Thalia Lunches with a Cabinet Minister
The fourth of the month had passed, and Derrick Yale was still
alive. He commented on the fact as he came into the office which he
and Inspector Parr jointly occupied.
“Incidentally,” he said, “I have lost my fishing.”
Parr grunted.
“It is better that you lost your fishing than that we lost sight of
you,” he said. “I am perfectly convinced that if you had taken that
trip, you would never have returned.”
Yale laughed.
“You have a tremendous faith in the Crimson Circle, and their ability
to keep their promises.”
“I have--to a point,” said the inspector, without looking up from the
letter he was writing.
“I hear that Brabazon has made a statement to the police,” said Yale,
after an interval.
“Yes,” said the inspector. “Not a very informative one, but a
statement of sorts. He has admitted that for a long time he was
changing the money which the Crimson Circle extracted from their
victims, though he was unaware of the fact. He also gives particulars
of his joining the Circle, after which, of course, he acted as a
conscious agent.”
“Are you charging him with the murder of Marl?”
Inspector Parr shook his head.
“We haven’t sufficient evidence for that,” he said, blotted his
letter, folded it and enclosed it in an envelope.
“What did you discover in France? I have not had an opportunity of
talking to you about that,” asked Yale.
Parr leant back in his chair, felt for his pipe, and lit it before he
answered.
“About as much as poor old Froyant discovered,” he said. “In fact, I
followed very closely the same line of investigation that he had. It
was mostly and mainly about Marl and his iniquities. You know that he
was a member of a criminal gang in France, and that he and his
companion, Lightman--I think that was the name--were condemned to
death. Lightman should have died, but the executioners bungled the
job, and he was sent off to Devil’s Island, or Cayenne, or one of
those French settlements, where he died.”
“He escaped,” said Yale quietly.
“The devil he did.” Mr. Parr looked up. “Personally, I wasn’t so
interested in Lightman as I was in Marl.”
“Do you speak French, Parr?” asked Yale suddenly.
“Fluently,” was the reply, and the inspector looked up. “Why do you
ask?”
“I have no reason, except that I wondered how you pursued your
inquiries.”
“I speak French--very well,” said Parr, and would have changed the
subject.
“And Lightman escaped,” said Yale softly. “I wonder where he is now.”
“That is a question I have never troubled to ask myself.” There was a
note of impatience in the inspector’s voice.
“You were not the only person interested in Marl, apparently. I saw a
note on your desk from young Beardmore, saying that he had discovered
some papers relating to the late Felix. His father had also made
inquiries about the man. Of course, James Beardmore would. He was a
cautious man.”
He was lunching with the Commissioner, Mr. Parr learnt, and was not at
all hurt that he was excluded from the invitation. He was very busy in
these days, selecting the men who were to form the bodyguard of the
Cabinet, and he could well afford to miss engagements which invariably
bored him.
As it happens, his company would have been a great embarrassment, for
Yale had something to communicate to the Commissioner, something which
it was not well that Inspector Parr should hear. It was near to the
end of the meal that he dropped his bombshell, and it was so effective
that the Commissioner fell back in his chair and gasped.
“Somebody at police head-quarters,” he said incredulously. “Why, that
is impossible, Mr. Yale.”
Derrick Yale shook his head.
“I wouldn’t say anything was impossible, sir,” he said, “but doesn’t
it seem to you that all the evidence tends to support that idea? Every
effort that we make to bring about the undoing of the Crimson Circle
is anticipated. Somebody having access to the cell of Sibly, killed
him. Who but a person having authority from head-quarters? Take the
case of Froyant: there were a number of detectives on duty round and
about the house; nobody apparently came in and nobody went out.”
The Commissioner was calmer now.
“Let us have this thing clear, Mr. Yale,” he said. “Are you accusing
Parr?”
Derrick Yale laughed and shook his head.
“Why, of course not,” he said. “I cannot imagine Parr having a single
criminal instinct. Only if you will think the matter out,” he leant
over the table and lowered his voice, “and will go into every detail
and every crime that the Crimson Circle has committed, you cannot fail
to be struck by this fact: that, hovering in the background all the
time was somebody in authority.”
“Parr?” said the Commissioner.
Derrick Yale bit his lower lip thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to think of Parr,” he said. “I would rather think of him
as being victimised by a subordinate he trusts. You quite understand,”
he went on quickly, “that I should not hesitate to accuse Parr if my
discoveries took me in that direction. I would not even free you, sir,
from suspicion, if you gave me cause.”
The Commissioner looked uncomfortable.
“I can assure you that I know nothing whatever about the Crimson
Circle,” he said gruffly, and realising the absurdity of his protest,
laughed.
“Who is that girl over there?” he pointed to a couple who were dining
in a corner of the big restaurant. “She keeps looking across toward
you.”
“That girl,” said Mr. Derrick Yale carefully, “is a young lady named
Thalia Drummond, and her companion, unless I am greatly mistaken, is
the Honourable Raphael Willings, a member of the Government and one
who has been threatened by the Crimson Circle.”
“Thalia Drummond?” The Commissioner whistled. “Isn’t she the young
person who was in very serious trouble some time ago? She was
Froyant’s secretary, was she not?”
The other nodded.
“She is an enigma to me,” he said, shaking his head, “and the greatest
mystery of all is her nerve. At this precise moment she is supposed to
be sitting in my office answering telephone calls and dealing with any
correspondence which may arrive.”
“You employ her, do you?” asked the astonished Commissioner, and then
with a little smile, “I agree with you about her nerve, but how does a
girl of that class come to be acquainted with Mr. Willings?”
Here Derrick Yale was not prepared to supply an answer.
He was still sitting with the Commissioner when he saw the girl rise
and, followed by her companion, walk slowly down the room. Her way led
her past his table, and she met his enquiring glance with a smile and
a little nod, and said something over her shoulder to the middle-aged
man who was following her.
“How is that for nerve?” asked Derrick.
“I should imagine you’d have something to say to the young lady,” was
the Commissioner’s only comment.
Derrick Yale was very seldom conventional, either in his speech or his
behaviour, but for once he found it difficult to deal with a painful
situation other than in the time-honoured way.
The girl had reached the office a few minutes before him, and she was
taking off her hat when he came in.
“One moment, Miss Drummond,” he said. “I have a few words to say to
you before you continue your work. Why were you away from the office
at lunch time? I particularly asked you to be here.”
“And Mr. Willings particularly asked me to go to lunch,” said Thalia
with an innocent smile, “and as he is a member of the Government, I am
sure you would not have liked me to refuse.”
“How did you come to know Mr. Willings?”
She looked at him up and down with that cool, insolent glance of hers.
“There are many ways one may meet men,” she said. “One may advertise
for them in the matrimonial newspapers, or one may meet them in the
park, or one may be introduced to them. I was introduced to Mr.
Willings.”
“When?”
“This morning,” she said, “at about two o’clock. I sometimes go to
dances at Merros Club,” she explained. “It is the relaxation which my
youth excuses. That is where we became acquainted.”
Yale took some money from his pocket and laid it on the desk.
“There is your week’s wages, Miss Drummond,” he said without heat. “I
shall not require your services after this afternoon.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Aren’t you going to reform me?” she asked him so seriously that he
was taken aback. Then he laughed.
“You’re beyond reformation. There are many things I will excuse, and
had there been a serious shortage in the petty cash, I could have
overlooked that. But I cannot allow you to leave my office when I give
you explicit instructions to stay here.”
She picked up the money and counted it.
“Exactly the sum,” she mocked. “You must be Scottish, Mr. Yale.”
“There is only one way that you could be reformed, Thalia Drummond.”
His voice was very earnest, and he seemed to experience a difficulty
in finding the right words.
“And what is that, pray?”
“For a man to marry you. I’m almost inclined to make the experiment.”
She sat on the edge of the desk and rocked with silent laughter.
“You are funny,” she said at last, “and now I see that you are a true
reformer.” She was solemnity itself now. “Confess, Mr. Yale, that you
only look upon me as an experiment, and that you have no more
affection for me than I have for that aged and decrepit blue-bottle
crawling up the wall.”
“I’m not in love with you, if that is what you mean.”
“I did mean something of the sort,” she said. “No, on the whole, I
think I’ll take my dismissal and my week’s wages, and thank you for
giving me the opportunity of meeting and serving such a brilliant
genius.”
He ended the conversation as though he had made some business proposal
which had been declined, and said something about giving her a
reference, and there the matter ended for him. He went into his
office, and did not even do her the honour of slamming the door after
him.
And yet her dismissal was a serious matter for Thalia. It meant one of
two things. Either that Derrick Yale seriously suspected her--and that
was the gravest possibility to her--or else that her discharge was
only a ruse, part of a deeper plan to bring about her undoing.
On her way home she recalled his reference to Johnson of Mildred
Street. There might be something behind that beyond the revelation of
the fact that he knew she was associated with the Crimson Circle, and
he wanted her to know he knew.
When she reached her flat there was a letter waiting for her, as there
had been on the previous night. The controlling spirit of the Crimson
Circle was an assiduous correspondent as far as she was concerned. In
the privacy of her own room she tore open the envelope.
“You did well,” (the letter ran). “You have carried out my
instructions to the letter. The introduction to Willings was well
managed and, as I promised you, there was no difficulty. I wish you to
know this man thoroughly and discover what are his little weaknesses.
Particularly do I wish to know his attitude of mind and the real
attitude of the Cabinet towards my proposal. The dress you wore at
lunch to-day was not quite good enough. Do not spare expense in the
matter of costume. Derrick Yale is dismissing you this afternoon, but
that need not trouble you, for there is no further need for you to
stay in his office. You are dining to-night with Willings. He is
particularly susceptible to feminine charms. If possible, let him
invite you to his house. He has a collection of ancient swords of
which he is very proud. You will then be able to discover the lay of
the house.”
She looked into the envelope. There were two crisp notes for a hundred
pounds, and as she put them into her little hand-bag her face was very
grave.