s. You can
expose me--tell all the world that I have been guilty of forgery if you
like--you will not get me to lift a finger to hound him to his death."

Foyle had failed. He knew it was of little use pushing the matter
further. He picked up his hat and gloves and mechanically passed a hand
over his forehead. But there was one thing that had to be done before he
left. "I will not trouble you any further now," he said in a level
voice. "I may take it you will tell your father of the--the banking
episode. That will relieve me of a rather painful task."

"I will tell him," she said dully.

"Then good evening, Lady Eileen."

"Good evening."

The superintendent drew on his gloves as he passed out of the street
door. "She knows her own mind, that girl," he said to himself. "She
won't give away a thing. Either she's very much in love with him,
or----"

He rounded the corner into Berkeley Street.

CHAPTER XLV

The first part of the commission given by Heldon Foyle to Chief
Detective-Inspector Green was simple to execute and cost him no effort
of ingenuity. A straight drive through into Kingston, a call at the
tailor's shop where Grell had re-fitted himself with clothes, and a few
minutes' conversation with the assistant who had served him, gave him
all the facts concerning the appearance of the man he was following.

"I'd better take these two notes away," he said, beginning to fold up
the flimsies. "I shall want you to keep a note of the numbers, in case
you are called upon to give evidence."

The tailor scratched his head doubtfully, and cast a glance on a
policeman passing slowly on the other side of the street. He was
beginning to suspect the tall stranger who asserted he was a police
officer, and so calmly appropriated money. He was wondering whether,
after all, it might not be an ingenious scheme of robbery. He had heard
of such things, and the composure of the detective did not comfort him.
Green had given no proof of his identity beyond his bare word.

With some mumbled excuse the tailor stepped to the door and beckoned to
the policeman. With much volubility he explained the situation and his
suspicions. The constable listened gravely. He was very young to his
duties, and remembered the cautions that had been given him not to
accept any one's word where actions were suspicious.

"He didn't show you a warrant-card, did he?" he asked. "All right, Mr.
Jones, you leave this to me." And he marched imp