Bannister interrupted him. “Outside yourself, sir, Miss Travers was the only person who knew anything of Miss Carruthers’ whereabouts. Now this dead girl knew something about Miss Carruthers—that’s conclusive to my mind—she’s actually in possession of her suit-case. That’s one thing, at all events upon which I can base a theory.”
Anthony found himself partly in agreement with Bannister’s contention. The Crown Prince, however, seemed very much inclined to reject it; Daphne Carruthers herself could visualise only the horror of the idea.
“At any rate,” continued Bannister inexorably, “we shan’t have to wait very long to know for certain. Then we shall see who’s right. Captain Willoughby should be here at any minute, now.” He glanced at his watch.
“It seems a very remarkable thing to me, Inspector,” declared Anthony, “that this dead girl had nothing with her or on her by which she could be identified. For instance—a purse—where was her money—where was her money, for instance, with which she intended to pay Branston, the dentist, for the extraction that she had just had?”
“Exactly what appealed to me, Mr. Bathurst. What you’re asking me was one of the first questions that I asked Godfrey. She only possessed what she stood up in. Let us say, rather, what she sat down in, plus a hat and a pair of gloves.”
The lines of his mouth relaxed a little as he uttered this grim pleasantry.
“Which makes it pretty obvious to me then,” exclaimed Anthony, “that she was not meant to be identified—for as long a period as possible. Things that would have identified her were taken from her—there’s not a doubt about it—the murderer—or murderers—there may have been two of them for all we know—wanted time to do something during this period of non-identification—they’re doing it now—at this minute—very possibly—the question is ‘what’?” He paced the small room anxiously—his face betraying his excitement. “That’s your problem, Inspector,” he concluded turning to Bannister.
The latter smiled at Bathurst’s keenness. “Perhaps,” he rejoined. “For the moment I would rather concentrate on my own little idea and stick to that. You’re inclined, if you’ll allow me to say so, Mr. Bathurst, to imagine ‘data.’ I prefer to work upon the ‘data’ that lie in front of me. It’s usually a more profitable proposition, I find.” He glanced at the Crown Prince and thence to Daphne Carruthers and Anthony read unmistakably the marks of approval in their eyes. Before he could reply to Bannister’s sally—a smart young constable entered and announced Captain Willoughby. Mr. Bathurst eyed the newcomer with more than ordinary interest. He saw a tall, well-groomed man who was plainly not looking at his best. His finely-cut features, beautifully even teeth and glossy raven hair gave him a patrician appearance that was marred on this particular morning by the pallor and anxiety of his face.
“Chief-Inspector Bannister?” he inquired—then as his eyes caught sight of the Crown Prince of Clorania and Miss Carruthers, his apprehension seemed to increase. “Good morning”—he bowed to the two whom he knew.
“Good morning,” said Bannister. “Sergeant Godfrey has told you what I want of you—hasn’t he?”