Early as he was, Kean was there before him and was already well started on a strenuous day’s work. He pushed his papers aside when Fayre entered and came to meet him. “I rather fancied you might turn up,” he said sombrely. “We shall appeal, of course.” Fayre faced him as he had faced Grey. “With what result?” Kean did not mince matters. “If I know anything of the law, none,” he said. “I’m sorry, Hatter; I did my best.” Fayre’s eyes did not move from his face. “That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he said slowly. “You made a very brilliant speech. It was a magnificent defence, and it failed. To any one but myself it would seem that you had done your utmost.” He paused and Kean turned on him sharply. “I’ve worked harder over this case than I ever worked in my life,” he cut in. Fayre nodded. “I admit it. That’s not what I’m driving at. One or two things have come to my knowledge lately, facts that I have told no one, not even Grey.” He paused again. He was finding it very hard to choose words for what he had come to say and Kean made no effort to help him. “Ever since I discovered certain things,” Fayre went on, “I have been fighting against the conviction that you could have cleared Leslie if you had wished. Can you look me in the face now and say that you were not shielding some one from the beginning and that you undertook Leslie’s defence because you hoped by sheer eloquence to get him off without being forced to give this person away?” Kean had strolled over to the hearth-rug and seemed absorbed in the selection of a cigarette from the box on the mantelpiece. “I don’t know how you managed to unearth all this,” he said at last, “or what you think you have discovered, but you’re right on one point. I _was_ shielding some one.” “You’ve tried to save Leslie and failed,” went on Fayre inflexibly. “What steps do you propose to take now?” Kean hesitated. “Before I answer that question,” he said slowly, “suppose you put your cards on the table. How much do you know?” “I know that, for some reason I have so far failed to discover, you allowed it to be supposed that you travelled by rail to Staveley Grange on March 14th, when, as a matter of fact, you motored from London to some station north of York and picked up the train there. You were held up at York for driving without side-lights.” Kean smiled. “You’ve hit on a snag there,” he said. “Blake, my chauffeur, was held up and nearly lost his job on the strength of it.” “I’ve seen Blake,” was Fayre’s quiet reply. “He was on his holiday in London and was with his wife that night. A summons was served on him which he brought to you and which you said you would deal with. He is under the impression that it was a mistake on the part of the police.” There was a pause during which Kean smoked thoughtfully. He seemed in no way disconcerted.