Bannister and Godfrey and Anthony walked up to it.
“Easily accessible from the street,” demonstrated the last-named with a motion of the hand.
“Too easily,” agreed the Inspector.
“Tell, me,” said Anthony to the porter, “did you see this wagon first thing on Thursday morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was there any luggage on it?”
“It was empty.”
The Inspector dismissed the porter curtly and thanked the manager for his assistance.
“Anybody intending the changing of those cases or alternatively the stealing of Miss Carruthers’ suit-case—had ample opportunity both here and at the station. All the same—as I said before to the Crown Prince—we may eventually discover that it’s the result of a pure accident.”
He turned smartly on his heel.
“It’s not an accident, Inspector,” declared Anthony. “Look at the accumulative force of evidence that we have already managed to collect. Not only is Miss Delaney’s suit-case or trunk missing—and it’s reasonable to suppose that she had something of the kind with her, but also her purse and the motor-car itself, which brought her. The idea is obvious. She was to remain unrecognised—and from the murderer’s point of view—the longer that situation remained in force the better. There’s no possible doubt about it.”
“You’re very confident, Mr. Bathurst,” smiled Bannister; “but I shouldn’t be overwhelmingly surprised if you’re right.” He looked at his watch.
“My next move is ‘Tranfield,’” he announced.
“And if you’ve not objection, Inspector,” remarked Anthony, “I’ll accompany you.”
Bannister was on the point of replying when he remembered his telephone conversation with Sir Austin Kemble.
“Please yourself,” he said a trifle coolly. “I’ll meet you on the platform at Seabourne in an hour’s time.”
Anthony waved his assent as Bannister left the hotel—then turned to seek the Crown Prince and Miss Carruthers. They had returned to the Crown Prince’s suite—he was informed. On his way to the apartment he passed Captain Willoughby carrying a suit-case.
Chapter X
A room is ransacked at “Rest Harrow”
“A great deal of my success in cases that have seemed to be at first sight, both intricate and baffling,” remarked Bannister as the train ran through Bletchley, “has been due to my appreciation of the value of care allied to imagination. Apply the maximum of the one to the maximum of the other; and when you get the combined maxima judiciously concentrated upon the problem in hand, they should eventually yield a minimum of trouble.” he removed his horn-rimmed glasses—wiped them studiously—and replaced them. “I’ve worked on those lines ever since I can remember,” he continued, “and I’ve never had any reason to alter my plan of campaign.”
Anthony took the offered cigarette from the Inspector’s heavy silver case and lit up.
“A thoroughly sound plan, too,” he concurred.
Bannister elaborated his point. “Care and finely controlled imagination should take most men as high as they can reasonably wish to rise—they are two admirable servants. Now in this present case,” proceeded Bannister, “All efforts to trace Miss Delaney’s car have failed—to all intents and purposes it might have been spirited away—it’s not been abandoned on the highway anywhere that we can find. Similarly with her luggage.” He took a cigarette for himself. “Care then having failed to produce me anything—I shall have to give flight to imagination.”
“Go on,” said Anthony; “I’m most interested.”
“I’m coming to Tranfield in the hope that something I may happen to pick up here will stimulate my imagination and eventually supply me with the answer to this riddle that has been set me. By the way, Mr. Bathurst, we change at Westhampton for Tranfield. It lies on the branch line to Easton Favell—I expect we shall find one train on it every six hours or thereabouts.”
Bannister was wrong in his prophecy. They discovered upon arrival at Westhampton that trains to Tranfield and Easton Favell were scheduled to run at regular intervals of twenty minutes. The station-master at the little station of Tranfield was delighted to direct them to “Rest Harrow.”
“It’s Miss Delaney’s place you’re wanting,” he announced. “You’ve a walk of about eight minutes. Go down the hill that leads from the station and you’ll come to a field on the left that belongs to Farmer Peasland—cut across by the footpath—you can’t miss seeing it—go over a stile and then through a swing gate. That will bring you to the road running to Easton Favell—‘Rest Harrow’ is about one hundred and fifty yards down—on the right.”
Ten minutes walk brought them to it. Anthony immediately placed it as one of the most charming bungalows he had ever seen. It nestled back from the road with a kind of old-world shyness that did much to enhance its appeal. The garden in front was a mass of varied bloom and colour and the air was heavy with the scent of its many flowers. As they made their objective a man who had been standing fifty yards or so further up the road came towards them.
“Inspector Bannister?” he inquired with an interrogative glance.
“Quite right,” said Bannister. “You got my message, then?”
The newcomer nodded. “I’m Sergeant Ross,” he added, introducing himself. “I’ve been waiting for you here as instructed.”
“Very good,” said Bannister. “I’m sorry to say, Sergeant, that Miss Delaney—the lady who lived here, I believe—has been murdered in Seabourne.”
Ross whistled. “We guessed as much from your message,” he exclaimed. “You’re going inside—I take it?”
Bannister’s reply was to ring the bell at the front entrance. Anthony heard it peal through the building but could hear no step in answer to it.
Bannister turned to Ross. “I understand that Miss Delaney lived here with another lady—a companion or something—is that so?”
“So I believe,” returned Ross.
“Not in—that’s evident,” retorted the Inspector.
Anthony strolled round the right-hand side of the bungalow at the back. Then he called to the others. “We ought to be able to get in this way,” he said.
Banister broke a pane of glass, pushed his hand through and lifted up the catch of the casement window. A few moments saw them inside. There were no signs of very recent occupation showing
