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. He was a judge of men, and although Fairfield had rebuffed him he did not believe him to be a murderer. Still, one never knew. Those who kill are not cast in one mould. If Sir Ralph had slain Goldenburg in mistake for Grell, and Lady Eileen knew there must be a motive--for that motive he had to look no further than the beautiful, unsmiling face before him. "You realise that you are making a very grave accusation, Lady Eileen?" he said. "What reason should there be?" She spoke rapidly, steadily, and he did not interrupt her. His pen rushed swiftly across the paper, taking down her words. They would presently be neatly typed and added to the book. When she paused, he replaced the pen tidily in its rack. "This is what it comes to--that at eleven o'clock Sir Ralph said Mr. Grell was with him. You say that you had refused an offer of marriage from Sir Ralph, and think that he murdered Mr. Grell from jealousy. I may say that, though we know Sir Ralph was at his club for dinner and at eleven o'clock, we can find neither servants nor members who can say for certain that he was there at the time the murder was committed." She caught her breath. "Then it was he!" she exclaimed eagerly. "Bob had not another enemy in the world. You will arrest him." "Not yet," Foyle retorted, and noted that her face fell. "All this is only suspicion. We must have proof to satisfy a jury before we can do anything with a man in Sir Ralph's position. And now, if you don't mind, I should like to put a few other questions to you." When she left after half an hour, Foyle threw back his head with a jerk.