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Updated: June 10, 2025
In a few seconds four finger-prints stared out blackly from the white surface. They were at right angles to the type, and just beneath it. Foyle's face relaxed in a pleased smile. "They've given us something that may help us, after all, Green," he cried. "Look here; these two middle ones are the prints on the dagger. Now let's see if we can learn anything from the typing."
Grell's face was not disfigured." He stretched out a hand and clutched the superintendent nervously by the shoulder. "Who is this man, Mr. Foyle? What does it all mean? Where is Mr. Grell?" Foyle's hand had stolen to his chin and he rubbed it vigorously. "I don't know what it means," he confessed irritably. "You know as much as I do now.
"What do you want with me, then?" The man sank slowly and heavily back into the chair. "There is a way have you never thought of it? When you threatened others as you did me, and life seemed such a little thing in others can't you think?" Bewildered, the man looked around helplessly. In the silence which followed Foyle's words his brain was struggling to see a way out.
And big as the harpist was, and little as the old Irishman seemed, there was that in Tony Foyle's eye that made the man pick up his harp in a hurry and make his way from the campus. "Child! go in to bed," said Mrs. Tellingham. "Not a word of this, remember. Thank goodness, you are one girl who can keep a secret. Miss Picolet, I want to see you in my study.
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 was always 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.
On him depends the safety of the gamblers from interference by the representatives of law and order. Jim's suspicions were lulled by Foyle's quite obvious drunkenness. Nevertheless, a drunken man who had apparently been told of the place was a danger so long as he remained clamouring for admittance on the step. Jim tried tact. "There's nothing doing now," he explained.
"Right you are," agreed the detective heartily, and they made their way out into the street. It was with mixed feelings that Fairfield yielded at last to Foyle's arguments and returned to see Eileen Meredith.
A gleam of temper showed in Foyle's blue eyes. "That's all very well, Mr. Penny. It won't do to tell me that you've known of this place for a month and that it is still carried on. Why didn't you let a man try single-handed? With the door once open he could force his way in." "I couldn't send a man on a job like that," protested the other. "Why, you don't know the place.
I must go and see," he said, but was brought up with a jerk as Foyle's hand clutched his wrist. The labourer who had wanted a light was coming across the road at a run and, though a little puzzled, had seized the constable's other hand. "No, you don't," said Foyle peremptorily. "When you masquerade as a policeman again, my friend, make sure you have a letter of the right division on your collar.
Foyle's further words seemed to come from a great distance. "It's not too late to do the decent thing. You'll never repent of all you've done; you'll never do different." The old reckless, irresponsible spirit revived in the man; he had both courage and bravado, he was not hopeless yet of finding an escape from the net. He would not beg, he would struggle.
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