Grell bowed. The Assistant Commissioner extended his hand. "How do you do, Mr. Grell? I should have been glad to have met you under happier circumstances, but I assure you that the respect in which I have always held you is not lessened by this unfortunate business." The prisoner shook hands doubtfully and his eyes flashed a questioning look upon Foyle. The superintendent's face was blandly unconscious of the effect of the Assistant Commissioner's remark, although the words had been rehearsed and revised a dozen times during their walk to the police station. But he had to do with a man as astute and ready as himself. "That's very good of you, I'm sure," said Grell, and a smile illumined his face as he added: "Though I don't know why this matter should increase your respect." "Don't you?" said Foyle, laying stress on his words and eyeing the other meaningly. "Suppose it is because since I left you this morning, Ivan Abramovitch has made a full statement to me?" A little apprehensive shudder swept through Grell's frame. His lips opened to say something, but he checked himself suddenly. "What's that to do with me?" he demanded quietly. "A great deal, if it's true, as I know it to be. Now, Mr. Grell, you are not obliged to answer any questions unless you like--you know that--but I warn you that your failing to do so cannot prevent us arresting the guilty person. We know you are innocent--though whether you may be charged as an accessory after the fact or not is another question. What do you say?" The prisoner had leaned his arm on the table. His fists were clenched until the finger-nails bit into the flesh. "If you've made up your minds, so much the better for me," he said with a half laugh. "Who have you fixed your suspicions on?" It was clear that he had doggedly set himself to avoid affording them any help. His chin was as fixed as that of Foyle himself. The strong wills of the two men had crossed. The superintendent felt all his fighting qualities rise. He was determined to break down the other's wall of imperturbability. He accepted Grell's silence as a challenge. Thornton's gentle, cultured voice broke in. "We are only anxious to spare you as much as possible. You are a prominent man, and though you must be brought in, it will serve no purpose to increase what will create enough scandal." "I fear you are wasting your time, gentlemen," said Grell, stretching himself wearily. "Won't it cut this short if I admit that I killed Goldenburg? I will sign a confession if it will please you." The eyes of Thornton and Foyle met for a second. There was a meaning look in the superintendent's, as who should say, "I told you so." Then he took from his breast-pocket a piece of paper, which he unfolded as he smiled amiably at Grell. "That is childlike. Your finger-prints prove it is false. Perhaps you will tell us what underlies this note that you sent to Lady Eileen Meredith the day you left London." He read: