“I remember,” replied Bannister. “You did.” He went on: “My luck as regards weather is absolutely in. I’ve actually had a week of uninterrupted sunshine—which I should imagine—speaking without a book—approaches a record for a summer holiday in England. Certainly, I’ve rarely been so fortunate in the past.” He removed the horn-rimmed glasses that he had been using as a protection against the glare of the sun and carefully wiped them with a silk handkerchief.
Captain Willoughby’s white teeth flashed in a smile of cordial agreement. “The same here. I’ve spent a good deal of time down here at Seabourne during the last year or two, but I haven’t often had the good luck to get weather like we are experiencing now. It’s almost equal to the Riviera. Been far to-day?”
“No,” answered Bannister, with a shake of the head, “I’ve taken matters very easily to-day. Purposely! I came down here for a thorough rest and I intend to stick to my resolve. I’m a firm believer in the idea of a restful holiday.”
Willoughby grinned. “Mind you keep it up all the time you’re here, then! I always think that those intentions are very similar to ‘New Year’ resolutions. They’re something like keeping a Diary, for instance. You know what I mean. Everything goes swimmingly for the first of January until about Epiphany. We carefully chronicle our petty personalities for just those few days—then our enthusiasm wanes and the remaining days in our Diary calendar are usually quite innocent of ink or even indelible pencil.” He tossed away the end of his cigarette. “But I expect you’ve been guilty of that sort of thing yourself?”
“Perhaps not as much as you think. I’ve a lot of will-power. I can discipline myself to do things that are irksome—as a rule what I mean to do—I do. It’s my way,” Banister concluded rather abruptly.
As he spoke one of the maids came from the Hotel and crossed the grass to where he was sitting. By his chair she stopped. Bannister turned and looked up at her. “Yes?” he questioned. “Are you wanting me?”
“Pardon me, sir,” came her reply, “but you are Mr. Bannister, aren’t you? There’s somebody here wants to speak to you—I was to tell you it was very important, he said, sir.”
Bannister knitted his brows, as though puzzled at the interruption; the maid waited by his chair, irresolutely.
“Are you sure he asked for me by name?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir—he said it quite distinctly—the name was ‘Bannister’ all right, sir.”
“Who is it?” he asked again. “Do you know him at all?”
The maid hesitated a moment before giving him her answer. Then she spoke rather haltingly. “As a matter-of-fact, sir, I think it’s Sergeant Godfrey from the Seabourne Police Station—I know him you see, sir, through seeing him about the town.”
“Sergeant Godfrey from the Police Station,” frowned Bannister, “what the dickens does he want me for—at this time of the evening?”
He looked at the maid’s face as though he expected to find the answer to his question.
“I don’t know, sir, only as I told you before he said that it was very important.”
“Oh very well, then,” exclaimed Bannister, with an expression of infinite resignation, “but tell him where I am and ask him to come along out here if he wants me as badly as you suggest.”
She turned quickly and tripped back across the lawn. Bannister grunted to himself something inaudible and noticed that Willoughby was watching him closely.
“Couldn’t help hearing something of what she said,” he volunteered semi-apologetically, “hope it doesn’t spell trouble for you.”
Bannister’s eyes glinted through his glasses but before he could reply a tallish man with a brisk step had crossed the grass-plot and reached his chair.
“Good evening, sir,” he said somewhat deferentially, “may I have just a few words with you in private?”
Bannister glanced at him keenly and detected at once from the grim expression on his face that it was no petty trifle that had prompted this unexpected visit. He rose from his chair quietly. The Sergeant motioned him on one side and they withdrew about a dozen paces.
“I’m Sergeant Godfrey, sir, of the County Police and firstly I must ask you to excuse this disturbance I’m causing you. But the fact is I had the tip that the famous Chief-Inspector Bannister was staying in Seabourne and I’ve come to him for help.” He dropped his voice to a very low tone and almost whispered to the inspector. The latter started suddenly.
“Murder—are you sure, Godfrey?”
“Not a doubt about it, sir, as fare as I can see. Or any of the others for that matter. Let me tell you the facts of the case,” he supplemented eagerly. Scarcely waiting for the Inspector’s assent he embarked impetuously upon his narrative. “At twenty minutes past two this afternoon, we received a ’phone message at the station, asking us to proceed at once to Mr. Ronald Branston’s dental surgery. Mr. Branston, I may tell you, is a dental surgeon who has resided in Seabourne about three years. His place is at the corner of Coolwater Avenue—in the best and most secluded part of town—quite a ‘posh’ dentist’s—I can assure you—Mr. Branston himself was speaking on the ’phone. All he said was ‘Come at once.’ Constable Stannard went up and what he found when he got there made him immediately send for me. Mr. Branston’s story was as follows. A young lady entered his operating room about two o’clock this afternoon for an extraction. He gave her an ordinary local anaesthetic and according to what he says took out the tooth every smoothly and comfortably. He handed his patient a tumbler of water and left her in the chair for a few moments to
