“He’s a Mr. Jacob Morley—a local gentleman—I rather fancy he styles himself a Turf accountant.” Branston permitted himself the suggestion of a smile.
“Sound man?”
Branston shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing to the contrary.”
“All right, then, Mr. Branston,” put in Bannister after a slight pause, “I don’t think I need detain you any longer. That is all I want to know for the moment.”
Branston bowed and withdrew, Doctor Renfrew following him.
Sergeant Godfrey caught his superior’s eye and understood the intended meaning. “I’ve told Stannard and Waghorn to watch points in that direction—that will be all right.”
“Very good,” rejoined the Inspector, “let’s hear Mrs. Bertenshaw’s story.”
The housekeeper corroborated Branston in every particular and was allowed to withdraw. Bannister looked at his watch. “It’s so confoundedly late, that it will be extremely difficult to get anything much done to-night. Tell me all you’ve done, so far, Godfrey.”
“I’ve had the body photographed and I’ve sent round to all the hotels and boarding-establishments to try to trace by discreet inquiries any young lady visitor who’s been missing, say, since luncheon time to-day.”
The Inspector showed his approval. “That’s all right as far as it goes. But she may be a new arrival to the town. She may have just come in. Stay—what about luggage?”