“That’ll please you, Cynthia. Lady Cynthia’s always believed in the Page clue,” explained Fayre. “Now that Dr. Gregg’s gone off with a clean sheet, it’s all we’ve got to go on,” said Grey. “It’s a funny thing how he crops up all through this case. That fellow Baxter died in his house, you know, and Gregg signed the certificate. As far as we can make out, everything seems in order and, short of exhuming Baxter, we’ve done all that’s necessary to prove his death.” “I’ve no reason to think that Gregg was concealing anything the other day. He seemed only too anxious to tell all he knew. If he’s shielding any one he’s doing it very cleverly.” “I think we may wipe out Dr. Gregg altogether now. After all, at the time, he’d have had no reason to conceal Baxter’s death, whatever he may feel about it now.” “I’ve got a feeling in my bones about this Page business,” said Cynthia, as they turned into the Strand after leaving Grey’s office. “I believe we’re going to find him and that things are going to be all right for John. You can call it imagination, if you like, but this is the first time I’ve felt really hopeful. Life seems quite different, all of a sudden!” Fayre was suddenly afraid for her. There was something terribly pathetic in her optimism and he knew it was reared on a pitifully frail foundation. “Don’t build too much on it,” he begged, ruefully aware that it was always his lot to throw cold water on her enthusiasm. “It may be nothing but a wild goose chase, after all.” “It isn’t,” she asserted positively. “I can’t tell you why I know, but I do and you’ll see I’m right. The funny thing is that Sybil Kean has had the same feeling all along. Did you know? She told me so when she was ill at Staveley.” The haggard look came back into Fayre’s eyes. He had forgotten his own worries for the moment, carried away by Cynthia’s enthusiasm, but now they returned to him, their strength in no wise diminished. Cynthia, intent on her own thoughts, did not notice his preoccupation. “It was the night before I went to Carlisle to stay with the Campbells. I didn’t tell her why I was going, because we’d agreed that it was better for her not to talk about the whole thing. We hadn’t mentioned John or anything, but, when I said good night, she looked at me in such a queer way and said, somehow as if she knew it was true: ‘Don’t worry, Cynthia, John will never be convicted. I’m certain of it.’” Fayre stared at her in astonishment. “Sybil said that! Did she give any reason for it?” “None, but she seemed so curiously certain. Almost as if she knew something. She didn’t say any more and she looked so desperately ill and tired that I just went. Do you think she had some sort of second-sight, Uncle Fayre? People do do that sort of thing when they’ve been very ill, don’t they? I’m certain she wasn’t just saying it to reassure me.” The worried lines on Fayre’s face deepened.