to my having a drink, I suppose, even if
you won't join me?"

"Sorry to seem ungracious, but even that I can't allow."

"Ah. Afraid of poison, I suppose. Just as you like. Well, here we are.
If you will let go my arm I assure you I will neither attack you nor try
to escape. Then we can sit down comfortably."

They had entered a room whose walls were lined with books and pictures,
apparently the library. Foyle shook his head at the other's request. Of
course it might be all right, but the man was a suspected murderer. He
would accept no man's word in such a case. "I am afraid it is
impossible, Mr. Grell," he said gently. "I am anxious not to seem harsh,
but you see I am alone with you and my duty.... If, however, you will
allow me, I have a pair of handcuffs."

Wide as his experience had been he could not recall a notable arrest
taking place in this way. He had fallen in with Grell's mood for many
reasons, but he chuckled to himself as he made the polite suggestion of
handcuffs. Grell did not seem to mind. His self-possession was
wonderful. Foyle reflected that it might be reaction--the man was
possibly glad the tension was over.

"By all means, if it will make you easier," he said. Foyle slipped the
steel circlets on his wrists, not with the swift click that is sometimes
written of, but with deliberate care that they should fit securely, but
not too tightly. The juggling feat of snapping a pair of handcuffs
instantly on a man is beyond most members of the C.I.D.

Grell selected a chair and Foyle, watchful as a cat, sat by him. "May I
ask what you intend to do now?" queried the former.

"Wait till daylight and then send one of the maids with a message to the
nearest police station," replied Foyle. "Would you like a cigar? I can
recommend these."

He proffered his case and Grell took one. He held it between his fingers
with a whimsical smile. "Do you mind cutting it and giving me a light?"
he asked. "It's rather awkward with these--er--ornaments."

The superintendent did as he was requested and Grell puffed luxuriously.
Foyle remained silent. Although he was aching to put questions he dared
not. "Do you really think that I killed Harry Goldenburg?" asked Grell
suddenly.

"I don't know," confessed the superintendent non-committally. "I think
you may have."

"Yes. That's a pity," said Grell, lifting his cigar to his mouth. "This
affair must have cost you a great deal of trouble, Mr. Foyle. And it's
all wasted