The Messenger of The Circle
“You’re a fool, sir, and an idiot. I thought you were a clever
detective, but you’re a fool!”
Mr. Froyant was in his most savage mood, and the neat stack of
bank-notes which stood upon his desk supplied the reason.
The sight of so much good money going away from him was a cause of
unspeakable anguish to the miserly Harvey, and if his eyes strayed
away from that accumulation of wealth, they came back again almost
instantly.
Derrick Yale was a difficult man to offend.
“Perhaps I am,” he said, “but I must run my own business in my own
way, Mr. Froyant, and if I think that the girl can lead me to the
Crimson Circle--as I do think--then I shall employ her.”
“Mark my words,” Froyant shook his fingers in the detective’s face,
“that girl is with the gang. You will discover, my friend, that _she_
is the messenger who will call for the money!”
“In which case she will be immediately arrested,” said the other.
“Believe me, Mr. Froyant, I have no intention of losing sight of these
notes, but if they are taken by the Crimson Circle, the responsibility
must be mine not yours. My job is to save your life, and to divert the
vengeance of the Circle from you to myself.”
“Quite right, quite right,” said Mr. Froyant hastily, “that is the
proper way to look at it, Yale. I see that you are not as
unintelligent as I thought. Have it your own way,” he said. He
fingered the notes lovingly, and putting them into a long envelope,
handed them, with every evidence of reluctance, to the detective, who
slipped the package into his pocket.
“I suppose there is no news of Brabazon? The rascal has robbed me of
over two thousand pounds, which I foolishly invested in one of Marl’s
rotten concerns.”
“Did you know anything about Marl?” asked the detective, opening the
door.
“I only know that he was a blackguard.”
“Did you know anything that isn’t as well known?” asked Yale
patiently. “His beginnings, where he came from?”
“He came from France, I believe,” said Froyant. “I know very little
about him. In fact, it was James Beardmore who introduced me. There
was some story about his having been concerned in land swindles in
France, and of having been imprisoned there, but I never take much
notice of gossip. He was useful to me, and I made quite a considerable
sum out of most of my investments with him.”
The other smiled. In those circumstances, he thought, the miser might
very well forgive the erring Marl for his later losses.
When he got back to his office he found Parr waiting, with Jack
Beardmore.
He had not expected a visit from the younger man, and guessed that the
real attraction was Thalia Drummond, for whose absence he tactfully
apologised.
“I’ve sent Miss Drummond home, Parr,” he said. “I don’t want a girl
mixed up in the business of this afternoon. There may be a little
rough-and-tumble work.”
He looked keenly at Jack Beardmore.
“For which I hope you are prepared.”
“I shall be disappointed if there isn’t,” said Jack cheerfully.
“What is your plan?” asked Parr.
“I am going into my room a few minutes before the messenger is due to
arrive. I shall have both doors locked, that into the passage and that
into this outer office. In the case of this door, I will leave the key
on your side and ask you to lock me in. My object, of course, is to
prevent a surprise. As soon as you hear a knock, and hear me rise and
go to the door and unlock it, you will know that the visitor has
arrived, and when the door closes again, I want you to station
yourself outside in the corridor.”
Parr nodded.
“That seems simple,” he said. He walked to the window, looked out, and
waved a handkerchief, and Yale smiled approvingly.
“I see you have taken the necessary precautions. How many men have
you?”
“I think there are eighty,” said Mr. Parr calmly, “and they will
practically surround the place.”
Yale nodded.
“We have to remember,” he said, “that the Crimson Circle may send a
very ordinary district messenger, in which case, of course, he must be
followed. I am determined that the money shall pass into the hands of
the chief of the Crimson Circle himself--that is an essential.”
“I quite agree,” said Parr, “but I have an idea that the gentleman, or
whoever he is, will not come himself. May I look at your office?”
He walked in and inspected the room. It was lighted by one window. In
a corner was a cupboard, the door of which he opened. It was empty
save for a hanging coat.
“If you don’t mind,” Inspector Parr was almost humble, “I want you to
stay in the outer office. Thank you, I’ll close the door on you. I get
rattled if I am overlooked.”
Laughingly Yale walked from the office, and Mr. Parr closed the door
on him. He opened the second door, and looked out into the corridor.
Presently they heard him close that also.
“You can come in,” he said, “I’ve seen all I want.”
The room was simply but comfortably furnished. There was a wide
fireplace, in which, however, no fire burnt, although the day was
chilly.
“I don’t expect him to get up the chimney,” said Yale, humorously, as
he noticed the detective’s inspection, “I never have a fire in this
office; I’m one of those hot-blooded mortals who are never really
cold.”
Jack, a fascinated observer of the search, picked up the deadly little
pistol that lay on the detective’s table, and examined it cautiously.
“Be careful, that trigger is a little sensitive,” said Yale.
He took from his pockets the envelope containing the notes, and laid
them by the side of the weapon. Then he looked at his watch.
“Now I think that to be on the safe side we should go to the other
office, and lock the door,” he said.
He accompanied his words by locking the door into the corridor.
“It is rather thrilling,” whispered Jack. He felt that a whisper was
the fitting tone for that exciting moment.
“I hope it won’t be too thrilling,” said Yale.
They went to the outer office, and turned the key on him, and sat
down--Jack unconsciously on Thalia Drummond’s chair, a fact which he
realised with a start.
Was she of the Crimson Circle, he wondered? Parr had hinted as much.
Jack set his teeth; he could not, and would not believe even the
evidence of his own eyes, and his own common sense. So far from her
influence waning, it was gathering strength. She was a being apart,
and if she was guilty----
He looked up, and saw Parr’s eyes fixed upon him.
“I don’t pretend to be psychometrical,” said the detective slowly,
“but I’ve an idea you’re thinking about Thalia Drummond.”
“I was,” admitted the young man. “Mr. Parr, do you think she is really
as bad as she appears to be?”
“Do you mean, do I think that she stole Froyant’s Buddha, because if
that’s what you mean, it is not a question of thinking, I am certain.”
Jack was silent. He could never hope to convince this stolid man of
the girl’s innocence and anyway it was madness, he recognised, to
think of her as innocent when she had confessed her fault.
“You had better keep quiet in there.” It was Yale’s voice, and Parr
grunted a reply.
Thereafter they sat in dead silence. They heard him moving about the
room, then he too was quiet, for the hour was approaching. Inspector
Parr pulled his watch from his pocket, and laid it on the table; the
hands pointed to half-past three. It was now that the messenger was
due and he sat, his head strained forward, listening, but there was no
sound of attack.
Presently there was a noise in Yale’s room, a queer bumping noise as
though Yale had sat down heavily.
Parr jumped to his feet.
“What was that?”
“It is all right,” said Yale’s voice, “I stumbled over something. Be
quiet.”
They sat for another five minutes, and then Parr called:
“Are you all right, Yale?”
There was no answer.
“Yale!” he called more loudly. “Do you hear me?”
There was no reply and springing to the door he snapped the lock, and
rushed into the room, Jack at his heels.
What they saw might have paralysed even a more experienced officer
than Inspector Parr.
Stretched upon the ground, his wrists fastened with handcuffs, his
ankles strapped, and a towel over his face lay the prostrate figure of
Derrick Yale. The window was open, and there was a strong scent of
ether and chloroform. The package of money which had lain upon the
table had disappeared. Three seconds later, an aged postman left the
hall of the building, carrying his letter-bag on his shoulder, and the
police who were watching the house, let him pass without question.