Sir Hilary Thornton had come to Heldon Foyle's stocktaking. The
superintendent, with a mass of papers on the desk in front of him,
talked swiftly, now and again referring to the typewritten index of
reports and statements in order to verify some point. The Assistant
Commissioner occasionally interpolated some question, but for the most
part he remained gravely silent. Foyle recapitulated the events of the
preceding day.
"It was sheer foolishness, Sir Hilary," he admitted bitterly. "If we
hadn't blundered Grell would have been in our hands now. As it is, we
have to begin the search for him all over again."
Through the open window came the rumble of a motor-omnibus used by the
police to test applicants for licenses. Thornton swung the window close.
"You still think that Grell had a hand in it?"
"I'm never positive, Sir Hilary, when it is a question of circumstantial
evidence. But there can be no question that if he is not guilty himself
he knows who is. I am so certain that I had a schedule of witnesses made
out for the Treasury. Here they are."
He selected a sheet of paper and passed it to the other. Thornton read
it and handed it back without comment.
"There are gaps in it, of course," went on Foyle. "As a matter of
evidence, though, practically all we want is to identify the
finger-prints. They of themselves would determine the investigation.
But we can't tell whether they are Grell's or not until we get hold of
him. We've identified the linen found in the bag on the barge as having
been bought for Grell, but there is no name or initials on the bag
itself. I have not yet heard from Wrington. He may have something
further to report. About Goldenburg. I got Pinkerton's to look into his
career in America. They have discovered that five years ago he was in
San Francisco for three months, and at that time he was apparently well
supplied with money. Grell arrived there a month before he left, and
they left the city within a day of each other."
"A coincidence."
"It may be or may not. Grell's movements were pretty well chronicled in
the American Press at that time, and it is at any rate conceivable that
Goldenburg went there with the express intention of meeting him. More
than that, Grell was staying at the Waldorf Astoria in New York two
years ago. Goldenburg went straight there from India--which he had made
too hot to hold him--stayed at the same hotel, and left within three
days for Cape Town. Why should he go to Cape Town _via_ New York? I may
be right or wrong in the opinion I have formed, but at any rate we have
established a point of contact between the two men."
"There is something in that," agreed Sir Hilary, with a jerky nod of the
head.
"More than that, on the New York visit Goldenburg was accompanied by a
woman whose description in every particular corresponds with that of the
Princess Petrovska--though she called herself the Hon. Katherine
Balton. There is material enough in that information, Sir Hilary, to
draw a number of conclusions from. At any rate, they go to confirm my
opinions at present. I know very well that there is sometimes smoke
without fire, but my experience is that you can usually safely lay odds
that there is a fire somewhere when you do see smoke."
The elliptic form of speech was sometimes adopted by Heldon Foyle in
discussing affairs with one whose alertness of brain he could depend
upon. Thornton twisted his grey moustache and his eye twinkled
appreciatively.
"That's all right," he said. "But how do you account for Grell finding
people ready to his hand in London to help him disappear at the very
moment he needs them? There are several people mixed up in it, we know;
but how is it that they are all loyal to him? We know that criminals
will not keep faith with each other unless there is some strong
inducement. How do you account for it?"
"There may be a dozen reasons. Purely as an hypothesis, Grell may have a
hold on these people by threatening them with exposure for some crime
they have committed. Self-interest is the finest incentive I know to
silence."
"All the same, it's queer," said Sir Hilary, with a little frown. "What
do you propose to do?"
Heldon Foyle's lips became dogged. "Break 'em up piecemeal as we lay our
hands on 'em now. We've got one--the man we roped in with Red Ike. He's
as tight as an oyster; but while we've got him he can't do anything to
help his pals. Then there's the Princess. She's as slippery as an eel;
but if the Liverpool people can get hold of her we may reckon she'll be
kept safe for a few weeks on the charge of drugging Blake. Then there's
Ivan Abramovitch. We may be able to lay our fingers on him. If there's
any more in this business I don't know 'em; but every one of the gang we
take means so much less help for Grell."
A discreet knock at the door heralded the entrance of a messenger, who
laid an envelope on the table and silently disappeared.
"Western Union," muttered the superintendent. "This may be something
else from Pinkerton's, Sir Hilary. Don't go yet." And, tearing open the
envelope, he crossed the room and pulled down a code-book. In a little
he had deciphered the cable. "We're getting closer," he said.
"Pinkerton's have got hold of 'Billy the Scribe,' who identified the
photograph of the dagger with which the murder was committed as one that
he believes was in the possession of Henry Goldenburg when he last saw
him. That may be fancy or invention, or it may be important. Hello! what
is it?"
It was Green who had interrupted the conference. "Lady Eileen Meredith,
sir--Machin reports that she left her home at five this morning, walked
to Charing Cross Station, bought a copy of the _Daily Wire_, looked
hurriedly through it, and then worked out something on a small notebook.
Then she returned home, and came out again in half an hour's time and
went to Waterloo Bridge floating station. There she asked to see one of
the detective branch, and they referred her to headquarters at Wapping
after nine this morning. Machin says he had no chance to telephone
through before. She has not gone to Wapping," he added, as he saw the
eyes of his chief seek the clock. "She went straight back home and has
not come out since."
A low whistle came from between Foyle's teeth and his eyes met Thornton.
"She knew the advertisement was to appear in the _Daily Wire_, and she
got up early to warn Grell that we know, in case he should give an
address. She did not discover a little paragraph of Mr. Green's
invention till after she returned home, and then her curiosity was
stirred, and she hoped, by going to Waterloo, to find a subordinate
detective whom she might pump. What do you think, Green?"
"I agree with you, sir. She'll turn up here later, I shouldn't wonder."
Sir Hilary Thornton strode to the door, returning the greeting of
Wrington, whom he passed as he retired. The river man was evidently
pleased with himself. Foyle took a place in front of the fire and
waited.
"Had a cold night?" he queried.
"Been too busy to think about it, sir," he chuckled. "We discovered that
the owners of the barge engaged the man who gave the name of Floyd on
the written recommendation of a firm of steamship agents--that, by the
way, was forged, for the agents deny all knowledge of the man. He was
supposed to have been an American sailor. Once or twice he has been
visited on the boat by a couple of men who pulled up in a dinghy hired
from Blackfriars. The regular waterman hardly ever caught a glimpse of
him--he never showed himself by day. This morning a letter was sent
aboard addressed to James Floyd, Esq. I never opened it, thinking
perhaps you might prefer to do so. We searched the barge from end to
end, and Jones is outside with a bag of different things you might like
to see. What I thought most important, however, was this."
He dipped his hand in his jacket pocket and, withdrawing a small package
wrapped in newspaper, carefully unfolded it. Something fell with a
tinkle on Foyle's desk.
"By the living jingo!" ejaculated Green. "It's the sheath of the
dagger!"
The superintendent picked up the thing--a small sheath of bright steel
with, on the outside, a screw manipulating a catch by which it might be
fastened to a belt. He handled it delicately from the ends.
"I believe you're right," he said. "Now, what about the letter?"