“That she had no money with her when she arrived at his surgery! She’d given it away! Thrown it away! Done anything with it!” He looked at Godfrey—then added, “Suicides don’t need money, you know, Sergeant. It would have added colour to his story.” “I’ve got a good answer to that, Inspector,” countered Godfrey. “What’s that?” “Suicides don’t want aching teeth pulled out. A man who has decided to cut his throat and spend the evening in the mortuary doesn’t go out to get a hair-cut beforehand—or a shave,” added the Sergeant. Bannister nodded. “It’s a damned good point, Godfrey—that—but I very much doubt whether Branston would consider it big enough to upset successfully his edifice of ‘suicide.’ If he did—he’s a smarter chap than I’ve taken him for?” “Don’t you think this criminal we’re hunting for _is_ a smart chap, Inspector?” queried Godfrey. “I do—and that’s a fact. I shouldn’t like to meet many smarter.” “Not so bad,” conceded Bannister, “not so bad—but I’ll wager to prove myself his equal—don’t worry.” They entered the Police Station, Bannister confident, Godfrey pessimistic. “Do as I told you when we started the discussion, Godfrey,” said Bannister, “tell me all you know about Branston. It got side-tracked just now.” “Well—we’ve looked into him pretty thoroughly ever since the affair started—as you know. Nothing’s been brought out to his discredit. He’s been practising in Seabourne about three years, came down here from somewhere in the Midlands. His business has been very successful and continues to develop—he’s certainly prosperous. He’s unmarried and as far as we know—unattached. If there’s a lady in his life—Seabourne hasn’t seen her. He’s addicted to a flutter on the ‘Turf’ and is a magnificent dancer. I have been told he’s the finest dancer in the whole of Seabourne. That’s his history, Inspector, as far as we’ve been able to pick it up.” “H’m!” muttered Bannister, “not very much to help there. There’s another thing that gets me, Godfrey. Those notes! Listen carefully to what I’m going to say now. Do you think any murderer who also stole those notes would circulate them? Do you think he’d run the risk of such a procedure?” “Well,” answered Godfrey, “come to that—he might and he might not. On the whole, I don’t think he would. But on the other hand he might think it a thousand to one against the numbers of the notes being known to anybody—that’s the point, you see.” He struck a match and lit his cigarette. “But I’ll tell you what, Inspector,” he supplemented, “since you’ve asked the question of me, I think if the murderer or murderess rather—I _should_ say—were a _woman_—that _she_ might have done. I’ve noticed from my own experience of our class of work that a woman often makes a mistake of that kind.” “Godfrey,” said Bannister, “you know something or you suspect somebody! What are you hinting at?” But Godfrey shook his head. “I know nothing, Inspector that you don’t know! But I’ll admit that I’m hinting at something.”