“At the Westhampton Hunt Ball.” Warburton shot the answer back in a tone that brooked no denial. “I can prove it, too, as I said. I was there myself and saw him.”
Anthony saw from the corner of his eye that Bannister was knitting his brows in perplexity. But only momentarily.
“Suppose you tell us the whole story, Mr. Warburton?” suggested the Inspector persuasively. “Begin at the beginning and marshal your facts in proper sequence so that we may properly understand it. We can then test its strength better.”
Warburton flung another defiant glance in Bannister’s direction. “Test its strength?” he echoed mockingly. “It’s true and you can’t get anything stronger than Truth. Order me a drink, will you, Inspector—it’s confoundedly dry work talking? My mouth’s as dry as a lime-kiln.”
Bannister frowned and touched the bell—without making any reply. Refreshed—Warburton began at the beginning as he had been directed and Anthony settled himself down to hear something that held a double interest for him. Although he was still agent for the Crown Prince he began to wonder where that gentleman actually stood and it seemed to him that Warburton’s story must throw light on the question. For he was beginning to harbour doubts about Alexis.
“There’s not much to tell,” said Alan Warburton moodily. “In the February of last year I was a guest at the Annual Hunt Ball at Westhampton. It’s quite a big thing in its way. I accompanied Sheila Delaney.”
“One moment,” broke in Bannister; “was there any understanding at that time between you and the lady?”
“Not in so many words—but I was very confident that there soon would be and so there would have been if—”
“Go on,” motioned Bannister.
“During the evening, Major Carruthers, who was Chief Constable then and a sort of guardian always of Sheila, introduced her to a man whom I had never seen before. I suspected him to be the Crown Prince. To cut the story short, Sheila fell for him badly, and from that moment I began to slump very badly as an ice-cutter. In fact I disappeared completely from Sheila’s map. She told me some weeks afterwards that the man was Alex, Crown Prince of Clorania. I implored her to give the man up. Shewed her how ridiculous it was. I told her she was playing with fire—that she was just providing temporary amusement for him. But she was like the rest of her sex. She wouldn’t listen to me. There are none so deaf as those that won’t hear! By God, I was right! She went to Seabourne to meet that swine and he murdered her. She’d served his purpose,” he declared vindictively. “But he’s not going to get away with it.”
Bannister had some interrogating to do. “You assert that Miss Delaney informed you that her lover was the Crown Prince of Clorania. You have no doubt on the point?”
“She told me what I’ve just told you. I couldn’t invent the name, could I?” he demanded churlishly.
“Did you attempt to verify her statement in any way? It would have been quite simple to do so, surely—up to a point?”
“I ascertained that it was perfectly true that the Crown Prince had attended the Ball that night—if that’s what you mean? I was quite satisfied, more than satisfied.”
“Have you ever seen a photograph of the Crown Prince?”
“Never—I’m not interested enough.”
“You say that you saw him introduced to Miss Delaney by Major Carruthers?”
“I did!”
“Could you recognise him again if you saw him?”
“I couldn’t swear to that. I might if I saw him in evening-dress. But he was some distance down the ballroom when the introduction took place and at other times I only saw his back—I tell you I wasn’t interested in the man—curse him!”
Mr. Bathurst leant across the table. “I should like to ask you something, Mr. Warburton.”
“What’s that?” replied Warburton discourteously.
Anthony ignored the discourtesy. He made allowances for Alan Warburton’s unsettled condition. “Do you know a lady—niece of the late Major Carruthers, I believe—a Miss Daphne Carruthers?”
“I’ve met her—I can’t say that I know her.”
“Cast your memory back to that February evening—was this Daphne Carruthers present at the Hunt Ball?”
“Yes, she was. I distinctly remember seeing her.”
“Good! Now tell me again. Did she meet or dance with the Crown Prince of Clorania? To the best of your knowledge that is.”
“As far as I know, certainly not.”
“You never saw them together?”
“No, I saw the Crown Prince with Major Carruthers. And as I said, Major Carruthers introduced Sheila to him, I’m positive of it. I’m almost certain he came to the Ball in the company of Major Carruthers.”
“Would you be prepared to assert that he didn’t come with a lady?”
“Most certainly I would!” Warburton was most empathic on the point.
“Don’t you think it strange, then,” went on Anthony, “that, although this distinguished guest came with Major Carruthers as you so positively declare, he never made the acquaintance of Daphne Carruthers—the Major’s own niece?”
“I don’t think about it. I don’t see what any of these questions had got to do with my story.”
“Don’t you?” interjected Bannister, unable to conceal a note of triumphant sarcasm; “don’t you? Would you be interested to know that the Crown Prince whom you are accusing of the murder of Miss Delaney was in Seabourne for the purpose of meeting Miss Carruthers?”
“Who says so?” blazed Warburton.
“I do,” rapped Bannister. “If you want to know, I left them there. They were at the ‘Hotel Cassandra’—I saw them myself—Mr. Bathurst here can support me—so you needn’t start arguing about it.”
Warburton went white as a sheet. But he quickly recovered himself. “What’s all this talk about Daphne Carruthers—anyway? I don’t quite get in on that. Why did the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’ of Saturday last say that the police had every justification for their first attempt at identification? Why was Daphne Carruthers supposed to have been murdered?”
“And where did you see the ‘Seabourne Chronicle’?” thundered Bannister.
“In Seabourne, of course,” stormed back Warburton. “Where do
