A Prison Diet
“As to what happened, I have yet to learn,” said Derrick Yale to a
silent but attentive Inspector Parr. “I arrived at Onslow Gardens just
after Willings had taken the girl away. The servants at the house were
rather reluctant about giving me information, but I soon discovered
that she had been taken to Willings’s house in the country. Whether
she enticed him or he lured her is a matter for discovery. Probably he
is under the impression that she went against her will. All along I
have suspected Thalia Drummond as being something more than a servant
of the Crimson Circle; naturally I was a little alarmed and flew off
to Thetfield, arriving at the house just after she had left. She
escaped in Willings’s car, smashing the lodge gates _en route_; by the
way--that girl has got nerve.”
“How is Willings?”
“He will recover; the wound is superficial, but what is significant is
the proof that the crime was premeditated. Willings only missed the
dagger with which he was stabbed this afternoon, after he had left the
girl alone in his armoury whilst he put on his overcoat. He thinks she
must have carried it in her muff, and that, of course, is very likely.
He gives me no very clear account of what were the events which
immediately preceded the stabbing.”
“H’m,” said Inspector Parr. “What sort of a room was it? I mean, the
room where this nearly--occurred?”
“A pretty little drawing-room communicating with what Willings calls
his Turkish room. It is a marvellous replica of an Eastern interior,
and I should imagine the scene of more or less disreputable
happenings--Willings hasn’t the best of reputations. It is only
separated from the drawing-room by a curtain, and it was near the
curtain that he was found.”
Mr. Parr was so absorbed in his meditation that his companion thought
he had gone to sleep. But the inspector was not asleep; he was very
wide awake. He was conscious of the appalling fact that once more
whatever kudos attached to the latest of the Crimson Circle’s outrages
went to his companion, and yet he did not grudge him the honour.
Without warning he delivered himself of a sentiment which seemed to
have no bearing whatever upon the matter they were discussing.
“All great criminals come to grief through trifling errors of
judgment,” he said oracularly.
Yale smiled.
“The error of judgment in this case, I presume, being that they didn’t
kill our friend Willings--he is not a nice man, and I should imagine
of all the members of the Cabinet he could best be spared. But I for
one am very grateful that these devils did not get him.”
“I am not referring to Mr. Willings,” said Inspector Parr rising
slowly. “I am referring to a stupid little lie told me by a man who
really should have known better.”
And with this cryptic utterance, Mr. Parr went off to break the news
to Jack Beardmore.
It was typical of him that Jack was the first person who came to his
mind when he learnt of Thalia Drummond’s arrest. He was fond of the
boy, fonder than Jack could guess, and he knew, even better than Yale,
how heavily the weight of Thalia Drummond’s guilt would lie upon the
man who loved her.
Jack had already received his shock. The news of the girl’s arrest had
been published in the stop-press columns of the late editions, and
when Parr arrived he was the picture of desolation.
“She must have the best lawyers procurable,” he said quietly. “I don’t
know that I ought to take you into my confidence, Mr. Parr, because
you naturally will be on the other side.”
“Naturally,” said the inspector, “but I’ve got a sneaking regard for
Thalia Drummond, too.”
“You?” said Jack in astonishment. “Why, I thought----”
“I’m human,” said the inspector. “A criminal to me is just a criminal.
I have no personal grudge against the men I have arrested. Truland,
the poisoner, whom I sent to the gallows, was one of the nicest
fellows I’ve ever met, and I got quite fond of him after a bit.”
Jack shuddered.
“Don’t talk of poisoners and Thalia Drummond in the same breath,” he
said testily. “Do you honestly believe she is the leading spirit of
the Crimson Circle?”
Mr. Parr pursed his thick lips.
“If somebody came to me and told me the Archbishop was the leading
light, I shouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Beardmore,” he said. “By the time
this Crimson Circle business is settled, we are all going to have
shocks. I started my investigations prepared to believe that anybody
might be the Crimson Circle--you, or Marl, the Commissioner or Derrick
Yale, Thalia Drummond--almost anybody.”
“And you still hold that opinion?” asked Jack with an attempt at a
smile. “For the matter of that, Mr. Parr, you yourself might be the
villain of the piece.”
Mr. Parr did not deny the possibility.
“Mother thinks----” he began, and this time Jack did actually laugh.
“Your grandmother must be a remarkable personality; has she views on
the Crimson Circle?”
The inspector nodded vigorously.
“She always has had, since the first murder. She put her finger down
on the very spot, Mr. Beardmore, but mother always could do that sort
of thing. I’ve had my best inspirations from her; in fact, all
the----” He stopped himself.
Jack was amused, but he was pitying, too. This man, so ill-equipped by
nature for his work, had probably won himself a high place in the
police service by dogged unimaginative persistence. In every service
men had reached near to the top with no other merit than their
seniority. It was just a little fantastic at this moment, when the
keenest brains were exercised to lay this bizarre association by the
heels, to hear this stout man talking solemnly of the advice he had
received from his grandmother!
“I must come along and renew my acquaintance with your aunt,” said
Jack.
“She has gone into the country,” was the reply, “and I’m all alone. A
woman comes in every morning to clean the place, but there’s nobody
there evenings--it doesn’t seem like home to me now.”
It was a relief to Jack to get on to the subject of Mr. Parr’s
domestic affairs. Their very unimportance was a sedative to his racked
mind. He felt that an evening spent with the inspector’s knowledgeable
grandparent might even restore him to something like normality.
Parr himself led the conversation back to more serious channels.
“Drummond will be brought up to-morrow and remanded,” he said.
“Is there any hope of getting bail for her?”
Parr shook his head.
“No. She’ll have to go to Holloway, but that won’t do her much harm,”
he said, heartlessly, as Jack thought. “It is one of the best prisons
in the country, and maybe she’ll be glad of the rest.”
“How came Yale to arrest her? I should have thought that was your
job?”
“I instructed him,” said Parr. “He has now the status of a regular
police officer, and as he had been in the case earlier in the day, I
thought I would let him continue it to the end.”
Just as the inspector had foreshadowed, the police-court proceedings
of the next day were confined only to evidence of arrest, and Thalia
Drummond was remanded in custody.
The court house was packed, and a big crowd, attracted by the
sensational character of the charge, filled all the roads approaching
the court.
Mr. Willings was not well enough to attend, but well enough to send
his resignation to the Cabinet in response to the Prime Minister’s
suggestion, contained in a letter couched in such unpleasant
terms--and the acidulated vocabulary of the Prime Minister was
notorious--that even he, the thick-skinned Willings, was pained.
Whatever happened, he was everlastingly disgraced; even the thick and
thin supporters of his policy would be revolted by the evidence he
must give. He had taken the girl--a comparative stranger--to his
country house, made violent love to her, and had been stabbed. There
could be no romantic version of that unpleasant story; and he heartily
cursed himself for his stupidity.
Parr made one call upon the girl whilst she was in prison. She refused
to see him in her cell, and insisted upon the interview taking place
in the presence of a wardress. She explained her attitude when they
sat together in the big gaunt waiting-room of the gaol, he at one end
of the table and she at the other.
“You must excuse my not seeing you in my apartment, Mr. Parr,” she
said. “But so many promising young emissaries of the Crimson Circle
have met with an untimely end through interviewing policemen in their
cells.”
“The only one I can recall,” said Parr stolidly, “is Sibly.”
“Who was a shining example of indiscretion.”
She showed her even white teeth in a smile.
“Now what do you want of me?”
“I want you to tell me what happened when you called at Onslow
Gardens.”
She gave him a faithful and a detailed account of that afternoon
visit.
“When did you discover the dagger was gone?”
“When I was looking round the room whilst Willings was putting on his
coat. How is Lothario?”
“He’s all right,” said Parr. “I am afraid he will recover--I mean,” he
added hastily, “I am glad to say he’ll get better. Was that the first
time Willings noticed the absence of the dagger?”
She nodded.
“Did you carry a muff?”
“Yes,” she said. “Is that the place where the deadly weapon was
supposed to be concealed?”
“Did you have your muff in your hand when you went into his house at
Hatfield?”
She thought a moment.
“Yes,” she nodded.
Inspector Parr rose.
“You’re getting all the food you require?”
“Yes: from prison,” she said emphatically. “Prison food will suit me
very well, thank you, and I do not want anybody, out of mistaken
kindness, to send in luscious dishes from outside, as I understand
prisoners on remand are allowed.”
He scratched his chin.
“I think you’re wise,” he said.