“We might trace the fellow. In any case, I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to give a clear account of your movements, including the time you were with Cynthia. You will gain nothing by holding it back at this juncture. I’ll go now and see this Miss Allen. She may possibly have something to say that throws a light on things. Is it within a walk?” “Take the Staveley car which brought me,” suggested Fayre. “It’s waiting at the gate and Staveley said I was to use it as I liked.” “In that case, I suggest that we all meet for lunch at the hotel at Whitbury. We shall be on the spot, then, for the inquest. You’re sure Sybil is not expecting me?” Fayre smiled. “This is one of her little plots. Didn’t you recognize her hand behind it? She told me to say that she would expect you when she saw you.” “We meet at the hotel, then.” Fayre accompanied him down the little path to the gate, where the Staveley car stood waiting. They had almost reached the end of the path when Fayre, who had been walking with his eyes on the ground, deep in thought, bent down suddenly and picked up something from the long grass that bordered the path. “Found anything?” asked Kean. “An old stylographic pen,” said Fayre, examining it curiously. “I remember them in my youth. ‘Red Dwarfs,’ I think they used to be called. I wonder how it got there.” Kean held out his hand for it. “It’s probably been there some time. We’ll ask Leslie if he recognizes it. We’ll stick to it, anyway. It may prove of interest.” Fayre was peering about in the grass. “There’s nothing else,” he said, “except some copper-coloured spangles, three of them, here on the path. I believe the poor creature was wearing a brown-spangled dress, so, as we know she probably came up this path, that does not lead us anywhere. The pen may prove more useful.” “It has probably got there since the murder,” Kean reminded him. “It’s hardly likely the police would have missed it. They must have gone over this ground pretty carefully. The pressmen have been down here already, remember. One of them may have dropped it.” He slipped the pen into his pocket as he spoke. After Kean had climbed into the car Fayre stood for a moment, his hand on the door. “I’m not going to make a nuisance of myself, Edward,” he said. “But, if there’s anything I can do, you might put me onto it. I’m sorry for those children and would give a great deal to help them. Also, I’m at a loose end and I’ve no ties. If there’s any special line you want followed I could do it more tactfully, possibly, and unobtrusively than one of these fellows from an agency.” Kean nodded. “I’ll remember. Don’t underrate the private detective, though. It’s not such an easy job as you seem to think. Meanwhile, if you can keep Sybil from worrying herself silly I should take it as a kindness. I’ve got to go back to town to-night and I should like to leave her in good hands. Yours are the best I know, old chap.”