They drifted and after the one had multiplied considerably the two Daventrys motored back up to Knightsbridge. “The uninitiated would never dream of a club like ‘Princes’ hiding here, would they, Peter?” queried his brother as they entered. “I remember being very interested the first time I came.” Bathurst was soon run to earth. “Haven’t seen you for nearly a year, Daventry! Your brother? Delighted! Fit?” “Very fit—thanks—and you?” “Never better!” His words did not belie him. Anthony Bathurst, in whatever company of men he found himself, was usually the fittest of the lot. He excelled at nearly all ball games and took extraordinary pains to keep thoroughly “trained.” And his mental powers were equally outstanding. Peter Daventry speedily realized something of the admiration that he knew his brother felt for the man to whom he had just been introduced. He was aware of that atmosphere of “personality” that distinguishes a select company. “What brings you along here?” queried Anthony. “Playing—are you?” “No,” responded Gerald. “I’ve brought Peter here to see you! It’s his funeral.” Anthony waved them into a couple of deck-chairs. “What about?” “He’s got a story for you that you may possibly find interesting. Have a cigarette, lie back in your chair, and listen. Now, Peter—say your mouthful.” Peter complied with his brother’s request. Bathurst lay listening—apparently lazily—but Peter quickly discovered that his faculties were acutely alert. When he reached the murder of Mason—the night-watchman, Anthony’s eyes betrayed understanding. “I read a short account in the early editions to-day. Seemed just an interrupted robbery case to me then . . . of course . . . you say the identical _three_ things . . . go on.” At the point when Peter told of the death of Stewart, Bathurst listened most attentively. “Extraordinary,” he commented at the finish of Peter’s narrative. “Quite a fascinating little problem. And you say Stewart’s son would like me to have a look at it for him—eh?” “He wants me to bring somebody down with me and I suddenly thought of you—I had heard so much of you from Gerald.” Anthony took a cigarette and lit up carefully. “I’ve nothing pressing at the moment. I’m your man if you’re sure you want me.” “That’s great. When can you come along?” Anthony looked at his watch. “I should have liked to commence my little investigations at this end. But I suppose I can’t—I must get down to Assynton to see Stewart—that’s evident—there’s a train at Paddington at five minutes to seven. That will get us down before nine. I’ll meet you on the platform, Daventry.” “Right!” declared Peter, “6:55 then.” “Yes—and Daventry—I think you’d better bring a revolver.” CHAPTER V The Assynton Lodge Murder