“Yes, please, if you will. I am far from satisfied and I shan’t feel easy in my mind till it is all cleared up.” He looked at Anthony. “Why has Miss Carruthers’ name been dragged into the case? Tell me that. For some wicked and malicious reason, doubtless. Yes, Mr. Bathurst, I do want you to take the case . . . if for nothing else to protect my interests.”
“In that case, then,” said Anthony, “our best plan will be to await Miss Carruthers’ arrival.”
The fast train that Miss Daphne Carruthers had indicated in her telephone message did not fail either its reputation or its description and within an hour and a half she was inquiring from the before-mentioned gentlemen of faultless attire and magnificent bearing who graced the entrance to the “Cassandra,” if she could be escorted to Suite 17.
“It was extremely kind of you to meet me at the station,” she exclaimed, turning charmingly and impulsively to the dignified man that accompanied her. “I expect you had the biggest shock of your life this morning—when you heard the news—didn’t you?”
Bannister smiled gravely as the escort announced them. “I certainly sat up and took notice—and I’m still attempting to puzzle things out. Sir Austin Kemble—the Chief Commissioner—he’s had a ‘pow-wow’ with me early this morning—and taking into account the particular details that he arranged—well—your ‘resurrection’ fairly mystifies me.”
The Crown Prince himself opened the door that admitted them, with a gesture that bordered on the imperious. He raised his eyes inquiringly as he observed the lady’s companion. “This gentleman?” he queried.
Daphne was quick to bridge the situation with an immediate introduction. “Is the celebrated Chief-Inspector Bannister of Scotland Yard,” she declared. “He is the gentleman in charge of this terrible business and when he heard that I wasn’t dead—he arranged for me to come down to Seabourne again and to meet me at the station. I know it sounds awfully mixed up,” she concluded with a little moue, “but you know what I mean.”
Bannister bowed. It was a situation in which he felt adequately ‘at home.’ “Sir Austin Kemble ’phoned me this morning, Your Royal Highness, as I expect you are well aware. Therefore I was not surprised when Miss Carruthers expressed her desire to have an interview with you before coming along to the Police Station with me.”
The Crown Prince looked unhappy and a trifle apprehensive.
“Strangely enough,” proceeded Bannister, “I’ve also been, as it were, roped into the case. I’ve been staying here—at the ‘Cassandra’ for over a week—Your Highness possibly——” His eyes for the first time travelled the length of the room and caught sight of the tall figure reclining negligently in the arm-chair. His Royal Highness, eagerly seizing any favourable opportunity to closure any discussion upon his own personal sojourn at the “Cassandra,” produced Mr. Bathurst from the depths of the chair and introduced him, regardless of etiquette. It was easy for an onlooker to observe that he found more favour in Daphne’s sight than in that of the famous detective. It was obvious that Richard Bannister, acclaimed hero of a hundred difficult cases, required no assistance from Mr. Anthony Bathurst to carry the hundred and first to a triumphant conclusion. Sensing an inimical atmosphere, Anthony grinned at him cheerfully. He had had experience of this kind of thing before—although never from one placed quite so high in the Police service.