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Updated: June 10, 2025
The chief inspector returned Foyle's greetings and flung his heavy overcoat on to a chair. His eyes wandered over the prisoner with 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?
My troubles would all be over for sure. "Mr. Cameron's detectives will never find that old Queen Zelaya, but I bet Roberto knows just where she has gone for the winter." With this in mind she tried again and again to get some information out of Tony Foyle's new helper.
"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.
The footman grinned knowingly as he thrilled all over with the knowledge that the Scotland Yard man was making a confidant of him. It was one of Foyle's ways always to attach as many people as he could to his object. He had an extensive acquaintance with waiters and hotel hall-porters. "Yes, sir, I think I can arrange that," said the footman.
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.
I didn't know where you were for a long time; and then then it was all right about Bobby and me, except that Bobby didn't get the money that was his. But now " Foyle's voice was hoarse and low. "He made that scar, and he and you only sixteen Oh, my God!" Suddenly his face reddened, and he choked with shame and anger. "And he's my brother!" was all that he could say.
I didn't know where you were for a long time; and then then it was all right about Bobby and me, except that Bobby didn't get the money that was his. But now " Foyle's voice was hoarse and low. "He made that scar, and he and you only sixteen Oh, my God!" Suddenly his face reddened, and he choked with shame and anger. "And he's my brother!" was all that he could say.
They separated at the door of Foyle's room at headquarters, and an impatient detective-sergeant, whose duty it was to weed out callers, promptly headed Heldon Foyle off. "A man's been waiting to see you, sir," he said. "He refused to give his name, but said he had some important information which he would only give to you personally. He wouldn't hear of seeing any one else." "Yes, of course.
I went for Bobby, to get out of the house, but he caught hold of me. I struck him in the face, and he threw me against the edge of the open door. It made the scar." Foyle's face was white. "Why did you never write and tell me that, Jo? You know that I " He stopped suddenly. "You had gone out of our lives down there.
Again the whistle thrilled out, and Ivan dodging sideways seized one of the legs of Foyle's unwieldy weapon. Menacing faces besieged the detective on all sides. Other hands assisted the Russian to hold the chair. And still no help came. Once the door opened and the wrinkled leathern face of a Chinaman protruded through the slit, took in the scene with quick understanding and disappeared.
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