"That would be Lola, of course." His blue eyes met Grell's frown with an ingenuous stare. "This is beginning to get clearer, Mr. Grell. Goldenburg was blackmailing you, eh? Maybe he had letters which you wouldn't have liked Lady Eileen to see—what?"
An ejaculation came from Grell. The detective directed his gaze to a picture opposite him, and continued, as though thinking aloud—
"Now I come to think of it, was Goldenburg a relative of yours? The likeness is amazing. Well, suppose, for the sake of argument, he was. And Lola—where
does Lola stand? Was it to her, by any chance, that the letters were directed? Was she merely a friend, or did she stand in closer relationship to either of you?"
Grell yawned ostentatiously, but although Foyle had been apparently looking away from him he had followed the effect on the other's face of every one of the seemingly casual questions he had put.
"I am afraid I am boring you. It's a bad habit, thinking aloud."
"It does seem futile," agreed Grell. "You surely have little need to exercise yourself about these things."
"Ah, you think so? I am beginning to think that something more is necessary. It may be—of course, this is only for the sake of illustration—that the dagger was handled by some one after the murder had occurred. However, let the subject drop. Perhaps your housekeeper will get us some breakfast while one of the girls runs into Dalehurst."
While waiting for a reply, he rang the bell and gave some directions, with a note to the housekeeper. The breakfast that she ultimately served up was a credit to her skill as a cook. Both men ate with an appetite that the unusual nature of the situation did not destroy, though Grell found the handcuffs troublesome.
The superintendent laid down his knife with a sigh of content.