. He was a judge of men, and
although Fairfield had rebuffed him he did not believe him to be a
murderer. Still, one never knew. Those who kill are not cast in one
mould. If Sir Ralph had slain Goldenburg in mistake for Grell, and Lady
Eileen knew there must be a motive--for that motive he had to look no
further than the beautiful, unsmiling face before him.

"You realise that you are making a very grave accusation, Lady Eileen?"
he said. "What reason should there be?"

She spoke rapidly, steadily, and he did not interrupt her. His pen
rushed swiftly across the paper, taking down her words. They would
presently be neatly typed and added to the book. When she paused, he
replaced the pen tidily in its rack.

"This is what it comes to--that at eleven o'clock Sir Ralph said Mr.
Grell was with him. You say that you had refused an offer of marriage
from Sir Ralph, and think that he murdered Mr. Grell from jealousy. I
may say that, though we know Sir Ralph was at his club for dinner and at
eleven o'clock, we can find neither servants nor members who can say for
certain that he was there at the time the murder was committed."

She caught her breath. "Then it was he!" she exclaimed eagerly. "Bob had
not another enemy in the world. You will arrest him."

"Not yet," Foyle retorted, and noted that her face fell. "All this is
only suspicion. We must have proof to satisfy a jury before we can do
anything with a man in Sir Ralph's position. And now, if you don't
mind, I should like to put a few other questions to you."

When she left after half an hour, Foyle threw back his head with a jerk.

"A pleasant girl," he commented. "Seems wonderfully anxious to have
Fairfield hanged. I suppose she was really infatuated with Grell. You
never know how women are going to take things. I wonder if I can get a
set of his finger-prints. That ought to settle the matter one way or the
other, so far as he is concerned. But it won't clear up what Goldenburg
was doing in Grell's place. I'll have to fix that somehow."

CHAPTER IX

The overmastering energy of Heldon Foyle was at once the envy and
despair of his subordinates. There was a story that once he went without
sleep for a week while unravelling the mystery of the robbery of the
Countess of Enver's pearls. That was probably exaggerated, but he
certainly spent no unnecessary time for rest or food when work was
toward--and he saw also that his staff were urged to the limits of human