For the first time during the interview Robert Grell lost hold of his
self-control. His fists clenched and the steel of the handcuffs bit deep
into his wrists as he momentarily forgot that he was handcuffed. There
was a meaning in Foyle's tone that he could not fail to understand. He
caught at his breath once or twice and his temples flamed scarlet.

"Speak plainly now!" he cried hoarsely. "What are you hinting at?"

Slowly Heldon Foyle began to tear the sheet of paper bearing Grell's
finger-marks into minute fragments. He was calm, inscrutable. "I thought
I made myself clear," he replied. "To make it plainer I will ask you if
a man, famous, rich, and with an honourable reputation, flies on the eve
of his wedding-day, assisted by his valet, hides himself in a low part
of London, and associates with doubtful characters, whose friends abduct
and drug police officers, who uses, in short, every effort to avoid or
to hamper justice--has not some strong reason for his actions? Is it not
plausible to suppose that he is an accessory either before or after the
fact?"

Grell sighed as if in relief, and, stooping, picked up his cigar, which
had fallen on the carpet. He had recovered his calm. "You are a better
judge of evidence than I am," he said unemotionally. "Personally, I
don't think the facts you have mentioned would convict me of anything
but eccentricity. Who is this Harry Goldenburg, anyway? Beyond the fact
that he's my double I know nothing of him. That's certainly a
coincidence, but why on earth I should conceal anything I know is beyond
me."

"You're talking nonsense, Mr. Grell, and you know it," said Foyle, with
a weary little gesture. "There's too much to be explained away by
coincidence. We know who Harry Goldenburg was, and that there was a
strong motive for your wishing him out of the way." He leaned over a
little table and his face was close to Grell's. "You can only delay, you
cannot prevent justice by keeping your mouth shut."

The firm lines of Grell's mouth grew obstinate. "I shall stick to my
story," he said. And then, with a return to his former flippancy of
manner, "You're a clever man, Mr. Foyle. I never realised till you and
your men were on my heels how hard a time a professional criminal must
have. Even now I am not clear how you knew I was down here. When I found
the police in charge of the motor-car I had left I thought they were
merely guarding it as a derelict. I did not guess that you knew