“A certain amount of agitation—eh?” suggested Bannister.
Stark shook his head. “Hardly that—as I said just now the best term to use would be ‘nervous eagerness.’”
Anthony intervened again here. “I fully realise considerations of professional etiquette, and all that, Mr. Stark, and I appreciate the fact that you were almost debarred from putting any question to the lady—but did she give you any tangible idea as to her intentions with regard to the stone—why she had asked for it—what she proposed doing with it and so forth?”
“None whatever! As you observe, it was not within my personal province to subject Miss Delaney to any sort of inquisitorial examination—she was entirely within her rights in demanding the stone—I was holding it for her—I had to produce it. I did so. She took it away with her. That’s all there was to it.”
“Why is it called ‘The Peacock’s Eye’?” The inquiry came from Bannister.
“By reason of its strange shape. It is very similar to that of the ‘eye’ of the peacock’s train-feathers.”
Bannister showed his understanding with a quick nod of affirmation. “Juno made a mistake there”—his mouth set half-humorously and half-satirically—“instead of endowing her peacock with the hundred eyes of Argus—she ought to have given them to the members of my profession. A detective with a hundred eyes would stand a better chance,” he added “Two are hopelessly inadequate.”
Stark smiled at the Inspector’s sally.
“That cashier of yours,” went on Bannister—back to gravity again, “I think you mentioned his name was Churchill—could he tell us anything more—I suppose Miss Delaney said nothing to him? Very often, you know, in cases of this kind—a chance remark—a word dropped here or there—is sufficient to put us on the track of something big—was there anything of that kind in this instance—do you know?”
Stark again gave a denial. “I’ve spoken to Churchill. I obtained the numbers of the notes from him—thanks—er—to a system that I have been instrumental in instituting in the working of my Branch. But I’m certain that he knows no more than I have told you. He just cashed Miss Delaney’s cheque—that was all.”
“Very good,” said Bannister. “At the present moment then, I don’t think I can do better than to communicate these note-numbers to the Sergeant who is in charge of the case at Seabourne. He can then take the necessary steps to get them properly circulated. Mr. Stark—I’m thinking that your evidence this morning throws a new light on this dreadful affair. We have, at last, been able to establish a motive that is clear-cut and definite. Previously we were forced to consider motives that were undeniably ‘shadowy’—now we have something upon which to work.” he turned towards Anthony Bathurst and his eyes shone with concentrated eagerness. “You agree with me there, I take it, Mr. Bathurst?”
The gentleman thus addressed took a moment or two before replying. Mr. Bathurst never hurried unless necessity demanded. “Yes—perhaps I do. But it’s an extraordinarily baffling case, I must say that. I don’t think I’ve ever been called into a problem that presented so many puzzling points. To me at the moment the question that requires the most delicate answer is, ‘why was Miss Delaney’s identity so cleverly and so deliberately confused with that of Miss Carruthers?’”
“I think that can be answered quite easily,” replied Bannister, with a touch of impatience. “In fact you outlined it yourself at Seabourne—it was done to gain time. To gain time to accomplish something. You haven’t altered your own opinion—surely?” Bannister eyed him keenly.
“You don’t quite get me, Inspector,” said Anthony, unperturbed at the suggestion. “I’m going a step further along the road—that’s all. What I mean now is this. Miss Delaney’s identity, we are agreed, was hidden under somebody else’s. Now tell me this! Was it sufficient for the murderer that the dead girl when discovered should be thought to be anybody but Sheila Delaney or definitely thought to be Daphne Carruthers? Do you see the point there? It’s a distinction with a big difference! You see now what I’m driving at, don’t you?” He paused—then went on rapidly, “In other words is Daphne Carruthers a more important card in the pack than we think? Is she the card?” He watched Bannister very carefully as he put the question to him. The Inspector thrust his hands into his pockets and paced backwards and forwards as he turned the question over. Anthony has raised a new aspect of the case. Mr. Stark polished the silver knob of his walking-stick most assiduously. He felt honoured to be present at such a conference. He became almost imperial. It was a story that would gain appreciably in the recounting. His already considerable reputation as a raconteur would be—Banister broke in upon the flight of his fancy.
“You’ve given me a poser, Mr. Bathurst—and I’m quite prepared to admit as much. Certainly Daphne Carruthers can’t altogether be ruled out. I’ll grant that. Then there’s another point to be considered. Where does the Carruthers—Crown Prince—Captain Willoughby interest impinge on the Delaney—Alan Warburton connection?—that’s what I can’t fathom—I confess it’s got me fairly wondering.”
Anthony smiled—his slow, quiet smile. The smile that always seems to contain the quality of assurance. “There’s one common factor to both sides of that equation. Have you realised that?”
Bannister looked a trifle bewildered. “What’s that, Mr. Bathurst—I don’t quite—?”
“Major Desmond Carruthers—the gentleman that was killed in the Spring of last year. He was Daphne’s uncle and also I believe a close friend of Colonel Delaney—he fits into each part of your little problem, you see.”
“H’m,” muttered Bannister. “I see what you mean, but I don’t know that I can link them up. I’m working in the dark.” He went to Mr. E. Kingsley Stark and held out
