The Mystery of the Peacock's Eye

mortification of seeing her sudden infatuation for Bannister—and he mistook him for the Crown Prince of Clorania. I am inclined to think that Sheila purposely allowed him to do so, or perhaps even told him that it was so. He says that she did. In fact, I question if she ever knew his real identity—he was a married man with two children, you know. I doubt if she even knew his real name. But this is all conjecture. God alone knows what story he told her. But Warburton knew he had a rival and a successful rival—he began to blackmail him eventually—knowing of the approaching Royal marriage. Now things began to get a bit too hot for Bannister—it may have been his wife—it may have been his impending retirement urged him to finish the intrigue.”

“He was young to retire, wasn’t he, Mr. Bathurst?” queried Lady Brantwood.

“The police retire young,” replied Sir Austin Kemble, “it depends upon their term of service. Bannister was forty-seven when his retirement fell due.”

Anthony took a cigar from the box Sir Matthew offered him. “Then Sheila signed her death-warrant. She told him of her unique legacy—‘The Peacock’s Eye.’ He coveted it—he would possess it and rid himself of her at the same time. He laid his plan accordingly. He arranged his holiday at Seabourne—and adopted horn-rimmed glasses in case he should be recognised afterwards.”

“How do you mean?” asked Lady Fullgarney; “that isn’t clear to me. Why—afterwards?”

“In case he should touch the case at all officially—he was in Seabourne remember—and get to Westhampton again—as he eventually did. He wanted the Bannister of the Hunt Ball forgotten as much as possible.”

“I see,” said Lady Fullgarney.

“Then he got Sheila to obtain the jewel from the bank and come to meet him at Seabourne. He poisoned her with prussic acid administered from a syringe. At least that’s my opinion. Her visit to the dentist’s gave him his chance. He followed her in at the side-entrance, waited for Branston to leave her as he guessed he might—pushed the bolt to imprison him—strolled into the surgery. It was easy—a matter of seconds. If anything had gone wrong it wouldn’t have mattered much—he had just called in to see how she was. He would have poisoned her somewhere else. But he wanted to make certain of getting time to visit the bungalow at Tranfield. Therefore—she must not be identified immediately. To that end he had stolen Daphne Carruthers’ suit-case from the ‘Cassandra’ Hotel the night before, and booked the room at the ‘Lauderdale’ in her name. The suit-case was substituted for Sheila’s own in her car and Sheila’s pushed under the seat at the back. She never knew.”

Sir Austin broke in. “Where was he when Sheila went to the ‘Lauderdale’?”

Anthony considered for a moment. “After he met her outside Seabourne—he left her—he took care not to be seen with her in Seabourne. But he knew of her intention to visit Branston. When he had murdered her, he took all Sheila’s belongings—there must be nothing to connect her with herself or with him, and all the keys she carried. Any communications in his handwriting mustn’t be found on her—for instance.

The notes were dangerous—they might be traced—he left them behind as he went out. They would confuse the issue. He went straight back to Tranfield in Sheila’s car. There must be nothing at ‘Rest Harrow’ to connect him with her—no scrap of writing. He had to go to make sure! There were probably photographs, etc., to be destroyed. The evidence of the waitress in the teashop at Calstock—four miles from Tranfield—that he was there at five-forty on the evening of the murder told heavily against him at the trial. Sheila had told him, in all probability, that she kept all his correspondence in a private drawer in her bedroom. No doubt he sounded her as to that on one of their numerous assignations. But he left the one postcard behind—it was caught in the folds of a scarf. It eluded his search. I was a little bit puzzled at first as to whether he had time to do all this and be back in Seabourne by the late evening as I knew he had been. It was possible—I proved it so. He left Seabourne in the car from Tranfield about two-ten—and could make it soon after six o’clock. He caught the seven-four fast train from Westhampton to Euston—arriving at eight-eight. A quick dash across to Victoria—and he landed in Seabourne again at half-post nine. Willoughby gave evidence that he remembered him being there as the band performance was finishing. He was unable, if you remember, to put forward anything of an alibi for the day of the murder except that. He couldn’t produce anybody else who had seen him. He couldn’t shake the case for the Crown.”

“When did he take the ‘Peacock’s Eye,’ Mr. Bathurst?” asked Lady Fullgarney.

“I imagine Miss Delaney gave it to him to mind temporarily. He had infatuated her. I attempt to explain it like this. When he masqueraded as the Indian and called at ‘Rest Harrow,’ it was with a very definite purpose. Sheila had told him all about the stone’s history—so he made up his mind to frighten her. She had told him about Lal Singh and her father. I suggest he frightened her with the notion that this Indian was not really her father’s old servant but a servant of some frightful native vendetta—you know the kind of thing I mean. Priest’s vengeance extending over generations. Against which banks and strong-rooms would be useless. Sheila got a bit nervous—he prevailed upon her to let him take charge of the ‘Peacock’s Eye’—presumably for greater safety. When his hands closed upon it—Sheila faced death!”

“How did he get the prussic acid?” queried Lady Fullgarney.

“That was never conclusively proved—very likely in an obscure town, months ago. A man in his position could wield many influences—you know.” Anthony stopped—as though awaiting further questions.

“Go on, Mr. Bathurst,” interjected Sir Matthew; “let’s hear the end of