The young dental surgeon winced. “before I can do that,” he said, “I must ask you to tell me more. I don’t understand. How have the notes been traced to me?”
Bannister recounted the chain of events leading from Captain Willoughby down to Branston himself. The latter’s face quivered emotionally when he heard the story of how Jacob Morley had stated the way in which he had come to possess the nomadic notes. He sprang from his chair and paced the room in obvious agitation. Then he swung round resolutely on to Bannister.
“I’ll tell you the whole story of those notes as far as it affects me. Those notes were given to me by a lady. I advanced that lady fifty pounds a year ago at a time when she sorely needed it. I knew the reason for which it was needed and I fully approved of it. Only last week—Friday to be precise—the lady concerned paid me the fifty pounds back. Gentlemen, the lady in the case is Mrs. Bertenshaw, my housekeeper.”
Bannister’s eyes sought those of Sergeant Godfrey. They met.
Chapter XX
“Findings—keepings”
The Inspector was the first man of the three to speak. Into his voice there had crept and added sternness. “Mr. Branston,” he said, “I presume that you realise the gravity of your last statement—and also the extreme seriousness of your position generally?”
Branston went whiter than ever and his lips worked nervously. “W—what do you mean, exactly?” he murmured.
“Your story of the circumstances in which this young lady was cruelly murdered might very well be described as a fantastic one. That much surely, you would admit yourself? Moreover, its only corroboration comes from Mrs. Bertenshaw, from whom you now admit also receiving fifty pounds! In the very notes that had been originally in the dead girl’s possession! You’re in a nasty situation, Mr. Branston!”
Branston was quick to reply. “Whatever position I’m in, Inspector,” he said, “I’ve told you the truth. I can’t do more and I’m not going to do less. The story I have told you is a true account of what took place here on the afternoon of the murder—and true in every particular. I’ve put nothing in—neither have I kept anything back.” He paused—with more than a hint of defiance. “You had better interview Mrs. Bertenshaw again,” he added, “and see what she has to say. I should very much like you to.”
“Send for her,” said Bannister, with a curt movement of the head. Branston did so.
“Shall I remain here?” he demanded sourly.
“For the moment,” snapped Bannister.
Mrs. Bertenshaw advanced timidly—her timidity increased perceptibly when she discovered the nature of the company.
“Yes, sir?” she opened, with a glance at her employer.
“These gentlemen desire to ask you one or two more questions with regard to what happened here last week, Mrs. Bertenshaw. Please tell them the truth.” Branston turned away and lit a cigarette cavalierly.
But Bannister had already begun to congratulate himself upon the turn that affairs had taken. He had noticed a certain look in the eyes of this woman—a look he had seen so many times before in the eyes of people whom he had been forced to question that he was able to recognise it at once and which is more, apprehend its meaning. Mrs. Bertenshaw was frightened. There was no gainsaying that fact. The Inspector tried to tell himself that he was “warmer” than he had been before. The woman’s thin anxious face met his.
“What is it you wish to know, sir?” she asked nervously.
Bannister appeared all urbanity—perhaps his most dangerous mood, if his opponents only knew it. “I merely want to ask you a question or two, Mrs. Bertenshaw,” he said smilingly, “and I’m sure you’ll find no difficulty whatever in answering them.”
Mrs. Bertenshaw’s eyes flickered in his direction, then dropped to the ground again. Bannister recognised the symptoms and went on. “A year ago—or at all events—about a year ago Mr. Branston here lent you a sum of fifty pounds. Is that so?”
The danger signals were now showing in Mrs. Bertenshaw’s cheeks “Yes, sir,” she said in hardly more than a whisper. “That’s perfectly true. He lent it to me to advance to my only boy who went to Calcutta—he had a good chance offered to him out there—without that fifty pounds he couldn’t have taken advantage of it. It was very kind of Mr. Branston.”
“I see,” said Bannister, “and I suppose the fact that you owed that fifty pounds to Mr. Branston has been a source of worry to you, ever since—eh?”
“What do you mean? I don’t quite understand you.” A mere whisper now.
Bannister continued inexorably. He was top-dog now.
“You were impatient to repay it shall we say? A very commendable instinct.” He smiled at her with a suggestion of beneficent approval. He almost beamed upon her. Then suddenly he struck—and struck home! “You repaid it yesterday, Mrs. Bertenshaw—where did you get it from?”
Mrs. Bertenshaw’s lips moved as though to reply to him but they failed—no sound passed through them—no answer was forthcoming. She was literally speechless. Branston looked at her sympathetically, Godfrey thought—no doubt he would have liked to come to her assistance—so pitiable an appearance did she present.
“I’m waiting to hear what you have to say,” proceeded Bannister. “It shouldn’t be difficult for you to answer after all. You must have got them from somewhere. Come now!”
“I found them,” she whispered.
“Be very careful now—because there’s a most vital reason why you should be very careful. Very careful indeed. Those notes belonged to Sheila Delaney, the young girl that’s been murdered! That’s been proved conclusively.”
He stood and watched her. Mrs. Bertenshaw’s eyes were fixed on him in a kind of frightened stare, but Sergeant Godfrey felt certain that the stare contained an element of surprise. Surprise that was not simulated.
“I don’t know anything about that,” she said agitatedly. “I found the notes—as I told you. I don’t know anything about the murder. I
