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?” Sir Matthew
Fullgarney led 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 are
three too many. Grant—bring me another half-dozen oysters, 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 him
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 to 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 to Daphne_? Remember all Sheila’s personal belongings had
been taken! I hesitated for some time between the two possible
theories. Then I came to a decision. There was little doubt that the
suit-case had been stolen from the ‘Cassandra’ Hotel—the question was
_when_? I was able to find out from the luggage porter at the hotel
that although the case had gone on to the luggage-waggon on Wednesday
evening—on Thursday morning it was not there. Now consider this. I
learned that the telephone-message booking a room at the ‘Lauderdale’
for Miss Carruthers had come through at ten-fifty on Wednesday night.
Doesn’t that strike you as being very late? Wouldn’t you expect a
person booking up a room for the following mid-day either to book
earlier or leave it till the morning of the day itself? What was the
urgency? There are plenty of hotels in Seabourne. No—I formed my first
main conclusion although I didn’t give it away and considered it
carefully more than once afterwards. _The idea was to hide the
identity of Sheila and inasmuch as the stolen suit-case belonged to
Daphne Carruthers—the dead girl would be supposed to be Daphne
Carruthers for a time at least—therefore at ten-fifty the room was
booked in that particular name._ Do you follow me?”
“Excellent, Mr. Bathurst,” contributed Sir Austin, “sound reasoning.”
“And yet Daphne was the very girl about whom _the blackmailing process
had been_. Strange wasn’t it? The Crown Prince had no knowledge of
Sheila! Why was Sheila dead? Why did the murderer want _time_? But
there was this point. I began to think very seriously about the group
of people staying at the ‘Cassandra’—_the hotel from which the
suit-case had been stolen_. Consider who they were! The Crown Prince,
Daphne herself, a Captain Willoughby who knew most of them—_and
Chief-Inspector Bannister_. He was there—you see—right in the circle
of suspicion. The next stage was at Tranfield. Bannister went up—I
went with him—Tranfield interested me—from more than one point of
view. We discovered that the car that took Sheila to Seabourne had
been driven back to her home at Tranfield. There was actually a
Seabourne newspaper in it. Why had it been driven back? The answer was
easy. The house had been searched for something—what it was I will
tell you later. It was here that Sheila Delaney’s old lover—Alan
Warburton came into my calculations. Here, at any rate, was a motive.
The jilted lover—jealousy—ample motive, if you think it over. But a
new aspect of the case struck me and just as I was considering it—I
made a find. In Sheila’s bedroom I found a postcard. Just an ordinary
postcard perhaps—the message I may describe as horticultural and
amatory—it was signed ‘X.’ But it contained the word ‘irides’—the true
Greek plural of ‘iris.’ Now ninety-nine people out of a hundred say
‘irises’ when they speak of more than one ‘iris.’ Our unknown
correspondent however was meticulous concerning his plurals. _So had
been Bannister!_ More than once he had used ‘maxima’ to me in
conversation and I had been particularly struck with the fact that he
used the word ‘data’ as a plural—with a plural verb—quite correctly.
But nearly everybody uses ‘data’ as a singular noun and with a
singular verb. People say ‘data helps’ not ‘data help.’ I rubbed my
hands—I’m afraid it’s a habit of mine when I begin to ‘get hold.’
Yes—Bannister was particularly precise about his plurals.”
“Wonderful, Bathurst,” intervened Sir Austin, “a touch of genius—that.
He was a Dulwich boy—you know.”
Anthony smiled. “Thank you, Sir Austin. Well, after a time—the theory
I had formed concerning Alan Warburton developed as I expected it
would and I was able to dispose of my blackmailing case quite
smoothly. You will understand what I mean very shortly. Meanwhile,
Bannister delivered himself into my hands! Miss Delaney as all of you
here know had a nurse-companion—she was first mentioned to Bannister
and me by Daphne Carruthers—down at Seabourne. She spoke of her
surname as ‘Kerr’—but she pronounced it ‘car’ as in motor-car. Now I
submit that anybody hearing that surname and having no knowledge of
the spelling would ordinarily assume it to be ‘_Carr_’—by far the
commoner form of the two. Certainly I did. But when she came in answer
to his telegram I happened to get hold of it and noticed that
Bannister had actually telegraphed to her as ‘Kerr’—so I got her to
write her name down on an envelope for me. She wrote it ‘Kerr.’ _He
had addressed her in that form because he knew her name, and didn’t
think of the pitfall it carried for him._ Still—I said to myself—‘what
was the motive?’ The answer soon came—or rather part of the answer—we
got news of ‘The Peacock’s Eye’—the great blue emerald. I heard of the
mysterious Indian who had come miles to see you, Sir Matthew, but who
nevertheless failed to turn up. He called on Sheila—it was _safe_
doing that—she couldn’t detect his lack of knowledge of Hindustani—you
could. _He left you alone._ He was _counterfeit_. I only wanted one
link now—how had the criminal met Miss Delaney? I got it. The ‘Bank
Frauds’ scandal gave it to me. Now listen—I will at this point
reconstruct the entire case. In the February of last year,
Chief-Inspector Bannister visited Westhampton in connection with the
‘Mutual Bank’ Frauds and was actually the officer who arrested Sir
Felix Warburton. For confirmation of that see the ‘Westhampton and
Chellingborough Independent.’ He accompanied the Chief Constable,
Major Desmond Carruthers, to the Hunt Ball. Carruthers kept his
identity a secret.”
Lady Fullgarney leaned across excitedly. “We saw them together—I
remember him well—we couldn’t place him—could we, Matthew?”
Anthony nodded and proceeded. “There he saw Sheila Delaney—they were
introduced—his ‘incognito’ was maintained. They fell in love with
each other—he was a fine man, you know. Fine physique—and so on.
But Fate played a strange trick. The Crown Prince was there—also
‘incognito’—known only to the few—he was with Daphne Carruthers. Alan
Warburton was there—with Sheila—he had the 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 plans 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—and 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 communication 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 for 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-past 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
the story.”
“There isn’t a lot more, Sir Matthew. I called upon you, as you
remember, and confirmed my suspicions about the mix-up of identity
at the Hunt Ball. Alan Warburton _must_ have been wrong! Both you
and Lady Fullgarney who had been present at the ball were positive
that the Crown Prince and Miss Delaney had _never met_, and were
not seen together. It only remained for me to prove my case. My
suspicions—unsupported—were valueless. I knew it might mean a long
wait. But I felt certain that the time would come for ‘realising’ the
‘Peacock’s Eye.’ I succeeded in allaying any possible suspicions the
murderer might have had very completely. In fact I bamboozled him
beautifully. I told him a lot of the truth and one or two lovely lies.
_I even whispered the name of the assassin in his ear._ Only it
happened to be the wrong name! Still—it sufficed for him. I promised
he should help me to capture him. He did—but not in the manner he
anticipated.” Anthony chuckled reminiscently. Lady Fullgarney’s eyes
danced and sparkled in excited interest. “How did you know when to
move, Mr. Bathurst—when the Amsterdam trip was coming off?”
“He was watched night and day, Lady Fullgarney. Sir Austin Kemble here
helped me tremendously in that. He put four of his best men under my
orders—but he didn’t know himself how I was using them. I swore them
to secrecy. I had ‘_carte blanche_.’ When the man we were watching
entered his house one morning and ‘Lal Singh’ emerged, I knew we were
nearly home. I was right. The time for action had come. We followed
him to Hull and from there across to Holland. I hope you enjoyed our
little trip—Sir Austin?”
“I raise my hat to you, Mr. Bathurst,” declared Sir Austin. “A most
able piece of investigation. I am proud to have worked with you.”
“I love you more than ever, Mr. Bathurst,” said Lady Fullgarney. “I am
perfectly shameless over it.”
“Pauline!” exclaimed Sir Matthew, “you go a little too far. By the
way, Mr. Bathurst. It’s a small point—but I’m curious. When you told
Bannister who the murderer was—whom did you accuse? What was the name
you whispered to him?”
Anthony knocked the long piece of ash from the end of his cigar very
deliberately. He bowed to his host. “Yours, Sir Matthew! I’m sure you
won’t——”
Mr. Bathurst has always maintained that Lady Fullgarney’s laugh is the
most musical of his acquaintance.
The End
Transcriber’s Note
This transcription follows the text of the edition first published by
John Hamilton Ltd. in 1928. The following alterations have been made
to correct what are believed to be unambiguous printer’s errors:
* Four occurrences of misplaced quotation marks have been repaired.
* “replys” has been changed to “replies” (Ch. V).
* “Cuypers white teeth” has been changed to “Cuypers’ white teeth”
(Ch. XXV).
* “Cuyper’s face” has been changed to “Cuypers’ face” (Ch. XXVI).