“Sheila Delaney?” he cried. “Colonel Dan’s daughter—oh, but that’s bad—is there any chance that you’re mistaken?”
“None—I’m afraid,” replied Bannister gravely.
“What a dreadful business! Dreadful! Dreadful!” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Everybody liked Sheila Delaney.”
“Now, Mr. Falcon. These two young men here—your two ‘commercials’—I’m coming to my point. I have reason to believe that they are acquainted with a Mr. Warburton—a Mr. Alan Warburton of Crossley Road, Westhampton.”
“Sir Felix’s nephew, Inspector,” intervened Falcon. “The Sir Felix—the Mutual Bank—”
“So I understand—now could you arrange for me to have a little chat with them? Don’t tell them who I am.”
Falcon’s face wore a new horror. “Surely you aren’t going to tell me that Alan Warburton’s the murderer? I can’t believe that. Why—”
“Why—what?”
Falcon shifted uneasily in his chair and knew that despite all he himself could achieve to the contrary, Bannister meant to have his question answered. He caught the Inspector’s eyes fixed unwaveringly on his own and realised that there was going to be no escape for him.
“Well,” he said eventually—semi-apologetically—“what I was going to say exactly was this. Miss Delaney and Alan Warburton were, a short time ago by way of being very great friends—that was all.” As he spoke his eyes sought Bannister’s again in the hope that the Inspector would be able to find satisfaction in his statement. But Bannister had by this time scented his quarry and refused to be in any way denied the swift exultation of the hunt.
“What do you mean exactly by the expression ‘great friends’?”
Falcon’s tongue played round his lips nervously before he answered. “Well, Inspector, let me put it like this, they were seen about together a rare lot. Went to dances together, went motoring together—theatres—you know—the usual companionship of a young fellow and a young girl. People began to look for one with the other.”
“Did that state of affairs exist what you might term recently?”
“That’s a question I couldn’t properly answer, Inspector. Certainly, I believe they were nothing like as intimate as they had been in the past. That’s what I’ve been told—and from what I’ve been able to see for myself it was perfectly true. It was noticeable.”
“Had the lady other admirers or formed other attractions?”
Falcon shrugged his ample shoulder. “I couldn’t put a name to one, Inspector, if that’s what you mean—but I should think it extremely likely.”
Bannister turned to Anthony, “Very much on all fours, Mr. Bathurst, with what Ross told us just now. This much seems to be plain. If Miss Delaney had decided to turn young Warburton down in favour of another lover, nobody here seems to be able to give the successor a name. Nobody seems to have seen him.”
Anthony lit a cigarette and tossed the match into an ash-tray. Bannister, however, had not yet finished his inquiries with Falcon. “I suppose you see quite a fair amount of this Alan Warburton, don’t you, Mr. Falcon? I suppose he’s a pretty prominent figure in Westhampton—eh?”
“Not so much since the Sir Felix business, as you may guess, Inspector—that seemed to put the family under a bit of a cloud—still—I can own to seeing a good deal of him.”
“Quite so,” purred Bannister, “now tell me this. Did the sudden change in Miss Delaney’s attitude affect him to any extent? Did he seem upset at all over it?”
Falcon extended a protesting hand. “Now you’re travelling too quickly, Inspector! I told you just now that I didn’t know what had happened. I think you’re assuming something. I don’t know if any definite understanding ever actually existed between the two young people. I don’t know what happened at all. If I said that Warburton was upset at the change that came over the young lady, I should be exceeding my duty as a fair-minded citizen and I don’t want to do that.” He rose from his seat and walked over to the table behind. Anthony saw a flush of annoyance pass over Bannister’s distinguished features but it soon passed and the Inspector flicked an imaginary crumb from his immaculately-creased trousers with a grim smile. Falcon quickly returned with the two young commercial travellers.
“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Davidson,” he announced, “Mr. Bathurst and Mr. Bannister.
Bannister signalled to a waiter and ordered drinks.
“I understand from Mr. Falcon here,” said the elder of the two young men, “that you gentlemen want to get in touch with Alan Warburton.”
“Yes—that is so,” said Bannister, “could you let me have his present address?”
“I haven’t his address,” said Rogers. He looked at Davidson inquiringly.
“I can’t help you either,” replied his companion, “but I think I could put you on to somebody who—”
“Never mind—don’t trouble—it’s of no special consequence to-night—I can get it quite easily to-morrow, I’ve no doubt. I thought perhaps though that you knew Mr. Warburton very well.”
Rogers shook his head. “Not well. We’ve only met him on the several occasions when we’ve stayed in Westhampton on business. But we run across him so regularly then that we’ve got into the habit of looking out for him every time we come. By the way, talking about Westhampton, that’s a terrible thing in this morning’s papers—that murder at Seabourne. I hear in the town to-day that the lady murdered—a Miss Daphne Carruthers—was the niece of Major Carruthers. I met Major Carruthers some years ago on my first visit to Westhampton. He was a splendid fellow—‘pukka’ gentleman.”
“I understand then,” Anthony interjected quietly, “that you haven’t seen Mr. Warburton during your present visit?”
Rogers and Davidson shook their heads energetically.
“Devil a glimpse of him,” said Davidson. “we haven’t run him to earth anywhere—and we’ve called at more than one shrine where he’s wont to worship.” He grinned cheerfully at his friend and Roger found the grin infectious.
“And we haven’t confined ourselves to one call at some of the extra-special places, either,” he added in support of his statement. “Have we, Rodge?”
“I should say not.”
“Last time we were in Westhampton,”
