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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.
That, of course, meant that you would be unable to keep shielding the person you are shielding?" A dangerous fury blazed in Grell's eyes the fury of some splendid animal trapped and tormented yet unable to escape from its tormentors. He glared savagely at the superintendent. "I am shielding no one," he declared. "You can, of course, make any answer you like.
He was in the position of a man who might solve a puzzle by hard, painstaking experiment and inquiry, but rather hoped that some brilliant flash of inspiration or luck might give him the key that would fit it together at once. They rarely do come. Once Lomont, Grell's secretary, knocked and entered with a question on his lips. Foyle waved him impatiently away. "I will see you later on, Mr. Lomont.
His blue eyes were alight with interest which he made no effort to conceal. He half guessed what was coming, but he found Grell's ways disconcerting and could form no certain judgment. Certainly Grell did not behave like a guilty man that is, a man guilty of murder. But neither did he behave like an innocent man. He was too totally unconcerned with the gravity of his position.
The quickest way to learn what was wrong seemed to me to follow the writer's instructions. I went to Grosvenor Gardens, where I was apparently expected, for a man-servant let me in and took me to Mr. Grell's study. I walked in by myself, not permitting him to announce me. The room was in semi-darkness, but I could make out a figure on a couch at the other end of the room. I walked over to it.
"There are gaps in it, of course," went on Foyle. "As a matter of evidence, though, practically all we want is to identify the finger-prints. They of themselves would determine the investigation. But we can't tell whether they are Grell's or not until we get hold of him.
"I don't think it will much matter what is revealed then." The Assistant Commissioner came to a halt. "You're not a man to be over-confident, Foyle," he explained. "Do you feel pretty certain of having Grell under arrest by that time? I've not interfered with you hitherto, but for heaven's sake be careful. It won't do to make a mistake especially with a man of Grell's standing."
The superintendent reviewed the situation impartially, his brow furrowed, his lips tight pressed together. He was as certain as though he held the other's signed confession that Robert Grell had it in his power to say who killed Goldenburg. How would he break through his silence? For, come what might, he felt that Grell's place was rather in the witness-box than in the dock.
Sooner or later Grell, if he were in the neighbourhood, would learn of the presence of Green and Malley. His attention would be concentrated on what they were doing. Foyle, acting independently, was looking for an opening to attack from the rear. He had a great opinion of Grell's capacity for getting out of awkward situations.
It is clear now that the clothes were his own with Grell's belongings put in the pockets. A Mexican dagger was used. That may be or may not be of importance. Grell has travelled in Mexico. We have eliminated Ivan and Sir Ralph Fairfield as the actual murderers. Nor do the Princess Petrovska's finger-prints agree.
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