The Stolen Idol
Jack heard him and was stunned.
He stood motionless and speechless, as the girl, as though unconscious
of the scrutiny, hailed a taxi-cab and was driven away.
“Now what the dickens was she doing there?” said Parr.
“A crook and a companion of crooks,” repeated Jack mechanically. “Good
God! Where are you going?” he asked quickly, as the inspector took a
step into the roadway.
“I intend discovering what she has been doing in the pawnbroker’s,”
said the stolid Parr.
“She may have gone there because she was short of money. It is no
crime to be short of money.”
Jack realised the feebleness of his defence even as he spoke.
Thalia Drummond a thief! It was incredible, impossible! And yet he
followed unresistingly the detective as he crossed the road; followed
him down the dark passage to the loaning department, and was present
in the manager’s room when an assistant brought in the article which
the girl had pledged. It was a small golden figure of Buddha.
“I thought it queer,” said the manager, when Parr had made himself
known. “She only wanted ten pounds and it is worth a hundred if it’s
worth a penny.”
“What explanation did she give?” asked Derrick Yale, who had been a
silent listener.
“She said she was short of money and that her father had a number of
these curios, but wanted to pledge them at a price which would allow
him to redeem them.”
“Did she leave her address? What name did she give?”
“Thalia Drummond,” said the assistant, “of 29, Park Gate.”
Derrick Yale uttered an exclamation.
“Why that’s Froyant’s address, isn’t it?”
Too well Jack knew it was the address of the miserly Harvey Froyant,
and he remembered with a sinking of heart that Froyant made a hobby of
collecting these eastern antiquities. The inspector gave a receipt for
the idol and slipped it into his pocket.
“We’ll go along and see Mr. Froyant,” he said, and Jack interposed
desperately:
“For heaven’s sake, don’t let us get this girl into trouble,” he
pleaded. “It may have been some sudden temptation--I will make things
right, if money can settle the affair.”
Derrick Yale was eyeing the young man with a grave, understanding
look.
“You know Miss Drummond?”
Jack nodded. He was too miserable to speak; he felt an absurd desire
to run away and hide himself.
“It can’t be done,” said Inspector Parr definitely. He was the
conventional police officer now. “I’m going along to Froyant’s to
discover whether this article was pledged with his approval.”
“Then you’ll go by yourself,” said Jack wrathfully.
He could not contemplate being a witness of the girl’s humiliation. It
was monstrous. It was beastly of Parr, he said to Yale when they were
alone.
“The girl would not commit so mean a theft, the stupid, blundering
fool! I wish to heaven I had never called his attention to her.”
“It was he who saw her first,” said Yale, and dropped his hand upon
the young man’s shoulder. “Jack, you’re a little unstrung, I think.
Why are you so interested in Miss Drummond? Of course,” he said
suddenly, “you must have seen a lot of her when you were at home.
Froyant’s estate joins yours, doesn’t it?”
Jack nodded.
“If he would give as much attention to the running down of the Crimson
Circle as he gives to the hounding of that poor girl,” he said
bitterly, “my poor father would be alive to-day.”
Derrick Yale did his best to soothe him. He took him back to his
office and tried to bring his thoughts to a more pleasant channel.
They had been there a quarter of an hour when the telephone bell rang.
It was Parr who spoke.
“Well?” asked Yale.
“I’ve arrested Thalia Drummond, and I am charging her in the morning,”
was the laconic message.
Yale put down the receiver gently and turned to the young man.
“She’s arrested?” Jack guessed before he spoke.
Yale nodded.
Jack Beardmore’s face was very white.
“You see, Jack,” said Yale gently, “you have probably been as much
deceived as Froyant. The girl is a thief.”
“If she were a thief and murderess,” said Jack doggedly, “I love her.”