The hours dragged wearily with Foyle. The soft breathing of the sleeping man as he rested with his head pillowed on his arms was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night. The superintendent himself dared not sleep. He tried to read, but the magazines failed to interest him. He got up and quietly strolled about the room, examining the bookcases with incurious interest.
His thoughts were busy. Apart from all the other facts, Grell's manner was more than sufficient confirmation of the fact that he was holding something back—something vital to the success of the investigation. The superintendent had a very shrewd idea of his reasons. Grell was a strong man—a man likely to hold to his own line at all costs. He had already proved that no personal considerations would move him.
The superintendent reviewed the situation impartially, his brow furrowed, his lips tight pressed together. He was as certain as though he held the other's signed confession that Robert Grell had it in his power to say who killed Goldenburg. How would he break through his silence? For, come what might, he felt that Grell's place was rather in the witness-box than in the dock. That he preferred the dock was proof of the strength of the motive which actuated him. No amount of persuasion, Foyle knew, would make him open hislips. Disgrace by the fear of a public trial had failed to move him. If he was to be induced to tell his secret it must be by strategy.
Heldon Foyle held his own code of ethics in his profession. In his own mind he held that all things which were legal were permissible in facilitating the ends of justice. Grell could, if he were so minded, give sworn evidence on what Foyle could only suspect. Grimly the superintendent resolved that in a contest of will he would win.
A gentle tap at the door broke his train of reflection, and the white face of the housekeeper peered in. Her eyes rested first on the sleeping man, but his attitude concealed the handcuffs. She turned a half-frightened glance on Foyle.
"Excuse me, sir. I couldn't sleep, so I dressed, and thought I would look in to see if Mr. Grell or you would like anything. Perhaps a cup of coffee——"
"No, thank you," said the superintendent. "By the way, now you're here you'll perhaps tell me whether you expected Mr. Grell's arrival. Didn't you think he was dead?"
She advanced a little into the room, closing the door behind her. "That I did, sir," she answered timorously. "I couldn't make it out when I got his telegram from Liverpool. It gave me a shock."
"From Liverpool?" repeated Foyle slowly. "So he sent a wire from Liverpool, did he? Would you mind if I had a look at it?"
He could see the hesitation in her face and went on: "See here, Mrs. Ellis, there has been a murder, though, fortunately, Mr. Grell was not the victim. I am interested in the matter, and you will be acting in his interests if you show it to me."
"I don't know what to do, I'm sure," quavered the woman irresolutely. "I was supposed to have burnt it. Hadn't I better wake him up, and then he can let you look if he likes?"
A strong hand pushed her back as she would have endeavoured to rouse Grell. "I shouldn't worry him if I were you," said Foyle. "You may take it that I have a right to see that message."
He spoke authoritatively. Her hand fumbled beneath her apron and she produced a buff-coloured envelope. The detective took out and unfolded the wire. He read—
"Mrs. Ellis, Dalehurst Grange, Dalehurst.—There has been mistake of identity. Am safe and well. Shall be down this evening, but time uncertain. Please have room ready. Let no one know you have heard from me. Burn this.—R. G."
"Mrs. Ellis, Dalehurst Grange, Dalehurst.—There has been mistake of identity. Am safe and well. Shall be down this evening, but time uncertain. Please have room ready. Let no one know you have heard from me. Burn this.—R. G."
The detective refolded the telegram and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. His mind dwelt more on the significance of its dispatch from Liverpool than on the message itself. The Princess had been at Liverpool. It was a plausible presumption that she had sent the wire and that she therefore must have been in touch with Grell.
"Yes, I guess you must have been a bit startled when you got that," he said. "Did Mr. Grell give any explanation when he came?"
"Yes, in a way. He got here an hour or two afterit came and must have let himself in with his own key. He walked in on me while I was doing some sewing in my own sitting-room. He said that the police had asked him to keep out of the way, because if it was known that he was alive it might hamper them. He told me not even to let the maids know that he was here, and he came straight up to this room and locked himself in. I had made a bed ready, but he has slept on the couch over there." She nodded towards a big settee under the window. "He said the bedroom might do for a lady friend he was expecting who might arrive at any moment. He told me, too, that it might be necessary to leave suddenly."
The old lady had, it was evident, made a good guess at the identity of her questioner or she would not have answered so freely, in spite of the detective's authoritative manner. Foyle put one or two further questions to her and then dismissed her with a quiet word of thanks. He began to see that he had struck harder than he knew when he had descended on the house in the guise of a burglar. Dalehurst Grange was, of course, a rendezvous, and the Princess Petrovska was on her way to join Grell. The superintendent rubbed his hands together as he thought of the surprise in store for her.
Dawn was breaking over the woods when Robert Grell woke with a shiver. He stood up and stretched himself. "Good morning, Mr. Foyle," he said genially. "I'm afraid I dropped off, but I've had rather a wearying time lately. Now, what's the programme? I suppose a bath is out of the question, or"—with a glanceat his fettered hands—"even a wash may be dangerous. Faith, you don't believe in running risks!"
Foyle smiled in response to the banter. "Only a fool runs risks when there's nothing to be gained. But I'm prepared to run one if you like to fall in with a plan I've thought out. You're not under arrest yet. You needn't be if you care to undertake to give evidence when the inquest is resumed. For you are at present the only person who can clear up the whole thing. Mind you, it would depend on what came out at the inquest whether we should then arrest you. I can give no guarantee about it. But if you accept, all that will be necessary is to quarter a couple of my men with you for the time being."
Grell walked to the window and stared out upon the wooded country. Presently he wheeled upon the superintendent with a short laugh. "My dear man," he cried, "you will harp on that one point. I appreciate your offer of comparative liberty, but if I accepted I should do so under false pretences, because my evidence will be that I know nothing."
"You can't stop my knowing the truth," answered Foyle equably. "Sooner or later I shall be able to prove it. And if you persist it will make things much more unpleasant for you."
The other said nothing for a while. A struggle was taking place in his mind that was indicated with a nervous twitching of the fingers. His shoulders were bent and his head bowed. Foyle waited patiently. Outside a bird started a "jig-jig-jig—br-brr" that set the teeth on edge. The trees, stirred by a newly sprung up breeze, rustled uneasily.
"No, it's no good," said Grell at last. "I know nothing."
The detective rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Will you tell me if you had any visitors on the evening of the murder?" he inquired, blandly ignoring the other's refusal. He noticed a quick flash of surprise pass over Grell's countenance and drew his own conclusions. Swiftly a new thought came to him. "Did Goldenburg come to you alone?"
The prisoner remained silent, and Foyle knew that he was considering the advisability of answering. "I don't see why you shouldn't know that, if you want to. He came with a friend of mine. She left shortly afterwards."
"She?" Foyle seized on the word. "It was a woman, then?"
Grell bit his lip. He had said more than he meant to. The superintendent frowned thoughtfully, and his active brain was beginning to see things more clearly. It was a full five minutes before he spoke again as one making an assertion rather than asking a question.
"That would be Lola, of course." His blue eyes met Grell's frown with an ingenuous stare. "This is beginning to get clearer, Mr. Grell. Goldenburg was blackmailing you, eh? Maybe he had letters which you wouldn't have liked Lady Eileen to see—what?"
An ejaculation came from Grell. The detective directed his gaze to a picture opposite him, and continued, as though thinking aloud—
"Now I come to think of it, was Goldenburg a relative of yours? The likeness is amazing. Well, suppose, for the sake of argument, he was. And Lola—wheredoes Lola stand? Was it to her, by any chance, that the letters were directed? Was she merely a friend, or did she stand in closer relationship to either of you?"
Grell yawned ostentatiously, but although Foyle had been apparently looking away from him he had followed the effect on the other's face of every one of the seemingly casual questions he had put.
"I am afraid I am boring you. It's a bad habit, thinking aloud."
"It does seem futile," agreed Grell. "You surely have little need to exercise yourself about these things."
"Ah, you think so? I am beginning to think that something more is necessary. It may be—of course, this is only for the sake of illustration—that the dagger was handled by some one after the murder had occurred. However, let the subject drop. Perhaps your housekeeper will get us some breakfast while one of the girls runs into Dalehurst."
While waiting for a reply, he rang the bell and gave some directions, with a note to the housekeeper. The breakfast that she ultimately served up was a credit to her skill as a cook. Both men ate with an appetite that the unusual nature of the situation did not destroy, though Grell found the handcuffs troublesome.
The superintendent laid down his knife with a sigh of content.
The sound of a motor-car horn was borne faintly in upon them. In a few minutes the housekeeper ushered Green and Malley into the room. The chief inspector returned Foyle's greetings and flung his heavy overcoat on to a chair. His eyes wandered over the prisonerwith a little pardonable curiosity. Grell bore the inspection with a smile.
"I congratulate you, sir," said Green. "We'll have the thing fairly straightened out in a day or two now."
"I hope so," said Foyle. "Mr. Malley, will you stay with this gentleman for five minutes? I want to speak to you in another room, Green."
He led the way to the little sitting-room, through the window of which he had effected an entrance. A look of comprehension spread over Green's face as he noticed the missing diamond pane. "Malley told me he passed you in the village yesterday. You got our man quicker than I should have thought possible in the circumstances. How did he take it?"
The superintendent gave a brief recapitulation of the steps he had taken since he left London. Green rubbed his grizzled head and followed the recital with keen appreciation. It did not occur to him to feel hurt that Foyle had acted independently.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I've got a search-warrant in my pocket, and we were coming over this house to-day. I didn't anticipate much profit, because he could have easily slipped away into the woods. I got the county constabulary to put a cordon of patrols round about, and hoped to drive him into their hands. But it was a slim chance. However, we've got him now."
"Yes, we've got him now," agreed Foyle. "There only remains the Petrovska woman, and we'll have her to-day. Listen."
He told of what he had learned from the housekeeper, and they discussed the probabilities of the woman reaching Dalehurst Grange. If she managed to escape Blake and the other detectives who were hot-foot on her trail there was little doubt but that she would walk blindly into a trap. That she had not already reached the Grange and departed Foyle was satisfied, although she had had ample time to travel from Liverpool. As Green phrased it, "she might almost have walked it." But the exigencies of the pursuit might have brought about delay if she attempted to confuse her track. If Foyle had been able to get in touch with Blake he would have called him off in order to let her proceed unfettered. That could not be done.
"She'll not dream anything's wrong here if we're careful," said Green. "Will you wait for her, or shall I?"
"This is up to you, Green. I'll leave you. You might have had Malley, but I can't drive the car myself, and I want to get back to town. Do you think you'll be able to manage alone?"
"I think so," said the chief inspector confidently.
"I'll get the local superintendent to send up a couple of plain-clothes men as we pass. You'll bring her straight back to town."
"Ay!"
In a quarter of an hour all preparations were finished. Malley was in the driving-seat of the car. Foyle and Grell sat in the tonneau, and it was no coincidence that the right hand of the prisoner and the left hand of the detective were hidden beneath the rug which covered their knees. For Foyle had handcuffed his man to himself. It was merely a matter of travelling precaution. The superintendent did not believe that Grell wouldattempt to escape, but there was no excuse for giving him any temptation. Anyway, it did no harm.
"You'll charge him with the murder directly you reach town, I suppose?" whispered Green, standing by the step of the car.
"Murder?" repeated Foyle. "Grell did not commit the murder. I shall detain him a day before making any charge against him at all. Drive on, Malley. See you later, Green."
The car whizzed away. Chief Inspector Green stood bare-headed in front of the house, scratching his head, and with a look of bewilderment on his face.
It is permissible in certain circumstances for the police to detain a suspect, without making any charge, for a period of not more than twenty-four hours. Heldon Foyle had taken advantage of this to hold Grell while he tried to draw further together the tangled threads of the investigation.
He had changed out of his tweeds and, once more the spick-and-span man about town, he sat down in his office with an order that he was to be informed the moment that Sir Hilary Thornton returned. Meanwhile, he occupied himself with a work of composition. It was necessary to break gently to the public the fact that Robert Grell was not dead. But it had to be done in the right way. He could not altogether see what evidence might have to be offered at the inquest, but he was sure the newspapers would label it "sensational." He wanted to prepare, at any rate, for the revelation of the dead man's identity. That there was no possibility of avoiding, but it could be rendered less startling if it did not come suddenly. And beyond the public interest in the case Foyle had another reason for the publication of his effort. He worked steadily and made three drafts before he had completed his task. Two of them he tore up, and the third he read over carefully, making one or two alterations.
"When the inquest in reference to the Grosvenor Gardens murder is resumed it is understood that evidence of a remarkable nature will be brought forward by the police. Inquiries made by the C.I.D. have placed it beyond all doubt that the crime was not a planned one, and evidence is still being collected against a suspected person."A man for whom a rigorous search has been made by the police has been found in a Sussex village by Scotland Yard officers, acting in conjunction with the county constabulary. He was taken to Malchester Row police station, where he has been detained. It is understood that he refuses to give any account of the circumstances in which he took to flight."On inquiry at Scotland Yard yesterday, a representative of this journal was informed that the officers engaged on the case expect to be in a position to clear up the mystery in the course of the next few days."
"When the inquest in reference to the Grosvenor Gardens murder is resumed it is understood that evidence of a remarkable nature will be brought forward by the police. Inquiries made by the C.I.D. have placed it beyond all doubt that the crime was not a planned one, and evidence is still being collected against a suspected person.
"A man for whom a rigorous search has been made by the police has been found in a Sussex village by Scotland Yard officers, acting in conjunction with the county constabulary. He was taken to Malchester Row police station, where he has been detained. It is understood that he refuses to give any account of the circumstances in which he took to flight.
"On inquiry at Scotland Yard yesterday, a representative of this journal was informed that the officers engaged on the case expect to be in a position to clear up the mystery in the course of the next few days."
"That ought to do," he muttered as he blew down a speaking-tube. To the detective-inspector who came in response to his summons he handed the paper. "Have fifty copies of that made, and bring me one. Put some one to 'phone through to all the journalists on the list, asking 'em to call here at half-past six to-night. They're each to have a copy of that."
There was guile in Foyle's fixing of the time. He knew that the paragraph would be a bombshell in Fleet Street, and did not want it to explode prematurely. At half-past six all the evening papers would haveceased publication for the day. At half-past six, too, he would take good care to be far away from the hordes of Press men, hungry for details, who would strive to find more information from the hints given. At that time they were likely to find any person wiser than themselves, and he had seen to it that there should be no indiscretion at Malchester Row.
"Sir Hilary just come in, sir," said some one, opening the door just wide enough to permit a head to be thrust within; but before Foyle could move the Assistant Commissioner himself walked in.
"One moment, Sir Hilary," said the superintendent, and dashed out, to return again almost immediately. "I just wanted to make certain that we shouldn't be disturbed. There's a lot to tell you. Things have been happening."
"So I gather," said the other, settling himself in the arm-chair. "You've got Grell, I hear. What's the next move? Do his finger-prints agree?"
"They do not. He is not the murderer, but he won't say who is. The next move is, that I intend that to go in all the morning papers."
He placed in Thornton's hand a copy of the typewritten paragraph, and the Assistant Commissioner read it slowly through. "I don't quite follow," he said as he handed it back. "It hints that Grell will be charged with the murder."
"Exactly. It is intended to convey that impression. To tell you the truth, I have a piece of evidence of which I have not spoken to you before. It indicates a person possibly guilty whom we must not neglect.If she is guilty—which I half doubt—that paragraph may help us to get at the missing evidence."
His voice sank to a whisper and he leaned forward with arms outspread over his desk. As he spoke, Thornton's voice changed. He leapt to his feet and brought his fist down vehemently on the desk.
"I don't believe it, man!" he cried. "I don't believe it! It's incredible. You've made a mistake. It can't be. Why, you've believed it was Grell yourself all along. If you've made a mistake, then why not now?"
Foyle's chin became a trifle aggressive. Thornton's astonishment was natural, but the superintendent did not like the appearance of lack of confidence. His blue eyes were alight. "You can draw your own inference from the facts, Sir Hilary," he said coldly. "I am clear in my mind. I have done nothing, because I want to make the evidence as to motive indisputable. Should I find I am wrong I shall, of course, write out my resignation."
Thornton was not usually an impulsive man. He had recovered himself immediately upon his outburst and was once more calm and self-possessed.
"Don't be offended, Foyle," he said, more mildly. "I beg your pardon. It was just a bit startling at first. We've been associated too long for misunderstanding. I'll back you up, and there's not going to be any talk of resignations."
"Thank you, Sir Hilary," said the superintendent, entirely mollified. Going to the big safe he unlocked it and took something from the shelf which he handed to the Assistant Commissioner. The two bent over it.
It was nearly two hours before the two concludedtheir task. Sir Hilary, his hands clasped behind his back, walked in deep thought back to his own room. Heldon Foyle put on his hat and coat and ordered a taxi.
"Brixton Prison," he said to the driver.
There are many people who pass Brixton Prison everyday who have no conception of its whereabouts. The main entrance is tucked away a hundred yards or so down an unobtrusive turning off Brixton Hill. Within a little gate-house inside the barred gates a principal warder sits on duty.
Although Foyle was tolerably well known to the prison officials, the usual formalities had to be gone through, and he was kept outside till a note he had pencilled was sent up and replied to by the governor. Then, conducted by a warder, he was taken over the flagged courtyard and through long corridors to the remand side of the prison.
Another warder opened one of the heavy cell doors, and a man seated on a low bed looked up with a frown of recognition. The superintendent remained standing by the doorway. "Sorry to trouble you, Abramovitch," he said briskly. "I just wanted to have a little talk with you."
Ivan rose and deliberately turned his back. "You must go to my solicitor if you have any questions to ask," he said sullenly.
Heldon Foyle seated himself at the end of the bed and nursed his stick. "That wouldn't be of much use, would it?" he asked smilingly. "What I want to speak to you about has nothing to do with the present charge against you. Mr. Grell is in our hands now, and inthe circumstances I thought you might care to know it."
The valet wheeled about and thrust his face close to the immobile face of the detective.
"You've arrested Mr. Grell?" he cried. "Are you lying?"
"I am not lying. He is in custody and may be charged unless you like to clear him."
Ivan took a couple of short steps. His lips were firmly pressed together. The detective watched him narrowly as he came to an abrupt halt.
"You think I can clear him?" he said slowly. "You are wrong."
"But you know he never committed the murder?" The words came sharp as a pistol shot. Ivan never answered, and Foyle went on: "You have done all you could to help him escape us. Now we have got him you can only help him by telling the truth. There was some strong motive to induce you to take all the risks you have done. What is at the back of it?"
Ivan studied his questioner suspiciously. Foyle made haste to dispel what was at the back of his mind. "You had reason for refusing to speak before," he insisted. "I'm not blaming you. Consider the thing fairly as it stands now and you'll see that you best serve your master by perfect frankness. I'm not trying to trap you. You may trust me."
The scowl on the face of the valet faded and his sloping shoulders squared a little.
"You are right. Secrecy can no longer do good," he said. "I will tell you what I know."
He sat down by Foyle's side and went on: "I wasalways what you English call a bad egg. I broke with my family many years ago—it doesn't matter who they were—and left Russia to become an adventurer at large. In the years that followed I was everything everywhere—seaman, barber, waiter, soldier, and gambling-house cheat. I wasn't particular how I picked up a living nor where it led me. All that won't interest you. I was operator in a gambling-joint at San Francisco when I first met Goldenburg, though I knew him by reputation. He came to our place now and again, and we were on speaking terms. After that Grell came and I mistook him for the other man. That was how we first became acquainted."
"That would be almost five years ago?" interposed Foyle quietly.
"Just about that. They never came together, by the way, and Grell always called himself Mr. Johnson. His own name would have been too well known. Well, one night, or rather one morning, he had been winning pretty heavily. He must have had close upon four or five thousand dollars in notes on him. At the time I didn't attach any significance to the fact that two or three of the worst toughs at the table went out shortly after him. I followed about five minutes later to get a breath of air, and came on the gang in a narrow, deserted street, just as they brought Grell down with a sandbag. It was no business of mine and ordinarily I should have walked away, but that I'd had a little difference with one of the gang earlier in the day, so I sailed in with a gun, broke 'em up, and helped Grell to his hotel. He came round before I left him, and I told himmy name, and he gave me five hundred dollars, telling me to look to him if ever I was in trouble.
"Well, next day I was fired from my job. I could guess that the people whose game I'd spoilt were at the bottom of it, but that didn't worry me much. I had a bit of money and I came back to Europe—London, Paris, Vienna, Rome—everywhere but Russia. I lived sometimes by my wits, sometimes by any odd job I could turn my hand to. My father and mother had both died, and my only living relative was my sister, a girl of eighteen, living in St. Petersburg. From her I heard occasionally."
A spasm crossed his face as though some painful recollection had been brought to his mind, and he passed a handkerchief across his brow, which had suddenly become wet with perspiration.
"It was through her that I again met Grell," he resumed, speaking more slowly. "She was alone and practically unprotected. She wrote to me that a certain high official had been paying her unwelcome attentions, but I suspected nothing till I one day learned that she had been arrested for a political offence—she, who never knew the meaning of the word politics. I knew what that meant.... At the time I was in straits myself, for fortune had not been kind at the cards. This was in Vienna. I was staring out of my window in a kind of daze when I saw a man pass in a motor-car. It was Grell—the man whom I had known as Johnson.
"In desperation I sought him out—it was easy enough to find where he was staying—and told him my story. I asked him to loan me money, because I knewthat I might have to bribe officials. He offered to do more—to accompany me to St. Petersburg and use all his influence on behalf of my sister.
"It was at his suggestion that I travelled as his valet. My appearance had altered since I was last in Russia, but difficulties might have arisen. We travelled night and day, but we were too late. The girl who had never harmed a single person in her white life was dead—killed by the hardships to which she had been subjected. I—I——"
He covered his eyes with his hands for a moment, and Foyle waited patiently. Ivan controlled himself with an effort. "Grell advised me to come away, but I was determined to stay for a while. I had work to do. I told him nothing, but steadily I sought for the man who had killed her as surely as though he had plunged a dagger in her heart. I found him at last——"
"Wait a moment," interjected Foyle quickly. "I want to know nothing of that; that has nothing to do with me." He had guessed what work it was that the hot-blooded Russian had remained to do. No man is bound to incriminate himself.
"It was through Grell that I got away scot-free. No one suspected the valet of so well-known a man. He asked no questions, though I could tell that he knew what—what I knew. He risked much to shield me, although never a word passed between us. Could I do less when it came to my turn? I came back to England with him, and I remained his personal servant. I kept my distance from the other servants."
"In fact, you pretended to have little acquaintance with English?" interrupted Foyle.
Ivan nodded. "That was so. On the nights when I was free, I wandered about London and picked up a few old acquaintances, among them being Charlie Condit. I shan't tell what I knew about him, but it was enough to keep him civil, and later on he did what I told him.
"On the night that the murder occurred, I happened to be in the hall about nine or a little after, when I saw a man and a woman through the shaded glass standing on the steps outside. I opened the door before they could ring. For the moment I thought the man was Mr. Grell, but a second later I recognised Goldenburg. He did not remember me. The woman, too, I knew at once. I had met her occasionally in different cities of Europe. It was the Princess Petrovska. Goldenburg spoke of an appointment and showed me a note from Mr. Grell directing that the bearer should be shown to the study to await his arrival.
"That was enough for me. I showed them up and left them. I did not hear Mr. Grell return, but about ten o'clock he rang for me and met me at the door of his study. He told me that he was expecting a lady, and if she called she was to be brought straight up; and he said the other people were just going. Almost immediately after he told me she came. Wills was going to the door, but I was in front, and I showed her up."
Foyle shifted his position a little. "Who was she?" he asked.
"I couldn't see her face; she wore a heavy veil."
"All right; go on."
"I knocked at the door of the study, but no one replied. She pushed by me and entered, closing thedoor after her. I went away to my own room. Whatever was taking place was no business of mine. I must have dozed off in my chair, for when I was awakened by Mr. Grell shaking me by the shoulder, he was white and quite collected.
"'Ivan,' he said, 'there's been murder. Come with me. Don't speak, and tread softly.'
"I followed him into the study. All the lights were out, and before turning them up he locked the door. As he turned the switch I could see the body lying on the couch, and drew back. 'Who is it?' I asked.
"'Goldenburg,' he replied. And after a pause: 'He was a relative of mine. I have killed him. You must help me to get away, Ivan.'
"He seemed profoundly moved and yet held himself strongly in hand. One thing I noticed. Although he said he had done it, his hands and clothes were spotless. And yet there had been much blood about the room. I said nothing of that, and he quickly began to turn things out of his pockets. Both he and the dead man were in evening dress, and he hastily transferred all his property to the dead man's pockets, taking what Goldenburg possessed. He picked up the sheath of the dagger from the floor. It was one he had bought in South America.
"'It will give us a chance to get well clear if they think that this is my body,' he explained. 'Go and pack a bag, Ivan.'
"When I got back with the bag, he had finished. He put on a hat and overcoat and we went out, walked to Victoria Station, and from there took a taxicab to Charing Cross. From there we walked to an all-night Turkish bath establishment, and that gave us an opportunity to change into some rough tweeds that I'd shoved in the bag. In the morning we went to the East End and fixed up rooms with some people I knew of. We had come away without any money, but Grell somehow managed to get in touch with the Princess Petrovska, with whom, apparently, he had some arrangement. She had, it seems, booked through to Paris from Charing Cross, but instead of getting on the boat at Folkestone had returned by the next train and taken quiet lodgings at Kennington. That was to put you on a false track in case of accidents."
Foyle smiled a little ruefully. "So that was how it was done," he remarked.
"We were determined to get out of the country, but the reward bill with a description of Goldenburg that pictured Grell stopped us trying ordinary methods. It was necessary to raise money, and I, recklessly enough I suppose, went out with the pearls which Mr. Grell had entrusted to me, in the hope of meeting a jeweller, with whom I had a casual acquaintance, at the restaurant, when you fell in with me. The jeweller's letter which you found on me was, by the way, a forgery.
"When you seized me I was taken by surprise. When I was allowed to go, after you had told me that the dead man was not Grell, I felt certain that you would have me followed. Your men were very clever, and I could not shake 'em off at first. I was determined to go to any length to protect Grell, so I went into an outfitter's where there was a public telephone, and put a call to a place where I was sure to find Condit. I fixed up with him to wait for the man who was shadowingme, and I led him down to Whitechapel. It was simple enough for Condit to drop on him from behind, and then the two of us knocked him senseless, got him into a cab, and carried him away to Smike Street—to the place which you raided.
"Mr. Grell knew nothing about that incident till it was over. He was staying in Grave Street at the time, and the idea occurred to me of holding your man as a hostage. We meanwhile contrived to send a note to Sir Ralph Fairfield. In case of accidents, I was to meet him in Grave Street and lead him round about till I was certain he was not followed."
"Then you were the black-bearded man who fired at me!" exclaimed Foyle. "I might have guessed it."
"And so you were the navvy!" said Ivan. "I didn't know that, but I at once made up my mind it was dangerous to meddle with Fairfield if he was watched. I gave him the slip, went back to Mr. Grell, and typed out a note to you. You got it?"
"Yes. I got it. Where did the paper you used come from?"
Ivan's brow contracted into a frown of deep thought. "I forget—no—I got it from Mr. Grell. He tore off a half-sheet from a letter."
Foyle was thinking of the finger-prints he had found on that notepaper. Ivan plunged again into his narrative. "After that the Princess came, and Condit. She had fixed up an arrangement with the people living in the house that they were to declare her their daughter if inquiries were made. I don't know if she slept there after, but she did that night. We worked out a cipher in order to attempt to communicate secretly with eitherSir Ralph Fairfield or Lady Eileen Meredith. As I have said, the lack of money was our trouble, and we had to get some—somehow. Condit went away, and I persuaded Mr. Grell to go with him and spend the night at a gambling-joint in Smike Street. I remained. You see, we guessed you might want to examine the house, but we weren't certain. We were right. As you know, I only got away over the roofs just in time, and the Princess slipped away while you were engaged.
"After that it was a game of hide-and-seek. We decided that it was too dangerous to keep your detective a prisoner, and sent him back in a motor-car we hired. It was easy enough to make a false number to slip over the real one, so that it couldn't be traced.
"It was my idea after that that Mr. Grell should become a watchman on the river until we could get away by embarking before the mast. We tried the advertisement method of communication and failed.
"The Princess undertook to see Lady Eileen—with what result you know. You know all that has happened since. I do not regret what I have done. If the killing of you or any other man would have saved Grell, I would not have hesitated."
"Thanks," said Foyle drily. "You had a good try more than once. Now, are you willing to have your statement taken down by a shorthand writer—so far as it refers to events in London?"
"I'll repeat it when you like," answered Ivan, squaring his shoulders. "Now you say that you want to prove Mr. Grell's innocent I have nothing to hide. For I am certain that he is innocent."
"Tell me one other thing," said the superintendent."What is the association between Petrovska and Grell? Why should she have taken part in this business?"
Ivan spread out his white hands. "That you must find out either from Mr. Grell or her. I don't know."
Foyle drew out his watch. "All right, Ivan. I'll see you again shortly. Meanwhile, I'll send some one along to get your statement. I don't think you'll regret having decided to speak. Good-bye."
Both Sir Hilary Thornton and Chief Inspector Green were waiting for Heldon Foyle when he returned to his office. The superintendent darted a question at the chief inspector as he flung off his overcoat.
"Yes, sir," answered Green. "She's at Malchester Row now. There was no trouble at all. She came up to the Grange at half-past three, in a car, and asked the maid who answered the door for Mrs. Ellis. The girl showed her into a sitting-room, acting on my instructions, and I walked in on her and told her I should detain her. She was angry at first, but in a moment or two she laughed, and asked if Mr. Grell was taken. That was all there was to it. I brought her back straight away by train. She seemed to treat it as a joke, but never a word about the case did she utter."
"And how did you get on, Foyle?" demanded the Assistant Commissioner.
The superintendent plumped into a chair. "I am sending a man up to get a statement from Ivan," he said. "There's much to be said for that Russian if his story is true—and I couldn't see any holes in it."
He related particulars of the interview that had taken place in the cell. Neither Thornton nor Green spoke till he had finished. The Assistant Commissioner smoothed his moustache, Green rubbed his head.
"Then Grell admitted the murder to Ivan?" saidthe latter, turning a puzzled face to Foyle. "You told me he was not the murderer."
"Nor was he," answered the superintendent. "According to Ivan, there was no blood on his clothes or on his hands a few minutes after Goldenburg was killed."
"Well, this beats all," exclaimed Green. "I'm hanged if I understand!"
Foyle lowered his voice to a whisper, and Green's saturnine face became a study as he listened. He gave a little gasp. "It lies between the three of them," said Foyle. "I am inclined to believe that we have been rather wrong in our first impressions of the finger-prints. But it never does to take chances. Suppose you go and take charge at Berkeley Square. There are four men there already. Lady Eileen has certainly had something to do with this, and we don't want to lose sight of her."
Green went off, his lips puckered into a whistle. Thornton gave a shrug. "And now?" he said. "It seems to me rather a deadlock if Mr. Grell and the Princess remain obstinate."
"Yes," agreed Foyle. "It's one of those cases in which it is a pity we're not allowed to adopt the French method of confrontation. Still, there's a shot in the locker yet. Perhaps you might care to come along with me and see Grell now. These disclosures of Ivan's make a difference, and rather bear out a suspicion I've had since I talked with Grell."
The Assistant Commissioner agreed, and in a little they were walking to Malchester Row police station. The office of Bolt, the divisional detective-inspector, was empty, and with an order that they were not to be disturbed, Foyle and his chief entered the room. Under the escort of a uniformed inspector, Grell was brought in. The superintendent closed and locked the door, Grell moving stiffly aside to allow him to do so.
"Do you know Sir Hilary Thornton?" asked Foyle suavely.
Grell bowed. The Assistant Commissioner extended his hand. "How do you do, Mr. Grell? I should have been glad to have met you under happier circumstances, but I assure you that the respect in which I have always held you is not lessened by this unfortunate business."
The prisoner shook hands doubtfully and his eyes flashed a questioning look upon Foyle. The superintendent's face was blandly unconscious of the effect of the Assistant Commissioner's remark, although the words had been rehearsed and revised a dozen times during their walk to the police station. But he had to do with a man as astute and ready as himself.
"That's very good of you, I'm sure," said Grell, and a smile illumined his face as he added: "Though I don't know why this matter should increase your respect."
"Don't you?" said Foyle, laying stress on his words and eyeing the other meaningly. "Suppose it is because since I left you this morning, Ivan Abramovitch has made a full statement to me?"
A little apprehensive shudder swept through Grell's frame. His lips opened to say something, but he checked himself suddenly. "What's that to do with me?" he demanded quietly.
"A great deal, if it's true, as I know it to be. Now, Mr. Grell, you are not obliged to answer any questionsunless you like—you know that—but I warn you that your failing to do so cannot prevent us arresting the guilty person. We know you are innocent—though whether you may be charged as an accessory after the fact or not is another question. What do you say?"
The prisoner had leaned his arm on the table. His fists were clenched until the finger-nails bit into the flesh.
"If you've made up your minds, so much the better for me," he said with a half laugh. "Who have you fixed your suspicions on?"
It was clear that he had doggedly set himself to avoid affording them any help. His chin was as fixed as that of Foyle himself. The strong wills of the two men had crossed. The superintendent felt all his fighting qualities rise. He was determined to break down the other's wall of imperturbability. He accepted Grell's silence as a challenge.
Thornton's gentle, cultured voice broke in. "We are only anxious to spare you as much as possible. You are a prominent man, and though you must be brought in, it will serve no purpose to increase what will create enough scandal."
"I fear you are wasting your time, gentlemen," said Grell, stretching himself wearily. "Won't it cut this short if I admit that I killed Goldenburg? I will sign a confession if it will please you."
The eyes of Thornton and Foyle met for a second. There was a meaning look in the superintendent's, as who should say, "I told you so." Then he took from his breast-pocket a piece of paper, which he unfolded as he smiled amiably at Grell.
"That is childlike. Your finger-prints prove it is false. Perhaps you will tell us what underlies this note that you sent to Lady Eileen Meredith the day you left London."
He read:
"We are both in imminent danger unless I can procure sufficient money to help me evade the search that is being made for me. If I am arrested, I fear ultimately exposure must come. If you have no other way of obtaining money, will you try to get an open cheque from your father? You could cash it yourself for notes and gold and bring it to me. For God's sake do what you can. I am desperate."
"We are both in imminent danger unless I can procure sufficient money to help me evade the search that is being made for me. If I am arrested, I fear ultimately exposure must come. If you have no other way of obtaining money, will you try to get an open cheque from your father? You could cash it yourself for notes and gold and bring it to me. For God's sake do what you can. I am desperate."
He read it swiftly, as though certain of the accuracy of the words. As a matter of fact, he was not. He had pieced together the broken words and phrases that he had taken from the burning paper in Eileen Meredith's room as well as he could. In filling up some of the gaps he might have been preposterously wrong.
"Where did you get that?" demanded Grell. "Eileen told me she had burnt it."
His words were an admission that the note was practically correct. Foyle placed it carefully back in his pocket, while Grell stared at the opal shade of the electric light.
"She did burn it," he answered. "I chanced to be able to retrieve the message. I feel certain that, however dire your necessity, you would not have written to her in that strain unless you had some strong reason.Who did you mean when you said 'both in imminent danger'?"
"Ivan and myself, of course."
"Ivan was under arrest at that time. Nothing could avert the danger from him. And you say that you feared exposure if you were arrested. That, of course, meant that you would be unable to keep shielding the person you are shielding?"
A dangerous fury blazed in Grell's eyes—the fury of some splendid animal trapped and tormented yet unable to escape from its tormentors. He glared savagely at the superintendent.
"I am shielding no one," he declared.
"You can, of course, make any answer you like. Suppose we go on to another point which perhaps you will have no objection to clearing up now. We have Harry Goldenburg's record. We know he had been blackmailing you, and we know that he was your brother. No; sit still. He was your brother, was he not?"
"My half-brother. How did you know that? How did you know he was blackmailing me?" Grell spoke tensely.
"Oh, simply enough. The likeness was one thing, and a hint I got from Ivan that he was a relative confirmed me in an opinion I had already formed by another fact—which I observed when I saw you at Dalehurst—that you had a similar walk. You will remember, I asked you if he was a relative, but you would not answer. The supposition that you were being blackmailed was borne out by inquiries made for us by Pinkerton's, which proved that Goldenburg had visited you several times and that he was always in funds afterhe left you, however low he might be before. I think it is a fair inference."
"Quite fair." Grell's face was a little drawn, but he spoke quietly. "You are quite correct, Mr. Foyle. As you know so much, there can be little harm in enlightening you on that part of the story. I take it that you treat it as confidential."
"Unless it becomes necessary to use it for official purposes, as evidence or otherwise," said Thornton before the superintendent could reply. "We cannot give an absolute pledge."
"Very well; I am content with that." The prisoner nursed his chin in his cupped hands and stared unseeingly at the distempered walls. "It began years ago, on a little farm in New Hampshire. That was my father's place. He died when I was six or seven, and my mother married again. The man was the father of Harry Goldenburg. I was eight years old when Harry was born. Four years later, my mother died, and when I was sixteen I ran away from home. You will know something of my career since then: the newspapers have repeated it often enough—office-boy, journalist, traveller, stockbroker, politician. I was still young when I became a fairly well-known man. In the meantime I had not seen nor heard anything of my brother except that he had left the village when my stepfather died.
"In Vienna some years ago I became intimate with Lola Rachael—the woman you know as the Princess Petrovska. She was a dancer then and had hosts of admirers among the young men about town. As a matter of plain fact, I believe she was employed by the Russian Government for its own purposes. But of that I was never certain. Anyway she entangled me. And I believe she really had an affection for me. It was during that time that I was fool enough to write her letters—letters which she kept.
"Eventually I went back to the United States. I became a state senator and became involved in politics.One day I was in my hotel in Washington when I received a visit from my brother Harry Goldenburg. I was in a way glad to see him, although he was practically a stranger. He impressed me favourably—perhaps the fact that we were so alike physically had as much to do with it as his suave ways and gentle manners. Even at the time I believe he was suspected by the police of being an astute swindler. Of that, of course, I was ignorant. He told me a story of a mail order business he had established in Chicago which was doing great things, but which was hampered for lack of capital. Well, to cut the story short, I lent him five thousand dollars. A month later, he wrote to me for two thousand, and got it. A few weeks after that I read of a great fraud engineered in Central America and there was a three-column portrait in the paper of the man at the bottom of it—my brother. That opened my eyes. When next he came to me—he was audacious enough to do it within the year—I charged him with living by fraud. He laughed in my face and admitted it. When I threatened to call in the police, he merely shrugged his shoulders and asked what I thought of a flaming headline in the press:
'BROTHER OF SENATOR GRELL HELD FOR BIG FRAUDS.'
"I could see it all just as he painted it. My political career was very dear to me just then. Such a thing would have killed it. I knew if I exposed him he was capable of carrying out his threat. However, I told him to get out of the place before I threw him out of the window. He could see I was losing my temper and took a little pistol from his pocket—a Derringer.
"'I have a number of letters which you sent to a lady in Vienna,' he said. 'I know many newspapers which would offer me a good price for 'em.'
"I think it was perhaps fortunate for me that he held the pistol—or I might have done something I should afterwards have regretted. He flung a letter face upwards on the table. It was one of those I had written to Lola Rachael. If he had the rest of the correspondence—and he swore that he had—it would have been deadly in the hands of an unscrupulous political opponent. As you know, electioneering in the States is rather different from what it is here. I was fool enough to pay him money on his promise to suppress them. He would not sell them outright.
"That was the beginning. After that I never had a secure moment unless I was away on an exploring expedition. The moment I reappeared in civilisation my brother would seek me out. He was cunning enough to press me only to the verge of endurance. He could judge exactly how much I would stand. At last, however, I resolved not to yield another penny to his extortions. I cut loose from all my affairs in the United States and came to England. I thought I could fight him when I had reduced the stakes. I found after all that I had increased them, for I met Eileen—Lady Eileen Meredith."
He paused. Neither of his two hearers said anything. An injudicious remark might break the thread of his thoughts.
"When I became engaged to her," Grell resumed, "I knew that it would not be long before Goldenburg would see his chance. I set to work to find Lola, and discoveredher as the Princess Petrovska. Then for the first time I learned that she had married Goldenburg—but she admitted that any affection she held for him had long since faded. They had parted a few weeks after the marriage—which they both seemed to regard somewhat cynically—and she had resumed her first husband's name. She admitted that she had helped him to blackmail me, but apparently she herself had handled little enough of the loot. She was vicious enough about it. I gave her a cheque and induced her to come to London. I had it in mind to stop this blackmail before I was married.
"As I expected, Goldenburg was not long in scenting profit. He descended on me ravenously. I told him that I would pay him ten thousand pounds if he would put all the letters he possessed in my hands but that I would not otherwise buy his silence. He could see that I was in earnest, and asked for time to consider. I gave him till the night before my wedding. I said nothing of the Princess Petrovska. I knew that they would meet. One cannot be too scrupulous in dealing with a scoundrel, and she had her instructions—to steal the letters from him if necessary, while pretending that she was only anxious to join forces with him in looting me.
"But all her efforts went for nothing. He recognised the value of her co-operation in the circumstances, but would give her no hint of the place where he had concealed the letters. Time drew on. You will know enough of her to recognise Lola as a clever, resolute woman. She made up her mind to accompany Goldenburg to his appointment with me as a last resort. It was to keep that appointment that I left Ralph Fairfield at the club the night before the wedding—the night of the murder."
He breathed heavily. Thornton picked up a piece of paper and crumbled it nervously between his lean hands. Foyle, eager and alert, was leaning forward, anxious not to miss a word. A great deal of what had been obscure was being cleared up. But so far nothing that Grell had said but could be interpreted as a motive—and a singularly strong one—which might in other circumstances weave a hangman's rope about his own neck.
"You did not want any one to know that you were absent from the club," remarked Foyle. "Why?"
"That was merely a matter of precaution. I wanted my interview with Goldenburg to be secret. I had given Goldenburg a note which would ensure his being shown to my study and I was purposely a bit late for the appointment. I wanted to give the Princess Petrovska all the opportunities possible. But when I reached there it was clear to me that she had failed. He had not brought the letters with him. I got rid of the woman, and Goldenburg and I quarreled. Then it was that I killed him."
"And what of the other woman?" asked the superintendent.
"What other woman?"
"The veiled woman who was shown up to you by Ivan."
"There was no other woman," said Grell, his lips tightening. "I have told you as much as I intend to."
"Just as you like. I believe you have told the truth up to a point, Mr. Grell. It is fair to assume that a blackmailer of Goldenburg's calibre would have takenprecautions lest you should fail to comply with his demands. Doesn't it appear a fair assumption that he might have taken steps to arrange the presence of the person most interested, next to yourself? He probably never mentioned that he had done so until it was too late for you to stop her. I mean Lady Eileen Meredith."
The table crashed to the floor as Grell, the last remnants of his self-restraint gone, leapt to his feet. Sir Hilary Thornton sprang between the two men. Foyle also had risen, and though his face was impassive the blue eyes were sparkling and his fists were clenched.
"You liar!" raved Grell. "How dare you bring her name into it!"
"This excitement will not advance matters," said Foyle placidly. "Sit down for a little, Mr. Grell. You cannot prevent the inevitable."
The tense muscles of the prisoner relaxed and a shivering fit shook him from head to foot. He could see the blow that he had striven to avert falling while he stood impotent. He had taken every risk, made every sacrifice man could make, to turn it aside. Now he had been told that he had failed. It was not easy to admit defeat. His debonair courage had gone.
Sir Hilary Thornton laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "My dear Mr. Grell," he said, "I don't want to use the ordinary cant about duty and all the rest of it. We may sympathise with you—personally, I admire the attitude you have taken, though perhaps I shouldn't say it—but our own feelings do not matter the toss of a button. Nothing you can do or say will swerve us from what we judge to be the interests of justice."
"Let me alone for a little while," answered Grell dully; "I want to think."
They sent him back to the detention-room where, with a constable seated opposite to him, he was to spend the night. Foyle rested one arm on the mantelpiece and kicked the fire viciously into a blaze.
"Ours is an ungrateful business, Sir Hilary," he grumbled, "but I've never come across a man who put so many difficulties in the way of being saved from the gallows as Mr. Robert Grell."
Thornton took a long breath that was almost a sigh. "Poor chap," he said reflectively. "Poor chap!" And then, after an interval, "Poor girl! Couldn't you have dropped a hint, Foyle?"
The introduction of sentiment into business was a folly that Heldon Foyle seldom permitted himself. With a shrug he pulled himself together. He shook his head. "We've got to be more certain yet. I daren't tell him too much—for my idea may prove to be wrong. You must remember that it was undoubtedly Eileen Meredith's finger-prints on the dagger. At present it is only surmise of mine how they got there. Finding the prints on her blotting-pad, which I showed you, corresponded with those on the dagger you gave me, was one of the biggest surprises of my life. But we may clear it up now."
"H'm," said Thornton. "Well, we shall have to look sharp."
A thought struck Foyle. He stood rigid as a statue for a moment, and then slapped his knee with sudden energy, "By God! I believe I've got it!" he exclaimed, and jumped for the telephone.
"Put me through to the Yard.... Hello! I want Mr. Grant.... That you, Grant?... About the Grosvenor Gardens case. Tell me. Might the finger-prints on the dagger have been caused by some one withdrawing it and replacing it after the murder had been committed? Would the second handling have obliterated first prints?... Blurred them. I see. But if the person who first handled the dagger wore gloves? Thanks. That's what I wanted to know."
He replaced the receiver and turned triumphantly on Thornton. "That bears out my idea, Sir Hilary. Will you excuse me while I see if Bolt's on the premises?"
Without waiting for a reply, he darted from the room. The Assistant Commissioner's brow puckered and he thoughtfully replaced the upset furniture. By the time he had finished Foyle had returned.
"Just caught him," he said. "I've sent him to collect all the men he can find to make some fresh inquiries."
"I'm a little bewildered," confessed Thornton, jingling some money in his trousers pockets and turning blankly upon the superintendent. "Do you think you'll be able to do it—to bring this crime home to the Princess Petrovska?"
"I think I can," replied the superintendent. "I was a blind ass not to see it earlier. Lola's alibi—which is proved to be false, if what Grell and Abramovitch say is true—helped to blind me. I was thrown off, too, by the finger-prints on the blotting-pad, which corresponded to those on the dagger, and also to those on the typewritten warning which Ivan sent me. The only plausible motive for Grell's actions, if he was not guilty himself—and that we are fairly certain of—was his desire to shield someone else. There could be only one person for whom he was willing to make such a sacrifice—Lady Eileen Meredith."
"Yes, I understand that. But the finger-prints on the warning?"
"They puzzled me for a while. But that was made clear when I talked to Ivan. He had typed it on the blank half-sheet of a letter given to him by Grell. That letter—it is only an assumption of mine—was one that had been written to Grell by Lady Eileen. That clears that point."
"Still, I don't see how you have anything against Lola more than you had before."
"There is this. The weak link in the chain of evidence against Lady Eileen Meredith was the lack of motive. That was why I did not have her arrested immediately I found that it was her finger-prints upon the dagger. The strongest point against the Princess is the motive. She was married to Goldenburg, but was not on the best of terms with him. She was bought by Grell to play the part of Delilah to the blackmailer. My theory is this—bear in mind that it is only a theory at the moment. Grell, for some reason, left her alone with Goldenburg in his study. There was a quarrel, and she stabbed him. It must have been all over in a few seconds, and there was no outcry. You will remember that the body was found on a couch in a recess, and you may have noted that curtains could be drawn across to shield it from the rest of the room. Petrovska may have drawn the curtains and slipped away before Grell returned. She is a woman of nerve and would at once set about manufacturing an alibi."
"All this is very ingenious, Foyle," remarked Thornton, "but I don't know that it sounds altogether convincing to me."
"It is pure surmise, Sir Hilary. Its chief merit is that it fits the facts. Of course, Lady Eileen may be the murderess after all. I am only working out an alternative. To carry it on a bit further. When Lady Eileen came, Ivan showed her up to the room. No one answered his knock. She went in and shut the door after her. It is my idea that there was no one in there when she discovered the dead man. She was dumbfounded at first, and probably the body being in the shade did not permit her to see the face clearly. She placed her hand on the hilt of the dagger, intending to withdraw it, but could not bring herself to use the necessary force."
"Why didn't she call out?" demanded Thornton. "It seems to me——"
"There is no accounting for actions arising out of sudden emotions. Lady Eileen Meredith is as extraordinary a woman in her way as the Princess Petrovska in hers. She had found a man murdered in her lover's study—and she may have had a shrewd idea of the reason why she was summoned there. You follow me? Probably as she stood there, hesitating what to do, Grell returned. I think it likely that he stood by the door, took in the situation quietly, and stole away with the impression that she had killed Goldenburg. If she was bending over the dead man, that was what he might naturally think.
"It is likely that he would make up his mind in an instant. To him the fact that she had raised no outcry would be significant of her guilt. She, let us suppose,stole away, having made no attempt to examine the body closely and not daring to summon any one, for fear that Grell should prove to be the murderer. He watched her go, already determined to destroy the scent by taking the blame on his own shoulders.
"By the time she reached her own home reflection had shown her that there was one possible chance that Grell might not be guilty. She rang up the St. Jermyn's Club and asked for him. Fairfield answered, declaring that his friend was in the club, but busy—too busy to talk to the girl he was to marry next day, mark you. It is idle to suppose that she did not appreciate the excuse as a flimsy one—one manufactured perhaps for the purpose of an alibi. She must have gone to bed filled with foreboding.
"All this is hypothesis. I am supposing that she never closely inspected the features of the dead man. The next morning she is informed that Grell was the victim. At once the lie that Fairfield told her assumed a new aspect. She denounced him as the murderer. She dared not say that she was the first to discover the body, for that would have meant revealing that she knew he was being blackmailed.
"Then the Princess Petrovska paid her a visit and told her that Grell was not dead but in hiding. There was nothing for it, in default of any explanation, but to revert to the thought that he was the murderer. She went to extreme lengths to help him—even to forgery. She believes him guilty still; he believes her guilty."
"But Petrovska?" objected Thornton.
"I was coming to that. She is a clever woman. When Grell got in touch with her the following day she mayhave had many reasons for assisting him. She most likely had a shrewd idea of the situation and resolved to profit by it to avert suspicion. While Grell was suspected she would be safe. But it may have occurred to her that if we laid our hands on him and he told us anything, we might get on her track. Suppose that to be so, it is not difficult to see why she should take a prominent part in assisting him. She would still have a certain amount of money, for he paid her to come to England, and she, as we know, would stand at nothing."
"It all sounds very interesting," commented the Assistant Commissioner, "but it looks to me as though it may be a tough proposition to get evidence bearing it out."
Foyle pulled out his watch. "My idea may all tumble to pieces as soon as a test is applied. I can't pretend to be infallible. But we can try. I am going back to Scotland Yard now, sir. It is ten o'clock. I expect to be at it all night. Are you coming back?"
"No, I don't think I can be of any assistance to you. I shall be glad if your theory does come out all right this time. The alternative suspicions are horrible. Good night, Mr. Foyle."