“Chief-Inspector Bannister?” he inquired—then as his eyes caught sight of the Crown Prince of Clorania and Miss Carruthers, his apprehension seemed to increase. “Good morning”—he bowed to the two whom he knew.
“Good morning,” said Bannister. “Sergeant Godfrey has told you what I want of you—hasn’t he?”
Willoughby nodded—then broke in quickly and impetuously. “I feel certain you’re on the wrong track, Inspector,” he urged. “Miss Travers, my fiancée, is miles away from Seabourne—”
“We shall see,” said Bannister interrupting him. “For your sake—I sincerely hope you’re right—naturally—but personally—I’m not so sure! Come this way.” He conducted them across the stone-flagged station-yard to the small building in the corner that served Seabourne as a mortuary. Anthony and Sergeant Godfrey followed—separated from Bannister by Captain Willoughby, his fingers working nervously round his silver-knobbed stick. The Crown Prince and Daphne brought up the rear—the lady apparently having to some extent overcome her reluctance. The Inspector gave orders for the door of the mortuary to be unlocked and they passed in—the Crown Prince and his lady still last. Captain Willoughby braced his well-knit shoulders and walked on the white slab bare-headed—hat in hand. For one nerve-shattering second his shoulders remained braced. Then the rigid tension of his body relaxed.
“No—Inspector,” he said very quietly—his face ashen-pale—“this is not Miss Travers. This lady is a complete stranger to me.”
Bannister threw him a shrewd and challenging glance. “Then I’m glad and sorry,” he declared. “Sorry, of course, to have troubled you so needlessly.”
Willoughby bowed his thanks and as the light caught his face Anthony was able to discern the extent to which the ordeal had tried him. Then he noticed with surprise that the Crown Prince and Miss Carruthers had approached the white slab more closely. Daphne’s eyes were agleam with a mingled horror and excitement. “That girl, Inspector,” she cried uncontrollably, “I can identify her—I know her well—it’s Sheila Delaney!!!”
Chapter IX
Mr. Bathurst looks at a pair of shoes—and a luggage-wagon
Bannister’s eyes blazed! Whatever chagrin he may have felt at the failure of the theory that he had put forward was momentary. It almost instantly gave place to the excitement of the chase. The hunt was up!
“Sheila who?” he exclaimed.
“Sheila Delaney,” replied Daphne. “I—”
“How do you come to know her?” demanded Bannister peremptorily. “Was she a friend of yours?”
Daphne shook her head—her own excitement had passed for the time being and she was now feeling quite calm—stunned almost with the horror that she had been the first to unveil properly.
“Hardly a friend,” she replied. “Although I knew her very well. She was a great friend of my late uncle—Major Desmond Carruthers. I expect you have heard of him—he died in March of last year—he was killed in a motoring accident. He was Chief Constable of Westhamptonshire.” She looked at Bannister inquiringly.
Anthony was stung into the keenest attention. Westhamptonshire! Another coincidence or another link in the chain—which? He caught the Crown Prince’s eye and instantly formed the opinion that the mention of Westhamptonshire had increased that gentleman’s agitation. But Bannister was pressing eagerly for information.
“I remember the name, I think. Although I never connected you with him. Can you give me her home address? “Oh yes,” replied Miss Carruthers simply. “Rest Harrow, Tranfield, near Westhampton.”
Mr. Bathurst’s grey eyes flashed back to the Crown Prince. Westhampton and now Tranfield—the two places of the post-marks on the Crown Prince’s letters! Alexis had apparently appreciated the point just as quickly as Mr. Bathurst himself—his fingers were toying nervously with the ends of his bellicose moustache. Bannister noted the address in his book.
“Why was this young lady in Seabourne, Miss Carruthers?” he inquired. “Any idea?”
Daphne’s answer was a negative. “None whatever, Inspector. I haven’t set eyes on her for months.”
“What are her people?”
“Her father and mother are dead. Her father was Colonel Delaney of the Westhampton Regiment. She lives with a kind of family retainer—her old nurse, I think.” She knitted her brows.
“Shall have to get into touch with her,” muttered Bannister. “Do you happen to remember her name?”
Daphne pondered, the tip of her fore-finger pressed to her dainty lips. “Carr, I think,” she answered after a moment or two, “but Sheila always referred to her by a nickname or something—now what was it?—I can remember hearing Uncle Desmond use it when he mentioned her.” She screwed up her eyes—as people do sometimes when attempting to remember something particularly elusive. “No,” she concluded regretfully, “I can’t remember what it was.”
The Crown Prince looked across at Anthony in such a meaning way that that gentleman formed the opinion that he wished to communicate something to him. Mr. Bathurst judged that the existing conditions might be far from favourable for an interchange of the Royal confidences—he therefore rather adroitly avoided the Royal eye. Whatever it was it could wait and, which was more, would probably be all the better for keeping, Bannister turned to Sergeant Godfrey as they left the building.
“Get through to the Westhampton police as quickly as possible. Tell them as much as you consider expedient—tell them I hope to be up there with them by tea-time this evening.”
Godfrey vanished—a load was taken from his mind—Banister was taking hold! That to him meant considerable relief. Anthony approached the Inspector.
“I should be tremendously obliged, Inspector, ” he spoke very quietly, “if I could have a glance at the clothes this poor girl was wearing.”
“Don’t think you’ll learn much from them,” rejoined Bannister. He obtained them and tossed them over to Anthony. The latter turned them over and picked up the hat. “The only name to be found is inside the hat—you’ll see it if you look.”
But
