“There is still a lot about the Crimson Circle that is a mystery to me, but I am piecing it together. At the moment I am under the impression that there is somebody at police head-quarters who is working with them.” “That is my view, too,” said Yale quickly. “Why do you say that?” “Well,” said the slow Parr, “I’ll give you an instance. Young Beardmore had a photograph that he found in his father’s papers and this was posted to me. It arrived all right, with the seal of the envelope intact, but when I opened it, there was a blank card. I have since discovered that he gave that card to Thalia Drummond to post; he swears he stood on the doorstep and watched her slip it into the letter-box on the opposite side of the road. If that is the case, the envelope must have been tampered with after it reached head-quarters.” “What kind of a photograph?” asked the other curiously. “It was either a picture of an execution or the condemned man Lightman, for I think it was taken on the occasion when they tried to execute Lightman and failed. It came to old man Beardmore the day before his death--a great number of things seem to have happened to the victims of the Crimson Circle the day before their death--and was found by Jack and, as I say, sent on----” “By Thalia Drummond!” said Yale significantly. “My view is that you can exonerate the people at head-quarters. This girl is deeper in the Crimson Circle than you imagine. I searched her house to-night--that is where I’ve been, and this is what I found.” He went out into the hall and returned with a brown paper parcel, opened it, and the inspector stared. A gauntlet glove and a long bright-bladed knife were exposed when Yale cut the string and stripped away the paper wrapping. “This glove is a fellow to that which was found in Froyant’s study. The knife is an exact pair to the other.” Parr took up the gauntlet and examined it. “Yes, this is the left hand, and the one on Froyant’s desk was the right,” he agreed. “It is a worn motor-glove. Who was the owner? Try your psychometric powers, Yale.” “I’ve already tried,” said the other, shaking his head, “but the glove has passed through so many hands that the impressions I receive are very confused. At any rate, this discovery confirms the theory that Thalia Drummond is in the business up to her neck. As to the other matter you were speaking about,” he said, as he wrapped the knife and glove carefully in the paper, “I shall be most happy to assist you.” “What I want from you,” said Parr, “is that you shall fill in the spaces which I cannot fill,” he shook his head. “I only wish mother could be there,” he said regretfully. “Mother?” said the astonished Yale. “My grandmother,” said Mr. Parr soberly. “The only detective in England--bar you and I.” It was the first time that Derrick Yale ever had reason to suspect that Mr. Parr possessed a sense of humour. * * * * *