disjointed fashion than usual. ‘Oh, you’ve come!’ she said. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me – oh, how do you do, Mr Carrington? I didn’t see you! – but I must say I can’t see what poor Gregory’s private papers have to do with the police, and I consider it officious – not that anyone pays the least heed to what I say. You needn’t think you’re going to find anything, because I know perfectly well there’s nothing to find, and if there did happen to be any letters about the Brazilian business it proves nothing at all, whatever my sister may have told you to the contrary, as I’ve no doubt she did!’

  Mrs Lupton came out of the library in the middle of this speech, followed by her husband, and said with her customary air of majesty: ‘Do not make yourself ridiculous, Harriet. Good-morning, gentlemen. I understand you wish to inspect my brother’s papers?’

  ‘It has nothing whatever to do with you, Gertrude!’ said Miss Matthews excitedly. ‘I won’t be treated like a cypher in my own house! You’ve no business here at all, behaving as though you were the one who had to be consulted! No one asked you to come, and no one wanted you!’

  ‘Ah, good-morning, Mr Carrington!’ cooed a voice from the stairs. Mrs Matthews had made her appearance, and bestowed a gracious smile on Giles, and a more formal one on the Superintendent. ‘Such a lovely morning, isn’t it? Dear Gertrude! What a surprise! And Henry, too!’

  Miss Matthews eyed her with smouldering resentment. ‘Well, you’re down very early, Zoë!’ she said. ‘Quite remarkable! Of course, none of us can guess why. Oh, no!’

  ‘Perhaps it was not quite wise of me,’ agreed Mrs Matthews. ‘But on a day like this one feels glad to be alive.’ He