The Mystery of the Peacock's Eye

recover. His reason for so doing he explains like this. At half-past two another customer of his was calling for a set of artificial teeth that he had promises should be ready at that time. His work-room, you must understand is about 12 yards away from his surgery—just across a landing. He was anxious to make sure, he says, that these teeth were thoroughly satisfactory and he admits that he may have been in the work-room a matter of seven or eight minutes. When he tried to leave—he found he was bolted in! A brass bolt on the outside of the work-room door had been slipped—to imprison him. For a few moments he scarcely realised what had happened—he shook the door thinking the catch or something had gone wrong and that it might perhaps open under pressure. But it was fastened securely. When the truth came home to him, that he was very effectively locked in as it were, he banged on the door with his fists and shouted for assistance.” Godfrey broke off and looked at Bannister. “Interested?” he queried.

“I am that,” replied the Inspector, “get on!”

“After a time, Branston’s cries attracted the attention of the housekeeper, a Mrs. Bertenshaw—she rushed up to the work-room, undid the bolt and let him out. Unable for the moment to fathom the affair—he dashed back to the surgery. To his utter consternation and horror the young lady he had just left there—was dead. She was sitting in the operating chair exactly as he had left her about ten minutes previously, except for the fact that the tumbler was on the stand by the chair. She had been murdered, Inspector! Poisoned! By Prussic Acid!”

Chapter IV

A Case of identity

“Certain of that?” queried Bannister. “How do you know she didn’t commit suicide?”

The Sergeant nodded vigorously in affirmation of the Inspector’s first question. “It’s murder for certain! All her personal belongings seemed to have been taken and all around the poor girl’s mouth hung that unmistakable bitter almonds smell. You couldn’t mistake it. I was sure that’s what it was before Doctor Renfrew, the divisional surgeon, arrived. When he did he quickly confirmed my idea. He says she had a pretty considerable dose of the stuff, too. Enough to kill three people. The murderer, whoever he was, didn’t intend taking any risks. Besides Branston’s story rules out the idea of suicide.”

“H’m,” said Bannister fingering his chin reflectively, “it certainly seems an extraordinary case. At first appearances to all events. It all seems to have been done in so short a time. Still it may turn out quite a simple affair before you’ve done with it.”

A grim smile played round Godfrey’s lips. Albeit he strove hard to conceal his disappointment. “I was hoping you would say ‘before we’ve done with it,’” he ventured.

Bannister frowned. “You were—were you?” Then he turned to his companion with a mixture of impatience and ill-temper. “Can’t you leave me alone when I’m on a holiday? For a time at least, that is. As I said it may be quite an easy case to solve when you get all your data!”

Godfrey looked dismayed at the Inspector’s remark. “No chance of that, I’m afraid, sir,” he said. “The fact is I can’t see any light at all. I’m up against it from the very commencement. I don’t even know who the young lady is.”

“What?” interjected Bannister. “Surely she had something on her or with her that will help to identify her—it’s inconceivable to me that she hasn’t.”

Godfrey shook his head. “She may have—some of her clothes may have marks that will lead to her identity. I haven’t examined any of them yet. I considered my best plan was to leave her almost exactly as she was when Stannard sent for me to come to the Surgery. I thought if I did that, sir, better intelligences than mine might read something into the case that was not apparent to me. I was thinking of you, sir. All the same—not knowing who she is means losing valuable time.”

Bannister was temporarily proof against flattery. “Who told you I was here!” he demanded curtly.

“I’ve a cousin at ‘the Yard,’ sir,” explained the Sergeant, “he happened to mention the fact in a letter I had from him a few days ago.”

“Like his damned interference,” interjected Bannister, “why couldn’t he mind his own business and let me finish my holiday in peace?”

“I’m sorry, sir—but if I may make the suggestion—you’re suffering from what I should describe as the penalty of fame, sir.”

Bannister grinned cynically. “Oh—naturally—and all that.” Then he reluctantly resigned himself to his fate—the Sergeant’s last remark had been in the nature of a “coup de grâce.” He submitted himself to the inevitable. “How far away is the place, Godfrey?”

“I’ve a car outside the ‘Cassandra’,” Godfrey answered—relief manifested in every tone of his voice. “It will get us there in ten minutes easily.” The car proved equal to the task.

During the short journey, Bannister remained silent. Two attempts that Godfrey made to re-open discussion of the crime were waved aside unceremoniously. “Let me wait,” he declared. “Otherwise my brain will be full up with other people’s impressions and observations, which is a condition I always try to avoid, if at all possible.”

Ronald Branston’s Dental Surgery lay at the corner of Coolwater Avenue and the Lower Seabourne Road in front of Froam, a watering place some eight miles away. The entrance to the Surgery for the use of patients was situated in Coolwater Avenue, the outer door being open. The Inspector and Sergeant Godfrey made their way to the main entrance which was in the Lower Seabourne Road and rang the bell. A woman with a scared face answered their summons and admitted them, with a suggestion of reluctance in her manner. She addressed Godfrey however, with a certain deference.

“Doctor Renfrew has come back,” she announced. “He’s upstairs with Mr. Branston.”

Godfrey turned to the Inspector. “Constables Stannard and Waghorn are on duty up in the room, sir,” he