He departed hastily in search of her, but she was nowhere to be found and he concluded that she must have gone straight to her room. When she failed to put in an appearance at tea he was really puzzled. He knew she must be waiting eagerly for his explanation and it was not like her to curb anything, least of all curiosity. He was relieved to find that the Staveleys took her defection very calmly. “If you knew Cynthia better you’d take everything she did as a matter of course,” announced Eve Staveley. “She’s probably gone home to collect a few more oddments.” “If she hasn’t made a dash for the five-forty and caught it!” suggested Bill Staveley with a wicked gleam in his eye. “She can twist old Millar round her little finger and if she told him to keep the train till she arrived, I wouldn’t bank on his not doing it.” “My dear Bill, why on earth should she go off on the five-forty?” demanded his wife. “Why shouldn’t she? It’s just the sort of Tom Fool thing she would do,” he countered cheerfully. The suggestion made Fayre uncomfortable and he went through a good deal of quite unnecessary worry before she walked calmly into the dining-room, ten minutes late for dinner, and apologized very prettily to her hostess for her unpunctuality. Lady Staveley took it for granted that she had been to Galston and neither of the two men thought it wise to question the fact in public. After dinner, however, she found herself pinned into a corner of the big drawing-room, well out of hearing of her hostess, and made to give an account of herself. “It’s no good trying the happy home stunt on us,” remarked Bill Staveley lazily. “We want to know where you’ve really been and what mischief you’ve been up to.” “I never said I’d been to Galston,” protested Cynthia, the picture of injured innocence. “It was Eve who insisted on it.” “In spite of all your protestations,” jibed Staveley. He and Cynthia were old sparring partners and he was a worthy match for her. “Well, did you want me to give the show away?” she asked. “Considering that we don’t know what the show is!” She cut him short and tackled Fayre direct. “Did you manage to do anything about Dr. Gregg, Uncle Fayre?” she asked. “I rang up Grey, and Bill got the station and discovered that he had caught the London train. Grey’s going to try to keep him under observation at the other end. That was all we could do.” For answer Cynthia opened the little gold bag she carried and took from it a slip of paper. She handed it to Fayre and watched him in silence as he read it aloud. “_Care of Dr. Graham, Brackley Mansions, Victoria Street_,” it ran. For a moment he stared at the girl in utter bewilderment; then he broke into a low chuckle. “She’s beaten us, Bill!” he exclaimed. “It’s Gregg’s address, I’ll be bound. How did you get it?”