The crimson circle
He stared at her incredulously, then looked at Milly Macroy with a
frown.
“You told me that he had the best part of a hundred thousand----”
“So he has,” said the girl.
“He had until to-day,” replied Thalia. “But this afternoon Mr.
Brabazon went out--I think he went to the Bank of England, because the
notes were all new. He sent for me and I saw them stacked up on his
desk. He told me he was closing Marl’s account, and that he was not
the kind of man he wanted as a client. Then he took the money and
called on Marl, I think, for when he came back just before the bank
closed he handed me Marl’s cheque.”
“‘I’ve settled that account, Miss Drummond,’ he said. ‘I don’t think
we’ll be troubled with that blackguard again.’”
“Did he know about Marl asking you out to dinner?” asked Milly, but
the girl shook her head.
Mr. Barnet said nothing. He was sitting back in his chair, fondling
his chin, with a faraway look in his eyes.
“A big amount, was it?” he asked.
“Sixty-two thousand,” replied the girl.
“And it is in his house?” said Barnet, his face pink with excitement.
“Sixty-two thousand! Did you hear that, Milly? And you’re dining with
him to-night?” said “Flush” Barnet slowly and significantly. “Now,
what about it?”
She met his gaze without flinching.
“What about what?” she asked.
“Here’s the chance of a lifetime,” he said, husky with emotion.
“You’re going to the house. You’re not above stringing the old man
along, are you, Thalia?”
She was silent.
“I know the place,” said “Flush” Barnet, “one of those quaint little
houses in Kensington that cost a fortune to keep up. Marisburg Place,
Bayswater Road.”
“I know the address pretty well,” said the girl.
“He keeps three menservants,” said “Flush” Barnet, “but they’re
usually out any night he happens to be entertaining a lady friend. Do
you get me?”
“But he’s not entertaining me in his house,” said the girl.
“What’s the matter with a little bit of supper after the show, eh?”
asked Barnet. “Suppose he puts it up to you, and you say yes. There’ll
be no servants in the house when you get back. That I’ll take my oath.
I’ve studied Marl.”
“What do you expect me to do? Rob him?” asked Thalia. “Stick a gun
under his nose and say, ‘Deliver your pieces of eight’?”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Mr. Barnet, startled out of his pose of
elegant gentleman. “You’re to do nothing but have your supper and come
away. Keep him amused, make him laugh. You needn’t be frightened
because I’ll be in the house soon after you, and if there’s any
trouble I’ll be on hand.”
The girl was playing with her teaspoon, her eyes fixed on the
tablecloth.
“Suppose he doesn’t send his servants away?”
“You can bank on that,” interrupted Mr. Barnet. “Moses! There never
was such a wonderful opportunity! Do you agree?”
Thalia shook her head.
“It is too big for me. Maybe you’re right and I’m likely to get into
trouble, but it seems to me that petty pilfering is my long suit.”
“Bah!” said Barnet in disgust. “You’re mad! Now’s your time to make a
harvest, my dear. You’re not known to the police. You’re not under the
limelight like me. Are you going to do it?”
She dropped her eyes again to the cloth and again fidgeted with her
spoon nervously.
“All right,” she said with a sudden shrug, “I might as well be hung
for a sheep as a lamb.”
“Or for a good share of sixty thousand as for a miserable couple of
hundred, eh?” said Barnet jovially, and beckoned the waiter.
Thalia left the restaurant and turned homeward. She had to pass the
bank, and it was not good policy, she thought, to hail a taxicab until
she had left the neighbourhood, where Mr. Brabazon’s grave eyes might
observe her extravagance. She had turned into the stream of
pedestrians that thronged Regent Street at this hour when she felt a
touch on her arm, and turned.
A young man was walking by her side, a good-looking, keen-faced young
man who did not smile ingratiatingly as others had done who had nudged
her arm in Regent Street, nor did he inquire if she were going the
same way as he.
“Thalia!”
She turned quickly at the sound of the voice, and for a second her
self-possession failed her.
“Mr. Beardmore!” she faltered.
Jack’s face was flushed and he was obviously embarrassed.
“I only wanted to speak to you for a moment. I have waited for a week
for the opportunity,” he said hurriedly.
“You knew I was at Brabazon’s--who told you?”
He hesitated.
“Inspector Parr,” he said, and when he saw the smile curl on the
girl’s lips, he went on: “Old Parr isn’t a bad sort, really. He has
never said another word against you, Thalia.”
“Another!” she quoted, “but does it really matter? And now, Mr.
Beardmore, I really must go. I have a very important engagement.”
But he held fast to her hand.
“Thalia, won’t you tell me why you did it?” he asked quietly. “Who is
behind you?”
She laughed.
“There is a reason for your keeping this extraordinary company,” he
went on, when she stopped him.
“What extraordinary company?” she demanded.
“You have just come from a restaurant,” he said. “You have been there
with a man called ‘Flush’ Barnet, a notorious crook and a man who has
served a term of penal servitude. The woman with you was Milly Macroy,
a confederate of his who was concerned in the Darlington Co-Operative
robbery and has also served a term of imprisonment. At present she is
engaged at Brabazon’s Bank.”
“Well?” said the girl again.
“Surely you don’t know the character of these people?” urged Jack.
“And how do you know them?” she asked calmly. “Am I wrong in supposing
that you were not alone in your--vigil? Were you accompanied by the
admirable Mr. Parr? I see you were. Why, you are almost a policeman
yourself, Mr. Beardmore.”
Jack was staggered.
“Do you realise that it is Parr’s duty to inform your employer that
you keep that kind of company?” he asked. “For heaven’s sake, Thalia,
take a sane view of your position.”
But she laughed.
“Heaven forbid that I should interfere with the duty of a responsible
police officer,” she said, “but on the whole I’d rather Mr. Parr
didn’t. That at least is a sign of grace,” she smiled. “Yes, I’d much
rather he didn’t. I don’t mind the police speaking to me for my good
because it is only right and proper that they should try to lead the
weak from their sinful ways. But an employer who attempts to reform an
erring girl might be a bit of a nuisance, don’t you think?”
In spite of himself he laughed.
“Really, Thalia, you’re much too clever for the kind of company you’re
keeping and for the kind of life you’re drifting to,” he added
earnestly. “I know I have no right to interfere, but perhaps I could
help you. Particularly,” he hesitated, “if you have done something
which places you in the power of these people.”
She put out her hand with a rare smile.
“Good-bye,” she said sweetly, and left him feeling something of a
fool.
The girl walked quickly through Burlington Arcade to Piccadilly and
entered a taxi. The block of mansions at which she alighted was
situated in the Marylebone Road and was a distinct improvement on
Lexington Street.
The liveried porter took her up in the elevator to the third floor,
and she let herself into a flat which was both prettily and
expensively furnished.
She pressed a bell, and it was answered by a staid middle-aged woman.
“Martha,” she said, “I shan’t want any tea, thank you. Lay out my blue
evening gown and telephone to Waltham’s Garage and tell them that I
shall want a car to be here at five minutes before half past seven.”
Miss Drummond’s wages from the bank were exactly £4 a week.
Chapter XVI.
Mr. Marl Goes Out
“So you’ve come, eh?” said Mr. Marl, rising to greet the girl. “My
word, but you look smart! And you look lovely, my dear, too!”
He took both her hands in his and led her into the little gold and
white drawing-room.
“Lovely!” he repeated in an almost hushed voice. “I can tell you I was
a little bit scared about taking you to the Ritz-Carlton. You don’t
mind my frankness, do you--have a cigarette?”
He fumbled in the tail-pocket of his dress coat, produced a large gold
case and opened it.
“You thought I’d turn up in one of Morne & Gillingsworth’s six guinea
models, eh?” she laughed as she lit the cigarette.
“Well, I did, my dear. I’ve had a lot of unhappy experiences,”
explained Marl as he seated himself heavily in an arm-chair. “I’ve had
’em turn up in queer clothes, I can tell you!”
“Do you make a practice of entertaining the young and the fair?”
Thalia had seated herself on the big padded fireguard and was looking
down at him under her half-closed lids.
“Well,” said Mr. Marl complacently, rubbing his hands. “I’m not so old
that I don’t get some pleasure out of ladies’ society. But you’re
stunning!”
He was a blonde, red-faced man with suspiciously brown hair,
suspiciously even teeth, and for this evening he had acquired a waist
which seemed wholly unreal.
“We’re going to dinner and then we’ll go on and see ‘The Boys and the
Girls’ at the Winter Palace,” he said, “and then,” he hesitated, “what
do you say to a little supper?” he asked.
“A little supper? I don’t take supper,” said the girl.
“Well, you can peck a bit of fruit, I suppose?” suggested Mr. Marl.
“Where?” asked the girl steadily. “Most of the restaurants are closed
before the theatres are out, aren’t they?”
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t come back here? You’re not a
prude, my dear, are you?”
“Not much,” she confessed.
“I can see you home in my car,” he said.
“I’ve got my own car, thank you,” said the girl, and Mr. Marl’s eyes
opened. Then he began to laugh steadily at first, and his laughter
ended in an asthmatical paroxysm. Presently he gasped: “Oh, you wicked
little devil!”
The evening was an interesting one for Thalia, more interesting by
reason of the fact that she caught a glimpse of Mr. “Flush” Barnet in
the hall of the hotel as she passed through.
It was after the theatre was over and they were standing in the
vestibule, waiting for the lift-man to call their car, that Thalia
showed some symptom of hesitation, but the eloquent Mr. Felix Marl
overcame whatever reluctance she felt, and as the clock was striking
the half hour after eleven she passed into the hall, not failing to
notice that Mr. Marl did not ring for his servants, but let himself in
with his own latchkey.
The supper was laid in a rose-panelled dining-room.
“I will help you, my dear,” said Mr. Marl. “We won’t bother about the
servants.” But she shook her head.
“I can eat nothing, and I think I’ll go home now,” she said.
“Wait, wait,” he begged. “I want to have a little talk with you about
your boss. I can do you a lot of good in that firm--at the bank,
Thalia. Who called you Thalia?”
“My godfathers and godmothers, M. or N.” said Thalia solemnly, and Mr.
Marl squeaked his delight at her humour.
He was passing behind her, ostensibly to reach one of the dishes which
were set on the table, when he stooped and, had she not slipped from
his grasp, would have kissed her.
“I think I’ll go home,” said Thalia.
“Rubbish!” Mr. Marl was annoyed, and when Mr. Marl was annoyed he
forgot that he made any pretensions to gentle birth. “Come and sit
down.”
She looked at him long and thoughtfully, and then, turning suddenly,
went to the door, and turned the handle. It was locked.
“I think you had better open this door, Mr. Marl,” she said quietly.
“I think not,” chuckled Mr. Marl. “Now, Thalia, be the dear, good
little girl I thought you were.”
“I should hate to dissipate any illusions you may have about my
character,” said Thalia coolly. “You’ll open that door, please.”
“Certainly.”
He ambled toward the door, feeling in his pocket, then before she