“What is that, sir?” inquired “Pinkie” listlessly.
“She’s taking her trouble badly,” thought Anthony to himself. “She needs to pull herself together.”
“Just this point, Miss Kerr. I want you to cast your mind back to the occasion when Lal Singh—the Indian—called upon Miss Delaney—the incident of which you told us the other day. The point I want to emphasise is this. Did he speak in English the whole time he was here?”
“All that I heard him say was English,” answered “Pinkie.” “Yes,” she proceeded, stressing her remarks with nods of the head, “I remember now. What you have just said has brought it back to me. Miss Sheila spoke to him in Hindustani, but it was the wrong dialect or something. He couldn’t get on with it. She said afterwards that he came from a different part of the country—belonged to a different tribe or something. That’s why they couldn’t make each other understand.”
Anthony’s reply held a trace of sternness. “Goodbye, Miss Kerr,” he said. “You’ve been able to clear up something in my mind that’s been troubling me—no doubt we shall meet again.”
The second of Mr. Bathurst’s morning calls to which he had made reference in his conversation with Alexis was of a somewhat extraordinary nature. The Editor of the “Westhampton and Chellingborough Independent” contemplated somewhat ungraciously the visiting-card that had been presented to him by a singularly dirty and ink-stained office-boy, but after a minute or two’s thought decided that his time was not too fully occupied to see the gentleman described thereon.
“Tell Mr. Bathurst we can give him ten minutes, Fred,” he remarked editorially. “But not a minute more.”
Mr. Bathurst stated his business. As usual the introduction of the name of the Crown Prince of Clorania had a magical effect and worked wonders towards the establishment of a perfectly amicable atmosphere.”
“I think I can manage that,” said the Editor. “let me see now—the affair took place in the early part of last year—I think that was the time, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” confirmed Mr. Bathurst, “February was the month—to be exact. I can’t give you any nearer than that.”
“Ah—February! Now what is it—er—precisely that you want to do—to read all our reports and comments on the day, did you say?” He toyed with the paper-knife that lay on the desk in front of him.
“Mr. Bathurst acquiesced. “If you would be so good that is what I should like to do.”
“I may take it, I hope, that any news of interest—any special feature of the case that you are investigating—should it materialise—would be placed in the way of the ‘Independent’ before any of its—er—contemporaries?”
“You may rely on me,” murmured Mr. Bathurst engagingly.
The Editor picked up his telephone receiver. “Bring me a complete file of the ‘Independent’ for the month of February of last year. Bring it up to my private room.”
“Here we are,” he declared five minutes later. “Here are our issues of February five, twelve, nineteen and twenty-six. I remember the affair made a big stir at the time. I remember the big London dailies gave it a rare lot of attention although news was by no means scarce at the time. Perhaps one of them might prove more useful to you.”
“It’s possible, of course,” conceded Anthony. “But I thought the local paper would probably contain more detail in its report. A question of local interest and all that.”
—“I see. Will you run through them here? Or quietly elsewhere?”
“Let me have half an hour with them quietly, will you? I don’t suppose I shall require them any longer than that. There are one or two features of the case with which I am not too familiar. I just want to have a closer look at them. Half an hour should be ample.”
The Editor assented with a cordial smile and Mr. Bathurst thanked him appropriately.
The “Ram and Raven” proved to contain a quiet saloon and a table in the corner thereof served excellently for liquid refreshment and quiet reading. The issues of February five and February twelve each contained a column concerning the “Mutual Bank Frauds.” The usual sensational headlines were well in the fore. “Astounding Disclosures.” “Sensational Revelations.” “Defalcations amounting to £250,000.” “Prominent Directors Believed to be Involved,” were among the many to be found at the head of the columns relative to the case. Sales must have been good during those weeks. In the issue of the nineteenth, Mr. Bathurst found something more pertinent to the subject of his inquiry. The paragraph that aroused his interest so acutely ran as follows :“Since our last issue we are able to announce authoritatively that important developments have taken place with regard to the amazing conditions prevailing at the Mutual Bank. These developments—the precise nature of which was being freely whispered in well-informed circles as long ago as last Monday—culminated on Wednesday afternoon in the sensational arrest of no less a person than Sir Felix Warburton, one of the Bank’s most well-known and most influential directors. We are able to state that Sir Felix will be charged at Westhampton Police Court this morning (Friday) on charges of embezzlement and fraudulent conversion. The arrest was made at the residence of Sir Felix—‘Wyvenhoe Towers,’ Nillebrook.” When he read the sentence which immediately followed, Mr. Bathurst rubbed his hands. He read on with as much excitement as Mr. Bathurst ever permitted himself to entertain. When he had finished, he astonished the barmaid who had ministered to his wants by putting down a ten shilling note on payment for a “Guinness” and departing without collecting his change. By the time he reached the offices of the “Independent” he was himself again.
“Well?” demanded the Editor, “got a scoop?”
Mr. Bathurst smiled and shook his head. “There’s nothing her that I
