“Not likely. He probably knows Stockley’s cars. Every one does round here and he’d be practically certain to know Gregg, even if it was dark. You’ll have to rule out the garage car, I suspect. That is, if Gregg’s really implicated.” Fayre sighed. “Well, we seem to be getting somewhere at last,” he said. “Though Heaven knows what it’s going to lead to.” “Do we break the glad news to Edward or not?” asked Staveley mischievously. “I’m blessed if we do!” answered Fayre, with unexpected heat. “After all, it’s Grey’s job at present. I’ll write to him to-night.” He kept his word and sent the solicitor a clear and concise account of all that had happened. He was hardly to be blamed if there was a spark of malice in his eyes the next morning as he stood on the steps with the rest of the house-party watching the departure of the Keans. Sir Edward was too absorbed in the task of making his wife comfortable for the journey to notice anything unusual in his friend’s manner, but Sybil Kean gave him a moment of discomfort as she said good-by. “I believe you and Bill are up to some mischief,” she said jestingly. “I advise you to keep an eye on them, Eve! They had their heads together after breakfast this morning—and look at them now!” Fayre managed to retain an expression of bland innocence, but Bill Staveley was grinning openly. “I thought so,” she went on quietly. “Always distrust Hatter, Eve, when he looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.” At this moment, to Fayre’s relief, Kean joined her, his arms full of cushions, and together they went down the steps to the car. They had hardly disappeared round the bend at the end of the long drive when Fayre was rung up by Cynthia. “Tubby’s done it, Uncle Fayre! Didn’t I tell you he would?” Her voice was breathless with excitement. “I’m coming back this afternoon on the two-thirty. Will you ask Eve to have me met? I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, but we’ve traced the car, broken mudguard and everything!” Chapter XV When Cynthia stepped out of the train at Staveley Grange she found Fayre waiting on the platform. The station-master, an old friend of her childhood, bustled forward to receive her and she did not have an opportunity of unburdening herself of her news till she found herself alone with Fayre in the car on their way to Staveley. “I’ve one disappointment for you, Uncle Fayre,” she began. “We’ve traced the car, but we haven’t got the rest of the number.” For a moment he could not conceal his chagrin. He had been counting on that one invaluable piece of information ever since he had received her message the night before. “Do you mean to say that two garages can have housed the car and neither have taken the number? It’s incredible!”