“And we’ve got no further with the Page clue than when we first started,” reflected Fayre ruefully. The clerk Grey had sent to collect evidence as to the car which had been held up at York had reported a complete failure. Except for the first letter and number the car had entirely failed to answer to the description of the Page car. It was a two-seater, the number-plate had been intact and there was no sign of any damage to either of the guards, and they had had to face the fact that they had been following yet another blind alley. In addition to his other anxieties, Fayre was troubled about Cynthia. The girl had faced things nobly, but already she was beginning to show signs of strain and Fayre dreaded the coming ordeal for her. Her mother had written to her peremptorily ordering her to go home. Cynthia, lost to everything but Leslie’s danger, had taken no notice of her mother’s letter. Fortunately, her father’s sister, with whom she was staying, had proved more humane and had merely stipulated that the girl should stay in her house until the trial was over, realizing that she was not in a state to brook opposition. She welcomed Fayre’s visits and, at her suggestion, he persuaded Cynthia to motor with him out into the country for a few hours every day. A few days after Sybil Kean had been declared out of danger Grey rang him up suggesting that they should meet for lunch. “I’ve heard from Sir Edward,” he said as soon as he saw Fayre. “I’m to meet him this afternoon and he would like to see Lady Cynthia. Could you bring her round to his Chambers at about four o’clock? I gather Lady Kean really has turned the corner, so luck may be with us, after all.” Before sitting down to lunch Fayre rang up Cynthia and arranged to call for her. Grey followed him into the telephone-box. “Tell her I’ve seen Mr. Leslie and he’s in fine form. If he can keep his pluck up till next month he ought to make a good impression.” “How did you really find Leslie?” asked Fayre as they sat down. “Just as I said. He’s a plucky young beggar. I think he’s more worried about her than about himself. Wanted to know how she was looking, and all that sort of thing. Said it wasn’t only the war that came hardest on the women. They’re a fine couple.” Fayre nodded absently. He was feeling horribly depressed and wished with all his heart that the whole wretched business were over. “I don’t suppose Sir Edward’s in a laughing mood, but, if he were, he’d get a certain sardonic amusement out of the Page episode,” went on Grey. “My man came back from the North yesterday. He’s been kept up there on some other business till now. He told me a funny thing.” “About the car that was held up?” asked Fayre rather wearily. He found it difficult to see anything amusing in connection with the Draycott murder.