“What brings you along here?” queried Anthony. “Playing—are you?”
“No,” responded Gerald. “I’ve brought Peter here to see you! It’s his funeral.”
Anthony waved them into a couple of deck-chairs. “What about?”
“He’s got a story for you that you may possibly find interesting. Have a cigarette, lie back in your chair, and listen. Now, Peter—say your mouthful.”
Peter complied with his brother’s request. Bathurst lay listening—apparently lazily—but Peter quickly discovered that his faculties were acutely alert. When he reached the murder of Mason—the night-watchman, Anthony’s eyes betrayed understanding.
“I read a short account in the early editions to-day. Seemed just an interrupted robbery case to me then . . . of course . . . you say the identical three things . . . go on.”
At the point when Peter told of the death of Stewart, Bathurst listened most attentively. “Extraordinary,” he commented at the finish of Peter’s narrative. “Quite a fascinating little problem. And you say Stewart’s son would like me to have a look at it for him—eh?”
“He wants me to bring somebody down with me and I suddenly thought of you—I had heard so much of you from Gerald.”
Anthony took a cigarette and lit up carefully. “I’ve nothing pressing at the moment. I’m your man if you’re sure you want me.”
“That’s great. When can you come along?”