“_Miss Allen. Was writing letters in her study at Greycross at six o’clock. Motive: None, unless her disapproval of her sister’s mode of life amounted to insanity. Does not impress one as a person likely to go to extremes. Note: Find out whether she benefits to any extent financially by her sister’s death, also whether she was seen by any of the servants at Greycross round about six o’clock._” While he was in the act of writing the last entry Kean’s words at the hotel recurred to his mind: “Why ‘the man’?” Had he had Miss Allen in his thoughts then, Fayre wondered? He sat over the fire for a long time, his thoughts busy with the problem of Miss Allen. He recalled her emphatic denial that her sister had ever had any dealings with John Leslie, her letter to Cynthia. Kean’s suggestion that Mrs. Draycott might have died at the hand of a woman had come hot on his return from his visit to Miss Allen. Fayre wished with all his heart that he had been present at that interview. What had she told him? As he dressed for dinner he was conscious of a growing resentment against Kean. The more he pondered on his manner at the hotel, the more he suspected that Kean had discovered something of importance at Miss Allen’s, something, Fayre told himself with growing exasperation, that to-morrow he would pass on as a matter of course to Leslie’s solicitor. He did not blame Kean. He knew him well enough by now to accept his methods, however annoying and inhuman they might seem; but there was a streak of obstinacy in Fayre’s nature which responded to just such treatment as he had received from his old friend and he felt more than ever determined to take a hand in the game. He had offered to meet Grey, the solicitor, at the station and Kean had not demurred. He made up his mind to get as much out of him as possible and then work on his own lines. He realized that these were disconcertingly vague, so far. The events of the next morning, however, opened out a possible field of action. Crossing the hall, he ran into Dr. Gregg on his way to visit Lady Kean. The doctor’s greeting was curt, but friendly. “Have you heard that they’ve got our friend, the tramp, who was at the farm that night?” he said. “The police seem to have moved fairly quickly, for once.” “Have they got anything out of him?” “I don’t know. Except for old Gunnet, they’re a close-mouthed lot. The fellow’s safe enough, at all events. Literally tied by the leg in the infirmary at Whitbury. He was run down by a silly young ass on a motor bike and got his ankle badly smashed. I gather that he was up at the farm that night, meant to sleep there. Something seems to have frightened him off at the last minute. Probably the arrival of the police. If he does turn out to be the chap that did it, Leslie’s troubles are over.” “Leslie’s solicitor is coming to-day and I’m by way of meeting him. I suppose he will be allowed access to this man if he wants to see him?”