“Since when have you taken an interest in the medical profession?” asked Henderson lazily, his shrewd eyes on his friend.
Fayre laughed rather guiltily.
“It’s curiosity, mostly, about Gregg. He’s a queer stick and when he flatly denied having met some one I’m pretty sure used to know him in the past, it was too much for my inquisitive mind. I remembered that you were a St. Swithin’s man and thought I’d sound you when I saw you. It’s not important. The truth is, that I haven’t got enough to do, nowadays, and I’m developing into a confirmed busybody.”
Henderson grinned.
“Very good,” he said appreciatively. “As far as it goes. But you weren’t in the habit of doing things without a reason in the old days and you don’t look as if you’d changed much.”
Fayre felt himself redden.
“Confound you!” he said. “To be frank, it isn’t all curiosity, but I’ve got so little to go on that I’d rather not say anything yet.”
“Right,” was Henderson’s good-tempered answer. “That’s good enough for me, but what are we going to say to Mrs. Benson? She’s a lady with a very efficient tongue and not particularly lacking in imagination!”
“Why not leave Gregg out of it? Put it that I knew Baxter years ago and want to find out what has become of him. That ought to be enough to lead her onto the girls.”
“Ella won’t want much leading, if it’s a question of St. Swithin’s,” remarked Mrs. Henderson, as she finished pouring out the coffee. She rose and slipped out of the room before Fayre could apologize for the trouble he was giving her.