“It will be in the nature of an education for me,” murmured Bathurst in his most engaging of tones, “to watch your methods, Inspector. As an amateur, I have long looked up to you, if I may use the phrase, as perhaps our premier crime expert. I’ve always regarded your handling of the affair of the murder at ‘Mawneys Crossing’ as little short of masterly. The way in which you were able to connect the blood shed by the raven——” He paused as he saw “Dandy Dick’s” eyes glisten at this homage to his vanity. “That was a nasty case,” said Bannister, “and I don’t think I unduly flatter myself when I say that I certainly did handle it well.” “The peculiar part of the present case,” went on Anthony—his eyes twinkling, unobserved by the Inspector—“up to now—that is—is this apparent ‘masquerade’ on the dead girl’s part.” “H’m,” rejoined Bannister, non-committally. “How did it happen?” queried Anthony. The detective glared at a pedestrian that ambled across the road in the track of the fast-travelling car and sounded the horn twice before replying to the question. “The ‘Lauderdale’ people brought us the news last night—very late. The reception-clerk there—name of John Martin—took a telephone message on Wednesday evening—the evening before the actual murder—mind you—from a lady who gave the name of Daphne Carruthers. She booked a room at the hotel and told him, I understand, that she would arrive some time on the following day. At half-past one yesterday—less than an hour, mark you, before the murder—the lady concerned arrived at the ‘Lauderdale.’ She referred to the booking of the previous evening—as might have been expected—gave Martin her suit-case to send up to her room and told him she had an important call to make but would return in about an hour. The suit-case was all in order, apparently, and labelled just as Martin expected it to be—‘Miss Daphne Carruthers—11, Lexham Gardens, Kensington.’ When she failed to return—he connected her, after a time, with the inquiries that Sergeant Godfrey had caused to be made immediately after the discovery of the body. He was right—his fears were only too well founded—when we showed the body to him—he identified it—unhesitatingly—as the girl of the hotel incident. There you have the reason why we described the dead girl as we did. I don’t see that we could have done anything else.” Anthony drew thoughtfully at his cigarette. “How did she come to the hotel—by car?” “Yes,” replied Bannister, “and drove away by car. What is more—Martin says—she herself was driving. The car was otherwise unoccupied.” “Should be a comparatively simple matter to trace the car,” ventured Anthony. Bannister pushed out his lower lip as he swung round the corner of the road in which was situated the Seabourne Police Station.