"I think I had better wait," he said. "My business is important." That procured his admission into the house, but he had no idea of waiting in idleness in one of the reception-rooms. Eileen had received a note
which had taken her out—he shrewdly suspected that it was from Grell. It was conceivable, though it was not probable, that she might have left it about. It was for him to learn the contents of that note if possible. "Look here, old chap," he said, with an assumption of familiarity that flattered the frigid footman, "I want to see Lady Eileen directly she comes in, and I don't want to be announced." He winked as though from one man of the world to another. "You understand, don't you?"
The footman grinned knowingly as he thrilled all over with the knowledge that the Scotland Yard man was making a confidant of him. It was one of Foyle's ways always to attach as many people as he could to his object. He had an extensive acquaintance with waiters and hotel hall-porters.
"Yes, sir, I think I can arrange that," said the footman. "I can put you in her own sitting-room, and she'll most likely go straight there when she comes back."
"That's the ticket," said Foyle. "I like a man who's got brains." A sovereign changed hands. "Now, if you ever hear anything, perhaps you'll let me know. Drop into my office when you're by and have a chat and a cigar."
"I will that, sir," said the man. "Thank you, sir."
Heldon Foyle was left alone in the room. He sat quite still for a little, but his eyes were busy. At last he rose and aimlessly paced the floor once or twice. In the grate a dull fire was burning, and a few fragments of blackened paper lay on the dying coals. Here and there a word stood out in a mouldy grey against a
black background. Foyle did not touch the paper till he had read:—
"... both ... minent ... sufficient money to ... ade for ... Petrov ... guesse ... fear ... timately exposure must come. If ... open cheque ... ther ... gold, and bring ... God's sake ... desperate."
Foyle's lips puckered into a whistle as he transferred the words to his pocket-book. He dared not touch the fragments till he had done so, and every moment he feared that some draught might destroy the whole thing. His keen professional instincts were saddened by the impossibility of saving what might be an important piece of evidence. Under favourable circumstances there might have been some chance of retrieving and preserving it by blocking the chimney to prevent a draught and then carefully sticking the burnt fragments with gum on to transparent paper. But that method was impossible. Foyle tried gingerly to rescue the fragments, but a burst of flame frustrated him, and a moment later they were destroyed.