Chapter XIVAfter dinner that night Lord Staveley, wishing to ring up his bookie, strolled into the little ante-room that housed the telephone. Here, to his surprise, he discovered Fayre. He had settled himself comfortably in the one armchair and, with the help of the local telephone directory, was busy compiling a list on a half-sheet of paper. Bill Staveley eyed him quizzically.“Rotten place to spend the evening,” he observed with cheerful scorn. “Looking for a good dentist, or is it Sherlock Holmes on the trail?”“It’s Holmes in the devil of a muddle,” was Fayre’s acid rejoinder. “I’ve come a cropper, Bill!”“In other words, you’ve met your match. Who’s the local genius?”“Gregg. I started out to pump him according to the most approved methods and he pumped me instead and very efficiently too! And he was uncommonly disagreeable about it.”“He would be. What have you got against him? I suppose you know that, amongst other things, he’s the Police Surgeon?”“I don’t care if he’s the Prime Minister!” snapped Fayre, still hot from his gruelling at Gregg’s hands. “But I’d give something to know where he was on the night of Mrs. Draycott’s death!”Bill Staveley gave a low whistle.“As bad as that, is it? Why, he was at the farm, wasn’t he? I thought he gave evidence.”“He turned up at the farm soon after ten o’clock, after the police had been trying to get him for nearly an hour. The assumption was that he had come in late from a case and, as far as I know, he has never been asked to give an account of his movements. All I do know is that he left the Whitbury garage at five-thirty in a hired car and, apparently, did not get home till about nine-thirty, when he found the police call waiting for him.”Staveley’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Fayre.“You don’t seriously mean that you suspect Gregg of Mrs. Draycott’s murder?” he ejaculated.“On my word, I don’t know what to think. If the fellow was bluffing this afternoon he did it uncommonly well. If he wasn’t, why didn’t he clear himself? He could have done it easily.”“What line did he take?”“Told me to go to the devil—in other words, the police—and flatly refused to give any account of himself whatever. The worst of it is, he’s in a very strong position. Practically the only thing I’ve got to go on at present is the fact that he undoubtedly knew Mrs. Draycott at one time and has gone out of his way to lie to the police about it. You must admit it looks fishy.”“The devil he did! Do the police know?”Fayre looked rather sheepish.“Unless they’ve been pursuing the same lines of investigation as myself, they don’t. I kept quiet about it in the hope that it might lead to something.”“Being naturally afraid that the Force, in its naïve way, would blunder. Oh, Hatter, Hatter, this comes of reading detective stories!”“I know; you needn’t rub it in. I’ve made an infernal hash of the whole thing.”“How much did you tell the fellow?”“Quite enough to put him on his guard, unfortunately.”“What’s your theory about the whole thing?”“Somebody picked up Mrs. Draycott in a car and drove her to Leslie’s farm. Everything points to that. We’ve got good reason to believe that we’ve got part of the number of the car. It ran into a farm-cart and the carter took what he could see of it. If the man in the car was Gregg he must have done one of two things. Either he deliberately faked the number of the car he hired from the Whitbury garage, or he changed cars somewhere before he picked up Mrs. Draycott. There is, of course, the possibility that he picked her up in the hired car and somehow managed to reach the farm and get away again without being seen. In the light of what we know, this is extremely unlikely.”“If he’s got an alibi, why on earth doesn’t the fellow produce it?”“Either because he’s so sure of his position that he can afford not to or for the more simple reason that he hasn’t got one. Meanwhile, I’m left kicking my heels. I’ve got a list here of the garages in this neighbourhood within a radius of fifteen miles or so. If he did change cars, it will be bound to have been at one of them.”“Touching spectacle of Mr. Fayre, late of the Indian Civil, peddling on his little push-bike within a radius of fifteen miles!” mused Bill Staveley. “Poor old Hatter! I can let you off that, though. You don’t know Foot, do you?”“That’s the chap who drove me the other day, isn’t it?”“Probably. He was my batman in France and, after the war, I gave him a driver’s course. He took to it like a duck to water and he’s a first-rate chauffeur and an uncommonly intelligent chap. He’s bought himself a motor-bike and takes it to pieces every Saturday night just for fun and I’ll bet there isn’t a garage round here where he hasn’t talked motor for hours. Give him the description of the car you want and he’ll find it for you if it’s anywhere in this part of the country.”“The question is, will he talk?”“Not if I give him a hint. You can leave that part of the job to him quite safely. On the other hand, if we could get onto the case Gregg was called to that night we could keep Foot out of it altogether. Even if he was at the farm that night he must have gone on somewhere afterwards. He’s not such a fool as to drive vaguely round the country for three solid hours before going home. You may be pretty certain he looked up a patient, even if he wasn’t called to one.”“None of the tenants been ill or injured, I suppose?”“Not that I know of, but we might go through the local rag. I’ve got it in my room and it’s one of those conscientious papers that puts in catchy little comments on old Mrs. Snook’s chilblains and that sort of thing. It doesn’t miss much and if any one hurt himself that night, we shall find it there.”They adjourned to the library, where they spent a fruitless half-hour searching the columns of the local paper. They were about to give it up in despair when Fayre, who had reached the last page, gave a cry.“What about this?” he asked, pointing to theBirthscolumn. “March 23rd. The wife of George Hammond of The Willow Farm, Besley, of a son.”“Would Gregg be their man?”“Sure to be. He attends all the farmers round here. Hammond’s a tenant of mine and I can ride over to-morrow, if you like, and do the heavy landlord. As a matter of fact, it’ll probably be expected of me, sooner or later, so it won’t rouse any comment. I take it that you want to know what time Gregg was sent for, what time he arrived, and when he left, with a description of his car, if I can get it without rousing too much curiosity. Anything else?”“No. I think that covers it. How long ought it to take him to reach the Hammonds?”“If he left Whitbury at five-thirty he should arrive at Besley at five to six, and the farm is, roughly, five to ten minutes’ run from Besley. Say thirty to thirty-five minutes.”“And if he took the corner of the lane running to Greycross and then Leslie’s farm on the way?”“Give me a minute. That’s considerably more complicated.”He took a pencil and made some notes on an old envelope.“Just under the hour, I should say. Perhaps longer. That’s not allowing for getting out and going into the farm.”“In that case, we’ll give the garages the go-by for the moment,” decided Fayre. “Time enough for them when we’ve discovered whether Gregg was at the Hammonds’ or not. It will be just as well to keep your man out of it, if possible.”“Good. Then I’ll ride over to Willow Farm to-morrow and see what I can find out. By the way, did I tell you that Kean is coming down to-night? You can have the whole thing out with him to-morrow. He ought to be able to suggest something.”Fayre gave an exclamation of surprise.“Sybil said nothing when I saw her.”“She did not know. He telephoned yesterday saying he could get away earlier than he had expected and was going to motor straight through. I gather that he’s going to take Sybil back to town by car as soon as she’s fit to travel. He’ll be on tenterhooks till she’s seen her own doctor, and I don’t blame him. I should feel the same myself. To tell you the truth, fond as I am of her, I shall be relieved to get rid of the responsibility. It’s touch-and-go when she has these attacks.”“She’s better away from this business,” said Fayre thoughtfully. “I’d no idea until I saw her on Tuesday how much she’s taking it to heart.”“She’s got a very weak spot for Cynthia. She’s a fascinating little minx and I fancy Sybil would have given a lot to have had a daughter of her own. What about Bridge, eh?”Lady Staveley’s brother and a nephew had arrived the day before and they played until the arrival of Kean shortly before midnight. He had come without a chauffeur and had driven his car himself all that day and through a good portion of the night before. Fayre was amazed at his powers of endurance. If he were exhausted he certainly did not show it in the few minutes that he stood chatting with the four men, but he was impatient to see his wife and went upstairs almost immediately and Fayre did not get a chance to talk to him until after breakfast the next day, when he found him on the terrace, waiting for Gregg to put in an appearance. He was intent on getting his wife up to London as soon as the doctor would allow her to travel. It was evident that her collapse had been a severe shock to him and only her insistent messages on the telephone through Lady Staveley had prevented him from throwing up his work and traveling down post-haste to see for himself how she was. Even now his mind was full of her and Fayre was aware that his interest in what he had to relate was purely perfunctory.It appeared that he had seen Grey and was fairly well posted as to what had transpired since his departure. Fayre told him the result of his inquiries about Gregg.“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Kean frankly when he had finished. “The fact that the fellow knew Mrs. Draycott does not necessarily point to him as her murderer.”“On the other hand, he’s the only person we have been able to discover who had a definite grudge against her.”“Come to that, she was hardly popular with a good many people. And there’s the difficulty of the motor. You’ll find it a hard job to connect him with that.”“Unless he faked the number on Stockley’s motor or changed cars somewhere.”“In which case the crime was premeditated and, on your own showing, that is unlikely. A man does not detest a woman for years and take no steps about it and then, just because he happens to run across her staying in the same neighbourhood, devise an elaborate scheme to murder her. Psychologically, your theory doesn’t hang together unless we can discover some better motive than that of mere dislike. The best thing you can do is to take the story to the police; he will then be obliged to tell them where he was that night. He can’t take the line with them that he took with you, and I’ve a strong conviction that he will be able to produce a perfectly satisfactory alibi.”“You advise me not to waste time in following it up, then?” asked Fayre, feeling more than a little damped.Kean’s smile was so friendly that it was impossible to take offence.“If you want my real advice, old chap,” he said, “I should say drop the whole thing and leave it to Grey and the police. Let Grey have a clear account of what you’ve done and he will deal with it. I’m not belittling your work: it’s been uncommonly good as far as it goes, and if Greggisconcerned it may prove invaluable; but it’s useless to pit yourself against experts or to try to act without proper authority. How did you get hold of this letter to Gregg?”The question came with startling abruptness and Fayre stifled a sudden spasm of amusement as he realized that Kean was using professional methods on him.“I took it out of his desk when I was waiting for him the other day,” he answered with rather exaggerated meekness.“And put yourself in a very nasty position if he finds out, apart from the fact that, if he jumps to the fact that you searched his desk, it will be the easiest thing in the world for him to destroy any evidence it contains.”“Do you suggest that I should have kept it?” asked Fayre, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.“I certainly don’t,” was Kean’s dry rejoinder. “But I should like to point out that if his desk had been searched officially the police would have kept the letter and we should have had our evidence to hand if we’d needed it. That sort of amateur detective work is all right in fiction, but it’s dangerous in practice.”Fayre was left feeling rather sheepish and distinctly obstinate. He had taken his dressing-down meekly enough and, on the whole, he felt bound to admit that it was not undeserved, but he hadn’t the smallest intention of being warned off the course by Kean or any one else. And he still held to his theory about Gregg.The rest of his day was spent as harmlessly as even Kean could have wished. Fayre sat for a time with Sybil, who was up and dressed and so much better that the doctor had sanctioned her removal, by easy stages, to London the following day. The various members of the house-party were in and out of the room most of the time, so that, to Fayre’s relief, there was no opportunity to broach the subject of the murder.As he was dressing for dinner he received a visit from Bill Staveley. He was still in riding kit and had just returned from his call at Hammond’s farm.“I’ve got your times for you,” he began, “and I found out what car Gregg was driving. A very cunning bit of work, I may tell you, on my part! I’m beginning to think I’ve got a natural gift for this sort of thing! If you imagine I’m just a sort of Watson, my dear Holmes, you’re entirely mistaken.”“If you want real appreciation and encouragement let me suggest that you go and tell Edward all about it,” advised Fayre dryly. “Meanwhile, when you’ve finished wagging your tail, you might produce the proofs of your genius.”Lord Staveley chuckled.“So that’s how the land lies, is it? Was he very down on our little efforts? He always was a damned superior beggar.”“I kept you out of it, which is more than you deserve. What did you find at the Hammonds’?”“A brand-new baby, among other things, which was brought into the world by Gregg at eight-fifteen precisely, on the night of the twenty-third. They telephoned to him between four-thirty and five and he must have started almost at once and walked over to Whitbury for the car. And I’ve no doubt he used some language, too, considering what a beastly night it was. After that things get more interesting. You say he left Stockley’s at five-thirty. Well, he didn’t get to Hammond’s till close on seven. Hammond was quite definite about that. He was in a bit of a stew because Gregg was so late.”Fayre, who was busy with his tie, spun round with an exclamation. Staveley nodded.“That’s a fact,” he said quietly. “An hour and a half to do thirty minutes’ run. Of course, he may have called somewhere else on the way, but, considering that Hammond’s message was urgent, it doesn’t seem likely.”“What excuse did he give Hammond?”“None, I gather, but I imagine things were pretty urgent by the time he got there. He just said he was sorry he was late and they were all in such a state of nerves by that time that nothing more was said. It’s the chap’s first baby and he seems to have thought the world was coming to an end. Gregg left about nine, which would bring him home just in time to get the police call.”“Did you find out what car he turned up in?”“Stockley’s. Hammond knows it well because they take in lodgers in the summer and they use Stockley’s cars. I couldn’t very well ask him about the number, but he didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual.”“I wonder if the carter could have made a mistake?”“Not likely. He probably knows Stockley’s cars. Every one does round here and he’d be practically certain to know Gregg, even if it was dark. You’ll have to rule out the garage car, I suspect. That is, if Gregg’s really implicated.”Fayre sighed.“Well, we seem to be getting somewhere at last,” he said. “Though Heaven knows what it’s going to lead to.”“Do we break the glad news to Edward or not?” asked Staveley mischievously.“I’m blessed if we do!” answered Fayre, with unexpected heat. “After all, it’s Grey’s job at present. I’ll write to him to-night.”He kept his word and sent the solicitor a clear and concise account of all that had happened.He was hardly to be blamed if there was a spark of malice in his eyes the next morning as he stood on the steps with the rest of the house-party watching the departure of the Keans. Sir Edward was too absorbed in the task of making his wife comfortable for the journey to notice anything unusual in his friend’s manner, but Sybil Kean gave him a moment of discomfort as she said good-by.“I believe you and Bill are up to some mischief,” she said jestingly. “I advise you to keep an eye on them, Eve! They had their heads together after breakfast this morning—and look at them now!”Fayre managed to retain an expression of bland innocence, but Bill Staveley was grinning openly.“I thought so,” she went on quietly. “Always distrust Hatter, Eve, when he looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”At this moment, to Fayre’s relief, Kean joined her, his arms full of cushions, and together they went down the steps to the car.They had hardly disappeared round the bend at the end of the long drive when Fayre was rung up by Cynthia.“Tubby’s done it, Uncle Fayre! Didn’t I tell you he would?” Her voice was breathless with excitement. “I’m coming back this afternoon on the two-thirty. Will you ask Eve to have me met? I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, but we’ve traced the car, broken mudguard and everything!”
After dinner that night Lord Staveley, wishing to ring up his bookie, strolled into the little ante-room that housed the telephone. Here, to his surprise, he discovered Fayre. He had settled himself comfortably in the one armchair and, with the help of the local telephone directory, was busy compiling a list on a half-sheet of paper. Bill Staveley eyed him quizzically.
“Rotten place to spend the evening,” he observed with cheerful scorn. “Looking for a good dentist, or is it Sherlock Holmes on the trail?”
“It’s Holmes in the devil of a muddle,” was Fayre’s acid rejoinder. “I’ve come a cropper, Bill!”
“In other words, you’ve met your match. Who’s the local genius?”
“Gregg. I started out to pump him according to the most approved methods and he pumped me instead and very efficiently too! And he was uncommonly disagreeable about it.”
“He would be. What have you got against him? I suppose you know that, amongst other things, he’s the Police Surgeon?”
“I don’t care if he’s the Prime Minister!” snapped Fayre, still hot from his gruelling at Gregg’s hands. “But I’d give something to know where he was on the night of Mrs. Draycott’s death!”
Bill Staveley gave a low whistle.
“As bad as that, is it? Why, he was at the farm, wasn’t he? I thought he gave evidence.”
“He turned up at the farm soon after ten o’clock, after the police had been trying to get him for nearly an hour. The assumption was that he had come in late from a case and, as far as I know, he has never been asked to give an account of his movements. All I do know is that he left the Whitbury garage at five-thirty in a hired car and, apparently, did not get home till about nine-thirty, when he found the police call waiting for him.”
Staveley’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Fayre.
“You don’t seriously mean that you suspect Gregg of Mrs. Draycott’s murder?” he ejaculated.
“On my word, I don’t know what to think. If the fellow was bluffing this afternoon he did it uncommonly well. If he wasn’t, why didn’t he clear himself? He could have done it easily.”
“What line did he take?”
“Told me to go to the devil—in other words, the police—and flatly refused to give any account of himself whatever. The worst of it is, he’s in a very strong position. Practically the only thing I’ve got to go on at present is the fact that he undoubtedly knew Mrs. Draycott at one time and has gone out of his way to lie to the police about it. You must admit it looks fishy.”
“The devil he did! Do the police know?”
Fayre looked rather sheepish.
“Unless they’ve been pursuing the same lines of investigation as myself, they don’t. I kept quiet about it in the hope that it might lead to something.”
“Being naturally afraid that the Force, in its naïve way, would blunder. Oh, Hatter, Hatter, this comes of reading detective stories!”
“I know; you needn’t rub it in. I’ve made an infernal hash of the whole thing.”
“How much did you tell the fellow?”
“Quite enough to put him on his guard, unfortunately.”
“What’s your theory about the whole thing?”
“Somebody picked up Mrs. Draycott in a car and drove her to Leslie’s farm. Everything points to that. We’ve got good reason to believe that we’ve got part of the number of the car. It ran into a farm-cart and the carter took what he could see of it. If the man in the car was Gregg he must have done one of two things. Either he deliberately faked the number of the car he hired from the Whitbury garage, or he changed cars somewhere before he picked up Mrs. Draycott. There is, of course, the possibility that he picked her up in the hired car and somehow managed to reach the farm and get away again without being seen. In the light of what we know, this is extremely unlikely.”
“If he’s got an alibi, why on earth doesn’t the fellow produce it?”
“Either because he’s so sure of his position that he can afford not to or for the more simple reason that he hasn’t got one. Meanwhile, I’m left kicking my heels. I’ve got a list here of the garages in this neighbourhood within a radius of fifteen miles or so. If he did change cars, it will be bound to have been at one of them.”
“Touching spectacle of Mr. Fayre, late of the Indian Civil, peddling on his little push-bike within a radius of fifteen miles!” mused Bill Staveley. “Poor old Hatter! I can let you off that, though. You don’t know Foot, do you?”
“That’s the chap who drove me the other day, isn’t it?”
“Probably. He was my batman in France and, after the war, I gave him a driver’s course. He took to it like a duck to water and he’s a first-rate chauffeur and an uncommonly intelligent chap. He’s bought himself a motor-bike and takes it to pieces every Saturday night just for fun and I’ll bet there isn’t a garage round here where he hasn’t talked motor for hours. Give him the description of the car you want and he’ll find it for you if it’s anywhere in this part of the country.”
“The question is, will he talk?”
“Not if I give him a hint. You can leave that part of the job to him quite safely. On the other hand, if we could get onto the case Gregg was called to that night we could keep Foot out of it altogether. Even if he was at the farm that night he must have gone on somewhere afterwards. He’s not such a fool as to drive vaguely round the country for three solid hours before going home. You may be pretty certain he looked up a patient, even if he wasn’t called to one.”
“None of the tenants been ill or injured, I suppose?”
“Not that I know of, but we might go through the local rag. I’ve got it in my room and it’s one of those conscientious papers that puts in catchy little comments on old Mrs. Snook’s chilblains and that sort of thing. It doesn’t miss much and if any one hurt himself that night, we shall find it there.”
They adjourned to the library, where they spent a fruitless half-hour searching the columns of the local paper. They were about to give it up in despair when Fayre, who had reached the last page, gave a cry.
“What about this?” he asked, pointing to theBirthscolumn. “March 23rd. The wife of George Hammond of The Willow Farm, Besley, of a son.”
“Would Gregg be their man?”
“Sure to be. He attends all the farmers round here. Hammond’s a tenant of mine and I can ride over to-morrow, if you like, and do the heavy landlord. As a matter of fact, it’ll probably be expected of me, sooner or later, so it won’t rouse any comment. I take it that you want to know what time Gregg was sent for, what time he arrived, and when he left, with a description of his car, if I can get it without rousing too much curiosity. Anything else?”
“No. I think that covers it. How long ought it to take him to reach the Hammonds?”
“If he left Whitbury at five-thirty he should arrive at Besley at five to six, and the farm is, roughly, five to ten minutes’ run from Besley. Say thirty to thirty-five minutes.”
“And if he took the corner of the lane running to Greycross and then Leslie’s farm on the way?”
“Give me a minute. That’s considerably more complicated.”
He took a pencil and made some notes on an old envelope.
“Just under the hour, I should say. Perhaps longer. That’s not allowing for getting out and going into the farm.”
“In that case, we’ll give the garages the go-by for the moment,” decided Fayre. “Time enough for them when we’ve discovered whether Gregg was at the Hammonds’ or not. It will be just as well to keep your man out of it, if possible.”
“Good. Then I’ll ride over to Willow Farm to-morrow and see what I can find out. By the way, did I tell you that Kean is coming down to-night? You can have the whole thing out with him to-morrow. He ought to be able to suggest something.”
Fayre gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Sybil said nothing when I saw her.”
“She did not know. He telephoned yesterday saying he could get away earlier than he had expected and was going to motor straight through. I gather that he’s going to take Sybil back to town by car as soon as she’s fit to travel. He’ll be on tenterhooks till she’s seen her own doctor, and I don’t blame him. I should feel the same myself. To tell you the truth, fond as I am of her, I shall be relieved to get rid of the responsibility. It’s touch-and-go when she has these attacks.”
“She’s better away from this business,” said Fayre thoughtfully. “I’d no idea until I saw her on Tuesday how much she’s taking it to heart.”
“She’s got a very weak spot for Cynthia. She’s a fascinating little minx and I fancy Sybil would have given a lot to have had a daughter of her own. What about Bridge, eh?”
Lady Staveley’s brother and a nephew had arrived the day before and they played until the arrival of Kean shortly before midnight. He had come without a chauffeur and had driven his car himself all that day and through a good portion of the night before. Fayre was amazed at his powers of endurance. If he were exhausted he certainly did not show it in the few minutes that he stood chatting with the four men, but he was impatient to see his wife and went upstairs almost immediately and Fayre did not get a chance to talk to him until after breakfast the next day, when he found him on the terrace, waiting for Gregg to put in an appearance. He was intent on getting his wife up to London as soon as the doctor would allow her to travel. It was evident that her collapse had been a severe shock to him and only her insistent messages on the telephone through Lady Staveley had prevented him from throwing up his work and traveling down post-haste to see for himself how she was. Even now his mind was full of her and Fayre was aware that his interest in what he had to relate was purely perfunctory.
It appeared that he had seen Grey and was fairly well posted as to what had transpired since his departure. Fayre told him the result of his inquiries about Gregg.
“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree,” said Kean frankly when he had finished. “The fact that the fellow knew Mrs. Draycott does not necessarily point to him as her murderer.”
“On the other hand, he’s the only person we have been able to discover who had a definite grudge against her.”
“Come to that, she was hardly popular with a good many people. And there’s the difficulty of the motor. You’ll find it a hard job to connect him with that.”
“Unless he faked the number on Stockley’s motor or changed cars somewhere.”
“In which case the crime was premeditated and, on your own showing, that is unlikely. A man does not detest a woman for years and take no steps about it and then, just because he happens to run across her staying in the same neighbourhood, devise an elaborate scheme to murder her. Psychologically, your theory doesn’t hang together unless we can discover some better motive than that of mere dislike. The best thing you can do is to take the story to the police; he will then be obliged to tell them where he was that night. He can’t take the line with them that he took with you, and I’ve a strong conviction that he will be able to produce a perfectly satisfactory alibi.”
“You advise me not to waste time in following it up, then?” asked Fayre, feeling more than a little damped.
Kean’s smile was so friendly that it was impossible to take offence.
“If you want my real advice, old chap,” he said, “I should say drop the whole thing and leave it to Grey and the police. Let Grey have a clear account of what you’ve done and he will deal with it. I’m not belittling your work: it’s been uncommonly good as far as it goes, and if Greggisconcerned it may prove invaluable; but it’s useless to pit yourself against experts or to try to act without proper authority. How did you get hold of this letter to Gregg?”
The question came with startling abruptness and Fayre stifled a sudden spasm of amusement as he realized that Kean was using professional methods on him.
“I took it out of his desk when I was waiting for him the other day,” he answered with rather exaggerated meekness.
“And put yourself in a very nasty position if he finds out, apart from the fact that, if he jumps to the fact that you searched his desk, it will be the easiest thing in the world for him to destroy any evidence it contains.”
“Do you suggest that I should have kept it?” asked Fayre, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I certainly don’t,” was Kean’s dry rejoinder. “But I should like to point out that if his desk had been searched officially the police would have kept the letter and we should have had our evidence to hand if we’d needed it. That sort of amateur detective work is all right in fiction, but it’s dangerous in practice.”
Fayre was left feeling rather sheepish and distinctly obstinate. He had taken his dressing-down meekly enough and, on the whole, he felt bound to admit that it was not undeserved, but he hadn’t the smallest intention of being warned off the course by Kean or any one else. And he still held to his theory about Gregg.
The rest of his day was spent as harmlessly as even Kean could have wished. Fayre sat for a time with Sybil, who was up and dressed and so much better that the doctor had sanctioned her removal, by easy stages, to London the following day. The various members of the house-party were in and out of the room most of the time, so that, to Fayre’s relief, there was no opportunity to broach the subject of the murder.
As he was dressing for dinner he received a visit from Bill Staveley. He was still in riding kit and had just returned from his call at Hammond’s farm.
“I’ve got your times for you,” he began, “and I found out what car Gregg was driving. A very cunning bit of work, I may tell you, on my part! I’m beginning to think I’ve got a natural gift for this sort of thing! If you imagine I’m just a sort of Watson, my dear Holmes, you’re entirely mistaken.”
“If you want real appreciation and encouragement let me suggest that you go and tell Edward all about it,” advised Fayre dryly. “Meanwhile, when you’ve finished wagging your tail, you might produce the proofs of your genius.”
Lord Staveley chuckled.
“So that’s how the land lies, is it? Was he very down on our little efforts? He always was a damned superior beggar.”
“I kept you out of it, which is more than you deserve. What did you find at the Hammonds’?”
“A brand-new baby, among other things, which was brought into the world by Gregg at eight-fifteen precisely, on the night of the twenty-third. They telephoned to him between four-thirty and five and he must have started almost at once and walked over to Whitbury for the car. And I’ve no doubt he used some language, too, considering what a beastly night it was. After that things get more interesting. You say he left Stockley’s at five-thirty. Well, he didn’t get to Hammond’s till close on seven. Hammond was quite definite about that. He was in a bit of a stew because Gregg was so late.”
Fayre, who was busy with his tie, spun round with an exclamation. Staveley nodded.
“That’s a fact,” he said quietly. “An hour and a half to do thirty minutes’ run. Of course, he may have called somewhere else on the way, but, considering that Hammond’s message was urgent, it doesn’t seem likely.”
“What excuse did he give Hammond?”
“None, I gather, but I imagine things were pretty urgent by the time he got there. He just said he was sorry he was late and they were all in such a state of nerves by that time that nothing more was said. It’s the chap’s first baby and he seems to have thought the world was coming to an end. Gregg left about nine, which would bring him home just in time to get the police call.”
“Did you find out what car he turned up in?”
“Stockley’s. Hammond knows it well because they take in lodgers in the summer and they use Stockley’s cars. I couldn’t very well ask him about the number, but he didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual.”
“I wonder if the carter could have made a mistake?”
“Not likely. He probably knows Stockley’s cars. Every one does round here and he’d be practically certain to know Gregg, even if it was dark. You’ll have to rule out the garage car, I suspect. That is, if Gregg’s really implicated.”
Fayre sighed.
“Well, we seem to be getting somewhere at last,” he said. “Though Heaven knows what it’s going to lead to.”
“Do we break the glad news to Edward or not?” asked Staveley mischievously.
“I’m blessed if we do!” answered Fayre, with unexpected heat. “After all, it’s Grey’s job at present. I’ll write to him to-night.”
He kept his word and sent the solicitor a clear and concise account of all that had happened.
He was hardly to be blamed if there was a spark of malice in his eyes the next morning as he stood on the steps with the rest of the house-party watching the departure of the Keans. Sir Edward was too absorbed in the task of making his wife comfortable for the journey to notice anything unusual in his friend’s manner, but Sybil Kean gave him a moment of discomfort as she said good-by.
“I believe you and Bill are up to some mischief,” she said jestingly. “I advise you to keep an eye on them, Eve! They had their heads together after breakfast this morning—and look at them now!”
Fayre managed to retain an expression of bland innocence, but Bill Staveley was grinning openly.
“I thought so,” she went on quietly. “Always distrust Hatter, Eve, when he looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
At this moment, to Fayre’s relief, Kean joined her, his arms full of cushions, and together they went down the steps to the car.
They had hardly disappeared round the bend at the end of the long drive when Fayre was rung up by Cynthia.
“Tubby’s done it, Uncle Fayre! Didn’t I tell you he would?” Her voice was breathless with excitement. “I’m coming back this afternoon on the two-thirty. Will you ask Eve to have me met? I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, but we’ve traced the car, broken mudguard and everything!”