a
moistened forefinger, and made a note now and again on a writing-pad by
his side.

"Puzzling cases are like a jig-saw puzzle," he had once said. "You
juggle about with the facts until you find two or three that fit
together. They give you the key, and you build the rest up round 'em.
But it's no good trying to do it unless you've got your box of pieces
complete."

His box of pieces was not complete, and he knew it. Nevertheless, he
could not resist trying to fit them together. But the announcement made
by his clerk of the arrival of Lady Eileen Meredith came while he was
still puzzling. She stood in the doorway, a dainty figure in furs, a
heavy veil drawn over her face.

"Mr. Foyle?" she asked hesitatingly.

He bowed and wheeled a big arm-chair near his desk.

"Yes. Won't you sit down, Lady Eileen? You have just missed one of our
men. I sent him round to break the news to you. I need not tell you that
we recognise how you must feel in these terrible circumstances. We
shall trouble you as little as possible after you have answered a few
questions."

He was studying her shrewdly while he spoke, and her strange composure
struck him at once. Even to her he had decided to say nothing of the
identity of the murdered man. That could wait until he had had a better
opportunity to judge her.

She sat down and rested her chin on one slim, gloved hand, her elbow on
the desk.

"That's very good of you," she said formally. And then broke direct into
her mission. "Have you found out anything, Mr. Foyle?"

"It's rather early to say anything yet," he hedged. "Our inquiries are
not completed."

"There is no need for further inquiry. I can tell you who the murderer
is."

Superintendent Foyle coughed and idly shifted a piece of paper over the
notes on his blotting-pad. His face was inscrutable. She could not tell
whether her statement had startled him or not. For all the change in his
expression she might have merely remarked that the weather was fine. Had
it been any one else he would have said that before the day was out he
expected a dozen or more people to tell him that they knew the
murderer--and that in each case the selection would be different. As it
was he merely said with polite interest--

"Ah, that will save us a great deal of trouble. Who is it?"

"He is--I believe him to be Sir Ralph Fairfield."

The superintendent's eyelids flickered curiously; otherwise he gave no
sign of the quickening of his interest