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I am Pierre Bazarre, a jeweller of Paris, and I have my credentials. I will not submit to this abominable outrage. I know nothing of M. Grell; you shall not arrest me " Heldon Foyle cut him short. He had, without the appearance of force, quietly forced his prisoner outside the restaurant and signalled to a passing taxicab.
Heldon Foyle lifted his shoulders deprecatingly. "It all depends upon an idea I have, sir. I am willing to take all responsibility." "You're still convinced that Grell is guilty?" "I am convinced that he knows all about the murder," answered Foyle ambiguously. "With the help of Pinkerton's, I've traced his history back for the last twenty-five years.
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 in the circumstances I thought you might care to know it."
"Heldon Foyle, Esq., Superintendent, C.I.D., New Scotland Yard, S.W. Sir, It would be futile, after what happened this morning, to dispute any longer the correctness of the conclusions you have come to. I killed Harry Goldenburg, and there is no need for any cant about repentance. He deserved all he got. As for myself, I was fool enough to step into a trap, and there is only one way out.
When Heldon Foyle leapt forward, his whole body had been keyed for a struggle. Whatever resources Grell might have in the house the detective stood alone, so far as he knew. It was possible that Green might have arranged to have the place watched, but, on the other hand, it was unlikely that he would do more than have the roads patrolled and the railway station warned.
Foyle," was ushered by a chief detective-inspector down to the charge-room. Heldon Foyle rested his elbows on the table and remained in deep thought, immobile as a statue. He roused himself with a start as Green returned. "Both charged," said the other laconically. "The other chap refuses to give any account of himself. Refuses even to give a name. Seems to be a Yankee.
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.
In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would not have the paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the stripes looked very well, and the other would show that she was always at home. Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman's house on the night this was done.
Five minutes after Big Ben had struck ten o'clock Heldon Foyle walked into his office to find Sir Ralph Fairfield striding up and down and glancing impatiently at the clock. He made no direct answer to the detective's salutation, but plunged at once into the object of his visit. "Have you seen the Wire this morning?" he asked abruptly. Foyle seated himself at his desk, imperturbable and unmoved.
In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she would not have the paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, the stripes looked very well, and the other would show that she was always at home. Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman's house on the night this was done.
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