Grant shifted his magnifying glass to another angle and grunted.
"Can't tell yet," he said irritably. "I've only just started. Go away."
"Sorry I spoke, old chap," said the other. "Don't shoot; I'm going."
Grant rested his chin on one elbow and stared sourly at the intruder.
"Great heavens!" he said. "Isn't it enough to have two of my men ill when there are four hundred prints to classify, to have three newspaper reporters and a party of American sociological researchers down on me in one day, without——"
But Green had fled to the more tranquil quarters on the first floor.
"Mr. Foyle asking for you, sir," said the clerk.
He pulled open the door of the superintendent's room. Foyle had got his hat and coat on.
"Blake's wired that the woman has taken a ticket for Liverpool," he said. "He's gone on the same train. Now that's settled, let's see if we can't hurry Wrington up."