Bannister eyed Anthony significantly. Evidently an idea was beginning to assume very definite shape within his mind. “I see,” he said quietly. “The family reputation was tarnished—eh?”
“Possibly,” smiled back Ross; “the Delaneys were always people to hold their heads high.”
He gave Anthony the impression that he was very much more inclined to be confidential than to be reserved. But Mr. Bathurst kept quiet—he was content to let Bannister do the questioning.
“And after that?” continued Bannister, “was there another Richmond in the field? Another lover—eh?”
“I can’t answer that,” declared Ross. “Local gossip hasn’t reached that stage yet.”
“But it’s quite likely—eh—?” urged Bannister.
“I should imagine so—considering what a charming girl Miss Delaney was.”
“H’m—what sort of a chap is this Alan Warburton—pretty steady? Or does he inherit the tendencies of Sir Felix?”
“I know nothing against him,” declared Ross. “No whisper against him has ever reached me.”
“How did he take the lady’s change of feelings?”
“No idea. As I said just now, I’m only repeating local gossip.” With that the Inspector was forced to be content.
It was obvious that the local man’s knowledge was largely founded upon hearsay. Anthony realised this and turned once again to the miscellaneous heap upon the bed. He picked up a long silk scarf, with what definite object at the time he scarcely knew, when to his surprise a postcard fluttered from the folds and fell to the ground. He stooped to pick it up. It was undated and the sender had omitted to put his or her address. It ran as follows: “Dearest Sheila,—If only you were here instead of those miles away! Then I should love the Spring (and you) still more. The garden is looking splendid—nearly equal to that at ‘Rest Harrow.’ All the flowers have made a fine show but the irides are simply wonderful.” It was signed with one initial only—“X.” Anthony held it out to Bannister. “Came out of this scarf,” he said. “Do you think it’s of any importance?”
Bannister looked at it very attentively—read the message—then attempted to decipher the postmark. Anthony looked over his shoulder. “Looks to me like Dulwich,” he said.
“I think so too,” said Bannister.
“It’s a peculiar handwriting, Inspector,” added Anthony. “You very seldom see a hand slope quite like that.”
“Very peculiar indeed, Mr. Bathurst. I’ll hang on to this—you never know in cases of this kind. The least thing may turn the scale.”
Anthony walked to the window of the bedroom and looked out on to the front garden. He stood there for perhaps a minute. Then he turned quickly round and addressed Bannister again. “An idea has just come to me, Inspector. I should very much like to test it. What do you say?” Bannister stared. “I’m going to bring all these larger keys into the garden and find the garage. I want to have a peep inside. Come along with me.” he suited the action to the words and within a few minutes swung open the garage doors. A car stood inside—a ‘Standard.’ Anthony waved his hand towards it. “There, Inspector,” he exclaimed dramatically, “is the car that took Miss Delaney to Seabourne.”
Bannister regarded him incredulously. “Then how the devil did it get back here?” he demanded.
“That certainly is a poser,” replied Mr. Bathurst, “but we’ll find the answer before we’ve finished. Come in and have a look at her, Inspector. I would suggest that somebody drove it back.”
“Go on!” said Bannister.
Chapter XI
A newspaper and a second suit-case
“Much petrol in the tank, Inspector?”
Bannister looked. “Very little, Mr. Bathurst.”
Anthony bent down and took a good look at each of the tyres. Bannister watched him.
“There’s one thing,” he added, “she hasn’t been cleaned up lately—certainly not since the last time she was taken out. I’d bank on that!”
Anthony agreed. “Doesn’t look like it, Inspector. I’ll tell you though what does strike me,” he went on.
“What’s that?” queried Bannister.
“The hood and the side-screens are up.” Anthony point to them.”
“What about it?”
“Well,” remarked Anthony slowly, “there’s been no rain for over a week—and the temperature has been decidedly high for several days now—hasn’t it? I should have thought that anybody driving that car would have been only too glad to have kept it open. That’s the point I’ve been considering. Of course—they may have been put up after the car returned.”
He paused and rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. Bannister regarded him with the semblance of a grin playing round the corners of his mouth. He translated it into words. “I haven’t yet accepted as final your theory that this is the identical car that Miss Delaney had at Seabourne,” he reminded Anthony.
The lines of Mr. Bathurst’s mouth were firmly set. “You can take it from me that it is, Inspector,” he announced with an unmistakable air of determination, “and I hope in time to be able to prove it to you.”
“Perhaps you will. I shall want some convincing though. Still—even so—assuming for the moment that your idea is correct—the car after all may have been used late at night—when the air begins to feel a bit cold.”
“That’s perfectly true,” conceded Anthony, “and there’s yet another possible explanation—one which I’m disposed to think may eventually prove to be the correct one. The person that drove this car back to Tranfield from Seabourne wanted to be screened from observation as much as possible. So he or she had the side-screens in and the hood up.
“That’s certainly a point, Mr. Bathurst,” admitted Bannister, “I grant you I hadn’t thought of that.” He rubbed the ridge of his jaw with is finger-tips. “Give me a hand, Mr. Bathurst,” he said, “let’s get the hood down—we shall be able to see things more clearly then. Mind your fingers! That’s the ticket! Now get these side-screens out.”
Anthony pulled the rods from the sockets prior to opening the door of the car.
“Hallo!” exclaimed the Inspector sharply, “what’s this under the seat?” Anthony watched him as he bent down to pull an object out from beneath the farther seat. It
