Chapter VIII
Daphne draws up the blinds
He gazed at her—amazed and incredulous—fascinated at the sudden and unexpected turn that she had given to the march of events. But his emotion at the news was such that he sought for and sank weakly into a convenient chair. Anthony then turned his attention to Bannister and to Sergeant Godfrey. Bannister’s eyes were gleaming with a strange mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. Here was a witness at last upon whose evidence he felt that he could thoroughly rely.
“This is most extraordinarily interesting, Miss Carruthers. Please explain how your luggage comes to be in the dead girl’s possession and in Room 66 at the ‘Lauderdale’ Hotel?”
Daphne turned upon her questioner two round eyes of beautiful astonishment. “I should very much like to be in a position to do so,” she exclaimed. “I am just as eager to know as you yourself are. Those two questions are just the two that I can’t answer,” she supplemented.
“When was this suit-case last in your possession?” demanded Bannister.
“On Wednesday evening,” she replied, “when I was on the point of leaving the ‘Cassandra.’ I left the hotel about twenty minutes to ten in order to catch the ten-three from the station. But as I had a handbag and two novels to carry, I left my suit-case to be forwarded to my home address. I labelled it—just as you see it now—and left appropriate instructions at the ‘Cassandra.’ It’s my usual practice if I’m travelling alone—I just hate to be lumbered up with heaps of things to carry.
“Where did you last actually see it?” queried Bannister with a soupçon of impatience.
Daphne puckered her brows. “One of the hotel porters took it downstairs for me—I tipped him—I didn’t see it again after he’d taken it from my room.”
“Pardon me a moment, Inspector,” intervened Anthony. “I should like to ask Miss Carruthers a question. Are the labels as you see them now tied in exactly the same manner and in exactly the same positions as you yourself tied and placed them?”
“Absolutely,” replied the lady, “one at each end of the handle.”
“There’s only one explanation that will fit the case,” broke in Alexis of Clorania, hoarsely. “The suit-case was stolen by this other girl—whoever she is—for some malicious motive that hasn’t yet been fathomed—it’s all part of the same dark plot—commencing with the—” He caught a warning glance from Anthony and summarily stopped.
Bannister broke in sharply. “I beg to differ. There’s more than one possible explanation, Your Royal Highness, come to that. Besides the possibility of the suit-case having been stolen by the dead lady—there’s also the rather likely possibility of an exchange of luggage having been effected unintentionally. We shall have to find out what the procedure is with regard to luggage at the ‘Cassandra.’ The exchange may even have taken place in some way at Seabourne Station and it may have been quite an innocent one.”
“The dead girl came by car, Inspector,” ventured Anthony.
“True—but from where? She may have met the car at the station—asked a porter there to put her suit-case in for her—and the man may have picked up Miss Carruthers’ by mistake—waiting on the platform somewhere, ready to be despatched to town.”
Bannister paused—then went on again directly. “Very likely the dead girl’s suit-case is still kicking its heels on the platform at Seabourne, for all we know to the contrary.”
“There is yet another likely possibility it seems to me,” said Anthony, quietly.
“What’s that, Mr. Bathurst?”
“That the suit-case was stolen by the murderer.”
Bannister contemplated the suggestion for a moment or two. “For what reason?”
“It’s impossible to say for the moment,” replied Anthony, “but you must admit it’s a distinct possibility.”
He turned to Daphne Carruthers. “How many people knew you were staying at Seabourne?” he queried.
The lady blushed rather charmingly. “Two only,” she answered, “a very special girl-friend—Lois Travers—and—” She hesitated and looked round the company.
Bannister noticed her hesitation. “Yes?” he interrogated, “and?”
“The Crown Prince here,” she answered with a certain amount of dismay.
“I see.” Bannister made an understanding motion with his head and Sergeant Godfrey relaxed his attitude of tension for a moment and permitted himself the luxury of a fugitive smile. “This young lady you mentioned—Miss Travers—I presume that I can regard her as a confidante of yours—yes?”
Daphne nodded. “Yes—she has my complete confidence. It was she who recommended the ‘Cassandra’ to me originally—when I came to Seabourne last year. Her fiancé stays here quite a lot, you see.”
“Oh,” muttered Bannister, “that’s rather interesting—what’s his name?”
“Captain Willoughby.”
“Really,” replied the Inspector, with a smile, “that fact, perhaps, is still more interesting—he’s by way of being an acquaintance of mine.”
“You’ve met him here, I take it, Inspector?” interjected Anthony.
“I have that,” answered Bannister with a set expression. “I was actually in conversation with him when Godfrey here ‘barged in’ and lugged me from a restful holiday into this.”
Anthony was beginning to realise that he was confronted with a curious combination of circumstances. The obstinate contention of the Crown Prince concerning the implication of the murder with the blackmailer might not be so fantastic after all. Here was a certain Captain Willoughby already fitting into the pieces of the puzzle at both ends. He had taken the photograph of Daphne and her Royal admirer during the year before and now he
