The Crimson Circle Read Online

He had an unpleasant habit of baring his long yellow teeth when he asked a question, a grimace which in some curious way suggested his belief that the answer would be an evasion.

    "Morning, Beardmore," he jerked the salutation grudgingly and turned again to his secretary.

    "I don't like to see you wasting your time, Miss Drummond," he said.

    "I am not wasting either your time or mine, Mr. Froyant," she answered calmly. "I have finished the accounts—here!" She tapped the worn leather portfolio which was under her arm.

    "You could have done the work in my library," he complained; "there is no need to go into the wilderness."

    He stopped and rubbed his long nose and glanced from the girl to the silent young man.

    "Very good; that will do," he said. "I am going to see your father, Beardmore. Perhaps you will walk with me?"

    Thalia was already on her way to Tower House, and Jack had no excuse for lingering.

    "Don't occupy that girl's time, Beardmore, don't, please," said Froyant testily. "You've no idea how much she has to do—and I'm sure your father wouldn't like it."

    Jack was on the point of saying something offensive, but checked himself. He loathed Harvey Froyant, and at the moment hated him for his domineering attitude toward the girl.

    "That class of girl," began Mr. Froyant, turning to walk by the side of the hedge toward the gate at the end of the valley, "that class of girl—" he stood still and stared. "Who the devil has broken through the hedge?" he demanded, pointing with his stick.

    "I did," said Jack savagely. "It is our hedge, anyway, and it saves half a mile—come on, Mr. Froyant."

    Harvey Froyant made no comment as he stepped gingerly through the hedge.

    They walked slowly up the hill toward the big elm tree where Jack and stood looking down into the valley.

    Mr. Harvey Froyant preserved a tight-lipped silence. He was a stickler for the conventions, where their observations benefited himself.

    They had reached the crest of the rise, when suddenly his arm was gripped, and he turned to see Jack Beardmore, staring at the bole of the tree. Froyant followed the direction of his eye and took a step backward, his unhealthy face a shade paler. Painted on the tree trunk was a rough circle of crimson, and the paint was yet wet.

    JACK BEARDMORE looked round, scanning the country. The only human being in sight was a man who was walking slowly away from them, carrying a bag in his hand. Jack shouted, and the man turned.

    "Who are you?" demanded Jack. Then, "What are you doing here?"

    The stranger was a tall, stoutish man, and the exertion of carrying his grip had left him a little breathless. It was some time before he could reply.

    "My name is Marl," he said, "Felix Marl. You may have heard of me. I think you are young Mr. Beardmore, aren't you?"

    "That is my name," said Jack. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.

    "They told me there was a short cut from the railway station, but it is not so short as they promised," said Mr. Marl, breathing stertorously. "I'm on my way to see your father."

    "Have you been near that tree?" asked Jack, and Marl glared at him.

    "Why should I go near any tree?" he demanded aggressively. "I tell you I've come straight across the fields."

    By this time Harvey Froyant arrived, and apparently recognised the newcomer.

    "This is Mr. Marl; I know him. Marl, did you see anybody near that tree?"

    The man shook his head. Apparently the tree and its secret was a mystery to him.

    "I never knew there was a tree there," he said.