“Have you the letter, sir?” demanded Yale, and Froyant pulled open a drawer savagely and slammed down the familiar card upon his blotting-pad. “When did this arrive?” asked Parr as he took it up, noting the Crimson Circle. “By this morning’s post.” Parr read the words inscribed in the centre: “_We shall call for the money at the office of Mr. Derrick Yale at 3.30 on Friday afternoon. The notes must not run in series. If it is not there for us, you will die the same night._” Three times the inspector read the short message, and then he sighed. “Well, that simplifies matters,” he said. “Of course, they will not call----” “I think they will,” said Yale quietly; “but I shall be prepared for them, and I should like you to be on hand, Mr. Parr.” “If there is one thing more certain than another,” said the inspector phlegmatically, “it is that I shall be on hand. But I don’t think they will come.” “There I can’t agree with you,” said Yale. “Whoever the central figure of the Crimson Circle is, he or she does not lack courage. And, by the way,” he lowered his voice, “you will meet an old acquaintance at my office.” Parr shot a quick, suspicious glance at the detective, and saw that he was mildly amused. “Drummond?” he asked. Yale nodded. “You are engaging her?” “She rather interests me, and I fancy that she is going to be a real help in the solution of this mystery.” Froyant came in at that moment, and the conversation was tactfully changed. Chapter XX. The Key of River House It was arranged that Froyant should draw the necessary money from his bank on the Thursday morning to pay the demand, and that Yale should call for it and meet Parr at the former’s office in ample time to make the necessary preparations for the visitor’s reception. Mr. Parr’s way to head-quarters took him past the big house where Jack Beardmore was living in solitude. The events of the past few weeks had wrought an extraordinary change in the youth. From a boy he had suddenly become a man, with all a man’s balance and understanding. He had inherited an enormous fortune, but with its coming the incentive of life had, for the most part, fallen away. He could never escape the memory of Thalia Drummond; her face was before him, sleeping or waking, and though he called himself a fool, and could, as he did, argue the matter to a logical conclusion, the sum of all his reasoning faded before the image he carried in his heart. Between Inspector Parr and he there had grown a curious friendship. There was a time when he was near to hating the stout little man, but his good sense had told him that however large a part sentiment had played in his own life, and in the direction of his own actions, it could have no place in a police officer’s moral equipment.