it to this abominable outrage. I know
nothing of M. Grell; you shall not arrest me----"

Heldon Foyle cut him short. He had, without the appearance of force,
quietly forced his prisoner outside the restaurant and signalled to a
passing taxicab.

"I am not arresting you," he said, ignoring the protestations of the
other. "I am going to detain you till you give a satisfactory
explanation of your reason for leaving Mr. Grell's house on the night of
the murder."

They were on the edge of the pavement close to the cab. Ivan with a
quick oath wheeled inward, and struck savagely at the superintendent's
face. Foyle's grip did not relax. He merely lowered his head, seemingly
without haste, and, as the man swung forward with the momentum of the
blow, jabbed with his own free hand at his body. So neatly was it done
that passers-by saw nothing but an apparently drunken man collapse on
the pavement in spite of the endeavours of his friend to hold him up.

The whole breath had been knocked out of Ivan's body by those two swift
body-blows. Before he could recover, Foyle had lifted him bodily into
the cab.

"King Street," he said quietly to the driver, and sat down opposite to
Ivan, alert and watchful.

"Sorry if I hurt you," he apologised. "It will be all right in a minute.
It has only upset your wind a little. That will pass off."

Ivan, his hands pressed tightly to the pit of his stomach, groaned.
Presently he straightened himself up, and Foyle, calmly ignoring the
assault, produced a cigar-case.

"Have a cigar? I've no doubt you'll be able to make things all right
when we get to the station. There's nothing to worry about. You will
just have a little talk with me, and as soon as one or two points are
cleared up you'll be able to go."

The case was struck angrily aside. Foyle smiled, and although his whole
body was taut in anticipation of any fresh attempt at violence, he
quietly struck a match and lit one himself.

"As you like," he said imperturbably. "They're good cigars. I have them
sent over to me by a friend direct from Havana."

All the while he was speaking he was scrutinising the man who had been
Grell's valet with deliberate care. Ivan was sleek and well-groomed,
with a dark face and prominent cheekbones that betrayed his Caucasian
origin. The brows were drawn tightly in a surly frown; a heavy dark
moustache hid the upper lip, and though the shoulders were sloping he
was obviously a man of considerable physic