CHAPTER XV.Alan Warburton Leads Trumps“This is getting more interesting than ever,” exclaimed Bannister. “Lo and behold!—the man I was about to seek—seeks me. I wonder why. Send him up, Falcon.”“Very good, Inspector.”Both men were quick to see that Alan Warburton looked very much the worse for wear. He was unshaven, his hair anything but tidy, and his clothes unbrushed—so completely unbrushed and creased that they gave the impression of having been slept in. And very recently at that. His collar by no stretch of imagination could be described as clean and his tie had been tied with glaring and almost exaggerated carelessness. He himself was in no different condition from the clothes in which he stood. His not too-clean hands were shaking, and in his eyes glittered something that looked exceedingly like a dangerous malevolence. Decidedly Mr. Warburton was looking anything but his best. Anthony had seen a suggestion of the same look before in the eyes of the mentally unbalanced and knew that it bordered upon a state of fanaticism. He was quite prepared therefore to hear startling news. He was not disappointed. He has been heard moreover, more than once afterwards to remark, when this astounding case has been the subject of discussion, that this coming of Warburton enabled him to disentangle the threads perhaps more than any other feature of the affair. Coincidental with Warburton’s voluntary entrance into the cast he avers that he began to see a glimmer of light stabbing through the darkness of doubt. He was able to reconcile certain suspicions with actual facts. Alan Warburton came to grips immediately. His self-control seemed to have entirely gone and he appeared mastered and dominated by a kind of raw desperation.“Chief-Inspector Bannister?” he exclaimed abruptly.“My name,” said Bannister laconically.“I understand you’re in charge of the Seabourne murder case—my name is Alan Warburton.”The Inspector watched him very carefully through his glasses. “Yes?” he murmured encouragingly. “What can I do for you?”“I’ve got information for you,” went on Warburton, fiercely; “information that only I can give, information that lets daylight into the case. I know the murderer and I’ll give you his name and by Heaven may I be there when the swine swings.” He brought his fist down on to the centre of the table with a resounding crash.“Steady, Mr. Warburton, steady. Collect yourself if you possibly can. Tell your story intelligently.”Warburton turned and eyed him with a dull smouldering glare. “What?” he demanded truculently; “what’s that you said? Intelligently? You’ll find my little recitation intelligent enough—too intelligent—God knows.” He buried his face in his hands to conceal the depth of his emotion. When he lifted it he was considerably calmer, but the dangerous light still remained fitfully flickering in his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I ask your indulgence. I’m on edge. My nerves are frayed to threads. I’ve been through red, blazing Hell these last few days. You see, I loved Sheila Delaney. I am the nephew of Sir Felix Warburton—another unlucky beggar”—he spoke with mordant bitterness—“and you can imagine I used to be in a good deal better circumstances than I am now. I’ve known Sheila since we were boy and girl together. We grew up side by side. Now she’s been murdered,” he burst out again. “And murdered by a lascivious blackguard”—he went on heedless of Bannister’s restraining hand—“and I’ll give the swine a name—Alexis—Crown Prince of Clorania—now you know,” he declared defiantly. Anthony saw Bannister start with astonishment.“What?” he shouted. Then his professional training asserted itself and he began to reason calmly with the extraordinary situation. “Explain yourself, Mr. Warburton. It’s one thing to bring an accusation—it’s another thing justifying it.”Warburton waved the challenge away almost imperiously—certainly disdainfully. He seemed very sure of himself and continued unperturbed and untroubled by Bannister’s curt demand. “I can justify myself all right—don’t you fret yourself. I shouldn’t be chatting here with you, Inspector Bannister, if I couldn’t do that. Ask Mr. Royal Highness Alexis what he was doing in Seabourne when Sheila went down there this last time. He’s been pestering her for months now—the skunk—ever since he met her in the February of last year. I know that and I can prove it.”It was here that Mr. Bathurst took a hand. The date was his positive attraction. “The February of last year? Mr. Warburton—you aren’t quite so well placed for information as we are. I’ll explain what I mean a little later. But coming back to what you just said—where did Miss Delaney meet the gentleman you mentioned? I should be interested to know that.”“At the Westhampton Hunt Ball.” Warburton shot the answer back in a tone that brooked no denial. “I can prove it, too, as I said. I was there myself and saw him.”Anthony saw from the corner of his eye that Bannister was knitting his brows in perplexity. But only momentarily.“Suppose you tell us the whole story, Mr. Warburton?” suggested the Inspector persuasively. “Begin at the beginning and marshal your facts in proper sequence so that we may properly understand it. We can then test its strength better.”Warburton flung another defiant glance in Bannister’s direction. “Test its strength?” he echoed mockingly. “It’s true and you can’t get anything stronger than Truth. Order me a drink, will you, Inspector—it’s confoundedly dry work talking? My mouth’s as dry as a lime-kiln.”Bannister frowned and touched the bell—without making any reply. Refreshed—Warburton began at the beginning as he had been directed and Anthony settled himself down to hear something that held a double interest for him. Although he was still agent for the Crown Prince he began to wonder where that gentleman actually stood and it seemed to him that Warburton’s story must throw light on the question. For he was beginning to harbour doubts about Alexis.“There’s not much to tell,” said Alan Warburton moodily. “In the February of last year I was a guest at the Annual Hunt Ball at Westhampton. It’s quite a big thing in its way. I accompanied Sheila Delaney.”“One moment,” broke in Bannister; “was there any understanding at that time between you and the lady?”“Not in so many words—but I was very confident that there soon would be and so there would have been if——”“Go on,” motioned Bannister.“During the evening, Major Carruthers, who was Chief Constable then and a sort of guardian always of Sheila, introduced her to a man whom I had never seen before. I suspected him to be the Crown Prince. To cut the story short, Sheila fell for him badly, and from that moment I began to slump very badly as an ice-cutter. In fact I disappeared completely from Sheila’s map. She told me some weeks afterwards that the man was Alexis, Crown Prince of Clorania. I implored her to give the man up. Shewed her how ridiculous it was. I told her she was playing with fire—that she was just providing temporary amusement for him. But she was like the rest of her sex. She wouldn’t listen to me. There are none so deaf as those that won’t hear! By God, I was right! She went to Seabourne to meet that swine and he murdered her. She’d served his purpose,” he declared vindictively. “But he’s not going to get away with it.”Bannister had some interrogating to do. “You assert that Miss Delaney informed you that her lover was the Crown Prince of Clorania. You have no doubt on the point?”“She told me what I’ve just told you. I couldn’t invent the name, could I?” he demanded churlishly.“Did you attempt to verify her statement in any way? It would have been quite simple to do so, surely—up to a point?”“I ascertained that it was perfectly true that the Crown Prince had attended the Ball that night—if that’s what you mean? I was quite satisfied, more than satisfied.”“Have you ever seen a photograph of the Crown Prince?”“Never—I’m not interested enough.”“You say that you saw him introduced to Miss Delaney by Major Carruthers?”“I did!”“Could you recognise him again if you saw him?”“I couldn’t swear to that. I might if I saw him in evening-dress. But he was some distance down the ballroom when the introduction took place and at other times I only saw his back—I tell you I wasn’t interested in the man—curse him!”Mr. Bathurst leant across the table. “I should like to ask you something, Mr. Warburton.”“What’s that?” replied Warburton discourteously.Anthony ignored the discourtesy. He made allowances for Alan Warburton’s unsettled condition. “Do you know a lady—niece of the late Major Carruthers, I believe—a Miss Daphne Carruthers?”“I’ve met her—I can’t say that I know her.”“Cast your memory back to that February evening—was this Daphne Carruthers present at the Hunt Ball?”“Yes, she was. I distinctly remember seeing her.”“Good! Now tell me again. Did she meet or dance with the Crown Prince of Clorania? To the best of your knowledge that is.”“As far as I know, certainly not.”“You never saw them together?”“No, I saw the Crown Prince with Major Carruthers. And as I said, Major Carruthers introduced Sheila to him, I’m positive of it. I’m almost certain he came to the Ball in the company of Major Carruthers.”“Would you be prepared to assert that he didn’t come with a lady?”“Most certainly I would!” Warburton was most emphatic on the point.“Don’t you think it strange, then,” went on Anthony, “that, although this distinguished guest came with Major Carruthers as you so positively declare, he never made the acquaintance of Daphne Carruthers—the Major’s own niece?”“I don’t think about it. I don’t see what any of these questions has got to do with my story.”“Don’t you?” interjected Bannister, unable to conceal a note of triumphant sarcasm; “don’t you? Would you be interested to know that the Crown Prince whom you are accusing of the murder of Miss Delaney was in Seabourne for the purpose of meeting Miss Carruthers?”“Who says so?” blazed Warburton.“I do,” rapped Bannister. “If you want to know, I left them there. They were at the ‘Hotel Cassandra’—I saw them myself—Mr. Bathurst here can support me—so you needn’t start arguing about it.”Warburton went white as a sheet. But he quickly recovered himself. “What’s all this talk about Daphne Carruthers—anyway? I don’t quite get in on that. Why did the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’ of Saturday last say that the police had every justification for their first attempt at identification? Why was Daphne Carruthers supposed to have been murdered?”“And where did you see the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’?” thundered Bannister.“In Seabourne, of course,” stormed back Warburton. “Where do you imagine I saw it—in the Westhampton Free Library, or that I found it in a railway carriage?”“Oh, then,” said the Inspector, with an ominous quietness, “so you’ve been recuperating at Seabourne too. Seems mighty popular just at the moment as a health-resort! What’s its special attraction?”Warburton glared at him insolently. “What took me to Seabourne is no concern of yours, Inspector. You bark up the right tree. And keep barking up it till something comes down. Never mind about me. Concentrate on little Alexis.”“Hold on for a moment. Where did you stay in Seabourne? Give me the address.”“At a dirty little boarding-house, if you want to know—right at the back of the town—kept by a Mrs. Leach—damned good name for her, too,” he added reminiscently, “judged by the terms she charged in relation to the quality of hercuisine.”“Give me the exact address, if you please?” ordered Bannister, with growing impatience.“ ‘Sea View,’ it’s about three miles from the sea, to be exact—that’s the reason for the name, no doubt. Froam Road.”Bannister made an entry in his book. “Not a very great distance, though, from Coolwater Avenue, Mr. Warburton,” he added with a wealth of meaning.“Too big a distance, by God,” raved Warburton. “If only I’d been nearer that swine would never have finished his dirty work. I’d have killed him with these hands!” He swung round on Bannister, passionately. “You can’t be such a fool as to think I’d lay a hand on Sheila Delaney of all people. I loved her far too much to hurt a hair of her pretty head. I worshipped the very ground she walked on.” His eyes caught Bannister’s and held them menacingly.But the Inspector was rapid and ready to counter him adroitly. “You loved her too much—eh? You loved her so much that you haven’t called upon her for months! You’ve never gone near her. How do you explain that, Mr. Galahad?”Warburton’s reply was contemptuous and emphatic. “Haven’t called upon her,” he repeated, the contempt increasing with each word uttered. “When a girl doesn’t want a man—if he’s a sportsman he keeps away. I don’t suppose your education has taught you that much. He doesn’t hang round her with a whine, does he?”Bannister’s temper, however, was badly frayed by now. “It depends,” he blazed. “Your story may be all right, Mr. Warburton. On the other hand it may not. I can assure you, it will have to be pretty strictly investigated.”“When you like and where you like, Inspector Bannister. Go through it with a small tooth-comb. That cackle won’t put any wind up me.” He flung out of the room leaving Bannister white and furious.“Well, Mr. Bathurst,” he said at length, “and what do you make of that charming gentleman? An extraordinary story, don’t you think?”“He’s passing through a phase of deep emotion, Inspector,” responded Anthony; “in point of fact, I’m intensely sorry for him. As to his story—it’s more than extraordinary—to me it’s positively conflicting—yet——”“Yet what?”“I think it may prove to be of inestimable help eventually. When I’ve sorted things out a bit I think perhaps there may be a peep of silver lining shining through the clouds.”“Hope to goodness you’re right—although I can’t see it myself.” He rattled the coins in his pocket.“What’s your next step, Inspector?” queried Mr. Bathurst.“Don’t quite know at this juncture—I’m torn between two or three intentions. There are several things I want to do. On the whole, I think I shall return to Seabourne. I’m confident the kernel of the affair will be found down there. Why do you ask?”“Well, I rather fancy I shall put in one or two more days up here. It’s a county about which I know very little and I feel that I should like to have a bit of a run round. I was always interested in new places.”“Hallo, Mr. Bathurst—the scent getting cold—eh?” Bannister’s tone was genially provoking and contained a strong hint of raillery.“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Anthony, showing easily discernible signs of discomfiture. “I wouldn’t say that—a day or two’s rest shouldn’t make a huge difference.”“None at all—in all probability,” laughed Bannister. The telephone rang and he crossed to it. The call was for him. Anthony listened attentively. “What?” the Inspector yelled. “You don’t say so? Two ‘fives’ and a ‘ten,’ eh? By Jove! That complicates matters with a vengeance. All right! I’ll be back to-morrow.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Mr. Bathurst. “That message settles me. I’m going back to Seabourne. Three of Miss Delaney’s stolen notes have been traced.”“To whom?” asked Mr. Bathurst quietly. “To a guest at the ‘Cassandra,’ ” said Bannister. “You’ve met him, too! A certain Captain Willoughby!”
“This is getting more interesting than ever,” exclaimed Bannister. “Lo and behold!—the man I was about to seek—seeks me. I wonder why. Send him up, Falcon.”
“Very good, Inspector.”
Both men were quick to see that Alan Warburton looked very much the worse for wear. He was unshaven, his hair anything but tidy, and his clothes unbrushed—so completely unbrushed and creased that they gave the impression of having been slept in. And very recently at that. His collar by no stretch of imagination could be described as clean and his tie had been tied with glaring and almost exaggerated carelessness. He himself was in no different condition from the clothes in which he stood. His not too-clean hands were shaking, and in his eyes glittered something that looked exceedingly like a dangerous malevolence. Decidedly Mr. Warburton was looking anything but his best. Anthony had seen a suggestion of the same look before in the eyes of the mentally unbalanced and knew that it bordered upon a state of fanaticism. He was quite prepared therefore to hear startling news. He was not disappointed. He has been heard moreover, more than once afterwards to remark, when this astounding case has been the subject of discussion, that this coming of Warburton enabled him to disentangle the threads perhaps more than any other feature of the affair. Coincidental with Warburton’s voluntary entrance into the cast he avers that he began to see a glimmer of light stabbing through the darkness of doubt. He was able to reconcile certain suspicions with actual facts. Alan Warburton came to grips immediately. His self-control seemed to have entirely gone and he appeared mastered and dominated by a kind of raw desperation.
“Chief-Inspector Bannister?” he exclaimed abruptly.
“My name,” said Bannister laconically.
“I understand you’re in charge of the Seabourne murder case—my name is Alan Warburton.”
The Inspector watched him very carefully through his glasses. “Yes?” he murmured encouragingly. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got information for you,” went on Warburton, fiercely; “information that only I can give, information that lets daylight into the case. I know the murderer and I’ll give you his name and by Heaven may I be there when the swine swings.” He brought his fist down on to the centre of the table with a resounding crash.
“Steady, Mr. Warburton, steady. Collect yourself if you possibly can. Tell your story intelligently.”
Warburton turned and eyed him with a dull smouldering glare. “What?” he demanded truculently; “what’s that you said? Intelligently? You’ll find my little recitation intelligent enough—too intelligent—God knows.” He buried his face in his hands to conceal the depth of his emotion. When he lifted it he was considerably calmer, but the dangerous light still remained fitfully flickering in his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I ask your indulgence. I’m on edge. My nerves are frayed to threads. I’ve been through red, blazing Hell these last few days. You see, I loved Sheila Delaney. I am the nephew of Sir Felix Warburton—another unlucky beggar”—he spoke with mordant bitterness—“and you can imagine I used to be in a good deal better circumstances than I am now. I’ve known Sheila since we were boy and girl together. We grew up side by side. Now she’s been murdered,” he burst out again. “And murdered by a lascivious blackguard”—he went on heedless of Bannister’s restraining hand—“and I’ll give the swine a name—Alexis—Crown Prince of Clorania—now you know,” he declared defiantly. Anthony saw Bannister start with astonishment.
“What?” he shouted. Then his professional training asserted itself and he began to reason calmly with the extraordinary situation. “Explain yourself, Mr. Warburton. It’s one thing to bring an accusation—it’s another thing justifying it.”
Warburton waved the challenge away almost imperiously—certainly disdainfully. He seemed very sure of himself and continued unperturbed and untroubled by Bannister’s curt demand. “I can justify myself all right—don’t you fret yourself. I shouldn’t be chatting here with you, Inspector Bannister, if I couldn’t do that. Ask Mr. Royal Highness Alexis what he was doing in Seabourne when Sheila went down there this last time. He’s been pestering her for months now—the skunk—ever since he met her in the February of last year. I know that and I can prove it.”
It was here that Mr. Bathurst took a hand. The date was his positive attraction. “The February of last year? Mr. Warburton—you aren’t quite so well placed for information as we are. I’ll explain what I mean a little later. But coming back to what you just said—where did Miss Delaney meet the gentleman you mentioned? I should be interested to know that.”
“At the Westhampton Hunt Ball.” Warburton shot the answer back in a tone that brooked no denial. “I can prove it, too, as I said. I was there myself and saw him.”
Anthony saw from the corner of his eye that Bannister was knitting his brows in perplexity. But only momentarily.
“Suppose you tell us the whole story, Mr. Warburton?” suggested the Inspector persuasively. “Begin at the beginning and marshal your facts in proper sequence so that we may properly understand it. We can then test its strength better.”
Warburton flung another defiant glance in Bannister’s direction. “Test its strength?” he echoed mockingly. “It’s true and you can’t get anything stronger than Truth. Order me a drink, will you, Inspector—it’s confoundedly dry work talking? My mouth’s as dry as a lime-kiln.”
Bannister frowned and touched the bell—without making any reply. Refreshed—Warburton began at the beginning as he had been directed and Anthony settled himself down to hear something that held a double interest for him. Although he was still agent for the Crown Prince he began to wonder where that gentleman actually stood and it seemed to him that Warburton’s story must throw light on the question. For he was beginning to harbour doubts about Alexis.
“There’s not much to tell,” said Alan Warburton moodily. “In the February of last year I was a guest at the Annual Hunt Ball at Westhampton. It’s quite a big thing in its way. I accompanied Sheila Delaney.”
“One moment,” broke in Bannister; “was there any understanding at that time between you and the lady?”
“Not in so many words—but I was very confident that there soon would be and so there would have been if——”
“Go on,” motioned Bannister.
“During the evening, Major Carruthers, who was Chief Constable then and a sort of guardian always of Sheila, introduced her to a man whom I had never seen before. I suspected him to be the Crown Prince. To cut the story short, Sheila fell for him badly, and from that moment I began to slump very badly as an ice-cutter. In fact I disappeared completely from Sheila’s map. She told me some weeks afterwards that the man was Alexis, Crown Prince of Clorania. I implored her to give the man up. Shewed her how ridiculous it was. I told her she was playing with fire—that she was just providing temporary amusement for him. But she was like the rest of her sex. She wouldn’t listen to me. There are none so deaf as those that won’t hear! By God, I was right! She went to Seabourne to meet that swine and he murdered her. She’d served his purpose,” he declared vindictively. “But he’s not going to get away with it.”
Bannister had some interrogating to do. “You assert that Miss Delaney informed you that her lover was the Crown Prince of Clorania. You have no doubt on the point?”
“She told me what I’ve just told you. I couldn’t invent the name, could I?” he demanded churlishly.
“Did you attempt to verify her statement in any way? It would have been quite simple to do so, surely—up to a point?”
“I ascertained that it was perfectly true that the Crown Prince had attended the Ball that night—if that’s what you mean? I was quite satisfied, more than satisfied.”
“Have you ever seen a photograph of the Crown Prince?”
“Never—I’m not interested enough.”
“You say that you saw him introduced to Miss Delaney by Major Carruthers?”
“I did!”
“Could you recognise him again if you saw him?”
“I couldn’t swear to that. I might if I saw him in evening-dress. But he was some distance down the ballroom when the introduction took place and at other times I only saw his back—I tell you I wasn’t interested in the man—curse him!”
Mr. Bathurst leant across the table. “I should like to ask you something, Mr. Warburton.”
“What’s that?” replied Warburton discourteously.
Anthony ignored the discourtesy. He made allowances for Alan Warburton’s unsettled condition. “Do you know a lady—niece of the late Major Carruthers, I believe—a Miss Daphne Carruthers?”
“I’ve met her—I can’t say that I know her.”
“Cast your memory back to that February evening—was this Daphne Carruthers present at the Hunt Ball?”
“Yes, she was. I distinctly remember seeing her.”
“Good! Now tell me again. Did she meet or dance with the Crown Prince of Clorania? To the best of your knowledge that is.”
“As far as I know, certainly not.”
“You never saw them together?”
“No, I saw the Crown Prince with Major Carruthers. And as I said, Major Carruthers introduced Sheila to him, I’m positive of it. I’m almost certain he came to the Ball in the company of Major Carruthers.”
“Would you be prepared to assert that he didn’t come with a lady?”
“Most certainly I would!” Warburton was most emphatic on the point.
“Don’t you think it strange, then,” went on Anthony, “that, although this distinguished guest came with Major Carruthers as you so positively declare, he never made the acquaintance of Daphne Carruthers—the Major’s own niece?”
“I don’t think about it. I don’t see what any of these questions has got to do with my story.”
“Don’t you?” interjected Bannister, unable to conceal a note of triumphant sarcasm; “don’t you? Would you be interested to know that the Crown Prince whom you are accusing of the murder of Miss Delaney was in Seabourne for the purpose of meeting Miss Carruthers?”
“Who says so?” blazed Warburton.
“I do,” rapped Bannister. “If you want to know, I left them there. They were at the ‘Hotel Cassandra’—I saw them myself—Mr. Bathurst here can support me—so you needn’t start arguing about it.”
Warburton went white as a sheet. But he quickly recovered himself. “What’s all this talk about Daphne Carruthers—anyway? I don’t quite get in on that. Why did the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’ of Saturday last say that the police had every justification for their first attempt at identification? Why was Daphne Carruthers supposed to have been murdered?”
“And where did you see the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’?” thundered Bannister.
“In Seabourne, of course,” stormed back Warburton. “Where do you imagine I saw it—in the Westhampton Free Library, or that I found it in a railway carriage?”
“Oh, then,” said the Inspector, with an ominous quietness, “so you’ve been recuperating at Seabourne too. Seems mighty popular just at the moment as a health-resort! What’s its special attraction?”
Warburton glared at him insolently. “What took me to Seabourne is no concern of yours, Inspector. You bark up the right tree. And keep barking up it till something comes down. Never mind about me. Concentrate on little Alexis.”
“Hold on for a moment. Where did you stay in Seabourne? Give me the address.”
“At a dirty little boarding-house, if you want to know—right at the back of the town—kept by a Mrs. Leach—damned good name for her, too,” he added reminiscently, “judged by the terms she charged in relation to the quality of hercuisine.”
“Give me the exact address, if you please?” ordered Bannister, with growing impatience.
“ ‘Sea View,’ it’s about three miles from the sea, to be exact—that’s the reason for the name, no doubt. Froam Road.”
Bannister made an entry in his book. “Not a very great distance, though, from Coolwater Avenue, Mr. Warburton,” he added with a wealth of meaning.
“Too big a distance, by God,” raved Warburton. “If only I’d been nearer that swine would never have finished his dirty work. I’d have killed him with these hands!” He swung round on Bannister, passionately. “You can’t be such a fool as to think I’d lay a hand on Sheila Delaney of all people. I loved her far too much to hurt a hair of her pretty head. I worshipped the very ground she walked on.” His eyes caught Bannister’s and held them menacingly.
But the Inspector was rapid and ready to counter him adroitly. “You loved her too much—eh? You loved her so much that you haven’t called upon her for months! You’ve never gone near her. How do you explain that, Mr. Galahad?”
Warburton’s reply was contemptuous and emphatic. “Haven’t called upon her,” he repeated, the contempt increasing with each word uttered. “When a girl doesn’t want a man—if he’s a sportsman he keeps away. I don’t suppose your education has taught you that much. He doesn’t hang round her with a whine, does he?”
Bannister’s temper, however, was badly frayed by now. “It depends,” he blazed. “Your story may be all right, Mr. Warburton. On the other hand it may not. I can assure you, it will have to be pretty strictly investigated.”
“When you like and where you like, Inspector Bannister. Go through it with a small tooth-comb. That cackle won’t put any wind up me.” He flung out of the room leaving Bannister white and furious.
“Well, Mr. Bathurst,” he said at length, “and what do you make of that charming gentleman? An extraordinary story, don’t you think?”
“He’s passing through a phase of deep emotion, Inspector,” responded Anthony; “in point of fact, I’m intensely sorry for him. As to his story—it’s more than extraordinary—to me it’s positively conflicting—yet——”
“Yet what?”
“I think it may prove to be of inestimable help eventually. When I’ve sorted things out a bit I think perhaps there may be a peep of silver lining shining through the clouds.”
“Hope to goodness you’re right—although I can’t see it myself.” He rattled the coins in his pocket.
“What’s your next step, Inspector?” queried Mr. Bathurst.
“Don’t quite know at this juncture—I’m torn between two or three intentions. There are several things I want to do. On the whole, I think I shall return to Seabourne. I’m confident the kernel of the affair will be found down there. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I rather fancy I shall put in one or two more days up here. It’s a county about which I know very little and I feel that I should like to have a bit of a run round. I was always interested in new places.”
“Hallo, Mr. Bathurst—the scent getting cold—eh?” Bannister’s tone was genially provoking and contained a strong hint of raillery.
“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Anthony, showing easily discernible signs of discomfiture. “I wouldn’t say that—a day or two’s rest shouldn’t make a huge difference.”
“None at all—in all probability,” laughed Bannister. The telephone rang and he crossed to it. The call was for him. Anthony listened attentively. “What?” the Inspector yelled. “You don’t say so? Two ‘fives’ and a ‘ten,’ eh? By Jove! That complicates matters with a vengeance. All right! I’ll be back to-morrow.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Mr. Bathurst. “That message settles me. I’m going back to Seabourne. Three of Miss Delaney’s stolen notes have been traced.”
“To whom?” asked Mr. Bathurst quietly. “To a guest at the ‘Cassandra,’ ” said Bannister. “You’ve met him, too! A certain Captain Willoughby!”