rime was not a planned one,
and evidence is still being collected against a suspected person.

"A man for whom a rigorous search has been made by the police has
been found in a Sussex village by Scotland Yard officers, acting in
conjunction with the county constabulary. He was taken to
Malchester Row police station, where he has been detained. It is
understood that he refuses to give any account of the circumstances
in which he took to flight.

"On inquiry at Scotland Yard yesterday, a representative of this
journal was informed that the officers engaged on the case expect
to be in a position to clear up the mystery in the course of the
next few days."

"That ought to do," he muttered as he blew down a speaking-tube. To the
detective-inspector who came in response to his summons he handed the
paper. "Have fifty copies of that made, and bring me one. Put some one
to 'phone through to all the journalists on the list, asking 'em to call
here at half-past six to-night. They're each to have a copy of that."

There was guile in Foyle's fixing of the time. He knew that the
paragraph would be a bombshell in Fleet Street, and did not want it to
explode prematurely. At half-past six all the evening papers would have
ceased publication for the day. At half-past six, too, he would take
good care to be far away from the hordes of Press men, hungry for
details, who would strive to find more information from the hints given.
At that time they were likely to find any person wiser than themselves,
and he had seen to it that there should be no indiscretion at Malchester
Row.

"Sir Hilary just come in, sir," said some one, opening the door just
wide enough to permit a head to be thrust within; but before Foyle could
move the Assistant Commissioner himself walked in.

"One moment, Sir Hilary," said the superintendent, and dashed out, to
return again almost immediately. "I just wanted to make certain that we
shouldn't be disturbed. There's a lot to tell you. Things have been
happening."

"So I gather," said the other, settling himself in the arm-chair.
"You've got Grell, I hear. What's the next move? Do his finger-prints
agree?"

"They do not. He is not the murderer, but he won't say who is. The next
move is, that I intend that to go in all the morning papers."

He placed in Thornton's hand a copy of the typewritten paragraph, and
the Assistant Commissioner read it slowly thr