A Shot in the Night
The inspector must have been nearly fifty, and he made a rapid
calculation as to the age of this wonderful grandmother who took an
interest in crime, and kept the house tidy.
“She must be a wonderful old lady,” he said, “and I suppose she’d even
be interested in the Crimson Circle.”
“Interested!” Mr. Parr laughed. “If mother was on the track of that
gang with the same authority as I have, they would be high and dry in
Cannon Street police station to-night. As it is,” he paused, “they are
not.”
All the time they were talking Jack was puzzling his head as to why,
in spite of its order, the room gave him an impression of untidiness.
But he was not left to his own thoughts for very long, for Mr. Parr
was in an unusually communicative mood. He even went so far as to tell
Jack some of the unpleasant things said to him by the Commissioner.
“Naturally police head-quarters are rather rattled by the continuance
of these crimes,” he said. “We haven’t had anything like this for
fifty years. In fact, I don’t think since the Ripper murders there has
been such an orgy of destruction. It may interest you, too, Mr.
Beardmore, to know that the Crimson Circle, whoever he is, is the
first real organising criminal we have had to deal with for nearly
fifty years. Criminal organisations are loose affairs, and as they
depend for their safety upon that sense of honour which every thief is
supposed to possess, but which I have never met with, the game doesn’t
last very long. The Crimson Circle, however, is a man who obviously
trusts nobody. He cannot be betrayed because nobody is in a position
to betray him. Even the minor members of the gang cannot betray one
another, because it is just as clear to me that they do not know one
another by name or by sight.”
He went on to discuss interestingly cases in which he had been
concerned, and it was nearly half-past eleven when Jack rose with a
further apology.
“I’ll take you to the front door; your car is here, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Jack. “I came by taxi.”
“H’m,” said the inspector. “I thought I saw a car drawn up in front of
the door. We are not a motor-car owning neighbourhood; probably it is
a doctor’s machine.”
He opened the door, and, as he had said, a black car was drawn up at
the kerb.
“I seem to have seen that before,” said the inspector, and took a step
forward. As he did so a pencil of flame leapt from the dark interior
of the car; there was a deafening report, and Inspector Parr fell into
Jack’s arms and slid to the ground. A second later and the car was
speeding up the street; it showed no light and vanished round the
corner as the doors in the street began to open and to let out the
alarmed residents.
A policeman came running along the pavement, and together they lifted
the detective and carried him into the dining-room. Happily the aunt
had gone to bed, and had apparently heard and noticed nothing.
Inspector Parr opened his eyes and blinked.
“That was a nasty one,” he said with a wince of pain. He felt gingerly
in his waistcoat and brought out a flat piece of lead. “I’m glad he
didn’t use an automatic,” he said, and then, seeing the blank
amazement on Jack’s face, he grinned.
“The Crimson Circle gentleman is only one of three who wear a
bullet-proof waistcoat,” he said. “I am the second, and--” he paused,
“Thalia Drummond is the third, as I happen to know.”
He did not speak again for some time, and then he said to Jack:
“Will you telephone to Derrick Yale? I think he is going to be
considerably startled.”
The prophecy understated the case.
Derrick Yale arrived half an hour after the shooting in such haste
that his appearance suggested that he had dressed over his pyjama
suit. He listened to Parr’s story, and then:
“I don’t want to be uncomplimentary, inspector,” he laughed, “but
you’re the last person in the world I should have thought they would
have wanted to shoot.”
“Thank you,” said Parr, who was gingerly fixing a lint pad over his
bruised chest.
“I don’t mean that as uncomplimentary; I merely mean that such a
definite challenge to the police is the last thing in the world I
expected them to deliver.” He frowned heavily. “I don’t understand
it,” he said as though speaking to himself. “I wonder why she wanted
to know. I’m talking about Thalia Drummond. She asked me this morning
what was your address,” he said. “I understand your name is not even
in the telephone book or in the local directory.”
“What did you say?”
“I gave her some evasive answer, but I’ve just remembered that my
private address book is accessible, and she could easily have
discovered it without troubling to ask me. I wonder she didn’t.”
Jack gave a weary sigh.
“Really, Yale, you’re not suggesting that Miss Drummond fired that
shot, are you? Because, if you are, it’s a ridiculous suggestion. Oh,
I know what you’re going to say: she’s a bad lot and has been guilty
of all sorts of miserable little crimes, but that doesn’t make her a
murderess!”
“You’re quite right,” replied Yale after a pause. “I’m being unjust to
the girl, and it doesn’t seem that I’m starting fair if I am sincere
in my desire to give her a chance. I wanted to see you to-night, by
the way, Parr.” He took from his pocket a card and laid it on the
table before the inspector. “How does that strike you for nerve?”
“When did you get it?”
“It was waiting in the letter-box for me, but I didn’t see it,
curiously enough, until I was rushing out to find a taxi to bring me
here. Isn’t it colossal?”
The card bore a symbol familiar enough to the two men, but at the very
sight of that Crimson Circle, Jack shuddered. Within the hoop was
written:
“_You are serving the losing side. Serve us instead and you shall be
rewarded tenfold. Continue your present work, and you die on the
fourth of next month._”
“That gives you about ten days,” said Parr seriously, and it might
have been the pain he had suffered, or excitement, but he seemed
suddenly to lose his colour. “Ten days,” he muttered.
“Of course, I take not the slightest notice of that threat,” said
Derrick Yale cheerfully. “I must confess that after my unpleasant
experience at the office I almost credit them with supernatural
gifts.”
“Ten days,” repeated the detective. “Have you made any plans?
Ordinarily, where would you be on the fourth of next month?”
“It is curious that you should ask that,” said Yale, “but I had
arranged to go down to Deal for some fishing. A friend of mine has
lent me a motor-launch, and I thought of spending the night in the
Channel; in fact, I had arranged to go on that day.”
“You can make what arrangements you like, but you are not going
alone,” said Parr emphatically. “And now you can all clear out. Thank
your lucky stars that my aunt has not wakened, and that mother isn’t
here!”
The last he said was intended for Jack, and Jack smiled
understandingly.