Thalia Joins the Gang
Thalia Drummond was almost the last of the staff to leave the bank
that night, and she stood on the steps looking idly from left to right
as she pulled on her gloves. If she saw the man who was watching her
from the opposite side of the road she did not reveal the fact by so
much as a glance. Presently her eyes lighted upon Milly waiting a few
yards up the street, and she walked toward her.
“You’ve been a long time, Drummond,” grumbled Miss Macroy. “You
mustn’t keep my friend waiting, you know. He doesn’t like it.”
“He’ll get over that,” said Thalia. “I do not run to time-table where
men are concerned.”
She fell in by Milly’s side and they walked a hundred yards along the
busy thoroughfare before they turned into Reeder Street.
The restaurants in Reeder Street have taken to themselves names which
are designed to suggest the gaiety and epicurean wonders of Paris. The
“Moulin Gris” was a small, deep shop which, with the aid of numerous
mirrors and the application of gold leaf, had managed to create an
atmosphere of cramped splendour.
The tables were set for dinner and empty, for it was two hours before
the meal, and to the proprietors of the “Moulin Gris” such a function
as afternoon tea was unknown. They went up a narrow stairway to
another dining-room on the first floor, and a man who was seated at
one of the tables rose briskly to meet them. He was a sleek, dark,
young man, his beautifully brilliantined hair was brushed back from
his forehead, and he was dressed, if not in the height of fashion, at
least in the height of the fashion which he favoured.
A faint odour of _l’origan_, a soft large hand, a pair of bright
unwinking eyes, were the first impressions which Thalia received.
“Sit down, sit down, Miss Drummond,” he said brightly. “Waiter, bring
that tea.”
“This is Thalia Drummond,” said Miss Macroy, unnecessarily it seemed.
“We needn’t be introduced,” laughed the young man. “I’ve heard a lot
about you, Miss Drummond. My name’s Barnet.”
“‘Flush’ Barnet,” said Thalia, and he seemed surprised and not
ill-pleased.
“You’ve heard of me, have you?”
“She’s heard of everything,” said Miss Macroy in resignation, “and
what’s more,” she added significantly, “she knows Marl, and is dining
with him to-night.”
Barnet looked sharply from one to the other, then back again at Milly
Macroy.
“Have you told her anything?” he asked. There was a note of menace in
his voice.
“You don’t have to tell her anything,” said Miss Macroy recklessly.
“She knows it all!”
“Did you tell her?” he repeated.
“About Marl? No, I thought you’d tell her that.”
The waiter brought the tea at that moment and there was a silence
until he had gone.
“Now, I’m a plain-spoken man,” said “Flush” Barnet. “And I’m going to
tell you what I call you.”
“This sounds interesting,” said the girl, never taking her eyes from
his face.
“I call you Thorough-Bad Thalia. How’s that? Good, eh?” said Mr.
Barnet, leaning back in his chair and surveying her. “Thorough-Bad
Thalia! You’re a naughty girl! I was in court the day old Froyant
charged you with pinching!”
He shook his head waggishly.
“You’re as full of information as last year’s almanac,” said Thalia
Drummond coolly. “I suppose you didn’t bring me here to exchange
compliments?”
“No, I didn’t,” admitted “Flush” Barnet, and the jealous Miss Macroy
recognised, by certain signs, the fascination that the girl was
casting over her lover. “I brought you here to talk business. We’re
all friends here, and we’re all in the same old business. I want to
tell you straight away that I’m not one of your little thieving
crooks, who lives from hand to mouth.”
He spoke very correctly, but aspirated his “h’s” just a trifle heavily
Thalia duly remarked.
“I have people behind me who can find money to any amount if the job
is good enough, and you’re spoiling a good pitch, Thalia.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” said Thalia. “Admitting I am all you think I am, in
what way do I spoil the pitch?”
Mr. Barnet rolled his head from side to side with a smile.
“My dear girl,” he said with good-natured reproach. “How long do you
think you’re going to last, taking money from envelopes and sending on
old bits of paper? Eh? If my friend Brabazon hadn’t got the idea into
his silly head that the fraud was worked in the post, you’d have had
the police in your office in no time. And when I say my friend
Brabazon, I’m not being funny, see?”
Here, he evidently thought he had said too much, though he found it
very difficult indeed to leave the question of his friendship with the
austere banker. Challenged, he might have said more, but Thalia
offered no comment.
“Now, I’m going to tell you something,” he leant over the table and
regulated his voice. “Milly and me have been working Brabazon’s bank
for two months. There’s a big lot of money to be got, but not out of
the bank--Brabazon is a friend of mine--but it can be done through one
of the clients, and the man with the biggest balance is Marl.”
Her lips curled for the second time that day.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said quietly. “Marl’s balance
wouldn’t buy a row of beans.”
He stared at her incredulously, then looked at Milly Macroy with a
frown.
“You told me that he had the best part of a hundred thousand----”
“So he has,” said the girl.
“He had until to-day,” replied Thalia. “But this afternoon Mr.
Brabazon went out--I think he went to the Bank of England, because the
notes were all new. He sent for me and I saw them stacked up on his
desk. He told me he was closing Marl’s account, and that he was not
the kind of man he wanted as a client. Then he took the money and
called on Marl, I think, for when he came back just before the bank
closed he handed me Marl’s cheque.”
“‘I’ve settled that account, Miss Drummond,’ he said. ‘I don’t think
we’ll be troubled with that blackguard again.’”
“Did he know about Marl asking you out to dinner?” asked Milly, but
the girl shook her head.
Mr. Barnet said nothing. He was sitting back in his chair, fondling
his chin, with a faraway look in his eyes.
“A big amount, was it?” he asked.
“Sixty-two thousand,” replied the girl.
“And it is in his house?” said Barnet, his face pink with excitement.
“Sixty-two thousand! Did you hear that, Milly? And you’re dining with
him to-night?” said “Flush” Barnet slowly and significantly. “Now,
what about it?”
She met his gaze without flinching.
“What about what?” she asked.
“Here’s the chance of a lifetime,” he said, husky with emotion.
“You’re going to the house. You’re not above stringing the old man
along, are you, Thalia?”
She was silent.
“I know the place,” said “Flush” Barnet, “one of those quaint little
houses in Kensington that cost a fortune to keep up. Marisburg Place,
Bayswater Road.”
“I know the address pretty well,” said the girl.
“He keeps three menservants,” said “Flush” Barnet, “but they’re
usually out any night he happens to be entertaining a lady friend. Do
you get me?”
“But he’s not entertaining me in his house,” said the girl.
“What’s the matter with a little bit of supper after the show, eh?”
asked Barnet. “Suppose he puts it up to you, and you say yes. There’ll
be no servants in the house when you get back. That I’ll take my oath.
I’ve studied Marl.”
“What do you expect me to do? Rob him?” asked Thalia. “Stick a gun
under his nose and say, ‘Deliver your pieces of eight’?”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Mr. Barnet, startled out of his pose of
elegant gentleman. “You’re to do nothing but have your supper and come
away. Keep him amused, make him laugh. You needn’t be frightened
because I’ll be in the house soon after you, and if there’s any
trouble I’ll be on hand.”
The girl was playing with her teaspoon, her eyes fixed on the
tablecloth.
“Suppose he doesn’t send his servants away?”
“You can bank on that,” interrupted Mr. Barnet. “Moses! There never
was such a wonderful opportunity! Do you agree?”
Thalia shook her head.
“It is too big for me. Maybe you’re right and I’m likely to get into
trouble, but it seems to me that petty pilfering is my long suit.”
“Bah!” said Barnet in disgust. “You’re mad! Now’s your time to make a
harvest, my dear. You’re not known to the police. You’re not under the
limelight like me. Are you going to do it?”
She dropped her eyes again to the cloth and again fidgeted with her
spoon nervously.
“All right,” she said with a sudden shrug, “I might as well be hung
for a sheep as a lamb.”
“Or for a good share of sixty thousand as for a miserable couple of
hundred, eh?” said Barnet jovially, and beckoned the waiter.
Thalia left the restaurant and turned homeward. She had to pass the
bank, and it was not good policy, she thought, to hail a taxicab until
she had left the neighbourhood, where Mr. Brabazon’s grave eyes might
observe her extravagance. She had turned into the stream of
pedestrians that thronged Regent Street at this hour when she felt a
touch on her arm, and turned.
A young man was walking by her side, a good-looking, keen-faced young
man who did not smile ingratiatingly as others had done who had nudged
her arm in Regent Street, nor did he inquire if she were going the
same way as he.
“Thalia!”
She turned quickly at the sound of the voice, and for a second her
self-possession failed her.
“Mr. Beardmore!” she faltered.
Jack’s face was flushed and he was obviously embarrassed.
“I only wanted to speak to you for a moment. I have waited for a week
for the opportunity,” he said hurriedly.
“You knew I was at Brabazon’s--who told you?”
He hesitated.
“Inspector Parr,” he said, and when he saw the smile curl on the
girl’s lips, he went on: “Old Parr isn’t a bad sort, really. He has
never said another word against you, Thalia.”
“Another!” she quoted, “but does it really matter? And now, Mr.
Beardmore, I really must go. I have a very important engagement.”
But he held fast to her hand.
“Thalia, won’t you tell me why you did it?” he asked quietly. “Who is
behind you?”
She laughed.
“There is a reason for your keeping this extraordinary company,” he
went on, when she stopped him.
“What extraordinary company?” she demanded.
“You have just come from a restaurant,” he said. “You have been there
with a man called ‘Flush’ Barnet, a notorious crook and a man who has
served a term of penal servitude. The woman with you was Milly Macroy,
a confederate of his who was concerned in the Darlington Co-Operative
robbery and has also served a term of imprisonment. At present she is
engaged at Brabazon’s Bank.”
“Well?” said the girl again.
“Surely you don’t know the character of these people?” urged Jack.
“And how do you know them?” she asked calmly. “Am I wrong in supposing
that you were not alone in your--vigil? Were you accompanied by the
admirable Mr. Parr? I see you were. Why, you are almost a policeman
yourself, Mr. Beardmore.”
Jack was staggered.
“Do you realise that it is Parr’s duty to inform your employer that
you keep that kind of company?” he asked. “For heaven’s sake, Thalia,
take a sane view of your position.”
But she laughed.
“Heaven forbid that I should interfere with the duty of a responsible
police officer,” she said, “but on the whole I’d rather Mr. Parr
didn’t. That at least is a sign of grace,” she smiled. “Yes, I’d much
rather he didn’t. I don’t mind the police speaking to me for my good
because it is only right and proper that they should try to lead the
weak from their sinful ways. But an employer who attempts to reform an
erring girl might be a bit of a nuisance, don’t you think?”
In spite of himself he laughed.
“Really, Thalia, you’re much too clever for the kind of company you’re
keeping and for the kind of life you’re drifting to,” he added
earnestly. “I know I have no right to interfere, but perhaps I could
help you. Particularly,” he hesitated, “if you have done something
which places you in the power of these people.”
She put out her hand with a rare smile.
“Good-bye,” she said sweetly, and left him feeling something of a
fool.
The girl walked quickly through Burlington Arcade to Piccadilly and
entered a taxi. The block of mansions at which she alighted was
situated in the Marylebone Road and was a distinct improvement on
Lexington Street.
The liveried porter took her up in the elevator to the third floor,
and she let herself into a flat which was both prettily and
expensively furnished.
She pressed a bell, and it was answered by a staid middle-aged woman.
“Martha,” she said, “I shan’t want any tea, thank you. Lay out my blue
evening gown and telephone to Waltham’s Garage and tell them that I
shall want a car to be here at five minutes before half past seven.”
Miss Drummond’s wages from the bank were exactly £4 a week.