This reminiscence had brought them to Berkeley Square. Fairfield felt his heart thumping quickly although his face was impassive as the door was opened in response to Foyle's ring. She might be out; she might refuse to see them. Neither of the two alternatives happened. Within three minutes Eileen had descended to them in the drawing-room.
She stopped, a graceful figure in black, by the doorway, and gave a barely perceptible start as her eyes rested on the baronet. She bowed coldly.
"I did not know you were here, Sir Ralph. I understood Mr. Foyle wished to see me."
She was frigid and self-possessed. He had half expected some expression of apology for the wrong she had done him, but she entirely ignored that. But that Fairfield had himself well in hand he would have openly resented the snub inflicted on him. It was Foyle who answered.
"I brought Sir Ralph here. I thought his presence might be necessary."
She moved across the room, and sank on a couch with a petulant frown.
"Well, I suppose you have some disagreeable business to transact. Let us get it over."
The superintendent knew that he was dealing with a woman entirely on her guard. Her steady grey eyes were fixed on him closely, as though she could read his thoughts. He thought he could detect a slight twitching of the slender hands that rested idly on her lap.
"I want to know," he said slowly, "the meaning of the advertisement addressed to you by Robert Grell in this morning's Daily Wire."