"I did suggest that way out," admitted the baronet reluctantly. "He wouldn't hear of it. And Grell is not a coward." "He gave no hint of where he was going when he left you?" "Not the slightest." Foyle picked up his hat. There was nothing more of value to be gained by prolonging the interview. "I am very much obliged to you, Sir Ralph," he said. "Perhaps you will keep in touch with me in case anything arises. Good morning." Long ago Foyle had made up his mind as to the probable course that would be taken by Robert Grell. The man was evidently driven into a corner, or he would scarcely have taken the enormous risk of going to see Ralph Fairfield. There remained two things, the detective reasoned, which he might now do. Penniless and without help, he might try to plunge back into the obscurity of underground London, or he might try some other friend or acquaintance. But every person he confided in would increase his risk. Fairfield was his closest friend, and yet he had declined to lift a finger. Would he go to men he was less intimate with--or would he endeavour in person to enlist the aid of the woman he was to marry? No one knew better than Heldon Foyle the danger of jumping to conclusions. Inferences, however clever, however sound they may seem when they are drawn, are apt to lead one astray. The detective who habitually used the deductive method would spend a great deal of his time exploring blind alleys. Yet Foyle, with the unostentatious Maxwell at his right hand, hurried in the direction of Berkeley Square with a hope that his theory might not be ill-founded. A little distance away from the Duke of Burghley's house he crossed the road and spoke to a cabman who was lounging on the seat of his motionless vehicle. Curiously enough the constables patrolling the beat did not order that particular cabman away to a rank, although he had been there for several hours, creating a technical obstruction. "Have you seen a man call over the road lately?" asked the superintendent. "No, sir," answered the cabman alertly. "The only person has been a messenger-boy with a note for Lady Eileen Meredith. He told me it had been handed in at the district messenger office at Victoria. Lady Eileen came out shortly afterwards and walked away in the direction of Piccadilly. Phillips has gone after her." "Right. Report to the Yard directly she returns, and keep a sharp look-out." "Very good, sir," said the cab-driver, and Foyle turned away to mount the steps of the house. The footman who answered the door replied that both his Grace and the Lady Eileen were out. He could not say when they would return. The superintendent tapped the step impatiently with the tip of his well-polished American boot, and his brow puckered. Finally he produced a card.