“Tell him we’re not beaten yet,” said Fayre cryptically.
Grey raised his eyebrows.
“What’s the idea?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I wish to goodness I did!” was Fayre’s rejoinder as he disappeared into his room to pack.
He and Grey reached London in the small hours of the morning. Fayre drove straight to his club and forced himself to take a couple of hours’ rest, but he did not sleep and by nine o’clock he had bathed and breakfasted and was on his way to Kean’s Chambers.
Early as he was, Kean was there before him and was already well started on a strenuous day’s work. He pushed his papers aside when Fayre entered and came to meet him.
“I rather fancied you might turn up,” he said sombrely. “We shall appeal, of course.”
Fayre faced him as he had faced Grey.
“With what result?”
Kean did not mince matters.