Some of them examined it with polite interest. They were more concerned with the murder of a famous man. Lost trinkets were small beer at such time. Only Jerrold of _The Wire_ made any suggestion. "Reminds me of that Russian princess woman who's been staying at the Palatial, only it's too young for her. What's her name?--Petrovska, I think." "Thanks," said Foyle; "it doesn't matter much. Ah, here's your stuff. Good-bye, boys, and don't worry me more than you can help. This thing is going to keep us pretty busy." He saw them out of the room and carefully closed the door. Sitting at his desk he lifted the receiver from the telephone. "Get the Palatial Hotel," he ordered. "Hello! That the Palatial? Is the Princess Petrovska there? What? Left last night at ten o'clock? Did she say where she was going? No, I see. Good-bye." He scribbled a few words on a slip of paper, and touching the bell gave it to the man who answered. "Send that to St. Petersburg at once." It was a communication to the Chief of the Russian police, asking that inquiries should be made as to the antecedents of the Princess. For the next three hours men were coming rapidly in and out of the superintendent's office, receiving instructions and making reports. Practically the whole of the six hundred men of the C.I.D. were engaged on the case, for there was no avenue of investigation so slender but that there might be something at the end of it. Neither Foyle nor his lieutenants were men to leave anything to chance. Green was seated opposite to him, discussing the progress they had made. The superintendent leaned back wearily in his chair. Some one handed him a slim envelope. He tore it open and slowly studied the cipher in which the message was written. It read-- "Silinsky, Chief of Police, St. Petersburg. To Foyle, Superintendent C.I.D., London. "Woman you mention formerly Lola Rachael, believed born Paris; formerly on stage, Vienna; married Prince Petrovska, 1898. Husband died suddenly 1900. Travels much. No further particulars known." Foyle stroked his chin gravely. "Formerly Lola Rachael," he murmured. "And Sir Ralph recognised the miniature as little Lola of Vienna. She's worth looking after. We must find her, Green. What about this man Ivan?" "No trace of him yet, sir, but I don't think he can give us the slip. He hadn't much time to get away. By the way, sir, what do you think of Sir Ralph?" "I don't know. He's keeping something back for some reason. You'd better have him shadowed, Green. Go yourself, and take a good man with you. He mustn't be let out of sight night or day. I may tackle him again later on." "Very good, sir. Waverley's still at Grosvenor Gardens. Will you be going back there?" "I don't know. I want to look through the records of the Convict Supervision Office for the last ten years. I have an idea that I may strike something."