“Delighted,” replied the latter. “I’m so glad to have been of any use in getting you out of an awkward predicament.” “Now, Mr. Grayson,” went on the Chief Constable, “we brought you in from Linderton this morning against your will. Will you allow me to send you back in my motor?” “Well,” replied Grayson, “I think I’ll get a bed in Frattenbury. My holiday was nearly up, and I shall return to town to-morrow. I can walk out in the morning and get my machine and the rest of my belongings.” “No, you won’t,” said Major Renshaw, anxious to make amends. “I’ll have them sent in—yes, you’ll be comfortable at the ‘Dolphin’—they shall be there early to-morrow morning. Good night—stop—let me have your address in case we want you.” The Canon, leaving his cigar box with the police, walked out of the station with Grayson and directed him to the hotel. Then he said: “As the nearest relative of poor Templeton—I’m his cousin, you know—I should like to offer you a slight return for all the trouble you’ve gone through to-day. Will you give us the pleasure of dining with us to-night—at half-past seven?” “It’s awfully kind of you, sir—but I haven’t any dress clothes with me.” “That doesn’t matter in the least. You will? That’s right, then. Good-bye for the present.” And the Canon chuckled as he went his way home. And his wife agreed he had done the right thing. When the Canon took the young artist into the drawing-room, just before dinner that night, Winnie Cotterill looked up with a start—and Grayson’s eyes sparkled. “Winnie!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t expect to meet _you_ here. This is a pleasant surprise.” “Miss Cotterill has been anxious to know about you,” said Mrs. Fittleworth. “She heard you were in danger of arrest.” “So I brought you round to show her that you’re really free,” said the Canon, rubbing his hands. “I’m most awfully glad to see—you’ve escaped from the police,” said Winnie. “I _knew_ you couldn’t have done the murder.” “Come along,” said the Canon. “Mr. Grayson, will you take my wife in to dinner, please?” and he offered his own arm to Winnie Cotterill. “You’re a perfect dear, Canon Fittleworth,” said the girl as they crossed the hall. “How clever you must have been to get him off.” “Oh, _I_ didn’t get him off, as you call it, Miss Cotterill. I helped to explain something, that’s all. Now you won’t worry any more.” “Of course not.” “I don’t think you need!” said the Canon dryly, a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. CHAPTER XII Fresh Evidence The three police officials, after the departure of the Canon and Grayson, looked thoughtfully at each other for a few moments. The Chief Constable said: “Well—there’s an end of young Grayson, as far as we are concerned.” Colson was heard to mutter something beneath his breath that sounded like “blighted parson.” Then the Chief Constable went on: “I’ve asked Canon Fittleworth, Colson, to try to remember anyone who had any of his cigars.”