“I’ll write the name and address down for you, Ross.” He suited the action to the words and handed the Sergeant a slip of paper. Ross placed it carefully within the leaves of an expansive pocket-book. “Right you are, sir,” he said, saluting, “I’ll attend to it at once.”
“I want you to,” confirmed Bannister, “and when you’ve sent it off—you see what I’ve said—come back here.”
Ross swung down the garden path and they heard the gate shut behind him.
“I’ve sent for the old companion, Mr. Bathurst—this ‘Pinkie’ person—if she’s lived with Miss Delaney for as long as we’ve been informed she probably knows more about her than anybody else.”
Anthony nodded in agreement. Suddenly he walked to the front of the car and looked intently at the pigeon-hole in the dash-board. “The car has no mileage indicator,” he pointed out. Then he thrust in his hand and drew out a newspaper, folded carefully. He opened it—then smiled and handed it to his companion. “Let me call your attention, Inspector, to the name and the date.”
Bannister turned eagerly to the title-page. “The ‘Seabourne Herald,’ Thursday, July 5th. Well, I’m jiggered.”
“I told you I would convince you that this car was the car that was seen in Seabourne,” declared Anthony. “Copies of that stupendous publication that is inflicted upon a long-suffering public under the title of the ‘Seabourne Herald’ are not likely to have been on sale in Tranfield or Westhampton for instance. I don’t think the ‘Seabourne Herald’ circulates as far as that.”
Bannister polished his glasses very thoughtfully and carefully. “You’re right, Mr. Bathurst,” he said after a moment or two spent in this thought-stimulating occupation. “I believe the ‘Seabourne Herald’ is on sale in Seabourne on Thursday mornings—but I’ll tell you frankly—I’m damned if I know what to make of it. Why was the car brought back to Tranfield and then left here? Speed would surely be equally important after the search had been made here? What were they after? Again—did they succeed in finding it—whatever it was?” He looked at Anthony.
Mr. Bathurst shrugged his shoulders. “Also, Inspector,” he contributed, “there’s another point that I’m considering. Who is ‘X’?” He knitted his brows in thought. “Tell me again,” he said, “what was the exact wording of that postcard we found in the bedroom?”
The Inspector fished the card from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Bathurst. Anthony read it for the second time. “Why did Miss Delaney keep a seemingly unimportant card like that? I can only think of one reason. What do you think, Inspector?”