He placed in Thornton's hand a copy of the typewritten paragraph, and the a.s.sistant Commissioner read it slowly through. "I don't quite follow," he said as he handed it back. "It hints that Grell will be charged with the murder."

"Exactly. It is intended to convey that impression. To tell you the truth, I have a piece of evidence of which I have not spoken to you before. It indicates a person possibly guilty whom we must not neglect.

If she is guilty--which I half doubt--that paragraph may help us to get at the missing evidence."

His voice sank to a whisper and he leaned forward with arms outspread over his desk. As he spoke, Thornton's voice changed. He leapt to his feet and brought his fist down vehemently on the desk.

"I don't believe it, man!" he cried. "I don't believe it! It's incredible. You've made a mistake. It can't be. Why, you've believed it was Grell yourself all along. If you've made a mistake, then why not now?"

Foyle's chin became a trifle aggressive. Thornton's astonishment was natural, but the superintendent did not like the appearance of lack of confidence. His blue eyes were alight. "You can draw your own inference from the facts, Sir Hilary," he said coldly. "I am clear in my mind. I have done nothing, because I want to make the evidence as to motive indisputable. Should I find I am wrong I shall, of course, write out my resignation."

Thornton was not usually an impulsive man. He had recovered himself immediately upon his outburst and was once more calm and self-possessed.

"Don't be offended, Foyle," he said, more mildly. "I beg your pardon. It was just a bit startling at first. We've been a.s.sociated too long for misunderstanding. I'll back you up, and there's not going to be any talk of resignations."

"Thank you, Sir Hilary," said the superintendent, entirely mollified.

Going to the big safe he unlocked it and took something from the shelf which he handed to the a.s.sistant Commissioner. The two bent over it.

It was nearly two hours before the two concluded their task. Sir Hilary, his hands clasped behind his back, walked in deep thought back to his own room. Heldon Foyle put on his hat and coat and ordered a taxi.

"Brixton Prison," he said to the driver.

CHAPTER L

There are many people who pa.s.s Brixton Prison everyday who have no conception of its whereabouts. The main entrance is tucked away a hundred yards or so down an un.o.btrusive turning off Brixton Hill. Within a little gate-house inside the barred gates a princ.i.p.al warder sits on duty.

Although Foyle was tolerably well known to the prison officials, the usual formalities had to be gone through, and he was kept outside till a note he had pencilled was sent up and replied to by the governor. Then, conducted by a warder, he was taken over the flagged courtyard and through long corridors to the remand side of the prison.

Another warder opened one of the heavy cell doors, and a man seated on a low bed looked up with a frown of recognition. The superintendent remained standing by the doorway. "Sorry to trouble you, Abramovitch,"

he said briskly. "I just wanted to have a little talk with you."

Ivan rose and deliberately turned his back. "You must go to my solicitor if you have any questions to ask," he said sullenly.

Heldon Foyle seated himself at the end of the bed and nursed his stick.

"That wouldn't be of much use, would it?" he asked smilingly. "What I want to speak to you about has nothing to do with the present charge against you. Mr. Grell is in our hands now, and in the circ.u.mstances I thought you might care to know it."

The valet wheeled about and thrust his face close to the immobile face of the detective.

"You've arrested Mr. Grell?" he cried. "Are you lying?"

"I am not lying. He is in custody and may be charged unless you like to clear him."

Ivan took a couple of short steps. His lips were firmly pressed together. The detective watched him narrowly as he came to an abrupt halt.

"You think I can clear him?" he said slowly. "You are wrong."

"But you know he never committed the murder?" The words came sharp as a pistol shot. Ivan never answered, and Foyle went on: "You have done all you could to help him escape us. Now we have got him you can only help him by telling the truth. There was some strong motive to induce you to take all the risks you have done. What is at the back of it?"

Ivan studied his questioner suspiciously. Foyle made haste to dispel what was at the back of his mind. "You had reason for refusing to speak before," he insisted. "I'm not blaming you. Consider the thing fairly as it stands now and you'll see that you best serve your master by perfect frankness. I'm not trying to trap you. You may trust me."

The scowl on the face of the valet faded and his sloping shoulders squared a little.

"You are right. Secrecy can no longer do good," he said. "I will tell you what I know."

He sat down by Foyle's side and went on: "I was always what you English call a bad egg. I broke with my family many years ago--it doesn't matter who they were--and left Russia to become an adventurer at large. In the years that followed I was everything everywhere--seaman, barber, waiter, soldier, and gambling-house cheat. I wasn't particular how I picked up a living nor where it led me. All that won't interest you. I was operator in a gambling-joint at San Francisco when I first met Goldenburg, though I knew him by reputation. He came to our place now and again, and we were on speaking terms. After that Grell came and I mistook him for the other man. That was how we first became acquainted."

"That would be almost five years ago?" interposed Foyle quietly.

"Just about that. They never came together, by the way, and Grell always called himself Mr. Johnson. His own name would have been too well known.

Well, one night, or rather one morning, he had been winning pretty heavily. He must have had close upon four or five thousand dollars in notes on him. At the time I didn't attach any significance to the fact that two or three of the worst toughs at the table went out shortly after him. I followed about five minutes later to get a breath of air, and came on the gang in a narrow, deserted street, just as they brought Grell down with a sandbag. It was no business of mine and ordinarily I should have walked away, but that I'd had a little difference with one of the gang earlier in the day, so I sailed in with a gun, broke 'em up, and helped Grell to his hotel. He came round before I left him, and I told him my name, and he gave me five hundred dollars, telling me to look to him if ever I was in trouble.

"Well, next day I was fired from my job. I could guess that the people whose game I'd spoilt were at the bottom of it, but that didn't worry me much. I had a bit of money and I came back to Europe--London, Paris, Vienna, Rome--everywhere but Russia. I lived sometimes by my wits, sometimes by any odd job I could turn my hand to. My father and mother had both died, and my only living relative was my sister, a girl of eighteen, living in St. Petersburg. From her I heard occasionally."

A spasm crossed his face as though some painful recollection had been brought to his mind, and he pa.s.sed a handkerchief across his brow, which had suddenly become wet with perspiration.

"It was through her that I again met Grell," he resumed, speaking more slowly. "She was alone and practically unprotected. She wrote to me that a certain high official had been paying her unwelcome attentions, but I suspected nothing till I one day learned that she had been arrested for a political offence--she, who never knew the meaning of the word politics. I knew what that meant.... At the time I was in straits myself, for fortune had not been kind at the cards. This was in Vienna.

I was staring out of my window in a kind of daze when I saw a man pa.s.s in a motor-car. It was Grell--the man whom I had known as Johnson.

"In desperation I sought him out--it was easy enough to find where he was staying--and told him my story. I asked him to loan me money, because I knew that I might have to bribe officials. He offered to do more--to accompany me to St. Petersburg and use all his influence on behalf of my sister.

"It was at his suggestion that I travelled as his valet. My appearance had altered since I was last in Russia, but difficulties might have arisen. We travelled night and day, but we were too late. The girl who had never harmed a single person in her white life was dead--killed by the hardships to which she had been subjected. I--I----"

He covered his eyes with his hands for a moment, and Foyle waited patiently. Ivan controlled himself with an effort. "Grell advised me to come away, but I was determined to stay for a while. I had work to do. I told him nothing, but steadily I sought for the man who had killed her as surely as though he had plunged a dagger in her heart. I found him at last----"

"Wait a moment," interjected Foyle quickly. "I want to know nothing of that; that has nothing to do with me." He had guessed what work it was that the hot-blooded Russian had remained to do. No man is bound to incriminate himself.

"It was through Grell that I got away scot-free. No one suspected the valet of so well-known a man. He asked no questions, though I could tell that he knew what--what I knew. He risked much to shield me, although never a word pa.s.sed between us. Could I do less when it came to my turn?

I came back to England with him, and I remained his personal servant. I kept my distance from the other servants."

"In fact, you pretended to have little acquaintance with English?"

interrupted Foyle.

Ivan nodded. "That was so. On the nights when I was free, I wandered about London and picked up a few old acquaintances, among them being Charlie Condit. I shan't tell what I knew about him, but it was enough to keep him civil, and later on he did what I told him.

"On the night that the murder occurred, I happened to be in the hall about nine or a little after, when I saw a man and a woman through the shaded gla.s.s standing on the steps outside. I opened the door before they could ring. For the moment I thought the man was Mr. Grell, but a second later I recognised Goldenburg. He did not remember me. The woman, too, I knew at once. I had met her occasionally in different cities of Europe. It was the Princess Petrovska. Goldenburg spoke of an appointment and showed me a note from Mr. Grell directing that the bearer should be shown to the study to await his arrival.

"That was enough for me. I showed them up and left them. I did not hear Mr. Grell return, but about ten o'clock he rang for me and met me at the door of his study. He told me that he was expecting a lady, and if she called she was to be brought straight up; and he said the other people were just going. Almost immediately after he told me she came. Wills was going to the door, but I was in front, and I showed her up."

Foyle shifted his position a little. "Who was she?" he asked.

"I couldn't see her face; she wore a heavy veil."

"All right; go on."

"I knocked at the door of the study, but no one replied. She pushed by me and entered, closing the door after her. I went away to my own room.