“I’m blessed! You’ve got it all pat, haven’t you? It was about five when I left the house and I bet you’re perfectly aware that I went straight to Stockley’s garage at Whitbury and hired a car. Mine was out of commission. You’ve been putting in some hard work, Mr. Fayre, and if you don’t know already that I went on to Willow Farm on a maternity case, I’ll eat my hat. However, you shall have the whole program. I picked up the car at Stockley’s at about five-thirty and made straight for Hammond’s, that is, the Willow Farm. There’s a little village, you may or may not know, about three miles from Whitbury on the Besley road. I was going through when a boy ran out of one of the cottages and yelled something at me. I stopped the car and shouted back that, unless it was urgent, I could not see any one just then. Mrs. Hammond’s a delicate little woman and I was anxious about her. However, it was urgent. A wretched baby had pulled over a kettle of boiling water and scalded its legs and one arm. It was in a bad way and it was over an hour before I got away, with the result that I didn’t get to Willow Farm till close on seven. I left Hammond’s somewhere about nine, drove home and went on, almost immediately, to Leslie’s farm.” Fayre stood observing him with some chagrin. It was obvious that the man was speaking the truth, and, in any case, his story would be easy enough to verify. “I don’t mind telling you,” he said ruefully, “that you’ve just cheerfully demolished my best clue. If it wasn’t for John Leslie I would tell you, quite honestly, that I’m uncommonly glad. As it is, I feel rather cheap. I’d got all your movements except for the hour lost on the way to Willow Farm. You must admit that it looked suspicious, taking into account the fact that Mrs. Draycott met her death somewhere about six-thirty.” Gregg stared at him for a moment. “Good Lord!” he burst out. “I don’t wonder you’ve been nosing about after my black past. I’d no idea you’d got me cornered like that!” He dived into his pocket and produced a pencil and an old envelope. “If you don’t mind I’ll add the name and address of that unfortunate baby! You’d better verify my statement and, while you’re about it, have a look at the scar on the kid’s arm. I’m proud of the way that healed, I can tell you.” He held out his hand with a friendly smile. Fayre took it, and as he did so, his old dislike for the man vanished once for all. “By the way,” he said, “what made you come along to-day to bury the hatchet?” Gregg laughed.