Fayre’s sharp eyes did not miss the sudden wave of colour that swept to the roots of her grey hair when she mentioned the letters and he made a shrewd guess as to the character of that portion of Mrs. Draycott’s correspondence that her sister had found it better to destroy. He hastened to reassure her. “Of course I understand. Show me only what you care for an outsider to see. As you say, you may have something that confirms certain suspicions of mine. In any case, I am very grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to see them.” “Could you look at them to-morrow?” she suggested, coming to the point at once in her downright way. “I shall be in from four onwards.” “Delighted, and if you are going to walk back to your hotel, perhaps you’ll let me take you to the door. You look as if, like myself, you were out for exercise.” “I am, and to tell you the truth, I was bored to death! It’s a funny thing, but I can walk for miles alone in the country and enjoy every moment of it, but five minutes of it in London is enough to make me long for some one to grouse to. The crowds both worry and stifle me.” “I know what you mean; I feel the same myself. I put it down to the years I have been away. London’s the one place where I feel really lonely nowadays.” She nodded. “I forgot you’d been abroad for so long. The truth is, I suppose we’ve both dropped out of things. It’s dawning on me that I’ve turned into a regular country cousin. I’m not going straight back to my hotel, by the way. I’ve got a parcel to leave near Victoria. Is that out of your way?” “Not a bit. The further, the better.” They walked on, chatting quietly. Their conversation ranged over a wide field and Fayre discovered that, though she was pleased to call herself a country cousin, she had not by any means lost touch with the outside world, for she was a voracious reader and had gathered a store of homely wisdom in the course of her quiet life. The time passed so pleasantly that he was surprised when he found himself at the corner of Grosvenor Place, facing Victoria Station. “Where do we go now?” he asked idly. Her answer took his breath away. “I’m making for some flats behind the Cathedral. Brackley Mansions, they’re called.” Gregg’s headquarters in London! They crossed the road in silence, Fayre busily engaged in assuring himself that there was nothing unusual in such coincidences. “If you’re really so keen on exercise and are not in a hurry we might stroll on to my hotel,” pursued Miss Allen. “I’m only leaving this parcel. I can’t offer you tea to-day, as I’m entertaining a dull batch of relations, but I shall be glad of your company to the door.” She took a small, flat package out of her bag and Fayre, glancing at it involuntarily, could not help seeing Dr. Gregg’s name written across it in a clear, bold script, the type of handwriting he would have expected from Miss Allen.