The crimson circle
carrying his bag an hour later, and yet so remarkable was the change
which the shaved eyebrows had made, that when, at eleven o’clock that
night, he passed one of the many detective officers who were looking
for him, he was unrecognised.
He had engaged a room in a small hotel near Euston Station, and went
to bed. It was the first night of untroubled sleep he had enjoyed for
over a week.
The next day he spent in his room, not caring to trust himself abroad
in daylight, but in the evening, after a solitary meal served in his
sitting-room, he went out to take the air. He was gaining in
confidence, and was now satisfied that he could pass the scrutiny of
the ship detective. He chose the less frequented streets and was
passing near the Museum when he saw a bill newly pasted on the
hoarding, and stopped to read it.
As he read, an idea took shape. Ten thousand pounds and a free pardon!
It was by no means sure that he would escape in the morning; more
likely was it that he would be detected, and at best what would his
life be? The life of a hunted dog, for which even his money would not
compensate him. Ten thousand pounds and freedom! And nobody knew about
the money that he had tricked from Felix Marl’s estate. He would put
that in a safe deposit in the morning, go straight to police
head-quarters with information which he felt sure must lead to the
Crimson Circle’s undoing.
“I’ll do it,” he said aloud.
“I think you’re very wise.”
The voice was at his elbow and he swung round.
A little, stocky man had walked noiselessly behind him in his
rubber-soled shoes, and Brabazon recognised him instantly.
“Inspector Parr,” he gasped.
“That’s right,” said the inspector. “Now, Mr. Brabazon, will you come
a little walk with me, or are you going to make trouble?”
As they went into the police-station, a woman came out, and the pallid
Brabazon failed to recognise his former clerk. He stood in the steel
pen whilst the story of his iniquities was told in the cold, official
language of the warrant.
“You can save yourself a lot of trouble, Mr. Brabazon,” said Inspector
Parr, “by telling me the truth. I know where you are staying--at
Bright’s Hotel in the Euston Road. You arrived there late last night
and your passage is booked in the name of Thomson to New Zealand by
the _Itinga_, which is due to leave Victoria Dock to-morrow morning.”
“Good God!” said the startled Brabazon. “How did you know that?”
But here Inspector Parr did not inform him.
Brabazon did not intend lying. He told everything he knew. All that
had happened from the moment he was called by telephone and told to
make a get-away, until he was arrested.
“So you were in the house all the time?” said the inspector
thoughtfully. “How did you come to escape Mr. Yale’s search?”
“Oh, was it Yale?” said Brabazon. “I thought it was you. There was an
inner room--just a little storehouse, I think it was in the old
times--I got behind the door and hid. He came almost to the door. I
nearly died with fright.”
“So Yale was right again. You were there!” said the inspector speaking
half to himself. “Now, what are you going to do about it, Brabazon?”
“I’m going to tell you all I know about the Crimson Circle, and I
think I can give you information which will lead to his arrest. But
you’ll have to be smart.”
He was recovering something of his old pomposity, Parr observed.
“I told you that he exchanged my notes for his, and his notes for
mine. I’m sure he did that because he was afraid of the numbers being
taken, but my notes were in a series--series E.19, and I can give you
the number of every one of them,” he went on easily. “He wouldn’t
change the stuff he got.”
“That was Froyant’s money, I think,” said the inspector. “Yes, go on.”
“He dare not change that, but he will change mine. Don’t you see what
a chance this gives to you?”
The inspector was a little sceptical. Nevertheless, after Brabazon had
been locked in the cell, he called up Froyant on the ’phone and told
him as much of what had happened as was necessary for him to know.
“You’ve got the money?” said Froyant eagerly. “Come up to the house at
once.”
“I’ll bring it up to the house with pleasure,” replied Parr, “but I
feel I ought to warn you that this is not your money, although it is
the actual cash that was transferred by you to the Crimson Circle.”
Later on, in Mr. Froyant’s presence, he explained the situation. That
spare man made no attempt to hide his disappointment, for he seemed to
think that in whatever circumstances the money was recovered, he was
entitled to claim. After a while Inspector Parr got him into a more
reasonable frame of mind. Froyant was talking quite calmly on the
matter, when he suddenly broke off with the question:
“Have you the numbers of the notes which Brabazon handed to him?”
“They are easy to remember,” said Parr, “they belong to a series,” and
he recited the numbers, Mr. Froyant making a rapid note on his
desk-pad.
Chapter XXVI.
The Bottle of Chloroform
Thalia Drummond was writing a letter when her visitor arrived, and
of the many people whom Thalia expected to call, Millie Macroy was the
last. The girl looked ill and tired, but she was not so far from human
that she could not stand and admire the dainty drawing-room into which
Thalia showed her, her servant having gone home for the night.
“Why this is a palace, kid,” she said, and regarded Thalia with
reluctant admiration. “You know how to do it all right, better than
poor ‘Flush.’”
“And how is the elegant ‘Flush’?” asked Thalia coolly.
Millie Macroy’s face darkened.
“See here,” she said roughly, “I don’t want any kind of talk about
‘Flush’ in that tone, do you understand? He is where _you_ ought to
be. You were in it as well as him.”
“Don’t be silly. Take off your hat and sit down. Why, it’s like old
times seeing you, Macroy.”
The girl grumbled something under her breath, but accepted the
invitation.
“It is about ‘Flush’ I want to see you,” she said. “There’s some talk
of framing a murder charge against him, but you know he didn’t commit
any murder.”
“I know? Why should I know?” asked Thalia. “I didn’t even know that he
was in the house until I read the newspapers in the morning--how
wonderfully clever they are on the Press to get news so red-hot.”
Milly Macroy had not come to discuss the enterprise of the Press. She
drove straight into her subject, which was, as Thalia had expected,
“Flush” Barnet and his immediate prospects.
“Drummond, I’m not going to quarrel with you,” she said.
“I’m glad of that,” said Thalia. “I can’t exactly see what there is to
quarrel about, anyway.”
“That may or may not be,” said Miss Macroy ironically. “The point is,
what are you going to do for ‘Flush’? You know all these swells, and
you’re working for that swine Yale,” she almost hissed. “It was Yale
who put Parr up to the Marisburg Place job; Parr hadn’t got brains
enough to think it out for himself. Were you working with Yale all the
time?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said Thalia scornfully. “It’s certainly true I
am working for Yale, if writing his letters and tidying his desk is
work. But what swells are you talking about? And what can I do for
‘Flush’ Barnet?”
“You can go to Inspector Parr and tell him the old, old story,” said
Macroy. “I’ve got it all worked out; you can say that ‘Flush’ was
sweet on you, saw you go into the house and followed, and couldn’t get
out.”
“What about my young reputation?” asked the girl coolly. “No, Milly
Macroy, you’ve got to think up something prettier and, anyway, I don’t
think they’re making a charge for murder against him, from what
Derrick Yale said this morning.”
She rose and walked slowly across the room, her hands clasped behind
her.
“Besides, what interest have I in your young man? Why should I take
the trouble of speaking for him?”
“I’ll tell you why.”
Miss Macroy rose, her hands on her hips, and glared at the girl.
“Because when the Brabazon case comes on, there’s nothing to prevent
me going into the box and saying a few plain words about what you did
in the way of quick money-getting when you were Brab’s secretary. Ah!
That’s made you jump, miss!”
“When the Brabazon case comes on!” said the girl slowly. “Why? Have
they caught Brabazon?”
“They pinched him to-night,” answered the girl triumphantly. “Parr did
it: I was up at the police station making inquiries about some money
that ‘Flush’ left over for me, when they brought him in.”
“Brabazon a prisoner,” said Thalia slowly. “Poor old Brab!”
Macroy was watching her through her half-closed lids. She had never
liked Thalia Drummond, and now she hated her. She feared her too, for
there was something sinister in her very coolness. Presently Thalia
spoke.
“I’ll do what I can for ‘Flush’ Barnet,” she said. “Not because I’m
scared of your going into the box--that’s the part of the police court
where you’ll be least at home, Macroy--but because the poor little
wretch was innocent of the murder.”
Miss Macroy swallowed something at this description of her lover.
“I’ll talk to Yale in the morning. I can’t be sure it will do any
good, but I’ll get a heart-to-heart talk with him if he gives me a
chance.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Macroy, a little more graciously, and proceeded
to admire the flat in conventional language.
Thalia showed her from room to room.
“What’s this place?”
“The kitchen,” said Thalia, but made no attempt to open the door. The
girl looked at her suspiciously.
“Have you got a friend?” she asked, and before Thalia could stop her
she had opened the door and walked in.
The kitchen was a small one and empty. The electric light was burning,
which suggested to Miss Macroy that the girl had left the kitchen to
answer her knock.
Thalia could have smiled at the obvious disappointment on Milly
Macroy’s face, but her inclination to amusement departed as Macroy
walked to the sink and picked up a bottle.
“What is this?” said she, and read the label.
It was half-filled with a colourless liquid, and Miss Macroy did not
attempt to take out the stopper. The label told her all she wanted to
know.
“‘Chloroform and Ether,’” she read, looking at the girl. “Why have you
been using chloroform?”
Only for a second was Thalia taken aback, and then she laughed.
“Well, do you know, Milly Macroy,” she drawled, “when I think of poor
‘Flush’ Barnet in Brixton Gaol, I just have to sniff something to put
him out of my mind.”
Macroy banged down the bottle on the table with a snort.
“You’re a bad lot, Thalia Drummond, and one of these days they’ll be
waking you at eight o’clock, and ask you if you have any message for
your friends.”
“And I shall reply,” said Thalia sweetly, “bury me next to ‘Flush’
Barnet, the eminent crook.”
Miss Milly Macroy did not think of a suitable retort until she was in
the Marylebone Road, and then it came to her with annoying force that,
for all her interview, Thalia Drummond had promised nothing.
Chapter XXVII.
Mr. Parr’s Mother
Jack Beardmore had heard of Brabazon’s arrest, and went straight to
police head-quarters to see Mr. Parr.
He found that excellent gentleman had gone home.
“If it is important, Mr. Beardmore,” said the police clerk on duty,
“you will find him at home in his house at Stamford Avenue.”
Beyond his natural interest in the Crimson Circle and all that
pertained thereto, Jack had no particular wish to see the inspector,
and Derrick Yale had telephoned all that was known or could be told.
“Parr thinks this arrest may have an important development,” he said.
“No, I haven’t seen Brabazon, but I accompany Parr to-morrow morning
when he visits him.”
Yale, too, was apparently un-get-at-able; he had hinted that he had a