“I’m listening,” said that gentleman with the same touch of tolerant cynicism that Mr. Bathurst had observed before. “What’s the big idea?”
“Were there any signs, Inspector, when we entered ‘Rest Harrow’ just now—that any forced entrance had been effected?” Bannister promptly shook his head. “Well, then,” proceeded Anthony, “how did the people who played high jinks in this bedroom—get in?” He went on without waiting for Bannister to answer. “They got in with these keys, Inspector! And in my opinion this hand-bag contained these keys and this visiting-card, was taken from Miss Delaney at Seabourne either just before her death or just after.”
Bannister rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the fingers of his left hand. “I think you’re right, Mr. Bathurst. If only we knew what the devils were looking for. Get on the track of that and we shall be two-thirds of the way towards a complete solution. Yes, Ross—what is it?”
“No luck, sir—out in the garden. The dust-bin is empty. All the refuse that was here when the people went away must have been burned.”
“I was afraid so,” replied the Inspector. “Come and look here!”
As Ross obeyed the behest of Anthony tried the doors of the other bedrooms. They were locked and when opened presented no appearance beyond the ordinary. He called Bannister’s attention to them.
“They knew where to look, Mr. Bathurst, for what they wanted, didn’t they?”
“I don’t think, somehow, that we’re dealing with ordinary thieves. There’s something special about this.”
“You think there were more than one then, Inspector?”
“I’m inclined to think so! There are a few traces of dried mud on the carpet—nothing to speak of—can’t be sure whether they were left there by one man or two. Still—on the whole, I fancy there are more than one in it.” He looked at Anthony critically. “What can this young lady have possessed of such value that these people wanted it so badly?”
Anthony considered the question. “And was its value intrinsic or extrinsic?” he added to Bannister’s query. He was thinking now of such things as a photograph. The Inspector raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
“Just what are you thinking of?” he asked.
“When I spoke,” rejoined Anthony, “I wasn’t exactly thinking of anything in particular—since you’ve pressed me, however—I’ll give you an example. In some circumstances for instance—a photograph or a bundle of letters might possess an extraordinary value.”
Bannister caressed his top lip. “H’m,” he commented. “I suppose there’s something in what you say. But where we’re handicapped so tremendously here at the moment is in the fact that there’s nobody here can tell us anything about the dead girl. Until we get into touch with this ‘Pinkie’ person—or with the gentleman whose visiting-card we’ve found—we’re working in the dark.” He swung round on the local man. “Ross,” he exclaimed sharply, “can you tell me anything personal or intimate about this Miss Delaney?”
Ross responded to the invitation with a certain amount of eagerness. “I’m a Westhampton man, although I only came to my present job a year ago,” he said, “and I’ve known Miss Delaney ever since her father came to live in Tranfield. I’ve watched her grow into a beautiful young woman that she undoubtedly was. I knew her father, Colonel Delaney, well. He died—whilst home on leave in 1917, I think it was.” He knitted his brows—then continued his story. “He was drowned, if I remember rightly, up at Nillebrook Water—that’s about four miles from here—and the police weren’t altogether satisfied with the manner of his death. It was a most unsatisfactory business. In fact—for a considerable time too—foul play was strongly suspected. But nothing ever came to light that properly justified their suspicions and it was brought in ‘Accidental death.; I wish I could remember the details but it’s eleven years ago and a lot of things have happened since then. Still, the best man for information about Colonel and Sheila Delaney is Sir Matthew Fullgarney—the Lord Lieutenant of the County. He and Major Carruthers were great pals of the Colonel—officers together, I believe, years before—in the same regiment or something.”
Bannister shewed signs of corroboration. “That would be the Major Desmond Carruthers to whom Miss Carruthers referred this morning,” he announced to Anthony. “He’s dead, also, I believe. Tell me, Ross, is Miss Delaney’s mother dead, too?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ross. “She survived the Colonel for some years but died, I think about four years ago.”
“Which leaves only Sir Matthew Fullgarney,” soliloquised Anthony. He turned to Inspector Bannister. “Quite a chapter of fatalities, isn’t it?” he suggested. “How did Major Carruthers die, Ross?”
“In a motor accident, sir—somewhere about the early part of last year.”
“H’m,” said Anthony, “nothing to arouse suspicion—eh?”
Ross shook his head. “Nothing that I can remember, sir.”
“Perhaps you can tell me something else, Ross,” remarked Bannister. “Do you know anything about a gentleman living in Westhampton—Alan Warburton by name?”
Ross nodded eagerly. “Know him well, Inspector. He’s the only survivor as far as my knowledge goes, of the famous Warburtons—the big banking family. You remember the celebrated ‘Mutual Bank Frauds,’ about two years ago. Sir Felix Warburton was arrested and sentenced and afterwards committed suicide in his cell. He was Alan Warburton’s uncle—Alan being the son of his only brother—Murray Warburton. Alan’s father died when Alan was a boy. It’s rather a coincidence that you should introduce his name.”
“Why?” snapped Bannister. “Where’s the coincidence?”
Anthony watched Ross’s face carefully and awaited his reply with much more than ordinary interest.
“Well,” proceeded Ross, “what I meant exactly was this. Up to the time of the ‘Mutual Bank’ scandal, local gossip in Westhampton and Tranfield was inclined to couple Alan Warburton’s name with Sheila Delaney’s.”
“Really now,” said Bannister; “that’s most interesting. And what happened after that Bank scandal?”
Ross shrugged his broad shoulders non-committally but the movement was expressive. “The lady didn’t appear to be anything like so keen—at
