The Crimson Circle Read Online

"He's slow, but thorough. I am told that he is one of the most conscientious men at head-quarters, and I fancy that the headquarters chiefs have treated him badly over the last Crimson Circle crime. They have practically told him that if he cannot run the organisation to earth he must send in his resignation."

    Whilst they were speaking, the figure of Mr. Beardmore had disappeared into the gloom of a little wood on the edge of the estate.

    "I worked with him during the last Circle murder," Derrick Yale went on, "and he struck me—"

    He stopped, and the two men looked at one another.

    There was no mistaking the sound. It was a shot near and distinct, and it came from the direction of the wood. In an instant Jack had leapt over the balustrade and was racing across the meadow. Derrick Yale behind him.

    Twenty paces along the woodland path they found Jim Beardmore lying on his face, and he was quite dead, and even as Jack was staring down at his father with horrified eyes, a girl emerged from the wood at the farther end, and stopping only long enough to wipe with a handful of grass something that was red from her hands, she flew along the shadow of the hedge which divided the Froyant estate.

    Never once did Thalia Drummond look back until she reached the shelter of the little summer house. Her face was drawn and white, and her breath came gaspingly as she stood for a second in the doorway of the little hut, and looked back to the wood. A swift glance round and she was in the house and on her knees tugging with quivering hands at the end of a floor board. It came up disclosing a black cavity. Another second's hesitation, and she threw into the hole the revolver she had held in her hand, and dropped the board back in its place.

    THE Commissioner looked down at the newspaper cutting before him and tugged at his grey moustache. Inspector Parr, who knew the signs, watched with an apparently detached interest.

    He was a short, thick-set man, so lacking in inches that it was remarkable that he had ever satisfied the stringent requirements of the police authorities. His age was something below fifty, but his big red face was unlined. It was a face from whence every indication of intelligence and refinement was absent. The round, staring eyes were bovine in their lack of expression, the big fleshy nose, the heavy cheeks, pouched beneath the jaws, and the half-bald head, were units of his unimpressiveness. The Commissioner picked up the cutting. "Listen to this," he said curtly, and read. It was the editorial of the Morning Monitor and it was direct to a point of offensiveness.

    "For the second time during the past year the country has been shocked and outraged by the assassination of a prominent man. It is not necessary to give here the details of this Crimson Circle crime, particulars of which appear on another page. But it is very necessary that we should state in emphatic and unmistakable terms that we view with consternation the seeming helplessness of police head-quarters to deal with this criminal gang. Inspector Parr, who has devoted himself for the past year to tracking the murdering blackmailers, can offer us nothing more than vague promises of revelations which never materialise. It is obvious that police headquarters needs a thorough overhauling, and the introduction of new blood, and we trust that those responsible for the government of the country, will not hesitate to make the drastic changes which are necessary."

    "Well," growled Colonel Morton, "what do you think of that, Parr?"

    Mr. Parr rubbed his big chin and said nothing.

    "James Beardmore was murdered after due warning had been given to the police," said the Commissioner deliberately. "He was shot within sight of his house, and the murderer is at large. This is the second bad case, Parr, and I'll tell you candidly that it is my intention to act on the advice which this newspaper gives."

    He tapped the cutting suggestively.

    "On the previous occasion you allowed Mr. Yale to get away with all the kudos for the capture of the murderer. You have seen Mr. Yale, I presume?"

    The detective nodded.

    "And what does he say?"

    Mr. Parr shifted uneasily on his feet.

    "He told me a lot of nonsense about a dark man with toothache."

    "How did he get that?" asked the Commissioner quickly.

    "From the shell of the cartridge he found on the ground," said the detective. "I don't take any notice of this psychometrical stuff—"

    The Commissioner leant back in his chair and sighed.

    "I don't think you take notice of any stuff that is serviceable.