“Ay! That’s so. I remember now—that’s what Branston did say—quite right.” Bannister turned to Willoughby. “Thank you for the information, Mr. Willoughby. But you quite understand by now that it was vitally necessary for me to obtain it? You will see also that I must now interview this Mr. Jacob Morley—immediately. Good afternoon.” “Good afternoon, Inspector. I should be obliged if you would explain to Morley.” “Don’t worry on that point,” responded Bannister with grim earnestness, “I’ll explain everything all right. You needn’t lose any sleep.” He made his exit, the Sergeant following upon his heels. Macbeth Court Mansions were about half-a-mile distant from the “Cassandra.” They were of an imposing appearance. It was obvious at the quickest and most cursory of glances that they were inhabited exclusively by the affluent. Speculating builders, bookmakers and master butchers almost monopolised the possession of them. Number nine looked as prosperous as any but neither Bannister nor Godfrey felt any surprise at that fact. They had been guardians of the country’s law long enough to realise the Midas touch of a really successful and enterprising “Turf Accountant.” Stable form has a habit of being so unstable. Bannister rang the bell. It was answered by a smart maid whose ancestors had undoubtedly seated themselves disconsolately and tearfully by the waters of Babylon. A few minutes later and they were conducted into the presence of the master of the house. Judging by the satisfied expression of his face more than one equine celebrity had recently rolled up “for the book.” “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” If the allusion to the maid’s ancestry were anything like correct it was equally discernible to the careful onlooker that Mr. Jacob Morley’s ancestors had lent assistance towards the hanging up of the harps. “Good afternoon, Mr. Morley. Your maid told you who we were, I presume?” “Yes,” he smiled, benignly, “I am very delighted to see you, very delighted indeed. I shall be pleased to accommodate you. You will find that I shall always give you a square deal and my terms are very liberal——” Bannister raised his hand in immediate protest. But Jacob was either blind or impervious to its meaning. He went on his way. “The Mayor of Seabourne, the Town Clerk, several of the magistrates—the Clerk to the Justices himself—they are all clients of mine. After they have fined the wicked people who back horses in the street with their paltry shillings, they send me their own little commissions——” Bannister broke in sharply and this time was not to be denied. “You mistake the purpose of my visit, Mr. Morley. Kindly give me your closest attention. I am investigating the murder of a lady—a Miss Sheila Delaney—who was murdered here in Seabourne last week. You have no doubt heard of the affair? I am Chief-Inspector Bannister of New Scotland Yard.”