“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.”