The crimson circle
He was flashing his electric lamp along the ground. Suddenly he went
down on to the ground and peered.
“Here is a recent footprint,” he said, “and a woman’s!”
Parr looked over his shoulder.
“I don’t think there is any doubt about that,” he said. “It is
recent.”
And then suddenly he stepped back.
“My God!” he gasped in awe-stricken tones. “What a devilish plot!”
For it came upon him with a rush that this was the footprint of Thalia
Drummond.
Chapter XXXI.
Thalia Answers a Few Questions
Derrick Yale sat with his head on his hands, reading a newspaper. He
had read a dozen that morning, and one by one he had cast them aside
to open another.
“Under the eyes of the police,” he quoted. “Incompetence at Police
Head-quarters.” He shook his head. “They are giving our poor friend
Parr a bad time in this morning’s press,” he said as he threw the
paper aside, “and yet he was as incapable of preventing that crime as
you or I, Miss Drummond.”
Thalia Drummond looked a little peaked that morning. There were dark
circles about her eyes, and an air of general listlessness which was
in contrast to her usual cheerful buoyancy.
“If you’re in that game you expect to get kicks, don’t you?” she asked
coolly. “The police can’t have it all their own way.”
He looked at her curiously.
“You aren’t a particular admirer of police methods, are you, Miss
Drummond?” he asked.
“Not tremendously,” she replied, as she laid a stack of correspondence
before him. “You aren’t expecting me to get up testimonials to the
efficiency of head-quarters, are you?”
He laughed quietly.
“You’re a strange girl,” he said. “Sometimes I think that you were
born without compassion. And you worked for Froyant, too, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said shortly.
“You lived some time in the house?”
She did not reply, but her grey eyes met his steadily.
“I did live some time in the house,” she admitted. “Why do you ask
that?”
“I wondered if you knew of the existence of this underground room?”
said Derrick Yale carelessly.
“Of course I knew of the room. Poor Mr. Froyant made no secret of his
cleverness. He has told me a dozen times how much it cost,” she added
with a faint smile.
He cogitated a moment.
“Where were the keys usually kept that opened the door of the
bomb-proof room?”
“In Mr. Froyant’s desk. Are you suggesting that I have had access to
them, or that I was concerned in last night’s murder?”
He laughed.
“I am not suggesting anything,” he said. “I am merely inquiring, and
as you seem to know a great deal more about the house than most of the
people who live in it, my curiosity is natural. Would it be possible,
do you think, to push up that trap without making a noise?”
“Quite,” she said. “The trap-door works on counter-balances. Are you
going to answer any of those letters?”
He pushed the pile of letters aside.
“What were you doing last night, Miss Drummond?”
This time his method was more direct.
“I spent my evening at home,” she said. Her hands went behind her, and
that curious rigidity which he had noticed before stiffened her frame.
“Did you spend the whole of the evening at home?”
She did not answer.
“Isn’t it a fact that about half-past eight you went out, carrying a
small parcel?”
Again she made no reply.
“One of my men accidentally saw you,” said Derrick Yale carelessly,
“and then lost sight of you. Where did you spend the evening--you did
not return to your flat until nearly eleven o’clock at night.”
“I went for a walk,” said Thalia Drummond coolly. “If you will give me
a map of London, I will endeavour to retrace my footsteps.”
“Suppose some of them have already been traced?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“In that case,” she said quietly, “I am saved the bother of telling
you where I went.”
“Now look here, Miss Drummond,” he leant across the table. “I am
perfectly sure that you are not, in your heart of hearts, a murderess.
That word makes you wince, and it is an ugly one. But there are
suspicious circumstances which I have not yet revealed to Parr about
your movements last night.”
“Being under suspicion is a normal condition with me,” she said, “and
since you know so much, it is quite unnecessary for me to tell you
more.”
He looked at her, but she returned his gaze without faltering, and
then with a shrug of his shoulders, he said:
“Really, I don’t think it matters where you were.”
“I’m almost inclined to agree with you,” she mocked him, and went back
to her office and her typewriter.
“An amazing personality,” thought Derrick Yale.
Women did not ordinarily interest him, but Thalia Drummond was beyond
and outside of the general run. Her beauty had no appeal for him; he
knew she was pretty, just as he knew his office door was painted brown
and that the colour of a penny stamp was red.
He took up the paper again and re-read some of the comments upon the
inefficiency of police head-quarters, and soon after, as he had
expected, Parr came into the room with a certain briskness and dropped
into a chair.
“The Commissioner has asked for my resignation,” he said, and to the
other’s surprise, his voice was almost cheerful. “I’m not worrying. I
intended to retire three years ago when my brother left me his money.”
This was the first intimation Derrick Yale had received that Inspector
Parr was a comparatively rich man.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, and Parr smiled.
“In Government offices when you are asked to resign, you resign,” he
said drily. “But my resignation will not take effect until the end of
next month. I must wait and see what happens to you, my friend.”
“To me?” said Derrick in surprise. “Oh, you mean the warning that I am
to be polished off on the fourth? Let me see, there are only two or
three days of life left for me,” he laughed ironically as he glanced
at the calendar. “I don’t think you need wait for that. But, joking
apart, why resign at all? Do you think if I saw the Commissioner----”
“He’d take much less notice of you than he would of a row of beans if
they started articulating,” said Mr. Parr. “As a matter of fact, he
isn’t taking me off the case until my resignation comes into effect,
and I have you to thank for that.”
“Me?”
The stout inspector was laughing silently.
“I told him that your life was so precious to the country that it was
necessary I should remain on duty until I had got you over the fatal
date,” he said.
Thalia Drummond came in at that moment with another batch of
correspondence.
“Good morning, Miss Drummond.”
The inspector raised his eyes to the girl.
“I’ve been reading about you this morning,” said Thalia coolly.
“You’re becoming quite a public character, Mr. Parr.”
“Anything for the sake of a little advertisement,” murmured the
inspector without resentment. “It is a long time since I saw your name
in the paper, Miss Drummond.”
His reference to her appearance in a police court seemed to afford
Thalia a great deal of amusement.
“I shall have my share in time,” she said. “What is the latest news
about the Crimson Circle?”
“The latest news,” said Mr. Parr slowly, “is that all correspondence
addressed to the Crimson Circle of Mildred Street must in future be
sent elsewhere.”
He saw her face change; it was only a momentary flash, but the effect
was very gratifying to Inspector Parr.
“Are they opening offices in the city?” she asked, recovering herself
rapidly. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t. They seem to do almost as
much as they like, and I don’t see why they should not live in a very
handsome block with elevators and electric signs--no, I don’t think
they’d better have electric signs, because even the police would see
them!”
“Sarcasm in a young woman,” said Mr. Parr severely, “is not only
unbecoming, it is indecent!”
Yale was listening to this exchange with a delighted smile. If the
girl surprised him, there were moments when Inspector Parr surprised
him as much. This heavy man had a very light malicious touch when he
wished.
“And where were you last night, Miss Drummond?” asked Parr, his eyes
on the ground.
“In bed and dreaming,” said Thalia Drummond.
“Then you must have been walking in your sleep when you were loafing
about at the back of Froyant’s house about half-past nine,” suggested
the inspector.
“So that is it, eh?” said Thalia. “You found my dainty footsteps in
the garden? Mr. Yale has hinted as much already. No, inspector, I went
for a walk in the park at night. The solitude is very inspiring.”
Still Parr regarded the carpet attentively.
“Well, when you walk in the park, young lady, keep at some distance
from Jack Beardmore, because the last time you trailed him, you scared
him!”
He had hit truly this time. Her face flushed crimson and her delicate
eyebrows met in a frown.
“Mr. Beardmore isn’t easily scared,” she said, “and
besides--besides----”
Suddenly she turned and went from the room, and when Parr, after a
little further conversation, also went into the outer office, she
looked up at him and scowled.
“There are times, inspector, when I positively hate you!” she said
vehemently.
“You surprise me,” said Inspector Parr.
Chapter XXXII.
A Trip to the Country
Police head-quarters was on its trial. The uncomfortable amount of
space which the newspapers were giving to the latest of these
tragedies which were associated with the name of Crimson Circle, the
questions which were on the paper to be asked in Parliament, no less
than the conferences behind closed doors at head-quarters, and the
aloofness of all who were ordinarily connected with Inspector Parr in
his work, were ominous signs which he did not fail to appreciate.
There was hardly a newspaper which did not publish a very complete
list of the outrages for which the Crimson Circle was responsible, and
not one which did not mention pointedly the damning fact that from the
very beginning of the Circle’s activity, Inspector Parr had had charge
of the various cases.
He asked for, and was granted, leave to make enquiries in France.
During his few days’ absence, his superiors arranged for his
successor. He had only one friend at head-quarters, and that curiously
and strangely enough was Colonel Morton, the Commissioner in control
of Parr’s department.
Morton fought his case, but knew that it was a hopeless one from the
beginning. In this he had the assistance of Derrick Yale. Yale made an
early call at head-quarters and gave the fullest particulars with the
object of exonerating his official colleague.
“The mere fact that I was on the spot, and that I had been specially
engaged to protect Froyant, must take a lot of responsibility from
Parr’s shoulders,” he urged.
The Commissioner leant back in his chair and folded his arms.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Yale,” he said bluntly, “but
officially you have no existence, and I am afraid that nothing you
will say is going to help Mr. Parr. He has had his chance--in fact, he
has had several chances, and he has missed them.”
Just as Yale was going the Commissioner beckoned him to remain.
“You can throw light upon one subject, Mr. Yale,” he said. “It has
reference to the killing of the man who shot James Beardmore: you
remember Sibly, the sailor.”
Yale nodded, and resumed the seat he had vacated.
“Who was in the cell when you were taking this man’s evidence?”
“Myself, Mr. Parr and an official shorthand writer.”
“Man or woman?” asked the Commissioner.
“A man. I think he was a member of your staff. And that was all. The
jailer came in once or twice; in fact he came in while we were there,
and brought the water, which was found afterwards to contain the
poison.”
The Commissioner opened a folder and selected from many documents a
sheet of foolscap.