The walls of the house loomed before him. He stepped to the nearest
window and tested it. It was fastened tightly, nor could he see inside.
Foyle had no taste for the haphazard, and would have liked to be certain
of the run of the house. But one window was as good as another in the
circumstances. He worked deftly with a glazier's diamond for a while,
and at last removing one of the diamond panes of glass thrust his hand
through and undid the latch. The window swung open, and the
superintendent sat down on the grass underneath and swiftly unlaced his
boots.

In another two minutes he was inside the house, and pulling an electric
torch from the capacious pocket of his Norfolk jacket, he swept a thin
wedge of light about the room. It was furnished as a sitting-room, but
there was no reason for examining it minutely. Foyle pulled open the
door and moved into a thickly carpeted corridor, which made his
stockinged feet almost unnecessary.

Door after door he opened and noiselessly examined with the aid of his
single beam of light. By the time he had come to a finely carved, old
oak staircase, he had a rough idea of the plan of the house as far as
the ground floor was concerned. The upper floors demanded more caution,
for there the servants might be sleeping.

The first door that Foyle tried after the landing was locked. Pressing
his ear to the keyhole, he could hear the deep, regular breathing of
some one within. Twice he tried keys without success. At the third
attempt the bolt of the lock gave. He pushed the door back and there was
a crash as a chair which had been wedged behind it was flung to the
floor.

A woman shrieked, and Foyle drew back into the shadow of the landing,
cursing his luck. Then there came the sound of rapid footsteps. The
superintendent drew himself together, and his muscles grew taut as a man
came running. A light blazed up as the man passed through the doorway.
Foyle caught one glimpse of a square-faced man fully dressed and acted
rapidly. He dashed forward and his hand twined itself round the other's
wrist.

"Mr. Robert Grell, I believe," he said suavely.

CHAPTER XLVII

When Heldon Foyle leapt forward, his whole body had been keyed for a
struggle. Whatever resources Grell might have in the house the detective
stood alone, so far as he knew. It was possible that Green might have
arranged to have the place watched, but, on the other hand, it was
unlikely that he would do more than h