The Grell Mystery - free ebook by Frank Froest

THE GRELL MYSTERY

NEW YORK GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Copyright , 1913, BY FRANK FROEST Copyright , 1914, BY EDWARD J. CLODE...

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CHAPTER I

Outside the St. Jermyn's Club the rain pelted pitilessly upon deserted pavements. Mr. Robert Grell leaned his arms on the table and stared steadily out through the steaming window-panes for a second. His shoulders lifted in a shrug that was almost a shiver. "It's a deuce of a night," he exclaimed with conviction. There was a faint trace of accent in his voice—an almost imperceptible drawl, such as might remain in the speech of an American who had travelled widely and rubbed shoulders with all so

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CHAPTER II

The shattering ring of the telephone awoke Heldon Foyle with a start. There was only one place from which he was likely to be rung up at one o'clock in the morning, and he was reaching for his clothes with one hand even while he answered. "That you, sir?"... The voice at the other end was tremulous and excited. "This is the Yard speaking—Flack. Mr. Grell, the American explorer, has been killed—murdered ... yes ... at his house in Grosvenor Gardens. The butler found him...." When a man has passed

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CHAPTER III

Foyle caressed his chin with his well-manicured hand. "H'm!" he said reflectively. "Don't let's jump to conclusions too quickly, Mr. Bolt. There's a doctor here, I suppose? Take this man to him, and when he's a bit calmer take a statement from him. I'll leave Ivan to you. Get some of the servants to give you a description of him, and 'phone it through to Flack at the Yard. Let him send it out as an 'all station' message, and get in touch with the railway stations. The chap can't have got far. De

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CHAPTER IV

Fairfield, awakened from sleep by the news of the murder of his friend, had stared stupidly at the detective Foyle had sent to him. "Grell killed!" he exclaimed, "Why, he was with me last night. It is incredible—awful. Of course, I'll come at once—though I don't see what use I can be. What time was he murdered?" "About ten o'clock. So far as we know you were the last person to see him alive—except the murderer," said Green. "Believe me, we're sorry to have to trouble you." The baronet's face had

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CHAPTER V

Day had long dawned ere Foyle and his staff had finished their work at the great house in Grosvenor Gardens. There had been much to do, for every person who might possibly throw a light on the tragedy had to be questioned and requestioned. The place had been thoroughly searched from attic to cellar, for letters or for the jewels that, if Sir Ralph Fairfield were right, were missing. Much more there would be to do, but for the moment they could go no further. Foyle returned wearily to Scotland Ya

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CHAPTER VI

Lomont reeled dizzily, and his hand sought the support of the wall. To him Foyle's voice sounded unreal. He stared at the detective as though doubtful of his sanity. His life had been hitherto ordered, placid. That there were such things as crimes, murders, detectives, he knew. He had read of them in the newspapers. But hitherto they had only been names to him—something to make the paper more readable. He was a thin-faced man of about thirty, with somewhat sallow cheeks on which there was now a

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CHAPTER VII

The first grey daylight had found Sir Ralph Fairfield pacing his sitting-room with uneven strides, his hands clasped behind his back, the stump of a cold cigar between his teeth. His interview with Heldon Foyle had not been calculated to calm him. "I'm a fool—a fool," he told himself. "Why should they suspect me? What have I to gain by Grell's death?" It was the attitude of a man trying to convince himself. There was one reason why he might be supposed to wish his friend out of the way, but he d

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CHAPTER VIII

It was an hour after Fairfield had left her before Eileen Meredith's sobs died away in the deserted room. There was none to hear or see, and she gave way to her grief uncontrolled. Gradually the first shock passed. Her calmness came back to her, but she was a different woman to the vivacious, sunny girl who had looked forward to her wedding-day. Her face was set stonily, and in the grey depths of her eyes there lurked in place of laughter an implacable determination. She had loved Robert Grell w

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CHAPTER IX

The overmastering energy of Heldon Foyle was at once the envy and despair of his subordinates. There was a story that once he went without sleep for a week while unravelling the mystery of the robbery of the Countess of Enver's pearls. That was probably exaggerated, but he certainly spent no unnecessary time for rest or food when work was toward—and he saw also that his staff were urged to the limits of human endurance. Having spent four hours sleeping in his clothes, he deemed that he had paid

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CHAPTER X

The evidence of the finger-prints was entirely negative. Though Foyle believed that Fairfield was innocent, he never permitted himself to be swayed by his opinions into neglecting a possibility. It was still possible that the baronet might have been concerned in the crime even though they were some one else's prints on the dagger. At any rate Fairfield was suppressing something. It could do no harm to continue the watch that had been set upon him. So Foyle left Green and his companion to continu

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CHAPTER XI

The man tried to jerk himself free, but the detective's fingers closed tightly about his wrist. "There is no use making a scene, my man," he said, still speaking in French, his voice stern, but pitched in a low key. "You are Ivan something-or-other, and you know of the murder of your master. So come along." "It's a mistake," protested the other volubly in the same language. His words slurred into each other in his excitement. "I am not the man you take me for. I am Pierre Bazarre, a jeweller of

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CHAPTER XII

Heldon Foyle walked thoughtfully back to Scotland Yard, satisfied that the shadowing of Ivan Abramovitch was in competent hands. With the strong man's confidence in himself, he had no fears as to his decision to release the man. He was beginning to have a shadowy idea of the relation of pieces in his jig-saw puzzle. Ivan, he knew, ought to have been arrested if only for failing to give a satisfactory account of his possession of the pearl necklace. But the superintendent had, as he mentally phra

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CHAPTER XIII

Grave Street, Whitechapel, is not a savoury neighbourhood. One may pass from end to end of its squalid length and hear scarce a word of English. Yiddish is the language most favoured by its cosmopolitan population, although one may hear now and again Polish, Russian, or German. In its barrack-like houses, rising sheer from the pavement, a chain of tenancy obtains, ranging from the actual householder to the tenant of half a room, who sublets corners of the meagre space on terms payable strictly i

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CHAPTER XIV

To all callers, relatives, friends, newspaper men, alike, Eileen Meredith denied herself resolutely. "She has been rendered completely prostrate by the shock," said the Daily Wire in the course of a highly coloured character sketch. Other statements, more or less true, with double and treble column photographs of herself, crept into other papers. Night and day a little cluster of journalists hung about, watching the front door, scanning every caller and questioning them when they were turned awa

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CHAPTER XV

Heldon Foyle was more deeply chagrined than he would have cared to admit by the disappearance of Waverley. It was not only that one of the most experienced men of the Criminal Investigation Department had fallen into a trap and so placed his colleagues in difficulties. The very audacity of the coup showed that the department was matched against no ordinary opponents. There is a limit even to the daring of the greatest professional criminals. If there were professionals acting in this business, r

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CHAPTER XVI

A bitter wind was sweeping the Commercial Road, Whitechapel, as the two detectives, each well muffled up, descended from their cab and walked briskly eastwards. Save for a slouching wayfarer or two, shambling unsteadily along, and little groups gathered about the all-night coffee-stalls, the roads were deserted. Neither man had attempted any disguise. It was not necessary now. As they turned into Grave Street they automatically walked in the centre of the roadway. There are some places where it

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CHAPTER XVII

There was nothing more to be done at Grave Street. Heldon Foyle remained in the house while Green walked to the chief divisional station, and in an hour or two the divisional inspector with a couple of men arrived. Then Foyle saw to a strict search of the house from top to bottom. Nothing there was that seemed to possess any great importance as bearing on the case. The man who had fled over the roof had used a single room, apparently as bed- and sitting-room, so it was to this place that the det

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CHAPTER XVIII

Heldon Foyle was on his feet in a second, and he pushed a chair towards his subordinate. Detective-Inspector Waverley sat down and drummed nervously on his knees with the fingers of his left hand. "Well, you've got back," said the superintendent in a non-committal tone. "We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you. I hope that arm of yours is not badly hurt. What has been the trouble?" The inspector winced and sat bolt upright in his chair. "I guess I was to blame, sir," he said. "I fel

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CHAPTER XIX

From behind the curtains of the sitting-room Eileen Meredith could see two men occasionally pass and re-pass the house. They did not go by often, but she knew that even if she could not see them they always held the house in view. They were not journalists—they were more sedate, older men. Nor did they molest any one who entered or left the house. They merely exercised a quiet, unwearying, unobtrusive surveillance, and Eileen knew that Heldon Foyle had taken his own way of preventing her from se

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CHAPTER XX

Heldon Foyle had been prepared to take any risk rather than allow the Princess Petrovska to escape him again. There was nothing against her but suspicion. It was for him to find evidence that might link her with the crime. It is in such things that the detective of actuality differs from the detective of fiction. The detective of fiction acts on moral certainties which would get the detective of real life into bad trouble. To arrest the Princess was out of the question; even to detain her might

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CHAPTER XXI

To the constable who opened the cab door Foyle gave quick instructions in a low voice. The Princess Petrovska found herself ushered into a plainly furnished waiting room, decorated with half-a-dozen photographic enlargements of the portraits of high police officials and a photogravure of "Her Majesty the Baby." There the policeman left her. Foyle came to her a moment later. His couple of questions to the cabman as he paid him had not been fruitful. He had been ordered by the lady to drive to Wat

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CHAPTER XXII

Sir Hilary Thornton lifted his coat-tails to the cheerful blaze as he stood with his back to the fireplace. Heldon Foyle, with the book which he was giving his nights and days to compiling on the desk in front of him, sat bolt upright in his chair talking swiftly. He was giving an account of the progress of the investigation. Now and again he ran a well-manicured finger down the type-written index and turned the pages over quickly to refer to a statement, a plan, or a photograph. Or he would lif

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CHAPTER XXIII

Unless a case is elucidated within a day or two of the commission of an offence the first hot pursuit resolves itself into a dogged, wearisome but untiring watchfulness on the part of the C.I.D. A case is never abandoned while there remains a chance, however slight, of running a criminal to earth. And even when the detectives, like hounds baffled at a scent, are called off, there remains the gambler's element of luck. Even if the man who had original charge of the case should be dead when some n

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CHAPTER XXIV

Dutch Fred changed his seat to one less conspicuous and farther up the tramcar. He felt that his luck was dead out, that life was a blank. And that Heldon Foyle of all men should have chosen that particular moment to board that particular tramcar had, as Fred would have expressed it, "absolutely put the lid on." Fred knew very well how to circumvent the precaution taken by order of the police that public vehicles should have the back of the seats filled in to prevent pocket-picking. Instead of s

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CHAPTER XXV

The compact between Heldon Foyle and Sir Ralph Fairfield had begun to bear fruit. For three days an advertisement had appeared in the personal column of the Daily Wire — "Will R. G. communicate with R. F. Very anxious." Much thought had gone to the wording of the line. If Grell or any of his companions noticed it, Foyle felt certain that in some way or other an attempt would be made to get in touch with the baronet. He was fairly confident that the missing man needed money. He would probably not

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CHAPTER XXVI

Within the invisible cordon that Foyle had drawn about Grell's house in Grosvenor Gardens, Dutch Fred loitered, his keen, ferret eyes wandering alertly over passers-by. Misgivings had assailed him during a vigil that had lasted several hours. It was all very well to be "in with" the police; but suppose their plans miscarried? Suppose Red Ike and his unknown friends got to know that the "double cross" was being put on them? Fred fingered a heavy knuckle-duster in his pocket nervously. Man to man,

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CHAPTER XXVII

A grim smile flickered under Chief Inspector Green's grey moustache as Heldon Foyle stepped briskly back into the room and closed the door. Ike met a stare of the superintendent's cold blue eyes squarely. "You've got the bulge on me this time, guv'nor," he admitted ruefully. "I give you best. You're welcome to all I know—though that isn't much." Now that he was near attaining his end, Foyle had to steer a delicate course. The law very rightly insists that there shall be neither threat nor promis

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CHAPTER XXVIII

Five minutes after Big Ben had struck ten o'clock Heldon Foyle walked into his office to find Sir Ralph Fairfield striding up and down and glancing impatiently at the clock. He made no direct answer to the detective's salutation, but plunged at once into the object of his visit. "Have you seen the Wire this morning?" he asked abruptly. Foyle seated himself at his desk, imperturbable and unmoved. "No," he answered, "but I know of the advertisement that brought you here. As a matter of fact, I sen

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CHAPTER XXIX

It was with mixed feelings that Fairfield yielded at last to Foyle's arguments and returned to see Eileen Meredith. To his consent he had attached the condition that he was to be allowed to use his own judgment as to how much of the interview he should communicate to the detective, and with this Foyle had to be content. The baronet found the girl waiting for him, her face alight with eagerness. She was in her own boudoir, luxuriously ensconced in a big arm-chair, and she smiled brightly at him—s

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CHAPTER XXX

Between Berkeley Square and Scotland Yard, Fairfield consumed ten cigarettes in sharp jerky puffs. Yet he was scarcely conscious of lighting one. Indeed, as he climbed the wide flight of steps at the main entrance, it seemed as though no palpable interval of time had elapsed since he had been practically turned out of her father's house by Eileen Meredith. Heldon Foyle put away the bundle of documents that contained the history of the case as the baronet was announced, and waved his visitor to a

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CHAPTER XXXI

It was with an eagerness sternly suppressed that Heldon Foyle took from a messenger the note which he knew contained Grell's advertisement. Although outwardly he was the least emotional of men, he always worked at high tension in the investigation of a case. No astronomer could discover a new comet, no scientist a new element with greater delight than that which animated the square-faced detective while he was working on a case. He drew out the sheet of paper gingerly between his finger-nails, a

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CHAPTER XXXII

In the corner of the first-class carriage farthest away from the platform, the Princess Petrovska sat with her hands on her lap and a rug round her knees, glancing idly from under her long eyelashes at the people thronging the Euston departure platform. Her eyes rested incuriously now and again upon a couple of men who stood in conversation by a pile of luggage some distance away, but within eyeshot of the compartment. She had some vague recollection of having seen one of the men before, and tho

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CHAPTER XXXIII

Heldon Foyle and Chief Inspector Green paced to and fro along Westminster Pier watching a couple of motor-boats as they swung across the eddies to meet them. A bitter wind had chopped the incoming tide into a quite respectable imitation of a rough sea. There were three men in each boat. Wrington at the tiller in one, Jones, his lieutenant, steering the other. "It's going to be a cold job," commented Foyle, as he turned up his coat collar and stamped heavily on the frosty boards. "Ay," agreed Gre

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CHAPTER XXXIV

Powerful as he was and with his prisoner at a disadvantage, Foyle found it all he could do to maintain his hold until his companions broke through to his help. Even then it was no easy task, and the fight raged over the tiny cabin with the police hanging on to their prisoner like dogs to a wounded bear. No one spoke a word; there was only the quick panting of struggling men, the shuffling of their footsteps, and now and again a sharp crash as some piece of furniture overturned. Their very number

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CHAPTER XXXV

Sir Hilary Thornton had come to Heldon Foyle's stocktaking. The superintendent, with a mass of papers on the desk in front of him, talked swiftly, now and again referring to the typewritten index of reports and statements in order to verify some point. The Assistant Commissioner occasionally interpolated some question, but for the most part he remained gravely silent. Foyle recapitulated the events of the preceding day. "It was sheer foolishness, Sir Hilary," he admitted bitterly. "If we hadn't

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CHAPTER XXXVI

The motive of the actions taken that day by Eileen Meredith had been accurately diagnosed by Heldon Foyle. She had returned to her home after her visit to the police at Waterloo Bridge in a state of the keenest uncertainty. Not for an instant did she credit the paragraph referring to the dead body. The police had been able to read the cipher message from Grell, and she assumed correctly enough that they had been more successful than herself in obtaining an early glimpse of the advertisement. Wha

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CHAPTER XXXVII

The game of faro is one that makes no strenuous demands on the skill of the players. It is chance pure and simple, and therein lies its fascination. While baccarat or chemin-de-fer are almost invariably games to be most in favour when the police raid a gambling-house in the West End, at the other side of the town it is invariably discovered that faro holds first place in the affections of gamblers. In its simplest form it is merely betting on the turn of each card throughout a pack. Although it

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CHAPTER XXXVIII

For a second or a trifle more a dead silence followed Ivan's denunciation. Heldon Foyle backed towards the door, dragging with him a chair which he had clutched with some idea of using it as a shield should there be a rush. There arose an angry snarl among the gamblers, for with them suspicion was quick. A rush of crimson had swept across Ivan's face at the first alarm. He ejaculated something excitedly in Russian, and then went on in English— "He is a police officer. I know him. It is the man F

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CHAPTER XXXIX

Something of the chagrin caused to Heldon Foyle by the escape of the man on the barge had vanished with the success of his operations in Smike Street. If his frontal attack had failed, he had at least achieved something by his flank movement. The break-up of the gambling-den, too, was something. Altogether he felt that his injuries were a cheap price to pay for what had been achieved. In bare detail he related the sequence of events to Sir Hilary Thornton, who, with a gloved hand jerking at his

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CHAPTER XL

A note came to Sir Ralph Fairfield while he was lingering over his breakfast, and the first sight of the writing, even before he broke open the envelope, caused a thrill to run through him. "You must see me at once," said the well-remembered writing imperatively. "Urgent, urgent!" The paper trembled in Fairfield's hands, and it was only the reminder of the servant that the messenger was waiting that brought him sharply out of his daze. "Yes, yes. Show him in. And, Roberts, while I am engaged I d

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CHAPTER XLI

The police court proceedings in connection with the gambling-joint in Smike Street had opened satisfactorily so far as the police were concerned. All the prisoners but the principals and those involved in the attack on Heldon Foyle had been subjected to small fines, and were, as the legal phrase goes, "bound over." The remainder had been remanded for a week at the request of the prosecuting solicitor, a half-hearted request for bail being refused. For the first time since he had attained the ran

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CHAPTER XLII

But that his breath came a little faster, Fairfield gave no sign of the perturbation that Heldon Foyle's presence caused him. That the summons to Scotland Yard had been a pretext to get him out of the way was now obvious. The only question was whether Roberts had divulged anything to the detective during his absence. It was quite impossible to allow Grell's visit to him to be used in the investigation. That was not in the bargain with Foyle. Innocent or guilty, his friend had trusted him, and to

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CHAPTER XLIII

There is no person in London easier to find than a cab-driver whose number is known, for the supervision of the Public Carriage Department is exhaustive. Yet, even so, it was some hours before the man Foyle sought was reported as being on his way to Scotland Yard. He came at last, wonder and a little alarm in his face as he was brought into the room where the superintendent and Green sat. There are many rules the infringement of which will imperil a licence, and he was not quite sure that he mig

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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 i

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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

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CHAPTER XLVI

It was to Heldon Foyle's own house, and not to Scotland Yard, that Green telephoned eventually. Clad in a bright blue dressing-gown, the superintendent listened, with a few non-committal interjections, until his lieutenant had finished. "On his own land, eh?" he said at last. "What do you make of it, Green? Is it genuine, or has he done it just to throw us off, and doubled back on his trail? It looks as if he intended us to find that motor-car." Green disagreed. "It's a deserted, blind road made

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CHAPTER XLVII

When Heldon Foyle leapt forward, his whole body had been keyed for a struggle. Whatever resources Grell might have in the house the detective stood alone, so far as he knew. It was possible that Green might have arranged to have the place watched, but, on the other hand, it was unlikely that he would do more than have the roads patrolled and the railway station warned. To have watched the Grange so effectively that no one could get away from it would have taken a score or more of men, and even s

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CHAPTER XLVIII

The hours dragged wearily with Foyle. The soft breathing of the sleeping man as he rested with his head pillowed on his arms was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night. The superintendent himself dared not sleep. He tried to read, but the magazines failed to interest him. He got up and quietly strolled about the room, examining the bookcases with incurious interest. His thoughts were busy. Apart from all the other facts, Grell's manner was more than sufficient confirmation of the f

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CHAPTER XLIX

It is permissible in certain circumstances for the police to detain a suspect, without making any charge, for a period of not more than twenty-four hours. Heldon Foyle had taken advantage of this to hold Grell while he tried to draw further together the tangled threads of the investigation. He had changed out of his tweeds and, once more the spick-and-span man about town, he sat down in his office with an order that he was to be informed the moment that Sir Hilary Thornton returned. Meanwhile, h

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CHAPTER L

There are many people who pass Brixton Prison everyday who have no conception of its whereabouts. The main entrance is tucked away a hundred yards or so down an unobtrusive turning off Brixton Hill. Within a little gate-house inside the barred gates a principal warder sits on duty. Although Foyle was tolerably well known to the prison officials, the usual formalities had to be gone through, and he was kept outside till a note he had pencilled was sent up and replied to by the governor. Then, con

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CHAPTER LI

Both Sir Hilary Thornton and Chief Inspector Green were waiting for Heldon Foyle when he returned to his office. The superintendent darted a question at the chief inspector as he flung off his overcoat. "Yes, sir," answered Green. "She's at Malchester Row now. There was no trouble at all. She came up to the Grange at half-past three, in a car, and asked the maid who answered the door for Mrs. Ellis. The girl showed her into a sitting-room, acting on my instructions, and I walked in on her and to

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CHAPTER LII

"Very well; I am content with that." The prisoner nursed his chin in his cupped hands and stared unseeingly at the distempered walls. "It began years ago, on a little farm in New Hampshire. That was my father's place. He died when I was six or seven, and my mother married again. The man was the father of Harry Goldenburg. I was eight years old when Harry was born. Four years later, my mother died, and when I was sixteen I ran away from home. You will know something of my career since then: the n

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CHAPTER LIII

With his mind revolving the strength and weakness of his theory, Heldon Foyle returned to Scotland Yard. He paused for a moment at the door of the night-inspector's room. "Anything for me, Slack?" he asked. "Has Mr. Bolt come in? Ah, there you are, Bolt. Come down to my room." He led the way down the green corridor, the divisional inspector following. "Well?" asked the superintendent sharply, as he seated himself in his office. "I have seen the manager, a hall-porter and a chamber-maid at the Pa

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CHAPTER LIV

The blaze of electric lights under their opal shades in Heldon Foyle's office became dim before the growing of the dawn. The superintendent, a cigar between his lips, was working methodically over half-a-dozen piles of papers. At the other side of the table Green puffed furiously at an old brier as he compiled from the documents Foyle handed him a fresh list of witnesses and their statements to be submitted to the Treasury solicitors. All night the two men had toiled without consciousness of fat

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CHAPTER LV

For ten minutes the two heads of the detective service of London were in conference. Then there was an interruption. The door was pulled open without any preliminary knock, and Chief-Inspector Green strode swiftly in, with Robert Grell at his heels. Both men were plainly stirred by some suppressed excitement. Green laid a note down in front of Foyle. "Petrovska has killed herself," he exclaimed. "The matron found her poisoned in her cell, a minute or so after I reached Malchester Row. There was

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CHAPTER LVI

A deprecating smile came to the superintendent's lips. Robert Grell was studying him curiously. He recognised that he owed much to the blue-eyed, square-faced detective. "Yes, I think I am at least entitled to that," he echoed. Foyle gave a shrug. "As you like, gentlemen. You once complained, Sir Hilary, that I talked like a detective out of a book. This kind of thing makes me feel like one—except that, in this case, I cannot claim much credit. I only used common sense and perseverance." "Let us

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