“He’s working on the Carlisle to London route, on the chance that the car may have got held up somewhere and, if that fails, he proposes to advertise openly for Page. If, as I still think, the man had nothing to do with the actual murder, he may come forward. On the other hand, it would be a mistake to warn him by advertising too soon. It is a last resort.” “I believe he did it,” asserted Cynthia obstinately. “If we can find Page we shall get to the bottom of the whole thing. You know the police have let the tramp go? He ended by confessing that he took Mrs. Doggett’s money and I made her go up to the station and speak for him. He’s very lame still and the police want him to stay in the neighbourhood, so Bill found him a room in one of his cottages. I went to see him. He’s a funny little man and we got quite chummy, but he’s determined to go back to ‘the road,’ as he calls it, as soon as he can get away. He told me that he had been tramping for years and he’s got all sorts of interesting stories about tramps and burglars and all kinds of queer people and he adores you. When I spoke about John he said: ‘The gentleman’ll get ’im off, you see,’ as if you were a kind of Providence. He’s rather a pet, really. What did you do to make him love you so?” “Treated him like a human being, I suppose. He’s not going back to the road, if I can help it, poor little beggar. He’s never had a chance and I’d like to give him one.” “If we do get onto that man, Page, he’ll deserve it. After all, it was through him that we first heard of the strange car.” “When I get my cottage I’ll see what I can find for him to do. He’s not a pleasing object at present, but he’ll improve with prosperity.” “I can see your cottage!” observed Cynthia mischievously. “It’ll be crammed with all sorts of derelicts and lame dogs and you’ll go fussing round them like a hen with a lot of chickens. May I come and stay with you, Uncle Fayre?” “As often and as long as you like. You’ll be a respectable married woman by then and you can act as chaperone to Miss Allen.” “Is Miss Allen going to stay with you?” “If she’ll come. I haven’t asked her yet.” “I’m glad you’ve made friends with her. She’s a brick, isn’t she?” “A thorough good sort, I should say,” assented Fayre rather cautiously. There was a gleam in Cynthia’s eye he didn’t quite like. She flashed a sidelong glance at him. “It’s an awfully good idea; I wonder I never thought of it.” “What is?” asked Fayre suspiciously. “Her coming to stay with you, of course,” was Cynthia’s innocent rejoinder. After lunch they called at Grey’s office. “I’m glad you dropped in,” he told Fayre. “We’ve got on the track of a car which was held up at York. It was traveling without a tail-light. If it was our friend, Page, he was probably trying to conceal his broken number-plate. Anyway, I’ve sent a man up there to find out all the particulars and he’ll be back early to-morrow. There’s just a chance that we’ve got onto the right car.”