e is some more advice--for what it is worth. Tell me
exactly what you did between the time you went out this morning and the
time you came in--whom you saw and where you went. Will you do that?"

The tick of a small clock on the mantelpiece was loud. Eileen
contemplated the tips of her boots with interest. Then a little ripple
of laughter shook her. "You are a dreadfully suspicious man. If it
interests you, then, you can have it. I went to the bank, and from there
took a cab to my dressmaker's, where I paid a bill and was fitted for a
new gown. I went on and did some shopping at various places. Shall I
write out an exact account for you?"

If it had been the detective's design to entrap her into a series of
falsehoods he might easily have done so. But there was no object in
pursuing that course. He met her ingenuous gaze with a little lift of
his shoulders. "This is mere foolishness, Lady Eileen. I want to give
you the opportunity of stating frankly what occurred from the moment you
got Robert Grell's letter this morning. You know this story of the
dressmaker would fall to pieces the instant we started making inquiries
to verify it."

"So I'm on my defence, then?" she said abruptly. He nodded and watched
closely the changing expression of her features. "I have done nothing
that gives you any right to question me," she went on defiantly. "And I
am not going to submit to any more questions. Good morning. Can you find
your own way out?"

She caught at her skirt with one hand and with her chin tilted high in
the air would have withdrawn haughtily from the room. She was afraid
that his shrewd, persistent questioning and persuasion might end in
eliciting from her more unguarded admissions. He had reached the door
before her, however, and stood leaning with his back against it and his
legs crossed and his arms folded. She stopped sharply and he divined her
intention.

"I shouldn't touch the bell if I were you," he said peremptorily. "It
will be better for both of us if I say what I have got to say alone."

The decision in his tone stopped her as her hand was half-way to the
bell-push. She paused irresolute, and at last her hand dropped at her
side. Foyle moved to her, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and half
forced her to a seat. After all, with all her beauty and her wits she
was but a wayward child. Her eyes questioned him and her lips quivered a
little.

"Now," he said sternly. "Tell me if your father signed the