“You’ll find the key on the bed in all probability, Inspector,” cut in Anthony jerking his head in the direction of the room that they had just left. “The murderer—if it were a man—took all Miss Delaney’s keys and brought them back with him from Seabourne. Nothing of hers was found in Branston’s surgery remember.” Bannister grunted thoughtfully. Anthony picked up the suit-case. “Was this case actually right underneath the seat, Inspector?” he asked. “It was, Mr. Bathurst—why?” “Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?” “Only too true! This car was pretty full up on the return journey.” Anthony regarded him curiously. “Funny thing—that didn’t occur to me. It’s strange how people see different explanations. Two heads are better than one—you can’t get away from the truth of that. No—what I was thinking was that the suit-case had been pushed under the seat to hide it.” Bannister turned slowly—his eyes narrowing. “By Jove—now that possibility certainly might mean—” he strode to the doors of the garage rapidly and decisively. Anthony’s idea seemed to have given him a new and definite impetus. “Ross,” he called, peremptorily. The local Sergeant came up quickly. “Ross,” went on Bannister, “get a telegram despatched at once to ‘4, Rolle Cottages, Otterton,’” he referred to the postcard they had found on the mat, and then turned to Anthony. “I think Miss Carruthers said the nurse’s name was ‘Carr,’ didn’t she?” “Quite right, Inspector.” “I’ll write the name and address down for you, Ross.” He suited the action to the words and handed the Sergeant a slip of paper. Ross placed it carefully within the leaves of an expansive pocket-book. “Right you are, sir,” he said, saluting, “I’ll attend to it at once.” “I want you to,” confirmed Bannister, “and when you’ve sent it off—you see what I’ve said—come back here.” Ross swung down the garden path and they heard the gate shut behind him. “I’ve sent for the old companion, Mr. Bathurst—this ‘Pinkie’ person—if she’s lived with Miss Delaney for as long as we’ve been informed she probably knows more about her than anybody else.” Anthony nodded in agreement. Suddenly he walked to the front of the car and looked intently at the pigeon-hole in the dash-board. “The car has no mileage indicator,” he pointed out. Then he thrust in his hand and drew out a newspaper, folded carefully. He opened it—then smiled and handed it to his companion. “Let me call your attention, Inspector, to the name and the date.” Bannister turned eagerly to the title-page. “The ‘Seabourne Herald,’ Thursday, July 5th. Well, I’m jiggered.” “I told you I would convince you that this car was the car that was seen in Seabourne,” declared Anthony. “Copies of that stupendous publication that is inflicted upon a long-suffering public under the title of the ‘Seabourne Herald’ are not likely to have been on sale in Tranfield or Westhampton for instance. I don’t think the ‘Seabourne Herald’ circulates as far as that.”