as the statement seemed, there was that
in Foyle's quiet tones that gave it the stamp of truth.

"Of course, I'll give you my word," he said.

Foyle was satisfied that the baronet knew nothing. There was a deeper
policy behind the pledge he had exacted than that of preventing a
leakage of confidence. Fairfield would not go behind his word. In that
the superintendent had judged him accurately. But the pledge would also
tie his hands should Grell or his companions eventually manage to
communicate with him. Even if he decided not to help the police, he
would find it difficult, without going behind his word, to assist the
missing explorer.

From the beginning he traced the trend of the investigation, Fairfield
leaning forward and listening attentively, his lips tight pressed. As
Foyle brought out the points, the baronet now and again jerked his head
in understanding. The detective slurred nothing, not even the accusation
and resolve of the Lady Eileen Meredith. The baronet choked a little.

"You think she really meant to kill me?" He waved his hand impatiently
as Foyle nodded. "Never mind that. Go on. Go on."

Foyle finished his recapitulation. Sir Ralph's eyes were fixed on a
"Vanity Fair" cartoon of the Commissioner of Police hanging framed on
the wall. He was trying to readjust his thoughts. From a man who
believed himself under deadly suspicion he had suddenly become a
confidant of Scotland Yard. He had been released of all fear for
himself. And Bob Grell was alive after all; that, he reflected, was the
queer thing. What did it mean? Where was the reason for this
extraordinary tangle of complications? Grell always was deep, but, so
far as his friend knew, he was a man strictly honourable. How had he
come to be involved in an affair that looked so black against him? There
was Eileen to be considered too. In spite of himself, he could readily
believe the story of the pistol. She had believed him guilty of the
murder. Her mood when last he saw her had been that of a woman who would
stoop to anything to compass her vengeance. But she knew he was not
guilty now. That might make a difference to his course of action. Should
he throw in his lot with Foyle and assist in bringing Grell within the
reach of the law?

"What do you say, Sir Ralph? Will you help us?"

Foyle's suave voice broke in upon the thread of his thoughts.

He shook himself a little and met the detective's steady gaze.

"If I do, will it mean that you