“Oh, then,” said the Inspector, with an ominous quietness, “so you’ve been recuperating at Seabourne too. Seems mighty popular just at the moment as a health-resort! What’s its special attraction?”
Warburton glared at him insolently. “What took me to Seabourne is no concern of yours, Inspector. You bark up the right tree. And keep barking up it till something comes down. Never mind about me. Concentrate on little Alexis.”
“Hold on for a moment. Where did you stay in Seabourne? Give me the address.”
“At a dirty little boarding-house, if you want to know—right at the back of the town—kept by a Mrs. Leach—damned good name for her, too,” he added reminiscently, “judged by the terms she charged in relation to the quality of her cuisine.”
“Give me the exact address, if you please?” ordered Bannister, with growing impatience.
“‘Sea View,’ it’s about three miles from the sea, to be exact—that’s the reason for the name, no doubt. Froam Road.”
Bannister made an entry in his book “Not a very great distance, though, from Coolwater Avenue, Mr. Warburton,” he added with a wealth of meaning.
“Too big a distance, by God,” raved Warburton. “If only I’d been nearer that swine would never have finished his dirty work. I’d have killed him with these hands!” He swung round on Bannister, passionately. “You can’t be such a fool as to think I’d lay a hand on Sheila Delaney of all people. I loved her far too much to hurt a hair on her pretty head. I worshipped the very ground she walked on.” His eyes caught Bannister’s and held them menacingly.
But the Inspector was rapid and ready to counter him adroitly. “You loved her too much—eh? You loved her so much that you haven’t called upon her for months! You’ve never gone near her. How do you explain that, Mr. Galahad?”
Warburtons’ reply was contemptuous and emphatic. “Haven’t called upon her,” he repeated, the contempt increasing with each word uttered. “When a girl doesn’t want a man—if he’s a sportsman he keeps away. I don’t suppose your education has taught you that much. He doesn’t hang round her with a whine, does he?”
Bannister’s temper, however, was badly frayed by now. “It depends,” he blazed. “Your story may be all right, Mr. Warburton. On the other hand it may not. I can assure you, it will have to be pretty strictly investigated.”
“When you like and where you like, Inspector Bannister. Go through it with a small tooth-comb. That cackle won’t put any wind up me.” He flung out of the room leaving Bannister white and furious.
“Well, Mr. Bathurst,” he said at length, “and what do you make of that charming gentleman? An extraordinary story, don’t you think?”
“He’s passing through a phase of deep emotion, Inspector,” responded Anthony; “In point of fact, I’m intensely sorry for him. As to his story—it’s more than extraordinary—to me it’s positively conflicting—yet—”
“Yet what?”
“I think it may prove to be of inestimable help eventually. When I’ve sorted things out a bit I think perhaps there may be a peep of silver lining shining through the clouds.”
“Hope to goodness you’re right—although I can’t see it myself.” He rattled the coins in his pocket.
“What’s your next step, Inspector?” queried Mr. Bathurst.
“Don’t quite know at this juncture—I’m torn between two or three intentions. There are several things I want to do. On the whole, I think I shall return to Seabourne. I’m confident the kernel of the affair will be found down there. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I rather fancy I shall put in one or two more days up here. It’s a county about which I know very little and I feel that I should like to have a bit of a run round. I was always interested in new places.”
“Hallo, Mr. Bathurst—the scent getting cold—eh?” Bannister’s tone was genially provoking and contained a strong hint of raillery.
“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Anthony, showing easily discernible signs of discomfiture. “I wouldn’t say that—a day or two’s rest shouldn’t make a huge difference.”
“None at all—in all probability,” laughed Bannister. The telephone rang and he crossed to it. The call was for him. Anthony listened attentively. “What?” the Inspector yelled. “You don’t say so? Two ‘fives’ and a ‘ten,’ eh? By Jove! That complicates matters with a vengeance. All right! I’ll be back to-morrow.” He replaced the receiver and turned to Mr. Bathurst. “That message settles me. I’m going back to Seabourne. Three of Miss Delaney’s stolen notes have been traced.”
“To whom?” asked Mr. Bathurst quietly. “To a guest at the ‘Cassandra,’” said Bannister. “You’ve met him, too! A certain Captain Willoughby!”
Chapter XVI
Of which Mr. Bathurst holds the ace
Mr. Bathurst was considerate enough to see Chief Inspector Bannister off from Westhampton station on the following morning. He was sufficiently solicitous also to procure for him a corner-seat—to obtain for him all the newspapers that he desired—and to press upon him a couple of Henry Clays. From which it will be unerringly inferred that they parted upon the best of terms. “I wish you the best of luck down in Seabourne, Inspector,” he said on parting. “Keep me posted if anything important pops up, won’t you?”
“I will,” promised Bannister. “Rely on me. And I hope when I see you again to be on the way to a successful termination of the case.”
Anthony grinned. “There’s nothing like a note of cheery optimism,” he murmured; “just enough to cover a sixpence.”
Bannister smiled back and waved his hand gaily as the train drew slowly from the long platform. Anthony made his way back to his hotel. There he sought the seclusion afforded by the smoke-room. Writing materials were to hand. Mr. Bathurst set to work upon what he always called his “Initial Summary of Facts.” Completed he snuggled back in his chair and surveyed the epitome complacently. This is how to read. (A) Present at Hunt Ball—”lever de rideau,” so to speak—Alexis—Sheila—Daphne—Major Carruthers—Sir Matthew Fullgarney (probably)—Alan
