“I’m glad you’re not going too far away from them all,” said Fayre. “Bill tells me that the farm is finished. It sounds charming.” Leslie had resigned his tenancy of the farm near Galston and built a comfortable, roomy house on some farm-land on the Staveley estate. After what had happened he had not cared to take Cynthia to the ill-fated house up the lane nor had he wished to settle down in the immediate vicinity of his mother-in-law. The Staveleys had been glad to have Cynthia as a neighbour and, Fayre suspected, had done a good deal towards giving Leslie a good start in his venture. “It’s lovely and the land’s gorgeous. John’s simply delighted. You’re going to be our first guest, Uncle Fayre. Promise you’ll come soon!” Hatter Fayre’s face grew a shade pinker than usual. “I’ll come with pleasure, on one condition,” he said. His voice seemed suddenly to have grown curiously hoarse and unmanageable. “You can make any conditions you like, so long as you come,” was Cynthia’s cheerful rejoinder. “You don’t want to bring that horrid old bicycle with you, do you?” she finished, struck by a sudden suspicion. Fayre shook his head. “I’ve finished with that old friend for the present. No, I want to bring something quite different. By the way, I’ve been busy with the stables.” “Hunters?” “Yes, when I’ve finished my alterations. The stabling’s too inadequate for my needs and there’s a good deal to be done.” “Do you propose to travel with a couple of mounts? If so, John will have to put them up in the barn. After all, though, it’s only July now and we expect you long before the winter—or do you take them about as pets in the off season? Is that your condition?” “Oh, no. I’m not bringing any livestock—at least, not of that kind. . . .” “Well, I’m blessed!” ejaculated his companion suddenly and indignantly. Then, as Fayre cast a helpless glance in her direction and began to flounder hopelessly, she took the matter firmly out of his hands. “Livestock indeed!” she exclaimed. “The man’s impossible! What he’s trying to do, my dear, is to ask if he may bring his wife. And why he’s behaving like a self-conscious schoolboy over it, heaven only knows!” In spite of her brave words she was blushing vividly. Cynthia fell on her neck. “Oh, you darlings!” she exclaimed. “You haven’t really done it! You and Miss Allen! Now I know I am going to wake up and find it’s all a dream. It’s too perfect to be true!” “Not Miss Allen, but Mrs. Fayre!” he corrected, with immense satisfaction. “We stole off all by ourselves and did it yesterday. And we’re not a bit ashamed of ourselves, either, thank you.” The End Transcriber’s Note _The Draycott Murder Mystery_ was first published in 1928 under the title _The Red Dwarf_. This transcription follows the text of the Dean Street Press reprint of 2016. The following alterations have been made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous scanning errors: