“So Yale was right again. You were there!” said the inspector speaking half to himself. “Now, what are you going to do about it, Brabazon?”
“I’m going to tell you all I know about the Crimson Circle, and I think I can give you information which will lead to his arrest. But you’ll have to be smart.”
He was recovering something of his old pomposity, Parr observed.
“I told you that he exchanged my notes for his, and his notes for mine. I’m sure he did that because he was afraid of the numbers being taken, but my notes were in a series—series E.19, and I can give you the number of every one of them,” he went on easily. “He wouldn’t change the stuff he got.”
“That was Froyant’s money, I think,” said the inspector. “Yes, go on.”
“He dare not change that, but he will change mine. Don’t you see what a chance this gives to you?”
The inspector was a little sceptical. Nevertheless, after Brabazon had been locked in the cell, he called up Froyant on the phone and told him as much of what had happened as was necessary for him to know.
“You’ve got the money?” said Froyant eagerly. “Come up to the house at once.”
“I’ll bring it up to the house with pleasure,” replied Parr, “but I feel I ought to warn you that this is not your money, although it is the actual cash that was transferred by you to the Crimson Circle.”
Later on, in Mr. Froyant’s presence, he explained the situation. That spare man made no attempt to hide his disappointment, for he seemed to think that in whatever circumstances the money was recovered, he was entitled to claim. After a while Inspector Parr got him into a more reasonable frame of mind. Froyant was talking quite calmly on the matter, when he suddenly broke off with the question:
“Have you the numbers of the notes which Brabazon handed to him?”
“They are easy to remember,” said Parr, “they belong to a series,” and he recited the numbers, Mr. Froyant making a rapid note on his desk-pad.
XXVI
The Bottle of Chloroform
Thalia Drummond was writing a letter when her visitor arrived, and of the many people whom Thalia expected to call, Millie Macroy was the last. The girl looked ill and tired, but she was not so far from human that she could not stand and admire the dainty drawing-room into which Thalia showed her, her servant having gone home for the night.
“Why this is a palace, kid,” she said, and regarded Thalia with reluctant admiration. “You know how to do it all right, better than poor ‘Flush.’ ”
“And how is the elegant ‘Flush’?” asked Thalia coolly.
Millie Macroy’s face darkened.
“See here,” she said roughly, “I don’t want any kind of talk about ‘Flush’ in that tone, do you understand? He is where you ought to be. You were in it as well as him.”
“Don’t be silly. Take off your hat and sit down. Why, it’s like old times seeing you, Macroy.”
The girl grumbled something under her breath, but accepted the invitation.
“It is about ‘Flush’ I want to see you,” she said. “There’s some talk of framing a murder charge against him, but you know he didn’t commit any murder.”
“I know? Why should I know?” asked Thalia. “I didn’t even know that he was in the house until I read the newspapers in the morning—how wonderfully clever they are on the Press to get news so red-hot.”
Milly Macroy had not come to discuss the enterprise of the Press. She drove straight into her subject, which was, as Thalia had expected, “Flush” Barnet and his immediate prospects.
“Drummond, I’m not going to quarrel with you,” she said.
“I’m glad of that,” said Thalia. “I can’t exactly see what there is to quarrel about, anyway.”
“That may or may not be,” said Miss Macroy ironically. “The point is, what are you going to do for ‘Flush’? You know all these swells, and you’re working for that swine Yale,” she almost hissed. “It was Yale who put Parr up to the Marisburg Place job; Parr hadn’t got brains enough to think it out for himself. Were you working with Yale all the time?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said Thalia scornfully. “It’s certainly true I am working for Yale, if writing his letters and tidying his desk is work. But what swells are you talking about? And what can I do for ‘Flush’ Barnet?”
“You can go to Inspector Parr and tell him the old, old story,” said Macroy. “I’ve got it all worked out; you can say that ‘Flush’ was sweet on you, saw you go into the house and followed, and couldn’t get out.”
“What about my young reputation?” asked the girl coolly. “No, Milly Macroy, you’ve got to think up something prettier and, anyway, I don’t think they’re making a charge for murder against him, from what Derrick Yale said this morning.”
She rose and walked slowly across the room, her hands clasped behind her.
“Besides, what interest have I in your young man? Why should I take the trouble of speaking for him?”
“I’ll tell you why.”
Miss Macroy rose, her hands on her hips, and glared at the girl.
“Because when the Brabazon case comes on, there’s nothing to prevent me going into the box and saying a few plain words about what you did in the way of quick money-getting when you were Brab’s secretary. Ah! That’s made you jump, miss!”
“When the Brabazon case comes on!” said the girl slowly. “Why? Have they caught Brabazon?”
“They pinched him tonight,” answered the girl triumphantly. “Parr did it: I was up at the police station making inquiries about some money that ‘Flush’ left over for me, when they brought him in.”
“Brabazon a prisoner,” said Thalia slowly. “Poor old Brab!”
Macroy was watching her through her half-closed lids. She had never liked Thalia Drummond, and now she hated her. She feared her too, for there was something sinister in her
