For a moment Fayre was puzzled; then his face cleared.
“The one Leslie shot? It appears that it was there, all right. According to Grey, Gunnet went off and did a bit of sleuthing of his own and he found the place and dug the cat up. Unfortunately it wasn’t labelled like a pheasant with the day on which it had been killed and though I suppose they’ll use it in the defence, it won’t cut much ice with a jury. We want something more tangible than that.”
“What you want is to produce the murderer, old man. That’s your best defence and I don’t see why you shouldn’t do it if you’re anything like the sticker you used to be.”
Fayre’s interview with Lady Kean the next morning proved far less easy. He found her lying on the sofa in her bedroom, looking pitifully frail and white. She was much weaker than she chose to admit and, at the first sight of her, he made up his mind to cut the interview as short as possible.
“Hatter dear,” was her greeting, “I am sorry to have made such a fool of myself. I must have given you both a scare and I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. I’d been feeling seedy all day and never dreamed when I started that I shouldn’t manage to get to my room and collapse decently in private. Please forgive me for being such a nuisance.”
Fayre pulled a chair up to her side and sat down.
“I think we were the culprits,” he said gently. “We tired you out between us. It’s something to see you up and dressed, but, for Heaven’s sake, don’t overdo it again like that. You don’t look fit to be talking even now.”
“Talking doesn’t tire me,” she assured him eagerly. “Hatter, please, I want to know what you’ve been doing. Is there any news? Cynthia says you went to Carlisle yesterday.”
“I promised Cynthia I wouldn’t let you discuss it,” he answered reluctantly. “But if it will set your mind at rest, I’ll give you my assurance that nothing definite has turned up since our last conversation. As a matter of fact, I went to Carlisle to look up an old friend and had very little time for anything else. I did go to one or two of the garages in the hope of finding some trace of the car that was seen that night, but I drew a complete blank.”
“I had an idea that that’s what had taken you to Carlisle,” she murmured. “Thinking things over, it struck me the car might have stopped there. You found nothing?”