t possessed her was too deep
for tears. She gazed in a kind of stupor at the immobile face of the
detective.

"You have made a ghastly mistake," she said, and her voice was level and
dull. "Mr. Grell had nothing to do with the murder. I killed that man. I
have come here to-day to give myself up."

A twinkle of amusement shot into the blue eyes of Heldon Foyle. The
girl, oblivious to all save the misery that enwrapped her, noticed
nothing of his amusement. But his next words aroused her.

"That's curious," he said slowly, "very curious. You are the third
person to confess to the murder. Really, I don't believe you can all be
guilty."

She stared at him in dumb amazement. Her tortured mind was slow to
accept a new idea. "The third!" she echoed mechanically.

"Yes, the third. The others are Mr. Robert Grell and the woman you know
as the Princess Petrovska, who in our police jargon would be described
as alias Lola Rachael, alias Lola Goldenburg." He smiled down at her as
she turned her bewildered face towards him. "So you see, there is no
great need to alarm yourself. The mystery is all but cleared up. If you
will permit me, my dear young lady, I should like to congratulate you."

"But--but----" She struggled for words.

Foyle seated himself, and picking up a pen beat a regular tattoo on his
blotting-pad. He went on, unheeding the girl's interruption.

"I won't deny that if you had told me you killed Harry Goldenburg a day
or two ago, I might have believed you, and it might have made things
awkward. But there is now no question of that. We know now that it was
neither you nor Mr. Grell. If you had told us the real facts at first so
far as you were concerned, it would have simplified matters. However,
there is no reason why you shouldn't do so now."

The warm blood had suffused her cheeks. She had risen from her seat,
unable at first to comprehend the full meaning of it all. "I cannot
understand," she exclaimed.

"You will presently. Now, if you don't mind, sit down quietly, and tell
me in your own way exactly what happened on the night this man was
killed. Take your own time. I shall not interrupt."

A lurking fear at the back of the girl's mind that he was trying by some
subtle means to entrap her into an admission that would implicate Grell
disappeared. He dropped his pen. She searched the square face, but could
see nothing behind the mask of smiling good-nature. Her own curiosity
was alight, but she sternly