Cynthia drove with her usual cheerful abandon and they arrived at the police station at Whitbury in record time. Fayre had insisted on going there for a pass before attempting to storm the hospital and was glad he had done so, for the Inspector recognized Cynthia as the daughter of a J. P. and was ready to oblige her. “As a matter of fact, we’ve withdrawn our man,” he said. “The hospital authorities are quite capable of looking after their patient. He can’t walk on that leg yet and nobody except yourself and your friend has visited him so far, Mr. Fayre. He’s still under suspicion, of course, but it’s ten to one against his having anything to do with the murder.” They drove on to the hospital and Fayre presented his pass, leaving Cynthia in the car outside. He found his man sitting up in bed reading the paper. His appearance had improved considerably in the interval, owing, no doubt, to good food and soap and water. He received Fayre’s friendly greeting with the reserve of one who has learned to put his trust in no one. “Glad to see you looking so fit,” said Fayre. “I was passing and thought I’d look in and see how you were doing. Also, I wanted to thank you.” The man observed him warily. “I ain’t done nothing for you that I know of,” he volunteered grudgingly. “On the contrary, you’ve helped me and my friend very considerably and we’re grateful to you. The fact is, this man they’ve arrested in connection with the farm murder is a pal of mine and I’m doing what I can to help him. If it hadn’t been for you, I should never have got onto that car you saw, and that car may mean a lot to us. If there’s anything I can do for you when you get about again, let me know. You won’t be fit for the road yet awhile, you know.” The hunted look came back into the tramp’s face. “I wish to God I was back on the road!” he burst out. “Fat chance I’ve got of ever gettin’ there, it seems to me. I ain’t blind nor deaf neither. The police ’ave got it in for me proper. I know where I’m goin’ from ’ere, right enough. And me got no more to do with it than a babe unborn!” “I believe you,” said Fayre simply. “It’s just a bit of bad luck that you and Mr. Leslie got dragged in at all. It’s the third person that’s responsible for all this that I’m anxious to find.” The man gave him a quick, sidelong glance. “Is Mr. Leslie the gent what found the body?” he asked. Fayre nodded. “’E didn’t do it,” affirmed the man with surprising conviction. “I see ’im through the winder when ’e found ’er, like I told the police. Rare taken aback, ’e was. ’E didn’t do it. I could’ve told them that if they’d asked me. The police!” He spoke with infinite scorn. “I know he didn’t; but the trouble is to prove it. And what clears him will probably clear you—that’s why I wanted to have a chat with you. You haven’t any theory of your own, I suppose?” “Not me. I wasn’t nowhere near the place when it ’appened. Didn’t even ’ear the shot, for the matter of that.”