“I don’t know that I altogether follow you, Mr. Bathurst,” said Sir Austin. “What do you mean exactly when you say that you must wait? For what must you wait?”
Anthony’s eyes regarded him with unswerving steadiness. “For the murderer to make a mistake, Sir Austin—when that happens I hope to be aware of it. When I’m aware of it—I shall draw the net round—tight. I shall want your help, sir, of course, and Bannister’s, too. I don’t mean for a moment that I’m big enough to carry it through single-handed. But that’s my intention—to bide my time.” There was no element of braggadocio in what he said—merely the coldness of quiet determination.
Sir Austin started his finger-drumming again. He was dissatisfied. “Permit me to remark, Mr. Bathurst, that the time for you to move may never come. The murderer—or murderers possibly—may never make the mistake for which you are suggesting that we should wait. How do we go on then?” Anthony was unmoved by the Commissioner’s suggestion.
“How then?” He thought the question over for a moment or two and then quickly discarded it as a real possibility. “Take it from me, sir, the move will be made. It must be. You need have no qualms upon that point whatever. The move for which I am waiting will be the natural sequence—perhaps corollary is a better word—of Miss Delaney’s murder. It will be tedious and irksome—this waiting period. I agree—but at all events when I move I shall be sure. It is a comfortable thought—to be sure.”
Sir Austin rose from his chair. “Very well, then, Mr. Bathurst, since neither Bannister nor you can advise any immediate course of action—I must bow to your joint decision to wait. Even though it imposes a strain upon my patience. I will inform the Crown Prince of Clorania of what has passed between us. Good-day.” He held out his hand to Bannister and then to Anthony. As he left them at the door of the room the Inspector turned to Bathurst.
“What’s your point, Mr. Bathurst?” he said. “What’s this move you say you’re waiting for? I couldn’t follow your argument at all. You amateurs amuse me.”
“I expect we do,” returned Anthony good humouredly. “But you’re asking me too much to tell you what the precise nature of the move will be. I’m not a clairvoyant. At the same time, though, I am quite willing to tell you something of at least equal importance—that is, of course, if you would care to hear it?”
“What’s that?”
“The name of the person who murdered Sheila Delaney.”
Bannister regarded him with a look of amazement mingled with incredulity. “What?” he exclaimed; “are you serious?”
“Perfectly,” replied Anthony. He bent his head a little and whispered a name in the Inspector’s ear.
Bannister gasped. “Never!” he declared. “You can’t mean it!”
Anthony nodded gravely.
“Good God!” exclaimed Bannister again; “you can’t mean it, Mr. Bathurst.”
“I do—but it’ll be a very difficult matter to drive the charge home. Nobody realises that fact more than I. Think of the issues involved.”
“I’m thinking,” said Bannister; “it certainly will be ‘some’ job! Well I’m damned!” He shook his head—still pondering over the amazing nature of Mr. Bathurst’s confidence.”
Chapter XXV
Mr. Bathurst’s patience is rewarded
The golden sunshine of July passed into the mellower maturity of August. August in its turn yielded place to the quieter beauty of September and russet-brown October reigned at due season in the latter’s stead. The mystery of the murder of Sheila Delaney—in the words of the cheaper Press—the “Dentist’s-Chair Murder” yet remained unsolved. The “Daily Bugle” continued its bugling. Sir Austin Kemble allowed himself at various odd times to dwell somewhat bitterly upon the vaticination of Mr. Bathurst and at other times was sorely taxed to restrain his growing impatience. Chief-Inspector Bannister was doomed to suffer the biggest disappointment of his hitherto distinguished career. The day for his retirement from his high position in the Criminal Investigation Department arrived after the manner of Time and Tide, and he was no nearer to arresting Sheila Delaney’s slayer when that eventful day came than he had been on the fateful July evening when Sergeant Godfrey had dragged him into the case. Sir Austin shook hands with him in farewell and shrugged his aristocratic shoulders in rather cynical commiseration. “I know how keen you were, Bannister, to complete your Seabourne case and I also know the many difficulties against which you have been forced to contend. The fact that you have failed is merely to be deplored—that is all. To err is human. You take with you my very best wishes. Good-bye.”
Thus the mantle of Bannister fell upon Macmorran, and after the manner of mantles apparently made an excellent fit. Bannister however had not relinquished the trail altogether. Mr. Bathurst read his letter with undisguised interest. He also replied to it immediately.
“My dear Bannister,” he wrote, “Hearty congratulations upon your well-earned retirement. Which is it to be? The Sussex Downs or the entrancing West Country? I am perfectly certain that either would be graced by your presence. In relation to the question that you raised with regard to the somewhat baffling case that exercised our joint intelligences a few months ago—please don’t worry, you may rely on me. Rest assured that I should never attempt to conclude my case without acquainting you and inviting your valuable co-operation. I have too much admiration for Scotland Yard in general and incidentally yourself in particular. Also it might prove too big for me to adopt any other methods single-handed. I told you whom I suspected upon the occasion of our last meeting. You alone know of that suspicion. I am still waiting now, as I was at the time that I gave you my confidence. Hold yourself in readiness to move at a moment’s notice. When that time comes I will communicate with
