“You’ve met him here, I take it, Inspector?” interjected Anthony.
“I have that,” answered Bannister with a set expression. “I was actually in conversation with him when Godfrey here ‘barged in’ and lugged me from a restful holiday into this.”
Anthony was beginning to realise that he was confronted with a curious combination of circumstances. The obstinate contention of the Crown Prince concerning the implication of the murderer with the blackmailer might not be so fantastic after all. Here was a certain Captain Willoughby already fitting into the pieces of the puzzle at both ends. He had taken the photograph of Daphne and her Royal admirer during the year before and now he cropped up again in the same place at the very time coincident with the murder. Mr. Bathurst came to the conclusion that the matter would have to receive definite attention.
“Give me the address of this Miss Travers, will you?” demanded Bannister.
“Forty-four, Crowborough Mansions, Maida Vale.”
Anthony glanced across at the Crown Prince who was shewing decided signs of discomfort at the turn the investigation had taken. Evidently he could see by now—almost as clearly as Mr. Bathurst did—that it was going to be extremely difficult, to say nothing of being, perhaps, extraordinarily indiscreet and risky to keep Bannister and Godfrey completely ignorant of the matter of the blackmailing letters. This last love-escapade of Alexis had certainly proved to be most unfortunate for him! He was inclined to rail at Fate for the maliciously-mischievous trick that she had played him. After all, look at it any way you like—he was a Royal personage—heir to a throne—not by any means an ordinary person—he should have been immune from trouble of this kind—Fate should have recognized——
Bannister broke in upon his rebellious musings. He turned sharply towards Godfrey and the statement and question he put to him were sufficiently startling to rouse even Anthony himself to an acuter alertness. As the Inspector spoke Anthony recognised that here was a Police-Officer of imagination far beyond the ordinary. Of course he had been aware all the time of Bannister’s almost International reputation. But Mr. Bathurst it must be observed was not a slavish believer in the value of mere reputations. He knew the strength of the hand that Dame Fortune frequently played towards their establishment. In emphasis of this point he had been known to quote more than once, “Reputations are what people think of us—character is what God and His Angels know of us.” Bannister’s question proved to him conclusively that whatever qualities might be lacking in the Inspector’s composition—imagination was not one of them.
“Godfrey,” rapped Bannister, “you’ll find that the dead girl in the mortuary yonder is Lois Travers—what do you say to my idea—eh?”
The audacity of the theory appeared to take Godfrey’s breath away for he was some appreciable time before he replied.
“Can’t say, sir.” He shook his head. “I think I see the direction your thoughts are taking, but——” He shook his head again—doubtfully.