“Find her satisfactory?” he asked casually. “I’m thinking of getting a small car myself and I can’t make up my mind about the make.”
The man grunted.
“Been givin’ a lot of trouble lately,” he said. “Wants a thorough overhaul, but the doctor can’t spare her.”
“Always chooses the worst night to baulk on, I expect, if I know anything of cars.”
“That’s right. With the wind blowin’ fit to knock you down and bitin’ cold, she’ll lay down on you proper.”
“There was a night like that just after I got down to these parts,” said Fayre reminiscently. “There were a lot of trees down, I was told.”
“Night of the murder up to Mr. Leslie’s farm. Awful night, that were. I was two hours workin’ on this blessed car and then the doctor had to hire. I think you’ll find that all right, sir.”
Fayre thanked him and slipped a generous tip into his hand; then, getting into his coat, he made his way round to the front door.
The doctor was in, but was busy in the surgery. Fayre was shown into the study, an untidy, comfortable-looking room on the ground floor.
He took a quick inventory of the contents. A big desk piled with papers stood in the window. The fireplace was flanked by a couple of shabby, roomy armchairs. Fayre sat down in one of them and warmed his hands at the fire. As he did so, his eye fell on the mantelpiece and in a second he was on his feet again, examining a small framed photograph that stood there. He turned at the sound of the opening door to meet the steady gaze of Gregg.