“Good God!” exclaimed Bannister again; “you can’t mean it, Mr. Bathurst.”
“I do—but it’ll be a very difficult matter to drive the charge home. Nobody realises that fact more than I. Think of the issues involved.”
“I’m thinking,” said Bannister; “it certainly will be ‘some’ job! Well I’m damned!” He shook his head—still pondering over the amazing nature of Mr. Bathurst’s confidence.
CHAPTER XXV.
Mr. Bathurst’s Patience Is Rewarded
The golden sunshine of July passed into the mellower maturity of August. August in its turn yielded place to the quieter beauty of September and russet-brown October reigned at due season in the latter’s stead. The mystery of the murder of Sheila Delaney—in the words of the cheaper Press—the “Dentist’s-Chair Murder” yet remained unsolved. The “Daily Bugle” continued its bugling. Sir Austin Kemble allowed himself at various odd times to dwell somewhat bitterly upon the vaticination of Mr. Bathurst and at other times was sorely taxed to restrain his growing impatience. Chief-Inspector Bannister was doomed to suffer the biggest disappointment of his hitherto distinguished career. The day for his retirement from his high position in the Criminal Investigation Department arrived after the manner of Time and Tide, and he was no nearer to arresting Sheila Delaney’s slayer when that eventful day came than he had been on the fateful July evening when Sergeant Godfrey had dragged him into the case. Sir Austin shook hands with him in farewell and shrugged his aristocratic shoulders in rather cynical commiseration. “I know how keen you were, Bannister, to complete your Seabourne case and I also know the many difficulties against which you have been forced to contend. The fact that you have failed is merely to be deplored—that is all. To err is human. You take with you my very best wishes. Good-bye.”
Thus the mantle of Bannister fell upon Macmorran, and after the manner of mantles apparently made an excellent fit. Bannister however had not relinquished the trail altogether. Mr. Bathurst read his letter with undisguised interest. He also replied to it immediately.
“My dear Bannister,” he wrote, “Hearty congratulations upon your well-earned retirement. Which is it to be? The Sussex Downs or the entrancing West Country? I am perfectly certain that either would be graced by your presence. In relation to the question that you raise with regard to the somewhat baffling case that exercised our joint intelligences a few months ago—please don’t worry, you may rely on me. Rest assured that I should never attempt to conclude my case without acquainting you and inviting your valuable co-operation. I have too much admiration for Scotland Yard in general and incidentally yourself in particular. Also it might prove too big for me to adopt any other methods single-handed. I told you whom I suspected upon the occasion of our last meeting. You alone know of that suspicion. I am still waiting now, as I was at the time that I gave you my confidence. Hold yourself in readiness to move at a moment’s notice. When that time comes I will communicate with you. Then my dear Bannister—we will taste success! And till then——
“Faithfully yours,
“Anthony L. Bathurst.”
This letter afforded the Ex-Inspector both consolation and satisfaction. At any rate, he would share in the triumph when the hands of Justice closed upon the criminal. He decided therefore to postpone his departure to the selected spot for his retirement at any rate, for a month or two—say till after Christmas. But Fate decreed that he was in action again before then. Anthony Bathurst’s expectations were realised. On a misty morning in mid-November that promised a better day the S.S. Nicholas Maes steamed out of Hull and began to plough her way through icy-cold green waves towards the rising morning sun and the City of Amsterdam. She was an undistinguished unit of the Holland S.S. Company but on this particular occasion perhaps, stood nearer to a place in the maritime sun than ever before. For “amongst those sailing” were two plain-clothes men from New Scotland Yard—ostensibly ordinary tourists—and a handsome, stalwart and venerable Indian. The passenger-list recorded the Indian as “Ram Das” and the two plain-clothes men as “Hobbs” and “Sutcliffe.” All these names, it is needless to say, had been assumed for the occasion. Similarly also Ex-Chief-Inspector Bannister, in at the death, true to Mr. Bathurst’s written promise, had thought it safer and better to register in a name other than his own. You never know how the sight of a name, observed quite by accident, will strike a person’s remoter memory and awaken an undesired interest. The two plain-clothes men were under explicit instructions to hold no communication whatever with anybody. Ram Das, or Lal Singh as we will call him from now henceforward was to be shadowed to every step and watched to every action without his suspicions being in any way aroused and New Scotland Yard is not in the habit of sending one man—eminent though he might be—to do two men’s work.
Five hours’ voyage out of the port of Hull the passengers of the Nicholas Maes who had summoned sufficient courage and hardihood to brave the wind and weather on the top deck had their attention diverted for a few moments by an aeroplane that flew joyously over them and rapidly left them far behind. It was apparently making for the coast of Holland. Lal Singh, keeping as much in the background as possible, regarded it with the stoical calm of his race and the pseudo-tourists (never very far away from him) were quick to detect this. It may be observed that the aeroplane in question carried a trio of eminent passengers—Sir Austin Kemble, the Chief Commissioner, the Crown Prince Alexis of Clorania—whom Mr. Bathurst had insisted upon being present, and no less a person than Mr. Bathurst himself. They made Amsterdam—the spider-web city of the “Land of Water”—in excellent time and made their way, piloted by the Chief Commissioner, to the Kalverstraat.
“A little light refreshment,” explained Sir Austin to His Royal Highness, “will prove most acceptable to every one of us. Also I have arranged to meet Cuypers in the Café Suisse. Cuypers is the head of the Dutch police,” he explained. “And an excellent fellow, I assure you.”