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Updated: June 2, 2025
We stepped in, bagged 'em, and gave 'em back to the Duke of Burghley. All this means he'll have to make some desperate try for cash soon." "In fact it's check," commented Sir Hilary, who was something of a chess-player. "Now you're manœuvring for checkmate." "Precisely," said Foyle. "I've been trying, too, to get hold of something about Goldenburg.
"Previously, the time of the murder had been fixed by Professor Harding as between ten and twelve. It was our business to find out who had been with Harry Goldenburg at that time. Among those persons was the guilty one." "I can't see how that helped you at all," said Grell, his brows bent. "In this way, and as a negative test. The alibi is a commonplace of the criminal courts.
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.
We've identified the linen found in the bag on the barge as having been bought for Grell, but there is no name or initials on the bag itself. I have not yet heard from Wrington. He may have something further to report. About Goldenburg. I got Pinkerton's to look into his career in America.
"Meanwhile, Pinkerton's had been hard at work on the other side of the Atlantic, and many episodes of your private life were minutely examined. Their detectives it was, too, who had discovered that Goldenburg and Petrovska had in some way been associated with you. What they found out pointed to blackmail. Here appeared an adequate motive for you to murder Goldenburg."
We know who Harry Goldenburg was, and that there was a strong motive for your wishing him out of the way." He leaned over a little table and his face was close to Grell's. "You can only delay, you cannot prevent justice by keeping your mouth shut." The firm lines of Grell's mouth grew obstinate. "I shall stick to my story," he said.
The pick-pocket dropped his voice. "It's about Harry Goldenburg," he said. "I saw him to-day." Foyle beat a tattoo on his desk with his fingers. "That so?" he said listlessly. "Out on the Portsmouth Road, I suppose?" Dutch Fred sat up with a start. "Yes," he agreed, "just outside Kingston. How did you know?" "Just a guess," laughed the superintendent. "Well, what about it? Did you speak to him?"
When I was again capable of thought I saw Goldenburg lying on the couch, motionless, and I knew what I had done. "I struggled to get a grip on myself. At any moment Grell might return. I could not be sure of what he might do, and my whole idea was to save myself at any cost. Goldenburg had fallen back on the couch. I had taken two steps to the door when there was a sound outside.
Who is this Harry Goldenburg, anyway? Beyond the fact that he's my double I know nothing of him. That's certainly a coincidence, but why on earth I should conceal anything I know is beyond me." "You're talking nonsense, Mr. Grell, and you know it," said Foyle, with a weary little gesture. "There's too much to be explained away by coincidence.
Whether you believe it or not, I assure you, on the word of a dying woman, there was nothing harmful in our intimacy. But letters passed, and his I kept. "He disappeared out of my life after a while, and ultimately I met Goldenburg. We were both living on our wits. I, of course, could not fail to be struck by his astonishing likeness to Mr. Grell, and he told me eventually of their relationship.
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