“I wonder if I may ask you a question? Believe me, it is not from idle curiosity.” She looked both surprised and interested. “Certainly,” she said. “But if it is about my sister, I am afraid I told Sir Edward all I knew when he came to see me the other day.” “Can you think of any one among your sister’s friends who drives a large car with a touring body and who was likely to have been in this part of the world on the night of the tragedy?” She shook her head. “The trouble is that I knew so few of my sister’s friends. I rarely go up to town and she lived almost entirely in London, except when she was abroad or visiting friends in the country. She had a very large circle of acquaintances, but they were not people I should be likely to meet down here. Why do you ask?” She had hardly uttered the question when her own quick wits supplied the answer. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with interest, “You think she was driven to the farm! I have known all along that she could never have walked there.” “You mean on account of her shoes?” “Of course. I was surprised that no one at the inquest made any comment on it. I couldn’t have walked that distance myself in thin evening slippers, and I am a good walker. My sister was a very bad one; she hated it. I have said from the beginning that I was sure she had no intention when she started of going to the farm. But, of course, if she expected to be driven there . . .” “You are sure she never mentioned any friend with a car whom she expected to meet in this neighbourhood?” persisted Fayre. “Absolutely certain,” was the decisive answer. “As a matter of fact, she hardly mentioned any of her own friends to me. We had not met for a long time and most of our talk was about various relations and acquaintances who belonged to the past. What had happened to them, and that sort of thing. You know how one goes over ancient history at those times. Besides, she knew I took very little interest in the people among whom she moved latterly. I wish now I had taken more!” “Did anybody see her leave the house?” “One of the maids saw her, through the scullery window, going down the drive. That was how I first knew she had gone out.” “When was this, Miss Allen?” “About six, I gather, but the girl was a little vague about the exact time when I questioned her.” “And when did you first hear of it?” “About half-past six. I went back to the drawing-room when I had finished my letters and did not find her there. The maid came in to make up the fire and I asked her if she had seen her. I was astonished to hear that she had gone out.” Fayre held out his hand. “It is more than good of you to have been so frank with me,” he said gratefully. “You have cleared up one or two points that were puzzling me. I am ashamed of myself for worrying you about such a painful subject. My only excuse is that I am lunching with Leslie’s solicitor and all is grist that comes to his mill just now.”