“You say you kept an eye on Mrs. Draycott. Does that mean that you were in touch with any of her associates? I don’t mind telling you that we’re still at sea as to the motive of the crime.”
“I can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” answered Gregg frankly. “There was an old servant of hers who took up dressmaking and to whom she always went when she wanted anything of the sort. I believe she had some arrangement with her, too, by which she used to send her cast-off dresses to sell on commission. I used to go and see the woman every now and then and she’d give me the latest news of Mrs. Draycott. She worked for her, but she’d no reason to love her and she liked the boy and was ready to do him a good turn. But she only saw Mrs. Draycott at intervals and knew none of the people with whom she foregathered.”
“You can think of no one yourself who owed her a grudge?”
“There must have been plenty, but I don’t know of any one in particular. I’ve told you my reason for wishing to keep out of her clutches. She failed with me, but she probably succeeded with others. There’s motive enough, if you want one.”
“Blackmail!” said Fayre thoughtfully. “It seems incredible, but the idea has its possibilities. In that case, there ought to be papers of some sort among her effects.”
“They’re all in Miss Allen’s hands now,” volunteered Gregg. “And what’s more, she’s in town. She’s been going through some things her sister kept at the bank and she wrote to me yesterday to say that there were some old letters of Baxter’s that she thought I might like to have and offering to send them to me. From something she’s found she’s got onto the fact that I know where the boy is and she proposes to make over to him what money her sister left. As straight as a die, Miss Allen is, and I’ve written to thank her. It seems that she thought he was in the hands of Baxter’s people until now. You might go and see her, but she’s not the kind to give her sister away.”
“I’m calling on her to-morrow, but, as you say, it’s hardly a subject one can broach.”
His heart sank as he remembered the papers Miss Allen had told him she had burned and the hot flush that had risen to her cheeks when she spoke of them.
Gregg buttoned his coat preparatory to departure.
“I’ve told you all I know,” he said. “But I doubt if it’s been much help to you. There’s one thing more that you might think worth following up. A fellow I know saw Mrs. Draycott in Paris in 1920, three years after she married Draycott. Draycott was in Egypt at the time and she was with a man whom this friend of mine, Lloyd, was unable to identify. He was an old friend of Baxter’s and knew that I should not be sorry to have a hold over her, so, after he’d run across them three or four times, he followed them to their hotel one night, but her name was not on the register and he couldn’t trace the man. He believes they were staying together under assumed names. I kept his letter, thinking I might bluff her with it if we ever came up against each other. I give you the story for what it’s worth and I’ll write down Lloyd’s address for you and send him a line asking him to tell you what he knows, if you think it’s worth while to look him up. But I warn you, he doesn’t know much. It’s possible, however, that if she went to Paris with this man, she may have put the screw on him later.”