“I got a bit of it,” the man answered grimly, “but he was off too fast for me to catch the rest. _Y.0.7._ I did see, but I missed the rest of the number. Likely enough one of them chaps from Carlisle.” “Did he get you badly? I was too far off to see properly in the dark, but it seemed to me that he caught you a bit of a smack.” “It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t get us proper. Took a great splinter off the tailboard. I’ll wager his mud-guard’s caught it.” “That will give you something to go by if you see him again. Especially if he took a bit of your paint with him.” “Aye. He’ll have a touch of red on him, all right. But I don’t suppose I’ll ever see him again. Likely he took the wrong turn up the lane and had to come back and was makin’ up for lost time like. That’s the way I figure it out.” “No doubt. If I see him about anywhere, I’ll pass the word to you. He was driving himself, wasn’t he? Or was there a chauffeur?” “No, he was alone in the car. Joe Woodley, up to Mr. Sturrock’s, will find me and I’d be glad to hear of him. He didn’t do no damage, not to speak of, but that wasn’t his fault and I’d like to have my say with him. On my right side, I was, and he can’t question it.” The man moved forward into the smithy with the horse and Fayre retrieved his bicycle and pursued his way to Whitbury. He had not dared hope for so satisfactory an end to his investigations and was anxious to see Grey and make his report. That the carter should have noted even part of the number was an unlooked-for piece of good luck. That and an injured mud-guard, probably with a smear of red paint on it, was all they had to go on, but it was something, at least. If only Miss Allen had been more intimate with her sister’s friends! Fayre felt that to apply to her would be worse than useless, but, on the impulse of the moment, he left the main road and swung round the bend that led to Greycross. Once more his luck held, for, almost within sight of the drive, he passed her, trudging sturdily along the road, evidently on her way home to lunch. He jumped off his bicycle and waited till she overtook him. “I’m afraid you won’t remember me, Miss Allen,” he said. “But we drove home from Whitbury together the other day.” For a moment she looked puzzled, then her face relaxed in a pleasant smile. “Of course,” she exclaimed. “You were with Lady Cynthia and Sir Edward Kean.” “I’m an old friend of hers, though I hadn’t seen her for years till the other day. I could wish we hadn’t renewed our acquaintance under such sad circumstances.” “Poor child, I’m afraid she’s in for a bad time. I wish it was over, for all our sakes.” “It is as hard on you as on her,” said Fayre sympathetically. “If you will forgive my saying so, it was very kind of you to write to her as you did.” “It was the least I could do. I was as convinced then, as I am now, that John Leslie had nothing to do with it and I felt it was my duty to say so.”