The crimson circle
introduced the young man.
“I agree with Mr. Beardmore,” said Derrick Yale. “I have not the
slightest expectation of Mr. Parr making a fool of himself, in fact,
I think he is going to fill up a number of gaps and bridge over
seemingly irreconcilable circumstances, and I am ready to fill in a
number of spaces which he may leave blank.”
The company seated itself, and the Prime Minister beckoned the
inspector forward.
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll stay where I am,” he said. “I’m not an
orator, and I should like to tell this yarn as if I were telling it to
any one of you.”
He cleared his throat and began speaking. At first his words were
hesitant and he paused again and again to find the right phrase, but
as he warmed to his subject he spoke more quickly and lucidly.
“The Crimson Circle,” he began, “is a man named Lightman, a criminal
who committed several murders in France, was condemned to death, but
was saved by an accident from execution. His full name is Ferdinand
Walter Lightman, and on the date of his attempted execution his age
was twenty-three years and four months. He was transported to Cayenne,
and escaped from that settlement after murdering a warder, and it is
believed got away to Australia. A man answering his description, but
giving another name, was working for a storekeeper in Melbourne for
eighteen months, and was afterwards in the employment of a squatter
named Macdonald for two years and five months. He left Australia in a
hurry, a warrant having been issued against him by the local police
for attempting to blackmail his employer.
“What happened to him subsequently we have not been able to trace
until there appeared in England an unknown and mysterious blackmailer
who signed himself the Crimson Circle, and who, by careful
organisation and a display of remarkable patience and energy, gathered
around him a large number of assistants, all of whom were unknown to
one another. His _modus operandi_” (the inspector stumbled at the
phrase) “was to find out somebody in a responsible position, who was
either in need of money or in fear of prosecution for some offence
which he or she had committed. He made the most careful inquiries
before he approached his recruit, who was finally interviewed in a
closed car driven by the Crimson Circle himself. Usually the
rendezvous was one of the London squares which had the advantage of
having four or five exits and a further advantage of being poorly
lighted. You gentlemen are probably aware that the residential squares
of London are the worst illuminated streets in the metropolis.
“Another class of recruit the Crimson Circle was very eager to secure
was the convicted criminal. In this way he dragged in Sibly, an
ex-sailor of a particularly low intelligence, who was already
suspected of having committed murder, and who was the very man for the
Crimson Circle’s purpose. In this way he secured Thalia Drummond----”
he paused--“a thief, and an associate of thieves. In this way, too, he
found the black man who murdered the railway director. For his own
purpose he put in Brabazon the banker, and would have taken Felix Marl
only, unfortunately for Marl, they had been associated together in the
very crime for which Lightman nearly lost his life. More unfortunate
still, Marl recognised Lightman when he met him in England, and this
is the reason why Marl was eventually destroyed, the murderer
employing perhaps the most ingenious method that has ever been used by
a homicidal criminal.
“You can well understand, gentlemen,” he went on. They were following
the little man with strained interest. “The Crimson Circle----”
“Why did he call himself Crimson Circle?” It was Derrick Yale who
asked the question, and for a little while the inspector was silent.
“He called himself Crimson Circle,” he said slowly, “because it was a
name he had amongst his fellow convicts. About his neck was a red
birth-mark--and I’ll blow the top of your head off if you move!”
The heavy calibre Webley he held in his hand covered Derrick Yale.
“Put your hands right up!” said the inspector, and then suddenly he
reached out his hand and tore away the high white collar which covered
Yale’s neck.
There was a gasp. Red, blood-red, as though it were painted by human
agency, a circle of crimson ran about the throat of Derrick Yale.
Chapter XLII.
Mother
In the room three men had mysteriously appeared--the three who had
captured Parr’s spy two nights before--and in a second Yale was
manacled hand and foot. A deft hand jerked the pistol that he carried
from his pocket, a third man dropped a cloth bag over his head and
face, and he was hurried from the room.
Inspector Parr wiped the perspiration from his streaming forehead, and
faced his amazed audience.
“Gentlemen,” he said a little shakily, “if you will excuse me for
to-night I will tell you the whole of this story to-morrow.”
They surrounded him, plying him with questions, but he could only
shake his head.
“He’s had a very bad time,” it was the colonel’s voice, “and nobody
knows it better than I. I should be very glad, Prime Minister, if you
could accede to the inspector’s request, and allow the further
explanation to stand over until to-morrow.”
“Perhaps the inspector will lunch with us,” said the Premier, and his
Commissioner accepted on Parr’s behalf.
Gripping Jack’s arm Parr marched from the room and into the street. A
taxi-cab was awaiting him and he bundled the young man in.
“I feel that I’ve been dreaming,” said Jack when he had found his
voice. “Derrick Yale! Impossible! And yet----”
“Oh, it is possible all right,” said the inspector with a little
laugh.
“Then he and Thalia Drummond were working together?”
“Exactly,” was the reply.
“But, inspector, how did you get on to this story?”
“Mother put me on to it,” was the unexpected answer. “You don’t
realise what a clever old lady mother is. She told me to-night----”
“Then she’s come back?”
“Yes, she’s come back,” said the inspector. “I want you to meet her.
She’s a bit dogmatic, and she is inclined to argue, but I always let
her have her way in that respect.”
“And you may be sure I shall, too,” laughed Jack, though he did not
feel like laughing. “You really believe that the Crimson Circle is in
your hands?”
“I am sure of it,” said the inspector. “As sure as I’m sitting in this
taxi-cab with you, and as sure as I am that grandmother is the wisest
old lady in the world.”
Jack maintained a silence until they were turning into the avenue.
“Then this means that Thalia is dragged a little lower?” he said
quietly. “If this man Yale is, as you believe, the Crimson Circle, he
will not spare her.”
“I’m certain of that,” said the inspector; “but, lord bless you, Mr.
Beardmore, why trouble your head about Thalia Drummond?”
“Because I love her, you damned fool!” said Jack savagely, and
instantly apologised.
“I know I’m a bit of a fool,” the inspector spoke, between gusts of
laughter, “but I’m not the only one in London, Mr. Beardmore, believe
me. And if you’ll take my advice you’ll forget that Thalia Drummond
ever existed. And if you’ve got any love to spare, why, give it to
mother!”
Jack was about to say something uncomplimentary about this paragon of
a grandmother, but suppressed his desire.
The inspector’s maisonette was on the first floor, and he went up the
stairs ahead, opened the door and stood for a moment in the doorway.
“Hello, mother,” he said. “I’ve brought Mr. Jack Beardmore to see
you.”
Jack heard an exclamation.
“Come in, Mr. Beardmore, come in and meet mother.”
Jack stepped into the room and stood as if he had been shot. Facing
him was a smiling girl, a little pale and a little tired looking, but
undoubtedly, unless he were mad or dreaming, Thalia Drummond!
She took his outstretched hand in hers and led him to the table, where
a meal for three was laid.
“Daddy, you told me you were going to bring the Commissioner,” she
said reproachfully.
“Daddy?” stammered Jack. “But you told me she was your grandmother.”
She patted his hand.
“Daddy has developed a sense of humour, which is very distressing,”
she said. “I’m always called ‘mother’ at home, because I’ve mothered
him ever since my own dear mother died. And that story about his
grandmother is nonsense, but you must forgive him.”
“Your father?” said Jack.
Thalia nodded.
“Thalia Drummond Parr, that is my name. Thank goodness, you aren’t a
crime investigator, or you would have made inquiries and discovered my
ghastly secret. Now eat your supper, Mr. Beardmore; I cooked it
myself.”
But Jack could neither eat nor drink until he had learnt more, and she
proceeded to enlighten him.
“When the first of the Crimson Circle murders occurred and daddy was
put into the case, I knew that he had a tremendous work in front of
him and that the chances were he would fail. Daddy has a lot of
enemies at head-quarters, and our Commissioner asked him not to take
the case, knowing how difficult it was going to be. You see, the
Commissioner is my godfather,” she added smilingly, “and naturally he
takes an interest in our affairs. But daddy insisted, though I think
he regretted it the moment he had taken it on. I have always been
interested in police work, and just as soon as father got behind the
Crimson Circle organisation and knew the methods that the Circle
employed to gather its recruits, I decided to start upon a career of
crime.
“Your father received the first threat three months before it was put
into execution. It was two or three days afterwards that I secured a
post as secretary to Harvey Froyant, for no other reason than that his
estate adjoined yours. He was a friend of your father, and it gave me
an opportunity of watching. I tried to get employment with your
father. Perhaps you don’t know that,” she said quietly, “but I failed.
Even more dreadful, I was in the wood when he was killed.” She
squeezed his hand sympathetically. “I didn’t see who it was who fired
the shot, but I flew forward to where your father was lying, only to
discover that he was beyond help, and then, seeing you through the
trees running across the meadows toward the wood, I thought I had
better get away. The more so,” she added, “since I had a revolver in
my hand at the time, for I had seen a man stalking in the wood and I
had gone in to investigate.
“With the death of your father there was no longer any need for me to
remain in the service of Mr. Froyant. I wanted to get closer to the
Crimson Circle, and I knew the best way to attract the attention of
the man who controlled the gang was for me to embark on a criminal
career. It was not providential that you were passing the pawnshop
when I came out after pledging Mr. Froyant’s golden image. My father
manœuvred that, and when he described me as a thief and an associate
of crooks, it was to create an atmosphere, which would impress Derrick
Yale, or Ferdinand Walter Lightman, to give him his real name. There
was no danger of my being sent to prison. The magistrate treated me as
a first offender, but my reputation was gone, and immediately after,
as I expected, I received a summons to meet the head of the Crimson
Circle.
“I met him one night in Steyne Square. I think daddy was watching me
all the time and shadowed me back to the house. He was never far away,
were you, darling?”
“Only at Barnet,” he shook his head. “I was scared there, mother.”
“My first task as a member of the Crimson Circle was to go to
Brabazon. You see, Yale’s method was to set one member to spy upon
another. Mr. Brabazon puzzled me. I was never quite sure whether he
was straight or crooked, and of course I had no idea at first that he
was a member of the gang. I had to begin stealing again in order to