Anthony Bathurst read the telegram that had so summarily interrupted his breakfast, with much more than the suspicion of a frown. Not that it was at all ambiguous or in any way difficult for him to understand. Indeed it was completely the reverse of these things. “Come at once to Hotel Cassandra, Seabourne,” was the message it conveyed and the sender’s name was shewn at the end of the message as “Mr. Lucius.” “His Royal Highness seems to imagine that I’m thoroughly at his beck and call,” he murmured to himself softly. “This will put the tin hat on my going to Westhampton—as I had intended.” He lit a cigarette and thrust his left hand into the pocket of his dressing-gown. Mr. Bathurst was a staunch adherent of the theory of breakfasting in comfort. “Seabourne?” he thought to himself. “Seabourne? What caught my eye in this morning’s paper concerning Seabourne?” He picked up the paper that had already been read and tossed aside—and eagerly sought the more prominent head-lines. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I thought I wasn’t mistaken.” His eyes swept the paragraph with its sensational notice. The headings were—“Strange Tragedy at Seabourne. Young Lady Murdered in Dentist’s Chair.” The paragraph below the head-lines ran as under. “About half-past two yesterday afternoon the Seabourne police were called to the Dental Surgery of Mr. Ronald Branston which is situated at the corner of Coolwater Avenue and the Lower Seabourne Road. A lady patient upon whom Mr. Branston had just previously attended had been discovered poisoned in the Dentist’s chair. Dr. Renfrew, the divisional Surgeon was called and gave it as his opinion that deceased had died from an administration of Hydrocyanic Acid. Mr. Branston himself has told the authorities a remarkable story. Sergeant Godfrey of the Marlshire County Police had charge of the case but has now had the good fortune to obtain the active co-operation of Chief-Inspector Bannister, one of the famous ‘Six’ of New Scotland Yard, who happens to be spending part of his annual holiday in Seabourne. Thanks to the untiring assiduity of the latter gentleman, the lady, in regard to whose identity the Police were at the outset without the vestige of a clue has now been identified as Miss Daphne Carruthers of 11, Lexham Gardens, Kensington, a visitor to Seabourne staying at the Lauderdale Hotel. Taking into consideration certain facts that Mr. Branston has communicated to them, the Police have no doubt that a brutal murder has been committed. Surprising developments are hourly expected.” Mr. Bathurst put down his paper, and pulled at his top lip—“I wonder,” he murmured. Two hours later he stood outside the big railway station that introduces Seabourne to thousands of visitors. He hailed a “taxi.” Five minutes longer saw him inside the “Cassandra.”