Heldon Foyle was more deeply chagrined than he would have cared to admit by the disappearance of Waverley. It was not only that one of the most experienced men of the Criminal Investigation Department had fallen into a trap and so placed his colleagues in difficulties. The very audacity of the coup showed that the department was matched against no ordinary opponents. There is a limit even to the daring of the greatest professional criminals. If there were professionals acting in this business, reflected the superintendent, the idea was none of theirs. Besides, no professional would have written the letter threatening the Yard. That was no bluff—the finger-prints proved that. To hold a Scotland Yard man as a hostage was a game only to be played by those who had much at stake.

Only one man shared Heldon Foyle's confidence. That was Sir Hilary Thornton. To the Assistant Commissioner he talked freely.

"It's an ugly job for us, sir, there's no disguising that. Naturally, they count on us keeping our mouths shut about Waverley. It's lucky he's not a married man. If the story of the way he was bagged becomes public property we shall be a laughing-stock, even if we get him out of his trouble. And if we don't, the scandal will be something worse."

"Yes. It's bad—bad," agreed the Assistant Commissioner. "The Press must not hear of this."[Pg 81]

"Trust me," said Foyle grimly. "The Press won't."

"I don't like this affair of Lady Eileen Meredith," went on Sir Hilary. "After all, she has a good right to know the truth. Wouldn't it be better to let her know that Grell is alive?"

Foyle jingled some money in his trousers pocket.

"I hate it as much as you do, Sir Hilary. I can't take any chances, though. Grell knows we know he is alive. When he finds that this girl h