“Oh—it wasn’t too difficult a matter—that. Bannister and I ran across this fellow Warburton’s name while we were investigating the murder case. It kept cropping up, you see, in more than one connection. The connections were very significant. He was a man who was always breathing fire and slaughter against _you_. Against you—in relation to Sheila Delaney. It didn’t take me very long to put that particular two and two together. So I decided upon a bold move. I tackled him with your letters. He caved in—admitted the whole business—as I said just now—he’ll trouble you no longer. For the future you can disregard his existence. But the more extraordinary features of the affair are yet to be explained. According to Alan Warburton’s version of the facts, Sheila Delaney told him that she had been introduced to you at the Westhampton Hunt Ball that you attended in the February of last year. He seemed quite sure of his statement—which included also the fact that the introduction to you was effected by Major Desmond Carruthers—the Chief Constable of the county. Now I find those statements very hard to reconcile with what you have said throughout the entire case. You see my meaning, don’t you?” A dull red suffused the Crown Prince’s cheeks. He was instant with his denials. “It is abominably untrue. I have never met this Miss Delaney in my life. There is some ghastly mistake somewhere—what you call a ‘mixture-up.’” He gnawed at his loose lower lip. “This Mr. Allan Warburton is a liar!” “Were you acquainted with Miss Carruthers’ uncle—the Major that I just mentioned?” “But of course! Daphne was a great favourite of his. All the same he never introduced me to Sheila Delaney. I’ve never met the girl. I would swear it on the Holy Relics.” “That’s as far as we can get, then,” smiled Anthony. “I’m coming up to town later on in the day. I have, however, two calls to make and one may take me some little time to see through. If convenient to you, sir, meet me on the Westhampton platform at four-fifty—we’ll pick up the Wolverhampton express. It’s a fast train to town.” The Crown Prince bowed and took his aggrieved departure. The first of Mr. Bathurst’s two advertised calls was at 21, Crossley Road. “Miss Kerr at home?” he inquired of the stout homely-looking woman who opened the door. “Yes—she is. What name shall I say, sir?” “Anthony Bathurst. Although I doubt if she’ll remember it—tell her somebody wants to see her in reference to the late Miss Delaney—one of the gentlemen whom she saw before at Miss Delaney’s home.” “I’ll tell her, sir.” The woman speedily bustled back. “Come this way, sir, if you please?—I’ll take you into the front room. That’s the best place for you to go. Miss Kerr will be with you in a moment or two.”