Chapter XXVII
Sir Austin Kemble removes his hat
“Dinner is served,” said the butler. “Will you escort Lady Fullgarney, Mr. Bathurst? And you, Sir Austin might be good enough to take Lady Brantwood? Thank you. If Lady Kemble will honour me?” said Matthew Fullgarney let his guests into the brilliantly-lighted dining-room of Dovaston Court. “I should have been delighted,” he said, “to have had the Crown Prince of Clorania with us for Christmas but, of course, he has a very much more important engagement”—he chuckled—“the wedding, I believe, is fixed for the last day of the old year. I suppose you are going—Mr. Bathurst? Surely, you should be the guest of honour?”
Anthony laughed. “I was invited, Sir Matthew, it’s true—but like the Crown Prince—I had an important engagement myself, last week. I wasn’t sure how long it would last—so in the circumstances, I placed myself at Lady Fullgarney’s disposal instead.” He bowed, ” I am sure that excellent judges would agree that I chose the better part.”
Lady Fullgarney bent over to him eagerly interested. “Was there ever any doubt?” she asked. “Did any of you important people on the inside of the case wonder what the verdict was going to be?”
Anthony regarded her quizzically and Sir Austin Kemble cut in with a reply. “The jury were only absent five-and-twenty minutes,” he said gravely, “that fact will demonstrate to you very clearly that they didn’t entertain very much doubt about it.”
“There was none,” boomed Sir Matthew from the head of the table, “the evidence was conclusive. In a short time, thank God—the world will be well rid of a thorough-paced scoundrel. Three Sundays for him and three too many. Grant—bring me another half-dozen oyster, will you?”
“Besides thanking the Almighty, Matthew, don’t you think you might also thank Mr. Bathurst?” put in Lady Fullgarney. Her lord and master glared. “Don’t you think so, Sir Austin?” she continued, turning to the Chief Commissioner, “won’t you support me?”
Sir Austin smiled at her gallantly. “Always, Lady Fullgarney! And in this particular instance—without a second’s hesitation. There is no doubt about it. None knows better than I that Mr. Bathurst achieved a personal triumph. I shall never forget it. The memory of the arrest in that room at Amsterdam that I told you about when you came to London will remain with me always. To say that I was amazed is beside the point. I was stupefied.” He sipped his wine.
“I am going to ask you a great favour, Mr. Bathurst,” said Lady Fullgarney.
“Command me,” replied Anthony.
“After dinner, I am going to ask you to tell us all about everything. Just how you came to think it all out. You know—like Sherlock Holmes used to explain to Doctor Watson. My guests are simply dying to hear.”
“Really,” said Anthony, “I can’t believe that you will find me as interesting—”
“It’s perfectly true, Mr. Bathurst,” supplemented Lady Brantwood, “I find the investigation of crime positively enthralling.”
“I am in your hands, then,” murmured Anthony. “I will commence,” he said, when the gentlemen joined the ladies about an hour later, “by asking you all to regard my account of the tragedy as a strict confidence. It will be obvious to you that this must be so—thank you! My introduction to the Seabourne murder actually occurred about a week before the murder took place.” There were interested murmurs of incredulity. “That may sound strange,” proceeded Mr. Bathurst, “nevertheless it is true. The Crown Prince of Clorania was being blackmailed. He engaged me on the case. Needless to say there was a lady in it. He kept her name secret. It did not take an overwhelming supply of intelligence to see that the trouble was coming from the Westhamptonshire neighbourhood. Now—inasmuch as His Royal Highness had only been in Westhampton once—when he attended last year’s Hunt Ball—I made the evening of that Ball my starting-point. At this stage—just as I had reached that conclusion—I received an urgent call from the Crown Prince at Seabourne to the effect that the lady in question had been found murdered. You know where and you know how. He then told me her name—Daphne Carruthers. Mark you—a Westhampton girl.”
“One of the best,” Ejaculated Sir Matthew, “I remember—” A look from his wife silenced him.
Anthony went on. “He also told me that in answer to a suggestion from her, he had come to Seabourne and arranged certain matters very satisfactorily. In short there would be no more chance for successful blackmailing. But Miss Carruthers almost immediately upon leaving had been most unaccountably murdered! he was badly frightened. Terribly afraid that he would be suspected and that all the story that he had been so zealous to keep secret—would be revealed. Then Miss Daphne resurrected herself and telephoned him—and I began to get interested. Who was the dead girl and why had she been confused with Daphne Carruthers? There I reached my second point of investigation. I couldn’t honestly blame Bannister for the error of identification. Suit-case—the booking of the room—both tallied. I began to ask myself the meaning of this piece of substitution. Why was the dead girl’s identity hidden? Was it to shroud Sheila or was it to call attention
