“My name,” said Bannister laconically.
“I understand you’re in charge of the Seabourne murder case—my name is Alan Warburton.”
The Inspector watched him very carefully through his glasses. “Yes?” he murmured encouragingly. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got information for you,” went on Warburton, fiercely; “information that only I can give, information that lets daylight into the case. I know the murderer and I’ll give you his name and by Heaven may I be there when the swine swings.” He brought his fist down on to the centre of the table with a resounding crash.
“Steady, Mr. Warburton, steady. Collect yourself if you possibly can. Tell your story intelligently.”
Warburton turned and eyed him with a dull smouldering glare. “What?” he demanded truculently; “what’s that you said? Intelligently? You’ll find my little recitation intelligent enough—too intelligent—God knows.” He buried his face in his hands to conceal the depth of his emotion. When he lifted it he was considerably calmer, but the dangerous light still remained fitfully flickering in his eyes. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I ask your indulgence. I’m on edge. My nerves are frayed to threads. I’ve been through red, blazing Hell these last few days. You see, I loved Sheila Delaney. I am the nephew of Sir Felix Warburton—another unlucky beggar”—he spoke with mordant bitterness—“and you can imagine I used to be in a good deal better circumstances than I am now. I’ve known Sheila since we were boy and girl together. We grew up side by side. Now she’s been murdered,” he burst out again. “And murdered by a lascivious blackguard”—he went on heedless of Bannister’s restraining hand—“and I’ll give the swine a name—Alexis—Crown Prince of Clorania—now you know,” he declared defiantly. Anthony saw Bannister start with astonishment.
“What?” he shouted. Then his professional training asserted itself and he began to reason calmly with the extraordinary situation. “Explain yourself, Mr. Warburton. It’s one thing to bring an accusation—it’s another thing justifying it.”
Warburton waved the challenge away almost imperiously—certainly disdainfully. He seemed very sure of himself and continued unperturbed and untroubled by Bannister’s curt demand. “I can justify myself all right—don’t you fret yourself. I shouldn’t be chatting here with you, Inspector Bannister, if I couldn’t do that. Ask Mr. Royal Highness Alexis what he was doing in Seabourne when Sheila went down there this last time. He’s been pestering her for months now—the skunk—ever since he met her in the February of last year. I know that and I can prove it.”
It was here that Mr. Bathurst took a hand. The date was his positive attraction. “The February of last year? Mr. Warburton—you aren’t quite so well placed for information as we are. I’ll explain what I mean a little later. But coming back to what you just said—where did Miss Delaney meet the gentleman you mentioned? I should be interested to know that.”
“At the Westhampton Hunt Ball.” Warburton shot the answer back in a tone that brooked no denial. “I can prove it, too, as I said. I was there myself and saw him.”