“I’ve done my best,” he said with a curious grim note in his voice that made Fayre wonder whether, after all, he had not always realized how very little of her heart Sybil Kean had to give when she married him. There was a pause; then Kean rose to his feet and thrust his hands into his pockets with the gesture that was so characteristic of him. “I can’t stand this,” he said abruptly. “I must get my teeth into something or my imagination will get away with me. What have you and Grey been doing?” “As a matter of fact, I came here to-day at Grey’s request. He wants to consult you and suggested I should make an appointment. Of course, that’s all off now.” “For the present, anyhow. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t put me _au fait_ with things. I should be grateful for anything to hitch my brain onto at this moment.” Fayre realized that he was actuated by sheer instinct for self-preservation and met him half-way by plunging at once into a recital of all that had happened in the last few days. Kean listened attentively. Now and then he interrupted to ask a trenchant question; otherwise he heard him in silence. When he had finished Fayre handed him the little red cap the tramp had given him. “This may as well go with the other exhibit,” he said. “Anyhow, we know now that it was lost before, and not after, the murder.” Kean dropped it into the drawer of his writing-table and turned the key. “It would be interesting to know how much that fellow, Gregg, really knows of Mrs. Draycott’s past,” he said slowly. “Whatever it is, he’s made up his mind not to speak.” Kean stood rocking backward and forward on his heels, lost in thought. Fayre watched him in amazement. Half an hour ago he had been a broken man. Not only had he pulled himself together by sheer force of will, but he was now giving his whole mind to the matter in hand with a lack of effort that seemed almost superhuman. “Gregg ought to be get-at-able,” he said at last. “His treatment of you was nothing but a display of bad temper. If he’s innocent it ought to be possible to convince him of the folly of the line he’s taking. If he’s guilty, the only course will be to put the matter in the hands of the police. My own impression is that he’s shielding some one. Miss Allen said that this man Baxter, Mrs. Draycott’s first husband, was dead. She also went so far as to say that he was the one person she could think of connected with her sister’s past who would have been capable of killing her. Have we any proof that the fellow _is_ dead?” “Gregg told me that he had died in his arms. We haven’t followed the matter up, if that’s what you mean.” “A statement of that sort, coming from Gregg, is of no value to us. Get Grey to look the thing up, will you?”