"What address?" asked Menzies. There was nothing to be gained by giving Cincinnati Red any sort of a hint as to how far they were able to check his story. He gravely wrote down the address the correct one given by the "con "man.
"Well," went on Cincinnati, "it's no good asking me what the job is, because, honest injun, I don't know--" he shot a sideways glance at them "--you'll be more clear on that than I am. All I know is that it's a big thing."
"Do you know a Miss Olney--Miss Lucy Olney?"
Cincinnati shook his head. "Never heard the name before."
Two pairs of eyes were watching him closely. The chief inspector gave a slight cough into his moustache. So far the swindler had been convincingly plausible and if he were more deeply involved in the mystery than he appeared to be, he had taken a cunning line. "How did you come to take a flat in Palace Avenue?" demanded Foyle.
"Well," said Cincinnati slowly, "I don't know there was any special reason why I should take it there more than anywhere else"
"Answer the question quick," demanded Menzies; "don't talk round it."
"It was Ling who told me the place was to let."
"Ah. And I suppose you got your references from him?"
"That's so. But don't you run away with any delusions, Mr. Menzies. I've paid my rent regularly and honestly." Cincinnati was plainly grieved at the reflection on his integrity.
"We'll take your word. But I thought you weren't very friendly with Ling. Why should he go out of his way to do you a favour?"
Cincinnati shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, it didn't cost him anything, I suppose. He said he might want me to chip in sometime and it was handy for Gwennie and him to know where I was. He used to run up and see me sometimes. That's all there is to it."
"You haven't said how you were to communicate with Ling. Where is he?"
"I don't know where he is. Last I saw of him was when he used to take meals at the Petit Savoy you know that little restaurant in Soho. He hasn't always been there lately. Sometimes a chap named Dago Sam used to come instead. If I got any urgent message I was to post it to T. S. Charters, Poste Restante, Aidgate."
"H'm." Menzies wrote out the address and looked questioningly at Foyle.
"That'll do for the present," said the superintendent. "The point is what arc we going to do about you?" He shook his head at the "con" man. "You're an awkward problem, you know."
"You can trust me, Mr. Foyle," said Cincinnati. "I know when to keep my mouth shut. Why, I might be able to help you to get hold of Ling."
"That's decidedly an idea," said Menzies. "Wait a minute." He dashed outside and returned accompanied by the men who had captured Cincinnati Red. "If you'll go with these gentlemen, Mr. er Whiffen," he said politely, "Mr. Foyle and I will talk things over and see what is to be done."
Chapter XV
A half smile of triumph was on Menzies' face as he returned to his seat. "Ling is a judge of character," he said with a contemptuous jerk of the head in the direction of the door. "That chap would sell his father, and mother, and brothers, and sisters to save his own skin. Pah!"
"Handle him easy all the same," exhorted the superintendent. "He's a nasty man to get in a corner. He had a gun on me once in a saloon and if I hadn't been a quick shot with a beer bottle well, I wouldn't be talking to you now. Hello! Good evening, Sir Hilary."
The gaunt figure of the assistant commissioner had entered the room, an open newspaper in his hand. "Good evening. They told me you were here, Menzies. Seen the Evening Comet? They've got a new clue for you. Seems that Greye-Stratton was a defaulting member of the Black Hand. It's true, because its special commissioner has found certain cabalistic marks chalked on the pavement which no one is able to decipher. Here's a photograph. Scotland Yard that's one of you two, I suppose is extremely reticent and would express no opinion when approached on the subject. Two columns."
"So that torn-fool published it," said Foyle, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "He found some boy scout marks about a hundred yards away from the house and came up here full of it. He wasn't quite sure whether it was the Black Hand or the High Binders, but he's certain he's on the track and he left a photograph for you, Menzies."
"Obliged, I'm sure," said the chief inspector shortly.
"How are things shaping?" asked Thornton.
"Moderate, sir, moderate," answered Menzies. "We've just been talking to a gentleman who may be of some use but I'm not dead certain yet." He fished in his pocket and produced some notes. "We've brushed away a lot of the fog at the beginning of the case and we've got something to concentrate on. I never like to be confident, but we've got heaps of suspicion to bring against one or two people and the evidence may come along. It makes it easier in a way that some of them are known crooks."
Thornton was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands behind his back. He jerked his coat-tails to and fro. "I don't follow that altogether. I used to understand that it was easier to run down an amateur than a professional. Surely their experience will help 'em to blind the trail."
"That's partly right," agreed Menzies, "but it cuts both ways. I can judge of my difficulties. Now I'm not clear about a lot of things, but I've got ideas on which I've not reported yet because they may turn out all wrong. The point on which we are clear now is that robbery at least straightforward robbery was not the motive of the murder. Revenge is a possibility. Errol, Greye-Stratton's step-son, hated him like poison and it is clear that the old man dreaded some attempt on his life though that may have been pure monomania with no foundation in fact at all. All the same Errol is the pivot on which we have to work. I, at one time, supposed him the actual murderer. I am not so certain now. Errol by the way, we haven't found what name he passes under yet and his sister are living in London apart from each other and apart from the old man. She is sole heiress. She is quietly married to Stewart Reader Ling Errol's pal. Do you follow me, sir?"
"That's plain and plausible as far as it goes," said Sir Hilary. "It supplies a powerful motive. But, to be frank, it doesn't do much else."
"I don't pretend it does," said Menzies. "It would be mighty thin to put before a jury by itself, as you say. But now we come to Hallett. He hears a quarrel in the fog. A woman pursued by a man rushes up to him and puts a bundle of cheques into his hand. He goes to Greye-Stratton's house and is admitted about the time of the murder and knocked out by a man whose face he never saw. Twice he was brought into contact with a man or possibly two men who must know a great deal about the case. And yet he never saw them."
"I thought you were convinced of his honesty," said Thornton. "I myself believe he's perfectly clear."
"Wait a minute," said Foyle.
"I think so, too," went on Menzies. "But this is significant. Does the man who was in the fog, does the man who was in the house, know that Hallett never saw his features? We get the attempt to silence him first by threats, then by a pistol shot, then by abduction. This part, at any rate, links up some evidence. The Greye- Stratton girl's name is used to lure him to Gwennie Lyne's house. If she wrote the note herself and, mind you, we've no proof she didn't that connects her with Gwennie and the rest. I'm pretty positive in my own mind that she was the woman of the fog and that Hallett knows it and she knows he knows. We carry the linking up closer by one of the burnt notes we found, which warns Gwennie Lyne that Hallett must be silenced at all costs. We guess that's Ling's writing and may be able to prove it. We've got collaboration in some plot whether it's the murder of Greye-Stratton or not partly established at any rate."
"But the cheques," said Thornton. "How do you explain the