Bannister suddenly found himself unable to believe that Mr. Branston had managed to steer entirely clear of the feminine society of Seabourne. That story was a strain upon ordinary belief. At the same time he came to the point of his visit. “There _is_ news, Mr. Branston,” he said curtly, “you may as well know it at once—Miss Delaney was undoubtedly robbed as well as murdered.” “Robbed?” echoed Branston. “Robbed of what?” “Something like a hundred pounds in notes—the numbers of which notes are known.” Godfrey could have sworn that Branston whitened a trifle as he heard this piece of news. “Not only are they known, Mr. Branston—but what is more important still, some of them have already been traced. And traced to _you_!” A pause. “I shall be happy to hear your explanation, Mr. Branston.” Bannister’s voice held a relentless note. The young dental surgeon winced. “Before I can do that,” he said, “I must ask you to tell me more. I don’t understand. How have the notes been traced to me?” Bannister recounted the chain of events leading from Captain Willoughby down to Branston himself. The latter’s face quivered emotionally when he heard the story of how Jacob Morley had stated the way in which he had come to possess the nomadic notes. He sprang from his chair and paced the room in obvious agitation. Then he swung round resolutely on to Bannister. “I’ll tell you the whole story of those notes as far as it affects me. Those notes were given to me by a lady. I advanced that lady fifty pounds a year ago at a time when she sorely needed it. I knew the reason for which it was needed and I fully approved of it. One day last week—Friday to be precise—the lady concerned paid me the fifty pounds back. Gentlemen, the lady in the case is Mrs. Bertenshaw, my housekeeper.” Bannister’s eyes sought those of Sergeant Godfrey. They met. Chapter XX “Findings—Keepings” The Inspector was the first man of the three to speak. Into his voice there had crept an added sternness. “Mr. Branston,” he said, “I presume that you realise the gravity of your last statement—and also the extreme seriousness of your position generally?” Branston went whiter than ever and his lips worked nervously. “W—what do you mean, exactly?” he murmured. “Your story of the circumstances in which this young lady was cruelly murdered might very well be described as a fantastic one. That much surely, you would admit yourself? Moreover, its only corroboration comes from Mrs. Bertenshaw, from whom you now admit also receiving fifty pounds! In the very notes that had been originally in the dead girl’s possession! You’re in a nasty situation, Mr. Branston!”