“How did you really find Leslie?” asked Fayre as they sat down.
“Just as I said. He’s a plucky young beggar. I think he’s more worried about her than about himself. Wanted to know how she was looking, and all that sort of thing. Said it wasn’t only the war that came hardest on the women. They’re a fine couple.”
Fayre nodded absently. He was feeling horribly depressed and wished with all his heart that the whole wretched business were over.
“I don’t suppose Sir Edward’s in a laughing mood, but, if he were, he’d get a certain sardonic amusement out of the Page episode,” went on Grey. “My man came back from the North yesterday. He’s been kept up there on some other business till now. He told me a funny thing.”
“About the car that was held up?” asked Fayre rather wearily. He found it difficult to see anything amusing in connection with the Draycott murder.
“No; that belonged to a harmless little commercial traveller. But when he was looking over the back reports in search of a clue to our man he caught another fish altogether, Sir Edward Kean himself! He got hung up at York on March 14th for traveling without side-lights.”
Fayre, who was blessed with a quick and accurate memory, stared at him in amazement.
“But Sir Edward came down to Cumberland by train!” he exclaimed. “He didn’t have his car with him! I know, because I met him myself at the station. I’d gone down to see about a lost suitcase.”
“His chauffeur must have been joy-riding. The licence was the chauffeur’s. It’s not the first time that’s happened. Sir Edward, apparently, paid the fine without a murmur. What he said to the chauffeur is another matter!”
Fayre, knowing Kean, did not envy the delinquent.