The Circle Meets
Mr. Raphael Willings was a product of his age. Though he was still
in the early forties, he had pushed himself into Cabinet rank by the
sheer force of his character. To describe him as a popular Minister
would be to stretch the truth beyond permissible bounds. He was
neither popular with his colleagues, nor with the country who, whilst
recognising his remarkable powers and acclaiming him as the greatest
of the parliamentary orators, nevertheless distrusted him. He had
given so many proofs of his insincerity that it was remarkable that he
should have attained to the position he occupied.
But he had a number of followers. Men who were unwavering in their
faith, who could be depended upon to vote steadily at the lift of his
finger, and the Government majority was too small to risk the
exclusion of the Willings’ _bloc_.
Amongst his colleagues he had a bad name. It is not necessary to
particularise the circumstances which produced his reputation, but it
is a notorious fact that he escaped appearing in an unsavoury divorce
case by the skin of his teeth. So unpopular was he that twice Merros
Club and a fashionable night club of which he was a member and an
_habitué_, were raided by the police in the hope of compromising this
flighty politician. The raid had been planned by the wife of one of
his colleagues, and that Willings was not unaware of the fact, was
proved when the newspaper he owned aimed a bitter attack on the lady’s
unfortunate husband, an attack so worded, so framed, that the Minister
retired from public life.
A well-built man inclined to plumpness, slightly bald, there was no
gainsaying his personal charm. He was under the impression that his
introduction to Thalia Drummond had been skilfully manœuvred by
himself. He would have been horrified to know that the lady who
introduced him had received instructions that morning from the Crimson
Circle to bring the introduction about. The Crimson Circle had its
agents in all branches of life and in all classes. There were
book-keepers, there was at least one railway director, there was a
doctor and three _chefs d’hotel_ amongst the hundred who obeyed the
call of the Crimson Circle. They were well paid and their duties were
not onerous. Sometimes, as in this case, they had no more to do than
to bring about an introduction between two people whom the Crimson
Circle desired to meet, but in every case their instructions came to
them in exactly the same form.
The organisation of this great force was extraordinarily complete. In
some uncanny way the chief of the Crimson Circle had smelt penury and
disaster almost as soon as the suffering recipients of these two evil
factors were aware that they were present. One by one they had been
absorbed, each ignorant of the other’s identity, and profoundly
ignorant of their master. He had come to them in strange places and
circumstances. Each had his own function to perform, and generally the
part which was played by the subordinate members of the league was
ludicrously simple and unimportant.
A few members of the Circle had, in a panic, made statements to police
head-quarters, and from them it was learned how simple were some of
the tasks which were given out by the mystery man.
From fear of the tragic consequences of disloyalty, the majority of
the Crimson Circle remained loyal to their unknown chief, and it was a
remarkable tribute to his system of espionage, that when he sent forth
his summons, as he did on the day Derrick Yale lunched with the
Commissioner, calling every member of the Crimson Circle to the first
meeting they had ever held, giving them the most explicit instructions
as to the garb they should wear, and the means they should adopt to
avoid disclosing themselves to their fellows, he omitted the waverers
and the malcontents as though their very thoughts were written plainly
before him.
To Thalia Drummond that meeting will always remain the most vivid and
poignant memory of her association with the Crimson Circle.
The city contains many old churches, but none anterior in date to the
church of St. Agnes on Powder Hill. It had escaped the ravages of the
Great Fire, only to be smothered under by the busy city which had
grown up about it. Enclosed by tall warehouses, so that its squat
steeple was absent from the sky-line, it had a congregation which
might be numbered on the fingers of two hands, although it supported
a vicar who preached punctiliously every week to a congregation which
was practically paid to attend. Once a churchyard had surrounded it,
and the bones of the faithful had been laid to peace within its
shadow, but the avaricious city, grudging so much waste building land,
had passed Acts which had removed the bones to a more salubrious
situation and had covered the place of family vaults with office
buildings.
Entrance to the church was up an alley which led from a side passage
and the figures which slunk along the unlighted way seemed to melt
through the almost invisible doors into a gloom even thicker than the
night.
For in the church of St. Agnes the Crimson Circle held the first and
last meeting of his servitors.
Here, again, his organisation was marvellous. Every member of his
company had received explicit orders telling him to the very minute
when he must arrive, so that no two came together. How he obtained the
keys of the church; what careful manœuvring he must have planned to
bring the hour of meeting and the dispersal between the two periods
when the lane would be patrolled by the City police, Thalia Drummond
could only guess.
She came into the alley-way punctually, went up the two steps to a
door which opened as she approached and was closed immediately she
entered the lobby. There was no light of any kind, save for the faint
light of night which filtered through a stained-glass window.
“Go straight ahead,” whispered a voice. “You will take the end of the
second pew on the right.”
There were other people in the church. She could just distinguish
them, two in each pew, a silent, ghostly congregation, none speaking
to the other. Presently the man who had admitted her came into the
church and walked to the altar rails, and at the first words she knew
that the servants of the Crimson Circle sat in the presence of their
master.
His voice was low and muffled and hollow; she guessed he wore the veil
she had seen over his head the first night she had met him.
“My friends,” he said, and she heard every word, “the time has come
when our society will be dispersed. You have read my offer in the
public press; and you are interested to this extent, that I intend
distributing at least twenty per cent. of the money which the
Government must eventually give me amongst those who have served me.
If there are any here who are nervous that we shall be interrupted,
let me assure them that the police patrol does not pass for another
quarter of an hour, and that it is quite impossible for the sound of
my voice to reach outside the church.”
He raised his voice a little, and there was a hard note in it when he
added:
“And to those who may have treachery in their hearts, and imagine that
so widely announced a meeting might bring about my undoing, let me say
that it is impossible that I shall be captured to-night. Ladies and
gentlemen, I will not disguise from you that we are in considerable
danger. Facts which may enable the police to identify me have on two
occasions almost come to light. I have upon my tracks, Derrick Yale,
who I will not deny is a source of considerable anxiety to me, and
Inspector Parr”--he paused--“who is not to be despised. In this
supreme moment I do not hesitate to call upon every one of you for an
extraordinary effort of assistance. To-morrow you will each receive
operation orders prepared in such detail that it will be impossible
for you to misunderstand any particular requirement I have made known.
Remember that you are as much in danger as I,” he said more softly,
“and your reward shall be correspondingly great. Now you will pass out
of the church one by one, at thirty seconds interval, beginning with
the first two on the right, continuing with the first two on the left.
Go!”
At intervals these dark figures glided along the aisle and vanished
through the door to the left of the pulpit.
The man at the chancel rails waited until the church was empty and
then he, too, passed through the door into the lobby and into the
passage.
He locked the outer door and slipped the key into his pocket. The
church clock was booming the half-hour when he called a taxi-cab and
was driven westward.
Thalia Drummond had preceded him by a quarter of an hour, and in the
taxi which carried her to the same end of the town she brought about a
lightning transformation of her appearance. The old black raincoat
which covered her to the throat, the heavy-veiled black hat, were
taken off. Beneath it she wore a cloak of delicate silk tissue,
covering an evening dress which would have satisfied her apparently
exigent master.
She took off her hat and tidied her hair as well as she could, and
when she stepped down at the flashing entrance of Merros Club and
handed a small attaché case to the bowing attendant, she was a
picture of radiant loveliness.
So Jack Beardmore thought. He was supping with some friends much
against his will, for he hated the night side of life, when he saw her
come in, and scowled jealously at her debonair escort.
“Who is he?”
Jack’s companion glanced across lazily.
“I don’t know the lady,” he said, “but the man is Raphael Willings. He
is a big pot in the Government.”
Thalia Drummond had seen the young man before he had seen her, and she
groaned inwardly. Half of what her host said she missed; her mind was
completely absorbed in other directions, and it was not until a
familiar phrase reached her ear that she turned her interest toward
the Minister.
“Antique swords,” she said with a start. “I’m told you have a
wonderful collection, Mr. Willings.”
“Are you interested?” he smiled.
“A little. In fact, quite a lot,” she said awkwardly, and it was not
like Thalia to be at a loss for a reply.
“Could I ask you to come along to tea one day and see them?” said
Raphael. “One doesn’t often find a woman who is interested in such
things. Shall we say to-morrow?”
“Not to-morrow,” said Thalia hastily. “Perhaps the next day.”
He made the appointment then and there, writing it ostensibly on his
cuff.
She saw Jack leave the club without a look in her direction, and she
felt absurdly miserable. She did so want to talk to him and was
praying that he would come over to their table.
Mr. Willings insisted upon driving her home in his car, and she left
him with a sigh of relief. He did not harmonise with her mood that
night.
There was a little forecourt to the flats in which she lived, and she
had dismissed her admirer (he made no secret of this relationship) in
the street outside. She had to walk a dozen paces to reach one of the
two entrances, and even before she had sent her escort away, she was
aware that a man was waiting for her in the darkened court. She stood
on the pavement until Willings’s car had moved on, and then she came
slowly toward the waiting man. He spoke for a minute in a voice that
was a little above a whisper, and she responded in the same tone.
The conversation was of very short duration. Presently the man turned
without sign or word of farewell, and walked quickly away and the girl
entered her flat.
Though the man made no sign, he knew he was being followed. He had
been waiting for ten minutes in the dark of the forecourt and had seen
the stealthy figure in the doorway of a closed shop opposite the
flats. Apparently, however, he was oblivious of the fact that somebody
was walking behind him, somebody who he knew would presently overtake
him and look into his face. He turned into a side thoroughfare where
the street lamps were few and far between, and as he did so he
slackened his pace. Presently the spy overtook him, choosing for the
point of passing, a place within the radius of a lamp. He had bent his
head to peer into the first man’s face when suddenly the quarry turned
and sprang at him. The trailer was taken by surprise; before he could
shout, a grip of iron was around his throat and he was flung
half-senseless to the stone pavement. And then from nowhere in
particular, appeared as by magic three men, who pounced upon the
prostrate tracker and jerked him to his feet.
He glared round, dazed and shaken, and his eyes fell upon the man he
had been set to watch.
“My God!” he gasped. “I know you!”
The other smiled.
“You will never be able to employ your information, my friend,” he
said.