They dined together at Richmond, which suburban town they had reached by Edward’s directions, and George, replete after so much suffering, became most genial. He betrayed in his conversation the fact that Sudie might or might not know the truth; he had not dared to communicate with her. William Bailey had done so after getting his new clothes, but there had been no one at home. There was only a man in, making an inventory, and the footman thought the message had something to do with him. What Sudie might have heard from others he didn’t know. “Where did the telephone message come from?” asked Edward who remembered the torturing anxiety of his Chief upon that point which now seemed so futile. “I don’t know,” George bleated, if I may use so disrespectful a term of a man with £100 a week. “I really don’t know. He hired a motor, I know that, and he drove it himself.” “Oh he did, did he? Where did he drive it to?” “To a station,” said George lucidly. “A long way off?” asked Edward. “Oh dear!” said George, “Don’t ask me. Right away over all sorts of places.” “Now, Demaine, listen,” said Evans, concentrating “Could you see the sea?” “No,” said George with a shudder. “Could you see the river,--anything?” “No,” said George. “We got there at three, and William telephoned from the station.” “But damn it all!” cried Edward, “what was the name of the station?” “I don’t know,” said George, “I didn’t notice.” Edward tried another approach. “Were there houses round it?” “Oh yes, lots,” said George, “lots--and they had laurels, and there was a lot of gas lamp-posts, and there was a tramway--oh it was a beastly place!” Then Evans understood and Kent, the Garden of England, was in his mind: Kent and one of its deeply bosomed towns, Chislehurst haply or St. Mary Cray. “But why did you go to Liverpool Street when you got in at Cannon Street?” he said. “How did you know I got in at Cannon Street?” asked George with wide-open eyes like a child who sees the secretly marked card come out of the pack. “Never mind. Why did you go to Liverpool Street?” “William told me to,” answered George simply. “You’ll make a good front benchman,” said Edward half to himself. “Do you know why he told you to go to Liverpool Street?” “No,” said George, “I don’t.... I don’t know.” “Well,” said Edward, as though conveying a profound secret, “if ever you happen to be at Lowestoft, that’s the way you get in to London.” “Oh, is it?” said George blankly. “Where did he buy your clothes?” asked Edward suddenly, “what shop?” “Oh, in Parham somewhere,” said George, “I don’t know where. I put ’em on before I started of course. I couldn’t stay in a dressing-gown.” A thought occurred to Edward. He pulled back the collar of Demaine’s coat, and saw marked upon a tape, “Harrington Brothers, Parham.” Without so much as asking his leave he cut the label. “What’s on the shirt?” he asked laconically. George opened his waistcoat and looked. “Six sixty-six,” he said.