“By George,” cried Falcon with excitement, “I remember now. You’ve refreshed my memory. I heard a couple of customers discussing it in the bar early this evening. I remember I heard the name Carruthers mentioned.”
“That’s the case,” continued Bannister capturing an elusive olive, “and a Miss Carruthers was originally believed to have been the victim.”
“Major Carruthers’ niece that would be?” interrupted Falcon.
“Yes—Daphne. But latest information that we have managed to pick up proves that that is not the case. There has been a confusion of identity. The murdered girl turns out to be another young lady.” He crumbled a piece of bread on to the white table-cloth. “In the greatest confidence, Mr. Falcon, I’ll tell you what we have discovered and what brings me on the hunt to Westhampton. The murdered girl is a Miss Sheila Delaney of ‘Rest Harrow,’ Tranfield.” He paused to watch carefully the effect of his somewhat curt announcement upon Falcon’s jovial face.
“Sheila Delaney?” he cried. “Colonel Dan’s daughter—oh, but that’s bad—is there any chance that you’re mistaken?”
“None—I’m afraid,” replied Bannister gravely.
“What a dreadful business! Dreadful! Dreadful!” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Everybody liked Sheila Delaney.”
“Now, Mr. Falcon. These two young men here—your two ‘commercials’—I’m coming to my point. I have reason to believe that they are acquainted with a Mr. Warburton—a Mr. Alan Warburton of Crossley Road, Westhampton.”
“Sir Felix’s nephew, Inspector,” intervened Falcon. “The Sir Felix—the Mutual Bank——”
“So I understand—now could you arrange for me to have a little chat with them? Don’t tell them who I am.”