“You probably have,” said Cynthia severely. “If you’ve really started careering about the country on a push-bike.”
“Anyhow, I careered to some purpose. For one thing, Grey and I have pretty well established the fact that Mrs. Draycott was taken to the farm by some one in a car and that person was actually seen leaving, alone, after the murder.”
He had made his point as effectively as a good actor, and his audience responded to the full. Even Sybil Kean’s habitual languor deserted her and she leaned forward in her chair, her fine eyes alight with interest.
“Am I on in this scene?” she asked almost eagerly. “Or must I do the correct and tactful thing and drift away down the terrace as if I hadn’t heard a word of what you’ve just said? I expect you do want to talk to Cynthia alone.”
Cynthia turned on her indignantly.
“We want you, don’t we, Uncle Fayre?”
“Of course. I was counting on your advice. For one thing, you must have a closer acquaintance with the person I want to discuss, than any one else in this house.”
For a moment she looked puzzled. Then:
“Dr. Gregg?” she said quietly.
“How did you know? There are times when you’re uncanny, Sybil.”