Gregg stared at him for a moment.
“Good Lord!” he burst out. “I don’t wonder you’ve been nosing about after my black past. I’d no idea you’d got me cornered like that!”
He dived into his pocket and produced a pencil and an old envelope.
“If you don’t mind I’ll add the name and address of that unfortunate baby! You’d better verify my statement and, while you’re about it, have a look at the scar on the kid’s arm. I’m proud of the way that healed, I can tell you.”
He held out his hand with a friendly smile. Fayre took it, and as he did so, his old dislike for the man vanished once for all.
“By the way,” he said, “what made you come along to-day to bury the hatchet?”
Gregg laughed.
“Because I made up my mind I wasn’t going to be ballyragged by any damned lawyer! As you may imagine, it’s not a story I care to dwell on and I decided that if I’d got to tell it it should be to a human being. And I was beginning to feel that I owed you an apology, too. So when Sir Edward Kean rang up this afternoon and tried to bully me into making an appointment I temporized and then, ten minutes later, rang up his house, feeling pretty sure a servant would answer. Luck was with me and I got the butler at the other end and he gave me your address, after which I came straight along to you. Pity you asked! I rather hoped you’d think it was spontaneous!”
So this was Kean’s doing! Kean, who had requested Fayre to keep Grey from butting in and making a mess of things!