“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!”
CHAPTER XVI.
Of Which Mr. Bathurst Holds the Ace
Mr. Bathurst was considerate enough to see Chief-Inspector Bannister off from Westhampton station on the following morning. He was sufficiently solicitous also to procure for him a corner-seat—to obtain for him all the newspapers that he desired—and to press upon him a couple of Henry Clays. From which it will be unerringly inferred that they parted upon the best of terms. “I wish you the best of luck down in Seabourne, Inspector,” he said on parting. “Keep me posted if anything important pops up, won’t you?”
“I will,” promised Bannister. “Rely on me. And I hope when I see you again to be on the way to a successful termination of the case.”
Anthony grinned. “There’s nothing like a note of cheery optimism,” he murmured; “just enough to cover a sixpence.”
Bannister smiled back and waved his hand gaily as the train drew slowly from the long platform. Anthony made his way back to his hotel. There he sought the seclusion afforded by the smoke-room. Writing materials were to hand. Mr. Bathurst set to work upon what he always called his “Initial Summary of Facts.” Completed he snuggled back in his chair and surveyed the epitome complacently. This is how it read. (A) Present at Hunt Ball—“lever de rideau,” so to speak—Alexis—Sheila—Daphne—Major Carruthers—Sir Matthew Fullgarney (probably)—Alan Warburton—and the mysterious “Mr. X.” (B) Present at “Cassandra” when compromising photograph was taken—Alexis—Daphne—Captain Willoughby——“? Mr. X.” (C) Present at Seabourne at the time of the actual tragedy—Alexis—Sheila—Daphne—Alan Warburton—Captain Willoughby——“? Mr. X.”? Is “Mr. X.” one of these? If so, which one? Or is he another person altogether? A curious point how certain names are like a certain type of decimals—they keep recurring. (D) Sheila is deliberately shrouded under Daphne’s identity and provided with her suit-case—why? Arrangements are made in Daphne’s name—and that luggage is deliberately substituted—again why? (E) Sheila is poisoned at a dentist’s of all places. (F) “Pinkie” and Alan Warburton are agreed that there came a lover into her life. When exactly? Crown Prince? Mr. X? (G) Whose was the mysterious correspondence referred to by “Pinkie” Kerr? Who was the ardent horticulturist that wrote concerning the beauty of the Iris? (H) Who wrote Branston’s address on the back of Alan Warburton’s visiting-card—Sheila herself, Warburton—or another? (I) Why did Sheila want the “Peacock’s Eye” on that particular day? (J) What is Lal Singh to do with the picture? Does he really fit in at all? (K) Colonel Dan drowned—Major Carruthers killed whilst motoring—Mrs. Delaney dead—Sheila murdered—is it just a line of coincidences or a sequence of intention? (L) Why exactly did the murderer, murderess, or murderers return post-haste to Tranfield? What did they want if they had the “Peacock’s Eye”? Anthony twisted the top of his fountain-pen round and round and smiled grimly. It was a smile that boded no good for a very clever criminal. Anthony Bathurst had formed certain conclusions. He added another heading. (M) Did Stark (E. Kingsley Stark) know Sir Felix Warburton? He spent another quarter of an hour or so studying his list then folded it carefully and placed it in his pocket. He looked at his watch, obtained his hat and stick from the stand outside the door of the smoke-room and sauntered to the front entrance of the hotel. The porter knew Crossley Road very well. He would assist Mr. Bathurst! Mr. Bathurst should follow the tram-lines, turn round by the “Ram and Raven,” pass the statue to Doctor Harvey, and he would see that Crossley Road was the first turning on the left. Mr. Bathurst accepted the instructions with a charming thankfulness and sallied forth. For the moment he had left the main question of Sheila Delaney’s murder. As Bannister had implied the day before—he was taking a rest—partly. But he had a shrewd idea at the back of his clever brain that the half-holiday would not prove completely unprofitable. He turned down Crossley Road and was not long before he stood in front of Number 19. In response to his knock a rather slatternly woman appeared at the door. She eyed Mr. Bathurst with a disfavour that she took no pains to conceal. Which fact mattered but little to him. Mr. Bathurst always appeared to be supremely unconscious of little incidents of that kind.
“Mr. Warburton?” she echoed his request. “Yes, he’s in. Would you be wantin’ him?” she added unnecessarily.
“Naturally,” smiled Mr. Bathurst. “That was why I asked for him.”