It was the first time he had ever been brought into even the remotest touch with that blackmailing organisation, and now its obtrusion upon the order of his thoughts was so violent that it disturbed every theory he had formed. “I don’t like it,” he muttered as he got up painfully and turned on the light in the darkened room. “I think this is where I get away.” He spent the evening examining his bank-book, and the examination was very comforting. He could squeeze out a little more, he thought, and then---- Chapter XIII. Mr. Marl Squeezes a Little More Another agent of the Crimson Circle found her lines cast in pleasant places. She had been accepted by Mr. Brabazon without question, and evidently the man in the car possessed extraordinary influences. What was even more extraordinary was that day followed day without a word from her mysterious employer. She had expected that he would almost immediately avail himself of her services, but she had been at Brabazon’s (late Seller’s) Bank nearly a month before she received any communication. It came one morning. She found the letter on her desk, addressed in bold pen-print. There was no sign of the Circle on the letter, which began without preamble: “_Make the acquaintance of Marl. Discover why he has a hold over Brabazon. Send me the figures of his account and notify me immediately his account is closed. Notify me also if Parr and Derrick Yale come to the bank. Wire Johnson, 23, Mildred Street, City._” She carried out her instructions faithfully, though it was not for a few days that she had an opportunity of seeing Mr. Marl. Only once did Derrick Yale come into the bank. She had seen him before, when he was a guest of the Beardmores, and even if she had not, she would have recognised him from the portrait of the famous detective which had appeared in the newspapers. What his business was she did not learn, but, looking out of the corner of her eye from the little office she occupied alone, by virtue of her position as Brabazon’s private secretary, she saw him talking with one of the tellers at the counter, and duly notified the Crimson Circle. Inspector Parr, however, did not come, nor did she see Jack Beardmore. She did not want to think too much of Jack. He was not a pleasant subject. * * * * In moments of perturbation John Brabazon, the austere and stately president of Seller’s Bank, had a characteristic little trick. His white hands would stray to the hair, curly and thick at the back of his head. One curl he would twist about his forefinger for a moment, and then he would slowly bring the tips of his fingers across his bald dome until they rested on his forehead. In such moments, with his head bowed and his fingers resting on his brow, he had the appearance of being engaged in prayer.