The Crimson Circle

organisation and a display of remarkable patience and energy, gathered around him a large number of assistants, all of whom were unknown to one another. His modus operandi” (the inspector stumbled at the phrase) “was to find out somebody in a responsible position, who was either in need of money or in fear of prosecution for some offence which he or she had committed. He made the most careful inquiries before he approached his recruit, who was finally interviewed in a closed car driven by the Crimson Circle himself. Usually the rendezvous was one of the London squares which had the advantage of having four or five exits and a further advantage of being poorly lighted. You gentlemen are probably aware that the residential squares of London are the worst illuminated streets in the metropolis.

“Another class of recruit the Crimson Circle was very eager to secure was the convicted criminal. In this way he dragged in Sibly, an ex-sailor of a particularly low intelligence, who was already suspected of having committed murder, and who was the very man for the Crimson Circle’s purpose. In this way he secured Thalia Drummond⁠—” he paused⁠—“a thief, and an associate of thieves. In this way, too, he found the black man who murdered the railway director. For his own purpose he put in Brabazon the banker, and would have taken Felix Marl only, unfortunately for Marl, they had been associated together in the very crime for which Lightman nearly lost his life. More unfortunate still, Marl recognised Lightman when he met him in England, and this is the reason why Marl was eventually destroyed, the murderer employing perhaps the most ingenious method that has ever been used by a homicidal criminal.

“You can well understand, gentlemen,” he went on. They were following the little man with strained interest. “The Crimson Circle⁠—”

“Why did he call himself Crimson Circle?” It was Derrick Yale who asked the question, and for a little while the inspector was silent.

“He called himself Crimson Circle,” he said slowly, “because it was a name he had amongst his fellow convicts. About his neck was a red birthmark⁠—and I’ll blow the top of your head off if you move!”

The heavy calibre Webley he held in his hand covered Derrick Yale.

“Put your hands right up!” said the inspector, and then suddenly he reached out his hand and tore away the high white collar which covered Yale’s neck.

There was a gasp. Red, bloodred, as though it were painted by human agency, a circle of crimson ran about the throat of Derrick Yale.

XLII

Mother

In the room three men had mysteriously appeared⁠—the three who had captured Parr’s spy two nights before⁠—and in a second Yale was manacled hand and foot. A deft hand jerked the pistol that he carried from his pocket, a third man dropped a cloth bag over his head and face, and he was hurried from the room.

Inspector Parr wiped the perspiration from his streaming forehead, and faced his amazed audience.

“Gentlemen,” he said a little shakily, “if you will excuse me for tonight I will tell you the whole of this story tomorrow.”

They surrounded him, plying him with questions, but he could only shake his head.

“He’s had a very bad time,” it was the colonel’s voice, “and nobody knows it better than I. I should be very glad, Prime Minister, if you could accede to the inspector’s request, and allow the further explanation to stand over until tomorrow.”

“Perhaps the inspector will lunch with us,” said the Premier, and his Commissioner accepted on Parr’s behalf.

Gripping Jack’s arm Parr marched from the room and into the street. A taxicab was awaiting him and he bundled the young man in.

“I feel that I’ve been dreaming,” said Jack when he had found his voice. “Derrick Yale! Impossible! And yet⁠—”

“Oh, it is possible all right,” said the inspector with a little laugh.

“Then he and Thalia Drummond were working together?”

“Exactly,” was the reply.

“But, inspector, how did you get on to this story?”

“Mother put me on to it,” was the unexpected answer. “You don’t realise what a clever old lady mother is. She told me tonight⁠—”

“Then she’s come back?”

“Yes, she’s come back,” said the inspector. “I want you to meet her. She’s a bit dogmatic, and she is inclined to argue, but I always let her have her way in that respect.”

“And you may be sure I shall, too,” laughed Jack, though he did not feel like laughing. “You really believe that the Crimson Circle is in your hands?”

“I am sure of it,” said the inspector. “As sure as I’m sitting in this taxicab with you, and as sure as I am that grandmother is the wisest old lady in the world.”

Jack maintained a silence until they were turning into the avenue.

“Then this means that Thalia is dragged a little lower?” he said quietly. “If this man Yale is, as you believe, the Crimson Circle, he will not spare her.”

“I’m certain of that,” said the inspector; “but, lord bless you, Mr. Beardmore, why trouble your head about Thalia Drummond?”

“Because I love her, you damned fool!” said Jack savagely, and instantly apologised.

“I know I’m a bit of a fool,” the inspector spoke, between gusts of laughter, “but I’m not the only one in London, Mr. Beardmore, believe me. And if you’ll take my advice you’ll forget that Thalia Drummond ever existed. And if you’ve got any love to spare, why, give it to mother!”

Jack was about to say something uncomplimentary about this paragon of a grandmother, but suppressed his desire.

The inspector’s maisonette was on the first floor, and he went up the stairs ahead, opened the door and stood for a moment in the doorway.

“Hello, mother,” he said. “I’ve brought Mr. Jack Beardmore to see you.”

Jack heard an exclamation.

“Come in, Mr. Beardmore, come in and meet mother.”

Jack stepped into the room and stood as if he had been shot. Facing him was a smiling girl, a little pale and a little tired looking, but undoubtedly, unless he