On the left lay the dining-room and the lounge. On the right were three bedrooms. Suddenly Bannister gave a sharp exclamation and walked to the front door. From the mat he picked a postcard. “That explains this other woman’s absence,” he said to Anthony as he tossed it over to him. Anthony read it. It was a picture postcard of the seaside-view variety. The view was of Budleigh Salterton. Its message was brief. “4, Rolle Cottages, Otterton. July 3rd. Dear Miss Sheila, I am having a lovely time and it’s so nice to be home again. The weather is beautiful—I only hope it will continue so for you. Much love from ‘Pinkie.’” “One thing—you’ve got her address, Inspector,” remarked Anthony. “I have that,” replied Bannister with a touch of tolerant cynicism. “And I’m afraid she’s going to be the second person to have her holiday rather ruthlessly disturbed.” “Evidently the companion went away first—and Miss Delaney went down to Seabourne afterwards.” “Intended staying there, too, Mr. Bathurst. The clerk at the ‘Lauderdale’ stated that she booked her room for a fortnight—this card to a certain extent confirms his statement. ‘I hope it will continue so for you,’—the sentence certainly implies that Miss Delaney intended being away for some time.” Anthony assented. “What about having a look over the rooms?” suggested Ross. “That’s what I’m here for,” returned Bannister grimly. The doors of the respective rooms seemed to be locked—with the respective keys left in the locks. The Inspector turned the key in the door of the dining-room and went in. Like the previous room that they had entered there were no signs of disorder or of very recent occupation. Everything was just as could be expected—quite consistent with the facts as Bannister and Anthony knew them. The occupants of the bungalow were away for a holiday—the rooms had been uninhabited for a matter of a few days. There was nothing whatever so far to excite comment. There were no papers, documents or letters lying about anywhere. Bannister walked to the open grate. It was beautifully clean. “Ross,” he said, after two or three seconds’ thought, “see if there’s a refuse-bin at the back of the bungalow. Keep your eyes open for any correspondence that may have been torn up and found its way in there. Unlikely,” he added—turning to Anthony—“but it’s just a chance. I’ve known it happen before now—especially when the number in the household is small. When you’ve only one other person living with you—especially a person of the type that we have here—it’s almost the same as living alone. There’s always a certain privacy.” Anthony saw the Inspector’s meaning and said so. “While Ross is out there,” continued Bannister, “we’ll glance at the other rooms.” The lounge was as reticent as the dining-room. “Nothing here,” grunted the Inspector. Anthony’s eyes examined it keenly and saw nothing to arrest his attention. The two men crossed to the other side of the hall. The door