Bannister turned to Ross. “Seen anything of this Lal Singh in the neighbourhood—heard of him anywhere?”
Ross shook his head. “Not so far as I know—I’ve heard nothing. But I’ll inquire for you if you like when I get back?”
“Do,” said the Inspector—“it may be worth following up. I should have thought he would have been a pretty conspicuous figure.”
“There was an Indian chap found about ten years ago wandering round Nillebrook Water but the doctors reckoned he was ‘scatty’—bats in the belfry—you know. They brought him in as a lunatic ‘without settlement’ and bunged him in the County Mental Hospital. The Nillebrook ratepayers have had the somewhat doubtful pleasure of maintaining him ever since.” Ross chuckled and proceeded. “Perhaps he’s escaped,” he added, jokingly.
Bannister made no reply to what he considered an extravagant and inappropriate suggestion but returned to the woman. “You can assure me, I suppose, that your mistress had no money troubles?”
“Pinkie” scouted the idea on a strong note of indignation. “Absurd! You can clear your mind on that point,” she declared. “Miss Sheila was left very comfortably off—and with a considerable reserve,” she hinted darkly.
“That’s all right then,” put in Bannister, “I can rest easy on that score—eh?” He watched her carefully for a moment.
“Where will you be staying during the next few days?” intervened Anthony, “in case the Inspector or I should want a word with you?”
“I thought about going to stay with some friends in Westhampton—the name is Lucas—they live at——”
Anthony handed her an envelope that he took from his pocket. “Address this to yourself, would you mind? Then I can use it if I should find it necessary.” He handed her his fountain pen, and carefully put the envelope inside his wallet when she had addressed it. Later on, in the privacy of his bedroom he carefully studied it. A careful observer might have imagined that the handwriting afforded him some peculiar fascination. For a grim smile played round the corners of his lips as the words leapt vividly from the paper to his inquisitive eyes, “Miss Agnes Kerr, c/o Mrs. Lucas, 21, Crossley Road, Westhampton.” “Now that gives me much food for thought,” he soliloquised.