Anthony considered for a moment. “After he met her outside Seabourne—he left her—he took care not to be seen with her in Seabourne. But he knew of her intention to visit Branston. When he had murdered her, he took all Sheila’s belongings—there must be nothing to connect her with herself or with him, and all the keys she carried. Any communication in his handwriting mustn’t be found on her—for instance. The notes were dangerous—they might be traced—he left them behind as he went out. They would confuse the issue. He went straight back to Tranfield in Sheila’s car. There must be nothing at ‘Rest Harrow’ to connect him with her—no scrap of writing. He had to go to make sure! There were probably photographs, etc., to be destroyed. The evidence of the waitress in the teashop at Calstock—four miles from Tranfield—that he was there at five-forty on the evening of the murder told heavily against him at the trial. Sheila had told him, in all probability, that she kept all his correspondence in a private drawer in her bedroom. No doubt he sounded her as to that on one of their numerous assignations. But he left the one postcard behind—it was caught in the folds of a scarf. It eluded his search. I was a little bit puzzled at first as to whether he had time to do all this and be back in Seabourne by the late evening as I knew he had been. It was possible—I proved it so. He left Seabourne in the car for Tranfield about two-ten—and could make it soon after six o’clock. He caught the seven-four fast train from Westhampton to Euston—arriving at eight-eight. A quick dash across to Victoria—and he landed in Seabourne again at half-past nine. Willoughby gave evidence that he remembered him being there as the band performance was finishing. He was unable, if you remember, to put forward anything of an alibi for the day of the murder except that. He couldn’t produce anybody else who had seen him. He couldn’t shake the case for the Crown.”
“When did he take the ‘Peacock’s Eye,’ Mr. Bathurst?” asked Lady Fullgarney.
“I imagine Miss Delaney gave it to him to mind temporarily. He had infatuated her. I attempt to explain it like this. When he masqueraded as the Indian and called at ‘Rest Harrow,’ it was with a very definite purpose. Sheila had told him all about the stone’s history—so he made up his mind to frighten her. She had told him about Lal Singh and her father. I suggest he frightened her with the notion that this Indian was not really her father’s old servant but a servant of some frightful native vendetta—you know the kind of thing I mean. Priest’s vengeance extending over generations. Against which banks and strong-rooms would be useless. Sheila got a bit nervous—he prevailed upon her to let him take charge of the ‘Peacock’s Eye’—presumably for greater safety. When his hands closed upon it—Sheila faced death!”
“How did he get the prussic acid?” queried Lady Fullgarney.
“That was never conclusively proved—very likely in an obscure town, months ago. A man in his position could wield many influences—you know.” Anthony stopped—as though awaiting further questions.
“Go on, Mr. Bathurst,” interjected Sir Matthew; “let’s hear the end of the story.”
“There isn’t a lot more, Sir Matthew. I called upon you, as you remember, and confirmed my suspicions about the mix-up of identity at the Hunt Ball. Alan Warburton must have been wrong! Both you and Lady Fullgarney who had been present at the ball were positive that the Crown Prince and Miss Delaney had never met, and were not seen together. It only remained for me to prove my case. My suspicions—unsupported—were valueless. I knew it might mean a long wait. But I felt certain that the time would come for ‘realising’ the ‘Peacock’s Eye.’ I succeeded in allaying any possible suspicions the murderer might have had very completely. In fact I bamboozled him beautifully. I told him a lot of the truth and one or two lovely lies. I even whispered the name of the assassin in his ear. Only it happened to be the wrong name! Still—it sufficed for him. I promised he should help me to capture him. He did—but not in the manner he anticipated.” Anthony chuckled reminiscently. Lady Fullgarney’s eyes danced and sparkled in excited interest. “How did you know when to move, Mr. Bathurst—when the Amsterdam trip was coming off?”
“He was watched night and day, Lady Fullgarney. Sir Austin Kemble here helped me tremendously in that. He put four of his best men under my orders—but he didn’t know himself how I was using them. I swore them to secrecy. I had ‘carte blanche.’ When the man we were watching entered his house one morning and ‘Lal Singh’ emerged, I knew we were nearly home. I was right. The time for action had come. We followed him to Hull and from there across to Holland. I hope you enjoyed our little trip—Sir Austin?”
“I raise my hat to you, Mr. Bathurst,” declared Sir Austin. “A most able piece of investigation. I am proud to have worked with you.”
“I love you more than ever, Mr. Bathurst,” said Lady Fullgarney. “I am perfectly shameless over it.”