Anthony motioned Bannister to lean over the table in his direction. Bannister needed no second bidding. He had noticed that Mr. Bathurst had displayed a more than ordinary interest in the two gentlemen and he guessed that there must be good reason for this interest. “Friends of young Warburton, behind,” he whispered. “It’s just possible we might pick up some information if we handle them judiciously. What do you think?” Bannister nodded vigorously. He had only a few months to run before reaching a well-earned retirement and it was far from his intention, if he could help it, to complete his career with an unsuccessful “case.” Everything that touched upon the affair at all—he meant to investigate with the utmost thoroughness—even though it might appear at first blush to be of the most unimportant and trivial nature. “Good idea,” he muttered. As he spoke the door of the room opened again and a shout, jovial-faced man entered and crossed the room. He came straight to Bannister’s table. “Good evening, Inspector,” he said with outstretched hand. “Good evening,” replied Bannister, rising quickly. “you are Mr.——?” He paused. “Falcon,” announced the newcomer. “Why—you’re the——?” “Proprietor of the ‘Grand Hotel,’” came the answer. “What is it this——?” “Just the man I wanted,” interjected the Inspector, cutting short his sentence. “This is a friend of mine—Mr. Anthony Bathurst.” Falcon smiled across at Anthony. Mr. Bathurst bowed his acknowledgement. Bannister motioned Falcon to a seat beside him. “Something you can tell me. Who are the two young fellows at the table behind?” Falcon indulged in a sharp sidelong glance. “Two young ‘commercials,’” he declared. “They’re frequently here. They come in here pretty regularly towards the end of the week.” Bannister pulled the hotel-proprietor towards him. “Did you see any news in the paper this morning about a tragedy at Seabourne?” “Can’t say that I did,” said Falcon. “As a matter of fact I’ve had a downright busy day and haven’t had too much time to spare for actual newspaper-reading. I looked at the sporting news, it’s true—but I think that was about all. What about it?” Bannister dropped his voice to its lowest possible pitch. “We have reason to suspect,” he announced very gravely, “that the murdered lady is an inhabitant of these parts.” “By George,” cried Falcon with excitement, “I remember now. You’ve refreshed my memory. I heard a couple of customers discussing it in the bar early this evening. I remember I heard the name Carruthers mentioned.” “That’s the case,” continued Bannister capturing an elusive olive, “and a Miss Carruthers _was_ originally believed to have been the victim.” “Major Carruthers’ niece that would be?” interrupted Falcon.