As he spoke, Gregg appeared at the top of the staircase and he and Fayre were soon on their way to the Junction.
“A bad business, this of Leslie’s, if they find they haven’t got their man, after all,” said Gregg in his abrupt way. “I met Lady Cynthia on the stairs and she looked pretty hipped. It isn’t doing my patient any good, either.”
“You’re not anxious about her?” put in Fayre quickly.
“She’s no worse, if that’s what you mean, but she can’t stand worry. I should be better pleased if she was out of all this. If I had my way she’d be in her bed in London now.”
“What do you think of Leslie’s chances?”
“Bad. You and I know he isn’t the sort to do a thing like that, but the evidence is strong against him. Depends what sort of old women they get on the Jury, if it comes to that. I hope it won’t, now they’ve got this tramp.”
“There’s the lack of motive. Personally, I don’t believe he ever saw Mrs. Draycott in his life until that night. You were there, weren’t you? How did he impress you?”
“He was speaking the truth, all right. He behaved just as you or I would have done under the circumstances. It’s a nasty jar to find the body of a strange lady in your sitting-room. On the whole, he took it very well.”
“I wish they could find some clue as to why Mrs. Draycott ever went to the farm. I believe the secret of the whole wretched business lies there.”
“It’s a mystery. Though, from what I’ve heard of the lady, that’s not the queerest of the many queer things she seems to have been up to,” said Gregg dryly.