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Updated: June 12, 2025
The first grey daylight had found Sir Ralph Fairfield pacing his sitting-room with uneven strides, his hands clasped behind his back, the stump of a cold cigar between his teeth. His interview with Heldon Foyle had not been calculated to calm him. "I'm a fool a fool," he told himself. "Why should they suspect me? What have I to gain by Grell's death?"
Sir Hilary Thornton was his first caller. Foyle put aside his reports at his chief's opening question. "Yes, we've taken every human precaution to preserve secrecy," he replied. "Every one who knows that it is not Grell's body in the house has been pledged to hold his tongue. I have managed to get the inquest put back for three days, so that there will be no evidence of identification till then.
Deliberately the superintendent took from his breast-pocket a copy of the Daily Wire, folded back at the personal column, and read: "E. £27.14.5. To-morrow. "That," he said, "is addressed to you. It is hardly worth while denying knowledge of it. It was found last night on a man arrested for attempted housebreaking at Mr. Grell's house.
Within the invisible cordon that Foyle had drawn about Grell's house in Grosvenor Gardens, Dutch Fred loitered, his keen, ferret eyes wandering alertly over passers-by. Misgivings had assailed him during a vigil that had lasted several hours. It was all very well to be "in with" the police; but suppose their plans miscarried?
Foyle shifted to the seat opposite, so that he could see her face more easily. "Then you don't deny that you visited Grosvenor Gardens that night, that you were admitted by Ivan Abramovitch, Grell's valet, and taken to his study?" "Of course I do," she retorted laughingly. "If that's all you've got to go upon you may as well let me go now." "Very well. We shall see," he answered.
The lie was prompt, but the superintendent salved his conscience with the thought that it was a necessary one. "I don't know that she can tell us anything of value." An expression of relief flitted over the face of Grell's friend. After all, it was something to have the worst postponed.
But that his breath came a little faster, Fairfield gave no sign of the perturbation that Heldon Foyle's presence caused him. The only question was whether Roberts had divulged anything to the detective during his absence. It was quite impossible to allow Grell's visit to him to be used in the investigation. That was not in the bargain with Foyle.
"I am not arresting you," he said, ignoring the protestations of the other. "I am going to detain you till you give a satisfactory explanation of your reason for leaving Mr. Grell's house on the night of the murder." They were on the edge of the pavement close to the cab. Ivan with a quick oath wheeled inward, and struck savagely at the superintendent's face. Foyle's grip did not relax.
"Thanks." There was a dry bitterness in Grell's tone that did not escape Sir Ralph. "I couldn't have got better advice if I'd gone to Scotland Yard itself." His voice changed to a certain quality of harshness. "Look here, Fairfield.
He met her ingenuous gaze with a little lift of his shoulders. "This is mere foolishness, Lady Eileen. I want to give you the opportunity of stating frankly what occurred from the moment you got Robert Grell's letter this morning. You know this story of the dressmaker would fall to pieces the instant we started making inquiries to verify it." "So I'm on my defence, then?" she said abruptly.
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