“It’s curiosity, mostly, about Gregg. He’s a queer stick and when he flatly denied having met some one I’m pretty sure used to know him in the past, it was too much for my inquisitive mind. I remembered that you were a St. Swithin’s man and thought I’d sound you when I saw you. It’s not important. The truth is, that I haven’t got enough to do, nowadays, and I’m developing into a confirmed busybody.” Henderson grinned. “Very good,” he said appreciatively. “As far as it goes. But you weren’t in the habit of doing things without a reason in the old days and you don’t look as if you’d changed much.” Fayre felt himself redden. “Confound you!” he said. “To be frank, it isn’t all curiosity, but I’ve got so little to go on that I’d rather not say anything yet.” “Right,” was Henderson’s good-tempered answer. “That’s good enough for me, but what are we going to say to Mrs. Benson? She’s a lady with a very efficient tongue and not particularly lacking in imagination!” “Why not leave Gregg out of it? Put it that I knew Baxter years ago and want to find out what has become of him. That ought to be enough to lead her onto the girls.” “Ella won’t want much leading, if it’s a question of St. Swithin’s,” remarked Mrs. Henderson, as she finished pouring out the coffee. She rose and slipped out of the room before Fayre could apologize for the trouble he was giving her. “What’s your program now?” asked Henderson. “You’ll find vegetation a bit of a bore, won’t you?” Fayre settled himself luxuriously in his chair. “I don’t know about that. I’ve done my share of hard work and had one go of fever too many and I shan’t be sorry to settle down. I shall loaf round for a bit, looking up old friends and that sort of thing, and then take a little place in the country with a spare bedroom or two and a bit of fishing. I might perpetrate a book. Like most of us who’ve been in the East, I’ve got ideas I shouldn’t mind airing.” They chatted desultorily until Mrs. Henderson came back with Mrs. Benson, a plump, voluble little woman who seemed only too pleased to find a fresh audience for her reminiscences. “It’s funny you should mention Baxter,” she said as she settled herself comfortably by the fire. “I turned up an old photograph of him only yesterday in a group taken just before I left the hospital. I’m afraid he made a mess of things, poor fellow.” “Do you know if he’s alive? Henderson seems to think that he died.” “He went to pieces after his wife left him. He took to drink, I believe, and ended by drinking himself to death. He was a fool ever to have married her.” “There was a certain amount of gossip, I hear, over that affair.”