As he spoke one of the maids came from the Hotel and crossed the grass to where he was sitting. By his chair she stopped. Bannister turned and looked up at her. “Yes?” he questioned. “Are you wanting me?”
“Pardon me, sir,” came her reply, “but you are Mr. Bannister, aren’t you? There’s somebody here wants to speak to you—I was to tell you it was very important, he said, sir.”
Bannister knitted his brows, as though puzzled at the interruption; the maid waited by his chair, irresolutely.
“Are you sure he asked for me by name?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir—he said it quite distinctly—the name was ‘Bannister’ all right, sir.”
“Who is it?” he asked again. “Do you know him at all?”
The maid hesitated a moment before giving him her answer. Then she spoke rather haltingly. “As a matter-of-fact, sir, I think it’s Sergeant Godfrey from the Seabourne Police Station—I know him you see, sir, through seeing him about the town.”
“Sergeant Godfrey from the Police Station,” frowned Bannister, “what the dickens does he want me for—at this time of the evening?”
He looked at the maid’s face as though he expected to find there the answer to his question.
“I don’t know, sir, only as I told you before he said that it was very important.”