The Grell Mystery

by Frank Froest

  Someone brought in a cup of tea and some biscuits, and his watch showed him that it was a quarter to five. He had promised to call on Lady Eileen about six o’clock, and his mind dwelt on the potentialities of the interview as he lingered over his frugal meal. He had just poured out his second cup, when the telephone buzzer behind him jarred.

  ‘A call from Liverpool, sir,’ said the man in the private exchange. ‘Mr Blake wants you. Shall I put him through?’

  A few minutes elapsed before Foyle heard the voice of the man who had been outwitted by the Princess Petrovska. ‘Is that Mr Foyle? This is Blake speaking. We’ve got on the track of the lady again. She’d been staying at a boarding-house pretending she was a member of a theatrical company. A local man spotted her and came back to fetch me to make certain of her identity. But she must have got wind of it somehow, for she’s hired a motor and slipped off. We’re after her now. She’s only got half an hour’s start, and we’ve wired to have the main roads watched. I expect we’ll have her in an hour or two.’

  The superintendent coughed. ‘Get along then, Blake. And don’t smoke when you’re on the job this time. Good-bye.’

  He replaced the receiver and returned to his neglected cup of tea. Things were evidently stirring. Was it altogether chance, he wondered, that Petrovska had chosen the day to make a move? Strange coincidences did happen at times, yet there was a possibility that her movements were correlated to those of Grell. Had the two managed to communicate? Well, at any rate he could rely on Blake and his assistants to find out whether she had received letters or messages. The matter was out of his hands, and it was not his habit to worry about affairs which he could not influence.

  CHAPTER XLIV

  THAT Heldon Foyle had come so closely on the heels of Grell’s message was something of a shock to Eileen. She had not supposed that the detectives would be so quickly again on the trail. Her heart beat a little quicker, but her face gave no sign as she drew off her gloves while the footman told her of the superintendent’s call at six.

  When she was alone she sat with her long, slender hands gripping the arms of her chair, her grey eyes reflecting the light of the fire as she stared abstractedly into its depths. That she had done her utmost to help Grell escape she did not regret; she rather triumphed in the fact. Foyle could know nothing of that—at the worst he could only suspect. Her precautions had been too complete. She was confident that she and Grell were the only two people who knew of the day’s happenings. In any case, she argued to herself, it was better to see Foyle. She had come to respect his acumen, and fear he might draw an inference not too far from the truth if she denied him an interview. Besides, she asked herself, what had she to fear? Grell was safely away, and she could trust not to betray herself.

  At six o’clock to the minute a footman—whose wooden face gave no indication of the fact that a moment before he had confidently informed Foyle in a stage whisper, ‘She seemed pretty cheerful when she came in, sir—been sitting all alone since’—brought her a card. Then Foyle was ushered in—calm and unruffled as though he were merely making a social call. She returned his bow frigidly.

  ‘I hope you will not consider my call inconvenient, Lady Eileen,’ he said suavely. ‘I considered it of importance that I should see you as soon as possible.’

  She crossed her knees and regarded him composedly. ‘I am sorry I was out when you called this morning. Had I known, I should have waited for you.’

  The detective admired the manner in which the girl carried off a difficult situation. She spoke quite indifferently, and yet he knew that she was entirely on her guard. He smoothed the top of his hat with his hand.

  ‘Sometimes an appointment with one’s bankers is a thing one can’t put off,’ he said blandly.

  A tiny spot of colour burned in each of her cheeks and she flashed one quick look at the detective. This was an attack in flank which she had not expected. ‘My bankers?’ she lied instantly, ‘I have not been to my bankers’.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, his voice keyed to a curious inflection. ‘I was under the impression that you had—that, in fact, you changed a cheque for £200 made payable to bearer.’

  She tried to hide a new feeling of alarm under a smile. ‘Well, and if I did?’ she challenged. ‘That is, of course, my private business, Mr Foyle. You surely haven’t come to cross-examine me on my habits of personal extravagance?’

  ‘Partly,’ he countered. ‘Shall we be plain with one another?’

  She rose and stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, looking down on him. ‘By all means let us be plain. I am only a girl and I cannot altogether follow the subtleties of your work.’

  ‘We are not such dreadful people really,’ he smiled. ‘We try to do unpleasant work as little unpleasantly as possible. As you say, you are only a girl, and although perhaps uncommonly clever, you are—if you will pardon me—a little apt to let your impulses outreach your reason. More than once I have tried to advise you as I would my own daughter. Well, now, here 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 cheque you cashed, or whether you put his signature to it yourself?’

  Her lips moved dumbly and the room seemed to quiver around her. Finely as she had held herself in control hitherto, she was now thoroughly unnerved. She covered her face with her hands, and her frail figure shook with dry sobs. Foyle waited patiently for the outburst to pass. Suddenly she sprang to her feet and faced him with clenched hands.

  ‘Yes, I did sign it,’ she blazed. ‘My father was out, and I wanted the money at once. He will not mind—he would have given it to me had he been here.’

  He checked her with a deprecating movement of his hand. ‘Don’t excite yourself, please,�
�� he said soothingly. ‘I felt bound to let you see there was a serious reason why I should press you to give an account of your movements today. Sit down quietly for a moment.’

  He waited patiently while she resumed her seat. He had foreseen that while she was on her guard he was unlikely either by threats or coaxing to induce her to speak. The hint of forgery had been deliberately intended to throw her off her balance. She could not know that her blotting-pad had betrayed that and more. Nor could she know that without the evidence of her father and the bank officials—neither of which was likely to be willingly given in the circumstances—she was not amenable to a criminal charge. ‘Will you tell me now why you were so anxious to obtain that money—why you could not wait for an hour or two until your father returned? Don’t hurry yourself. Think. Remember that I shall be able to check what you say.’

  ‘I—I—’ She choked and gulped as if swallowing something.

  ‘Will it help you if I tell you that two of the notes which were given in exchange for the cheque were changed at a tailor’s shop at Kingston, where a rough-looking man bought an overcoat and a suit of clothes?’

  ‘You—know—that?’ she gasped, the words coming slowly one by one from her lips. The accuracy of his knowledge, and the swiftness with which it must have been gained both astonished and astounded her.

  ‘I know that,’ he repeated. ‘And I know more. I know, for instance, that Mr Grell went to Sir Ralph Fairfield before applying to you. Did he tell you that?’ He waited, but she made no answer. ‘I know too that he has left London. You know where he is making for. Where is it?’

  Slowly she shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you,’ she cried vehemently. ‘You cannot force me to. He is an innocent man. You know he is. You can expose me—tell all the world that I have been guilty of forgery if you like—you will not get me to lift a finger to hound him to his death.’

  Foyle had failed. He knew it was of little use pushing the matter further. He picked up his hat and gloves and mechanically passed a hand over his forehead. But there was one thing that had to be done before he left. ‘I will not trouble you any further now,’ he said in a level voice. ‘I may take it you will tell your father of the—the banking episode. That will relieve me of a rather painful task.’

  ‘I will tell him,’ she said dully.

  ‘Then good evening, Lady Eileen.’

  ‘Good evening.’

  The superintendent drew on his gloves as he passed out of the street door. ‘She knows her own mind, that girl,’ he said to himself. ‘She won’t give away a thing. Either she’s very much in love with him, or—’

  He rounded the corner into Berkeley Street.

  CHAPTER XLV

  THE first part of the commission given by Heldon Foyle to Chief Detective-Inspector Green was simple to execute and cost him no effort of ingenuity. A straight drive through into Kingston, a call at the tailor’s shop where Grell had re-fitted himself with clothes, and a few minutes’ conversation with the assistant who had served him, gave him all the facts concerning the appearance of the man he was following.

  ‘I’d better take these two notes away,’ he said, beginning to fold up the flimsies. ‘I shall want you to keep a note of the numbers, in case you are called upon to give evidence.’

  The tailor scratched his head doubtfully, and cast a glance on a policeman passing slowly on the other side of the street. He was beginning to suspect the tall stranger who asserted he was a police officer, and so calmly appropriated money. He was wondering whether, after all, it might not be an ingenious scheme of robbery. He had heard of such things, and the composure of the detective did not comfort him. Green had given no proof of his identity beyond his bare word.

  With some mumbled excuse the tailor stepped to the door and beckoned to the policeman. With much volubility he explained the situation and his suspicions. The constable listened gravely. He was very young to his duties, and remembered the cautions that had been given him not to accept anyone’s word where actions were suspicious.

  ‘He didn’t show you a warrant-card, did he?’ he asked. ‘All right, Mr Jones, you leave this to me.’ And he marched importantly into the shop.

  Green, who had just lit a well-worn brier pipe, and was waiting for the assistant to return in order to pay him the value of the notes, smiled grimly at the apparition of the constable in uniform. He guessed exactly what had happened.

  ‘This is the man?’ asked the police officer. The tailor nodded, and he went on, addressing Green, ‘What’s this about you taking money and pretending to be a police officer?’ He had produced an official notebook and looked very important as he loomed in the doorway, gazing sternly at the detective. ‘Don’t answer any questions unless you want to. You know I shall have to take anything you say down in writing, and it may be used as evidence against you.’

  The situation had a piquant humour that tickled Green. The constable was strictly within his duty, as he had been called in, but the pomposity of his manner betokened that he was very, very young in the service. In a deliberate silence the detective felt in his pocket for a warrant-card that would clear up the mistake. A moment later he was wildly searching in all his pockets without success. For the first time in a lifetime in the service he must have been careless enough to leave it at home.

  He flourished a number of envelopes inscribed ‘Chief Detective-Inspector Green, New Scotland Yard, S.W.,’ but the knowing look of the young constable was emphasised by the cock of the eyebrows. Green never carried official documents except when he was obliged to.

  ‘That won’t do, old chap,’ said the constable, in the manner of one well used to the ways of the criminal fraternity. ‘You don’t come that on me. You might have written those envelopes yourself. You’ll have to come along.’

  If the letters had failed to impress him, Green felt certain that his visiting-card would be of little use. Since he had decided to visit the police station in any case, it did not much matter. It was humiliating, in a way, but it did not much matter.

  ‘All right, my man,’ he said authoritatively. ‘I’ll see the station officer. Send for a cab.’

  ‘Cool hand, isn’t it?’ whispered the policeman to the tailor. ‘See how he’s dropped trying to pull off his bluff on me. Just hop out and see if you can find a cab. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

  So it was that a high official of the Criminal Investigation Department reached an outlying police station under the conduct of a young constable whose swelling pride was soon reduced to abject misery as the divisional detective-inspector, who was leaning on a high desk and chatting with a station-sergeant, sprang forward to greet the suspect.

  ‘They ’phoned through from headquarters for me to meet you here, sir. There’s one or two messages come through for you.’

  The constable’s jaw dropped. ‘Is this man—this gentleman from the Yard?’ he gasped.

  The local man stared from Green to the policeman, and from the policeman to Green. Some notion of what had happened began to occur to him. ‘What the blazes—’ he began, but the chief inspector cut him short.

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I was careless enough to come out without a warrant-card, and this young man has made a little mistake. Don’t you worry about it, my lad. Only, next time, don’t put so much zeal into a doubtful case. Cut along back to your beat and give that chap this.’ Some sovereigns chinked. ‘Now, Mr Malley, I’ll be glad to have those messages, and to put a call through to Mr Foyle.’

  He followed Malley into an inner room, and the local man handed him a couple of messages which had been telephoned to Scotland Yard by the county police, and one sent by Foyle immediately after his interview with Dutch Fred, giving amplified particulars of the car. Green made his report over the telephone and then, replacing the receiver, turned to Malley. ‘This last message shows he’s got a good start. He passed through Haslemere an hour ago. Can you get away yourself, or have you got a good man you can lend me?’

  ‘That’s all arra
nged, sir,’ was the answer. ‘Mr Foyle said that I was to go with you if you wanted me.’

  ‘Right. We’ll have to rake out a good car somewhere. You see to that. We’ll pick up any fresh news at the county police station at Haslemere. This man may have been stopped by now.’

  Malley was already speaking into the telephone. He paused for a moment. ‘Will a chauffeur be necessary, sir? I could drive, if you liked.’

  ‘So much the better. Tell ’em to hustle the car along here. It’ll be just as well to have plenty of petrol.’

  A matter of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour before the motor-car was at the police station. Malley slipped into the driver’s seat, and Green coiled up his long body by his side. With a jerk they started, and in a little were out on the broad Portsmouth road, while a thin, penetrating rain was powdering the windscreen. Presently Malley increased the speed and, though it was well outside the legal limit, Green made no remonstrance.

  Stolid and unimaginative as he might seem to casual acquaintance, the chief inspector usually worked with tremendous enthusiasm and doggedness. As Foyle had said, he was as tenacious as a bull-dog. He was determined to catch Grell, if human wit and perseverance could do it. And he chafed to think that the start had been so long.

  Dusk had fallen before they entered Haslemere, pausing only to ask their way to the local police headquarters. Short as the run had been, they were both chilled to the bone, and their overcoats were sodden with rain. There was no thought of a halt, however. A man ran bare-headed out of the police station door as though he had been waiting for them.

  ‘Mr Green?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s my name,’ answered the chief inspector.

  ‘Your people have been on the ’phone to us, and so have the Hampshire Constabulary at Petersfield. Nothing has been seen of the car you want since it passed through here, apparently on the way to Petersfield. We didn’t know you wanted it held up till too late, but one of our bicycle patrols remembered having seen it go by. Ten minutes later, we got word. Both Petersfield and Midhurst have had men out waiting for it. No luck at all. It seems to have vanished clean off the face of the earth. You’ll probably meet some of our bicycle patrols if you’re going on. We’ve been searching the by-roads.’