“Need trouble you no longer,” contributed Anthony laconically; “that part of the case has been satisfactorily completed. It was very simple. I had almost forgotten it.”
The Crown Prince sat bolt upright in his chair. “Completed? What do you mean? Tell me, I beg of you. Do not keep me in suspense.”
“I have interviewed the writer of the letters and Your Highness may rest assured that there will be no repetition of the offence. I took the liberty, however, of promising in Your Highness’s name—if ‘promising’ be the right word to use in such circumstances—that there would be no prosecution.”
“Was that wise, Mr. Bathurst? Is such a scoundrel to go?”
“Come, sir, look at the matter from your own point of view. Publicity is surely the last condition that you would court?”
Alexis appeared to be in doubt.
“Her Royal Highness, Imogena of Natalia,” murmured Anthony.
Alexis’ doubt vanished like snow under the sun. “Who was the blackmailer?” he demanded truculently.
Anthony hesitate a moment before answering. “Alan Warburton, an old lover of Sheila Delaney—the girl murdered in the dentist’s chair at Seabourne. Can you in any way reconcile the two facts?”
Alexis sprang to his feet excitedly. “I told you—didn’t I? I said find the blackmailer—and you’ll find the murderer.”
“Not so fast, sir, if you please? Think in the first place where you are. What link was there between Sheila Delaney and yourself?”
“None,” replied the Crown Prince. “None whatever—I swear it! That’s the extraordinary part about it.”
“Then why did Alan Warburton attempt to blackmail you?” broke in Anthony.
The Crown Prince spread out his hands. “How do I know? What can I say? Is it all conjecture.”
“Yet I think I know,” replied Mr. Bathurst, “and time alone will prove whether I am right or wrong.”
Alexis gave a curious movement of the shoulders. “It is a mystery and I fear it will remain a mystery.”
“I am not so pessimistic as to think that. But I appreciate the fact that a difficult task lies in front of me. How is Miss Carruthers?”
His Royal Highness looked at him curiously. It struck him as strange that Anthony should have found time to inquire after Daphne Carruthers. What was his intention?
“All right. As fare as I know. I haven’t seen her since leavening Seabourne. I doubt if our paths will ever cross again. They probably lie far apart. But tell me—this man Warburton—how were you able to discover him?—how did you run him to earth? You haven’t told me.”
“Oh—it wasn’t too difficult a matter—that. Bannister and I ran across this fellow Warburton’s name while we were investigating the murder case. It kept cropping up, you see, in more than one connection. The connections were very significant. He was a man who was always breathing fire and slaughter against you. Against you—in relation to Sheila Delaney. It didn’t take me very long to put that particular two and two together. So I decided upon a bold move, I tackled him with your letters. He caved in—admitted the whole business—as I said just now—he’ll trouble you no longer. For the future you can disregard his existence. But the more extraordinary features of the affair are yet to be explained. According to Alan Warburton’s version of the facts, Sheila Delaney told him that she had been introduced to you at the Westhampton Hunt Ball that you attended in February of last year. He seemed quite sure of the statement—which included also the fact that the introduction to you was effected by Major Desmond Carruthers—the Chief Constable of the county. Now I find those statements very hard to reconcile with what you have said throughout the entire case. You see my meaning, don’t you?”
A dull red suffused the Crown Prince’s cheeks. He was instant with his denials. “It is abominably untrue. I have never met this Miss Delaney in my life. There is some ghastly mistake somewhere—what you call a ‘mixture-up,’” He gnawed at his loose lower lip. “This Mr. Allan Warburton is a liar!”
“Were you acquainted with Miss Carruthers’ uncle—the Major that I just mentioned?”
“But of course! Daphne was a great favourite of his. All the same he never introduced me to Sheila Delaney. I’ve never met the girl. I would swear it on the Holy Relics.”
“That’s as far as we can get, then,” smiled Anthony. “I’m coming up to town later on in the day. I have, however, two calls to make and one may take me some little time to see through. If convenient to you, sir, meet me on the Westhampton platform at four-fifty—we’ll pick up the Wolverhampton express. It’s a fast train to town.”
The Crown Prince bowed and took his aggrieved departure.
The first of Mr. Bathurst’s two advertised calls was at 21, Crossley Road. “Miss Kerr at home?” he inquired of the stout homely-looking woman who opened the door.
“Yes—she is. What name shall I say, sir?”
“Anthony Bathurst. Although I doubt if she’ll remember it—tell her somebody wants to see her in reference to the late Miss Delaney—one of the gentlemen whom she saw before at Miss Delaney’s home.”
“I’ll tell her, sir.” The woman speedily bustled back. “Come this way, sir, if you please?—I’ll take you into the front room. That’s the best place for you to go. Miss Kerr will be with you in a moment or two.”
When she arrived, Anthony saw that the time that had elapsed since their previous interview had only served to intensify the outward and visible signs of her profound grief. To-day she was showing him a face heavily lined with the marks of care and sorrow.
“Good morning, Miss Kerr.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bathurst.”
“I told you
