The crimson circle
Circle, remains to be seen.”
“I suppose,” said the Prime Minister, “there is no doubt that this
unfortunate man, Heggitt, has been killed.”
It was Derrick Yale who answered.
“No, sir; the body was found early this morning. Mr. Heggitt, who
lives at Marsden, left London last night by train, and apparently the
crime was committed _en route_.”
“It is deplorable, deplorable.” The Prime Minister shook his head. “A
terrible orgy of murder and crime, and it seems that we are not at the
end of it yet.”
When they came out into Whitehall, Yale and his companion found that a
large crowd had gathered, for news had leaked out that a meeting was
being held to discuss this new and extraordinary problem which
confronted the Government.
Yale, who was recognised, was cheered, but Inspector Parr passed
unnoticed through the crowd--to his intense relief.
Undoubtedly the Crimson Circle was the sensation of the hour. Some of
the evening newspaper placards bore a crimson circle in imitation of
the famous insignia of the gang, and wherever men met, there the
possibility of the Circle carrying their threat into effect was
discussed.
Thalia Drummond looked up as her employer came in. The evening
newspaper was in front of her, and her chin rested on her clasped
hands, and she read every line, word by word.
Derrick noticed the interest, and observed, too, her momentary
confusion as she folded the paper and put it away.
“Well, Miss Drummond, what do you think of their last exploit?”
“It is colossal,” she said. “In some respects, admirable.”
He looked at her gravely.
“I confess I can see little to admire,” he said. “You take rather a
queer, twisted view of things.”
“Don’t I?” she said coolly. “You must never forget, Mr. Yale, that I
have a queer, twisted mind.”
He paused at the door of his room and looked back at her, a long, keen
scrutiny, which she met without so much as an eyelid quivering.
“I think you should be very grateful that Mr. Johnson, of Mildred
Street, no longer receives your interesting communications,” he said,
and she was silent.
He came out again soon after.
“I am probably going to establish my offices at police head-quarters,”
he said, “and realising that that atmosphere is one in which you will
not flourish, I am leaving you here in control of my ordinary
business.”
“Are you accepting the responsibility for capturing the Crimson
Circle?” she asked steadily.
He shook his head.
“Inspector Parr is in control,” he said, “but I am going to help him.”
He made no further reference to his new task, and the rest of the
morning was spent in routine work. He went out to lunch and said he
would not be back that day, giving her instructions regarding letters
he wished despatched.
He had hardly gone before his telephone bell went, and at the sound of
the voice at the other end, she nearly dropped the receiver.
“Yes, it is I,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. Beardmore.”
“Is Yale there?” asked Jack.
“He has just gone out: he will not be back to-day. If there is
anything important to tell him, I may be able to find him,” she said,
steadying her voice with an effort.
“I don’t know whether it’s important or not,” said Jack, “but I was
going through my father’s papers this morning, a very disagreeable
job, by the way, and I found a whole bunch of papers relating to
Marl.”
“To Marl?” she said slowly.
“Yes, apparently poor Dad knew a great deal more about Marl than we
imagined. He had been in prison: did you know that?”
“I could have guessed it,” said Thalia.
“Father always put through an inquiry about people before he did
business with them,” Jack went on, “and apparently there is a lot of
explanation about Marl’s early life, collected by a French agency. He
seems to have been a pretty bad lot, and I wonder the governor had
dealings with him. One curious document is an envelope which is marked
‘Photograph of Execution’: it was sealed up by the French people, and
apparently the governor didn’t open it. He hated gruesome things of
that kind.”
“Have you opened it?” she asked quickly.
“No,” he answered in a tone of surprise. “Why do you jump at me like
that?”
“Will you do me a favour, Jack?”
It was the first time she had ever called him by name, and she could
almost see him redden.
“Why--why, of course, Thalia, I’d do anything for you,” he said
eagerly.
“Don’t open the envelope,” she said intensely. “Keep all the papers
relating to Marl in a safe place. Will you promise that?”
“I promise,” he said. “What a queer request to make!”
“Have you told anybody about it?” she asked.
“I sent a note to Inspector Parr.”
He heard her exclamation of annoyance.
“Will you promise me not to tell anybody, especially about the
photograph?”
“Of course, Thalia,” he answered. “I’ll send it along to you, if you
like.”
“No, no, don’t do that,” she said, then abruptly she finished the
conversation.
She sat for a few minutes breathing quickly, and then she rose, and
putting on her hat, she locked up the office, and went to lunch.
Chapter XXXV.
Thalia Lunches with a Cabinet Minister
The fourth of the month had passed, and Derrick Yale was still
alive. He commented on the fact as he came into the office which he
and Inspector Parr jointly occupied.
“Incidentally,” he said, “I have lost my fishing.”
Parr grunted.
“It is better that you lost your fishing than that we lost sight of
you,” he said. “I am perfectly convinced that if you had taken that
trip, you would never have returned.”
Yale laughed.
“You have a tremendous faith in the Crimson Circle, and their ability
to keep their promises.”
“I have--to a point,” said the inspector, without looking up from the
letter he was writing.
“I hear that Brabazon has made a statement to the police,” said Yale,
after an interval.
“Yes,” said the inspector. “Not a very informative one, but a
statement of sorts. He has admitted that for a long time he was
changing the money which the Crimson Circle extracted from their
victims, though he was unaware of the fact. He also gives particulars
of his joining the Circle, after which, of course, he acted as a
conscious agent.”
“Are you charging him with the murder of Marl?”
Inspector Parr shook his head.
“We haven’t sufficient evidence for that,” he said, blotted his
letter, folded it and enclosed it in an envelope.
“What did you discover in France? I have not had an opportunity of
talking to you about that,” asked Yale.
Parr leant back in his chair, felt for his pipe, and lit it before he
answered.
“About as much as poor old Froyant discovered,” he said. “In fact, I
followed very closely the same line of investigation that he had. It
was mostly and mainly about Marl and his iniquities. You know that he
was a member of a criminal gang in France, and that he and his
companion, Lightman--I think that was the name--were condemned to
death. Lightman should have died, but the executioners bungled the
job, and he was sent off to Devil’s Island, or Cayenne, or one of
those French settlements, where he died.”
“He escaped,” said Yale quietly.
“The devil he did.” Mr. Parr looked up. “Personally, I wasn’t so
interested in Lightman as I was in Marl.”
“Do you speak French, Parr?” asked Yale suddenly.
“Fluently,” was the reply, and the inspector looked up. “Why do you
ask?”
“I have no reason, except that I wondered how you pursued your
inquiries.”
“I speak French--very well,” said Parr, and would have changed the
subject.
“And Lightman escaped,” said Yale softly. “I wonder where he is now.”
“That is a question I have never troubled to ask myself.” There was a
note of impatience in the inspector’s voice.
“You were not the only person interested in Marl, apparently. I saw a
note on your desk from young Beardmore, saying that he had discovered
some papers relating to the late Felix. His father had also made
inquiries about the man. Of course, James Beardmore would. He was a
cautious man.”
He was lunching with the Commissioner, Mr. Parr learnt, and was not at
all hurt that he was excluded from the invitation. He was very busy in
these days, selecting the men who were to form the bodyguard of the
Cabinet, and he could well afford to miss engagements which invariably
bored him.
As it happens, his company would have been a great embarrassment, for
Yale had something to communicate to the Commissioner, something which
it was not well that Inspector Parr should hear. It was near to the
end of the meal that he dropped his bombshell, and it was so effective
that the Commissioner fell back in his chair and gasped.
“Somebody at police head-quarters,” he said incredulously. “Why, that
is impossible, Mr. Yale.”
Derrick Yale shook his head.
“I wouldn’t say anything was impossible, sir,” he said, “but doesn’t
it seem to you that all the evidence tends to support that idea? Every
effort that we make to bring about the undoing of the Crimson Circle
is anticipated. Somebody having access to the cell of Sibly, killed
him. Who but a person having authority from head-quarters? Take the
case of Froyant: there were a number of detectives on duty round and
about the house; nobody apparently came in and nobody went out.”
The Commissioner was calmer now.
“Let us have this thing clear, Mr. Yale,” he said. “Are you accusing
Parr?”
Derrick Yale laughed and shook his head.
“Why, of course not,” he said. “I cannot imagine Parr having a single
criminal instinct. Only if you will think the matter out,” he leant
over the table and lowered his voice, “and will go into every detail
and every crime that the Crimson Circle has committed, you cannot fail
to be struck by this fact: that, hovering in the background all the
time was somebody in authority.”
“Parr?” said the Commissioner.
Derrick Yale bit his lower lip thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to think of Parr,” he said. “I would rather think of him
as being victimised by a subordinate he trusts. You quite understand,”
he went on quickly, “that I should not hesitate to accuse Parr if my
discoveries took me in that direction. I would not even free you, sir,
from suspicion, if you gave me cause.”
The Commissioner looked uncomfortable.
“I can assure you that I know nothing whatever about the Crimson
Circle,” he said gruffly, and realising the absurdity of his protest,
laughed.
“Who is that girl over there?” he pointed to a couple who were dining
in a corner of the big restaurant. “She keeps looking across toward
you.”
“That girl,” said Mr. Derrick Yale carefully, “is a young lady named
Thalia Drummond, and her companion, unless I am greatly mistaken, is
the Honourable Raphael Willings, a member of the Government and one
who has been threatened by the Crimson Circle.”
“Thalia Drummond?” The Commissioner whistled. “Isn’t she the young
person who was in very serious trouble some time ago? She was
Froyant’s secretary, was she not?”
The other nodded.
“She is an enigma to me,” he said, shaking his head, “and the greatest
mystery of all is her nerve. At this precise moment she is supposed to
be sitting in my office answering telephone calls and dealing with any
correspondence which may arrive.”
“You employ her, do you?” asked the astonished Commissioner, and then
with a little smile, “I agree with you about her nerve, but how does a
girl of that class come to be acquainted with Mr. Willings?”
Here Derrick Yale was not prepared to supply an answer.
He was still sitting with the Commissioner when he saw the girl rise
and, followed by her companion, walk slowly down the room. Her way led
her past his table, and she met his enquiring glance with a smile and
a little nod, and said something over her shoulder to the middle-aged
man who was following her.