The inspector stopped before the door of the house, and was for passing on, but, obeying an impulse, he walked slowly up the steps and rang the bell. The footman who admitted him was one of the dozen servants who accentuated the emptiness of the mansion. Jack was in the dining-room, pretending to be interested in a late breakfast. “Come in, Mr. Parr,” he said, rising. “I suppose you breakfasted hours ago. Is there anything new?” “Nothing,” said Parr, “except that Mr. Froyant has decided to pay.” “He would,” said Jack contemptuously, and then, for the first time in a long while, he laughed. “I shouldn’t like to be the Red or Crimson Circle, or whatever it calls itself.” “Why not?” asked Mr. Parr, with a little light of amusement in his eyes, but he could guess the answer. “My poor father used to say that Froyant fretted over every cent that was taken from him and never rested until he got it back. When Harvey’s panic is over he will go after the Crimson Circle, and will never leave it until every bank-note he has handed to them is repaid.” “Very likely,” agreed the inspector, “but they aren’t holding the money yet.” He told Jack the contents of the letter which Froyant had received that morning, and his young host was visibly astonished. “They’re taking a big risk, aren’t they? It would be a clever man who got the better of Derrick Yale.” “So I think,” said the inspector, crossing his legs comfortably. “I must take my hat off to Yale. There are things about him that I admire tremendously.” “His psychometrical powers, for example,” smiled Jack, but the inspector shook his head. “I don’t know enough about those to admire them. They seem uncanny to me, yet in a certain way I can understand them. No, I am thinking of other of his qualities.” He was suddenly silent, and Jack sensed his depression. “You’re having a pretty bad time at head-quarters, aren’t you?” he asked. “I don’t suppose they are particularly pleased with the immunity of the Crimson Circle?” Parr nodded. “I’m not exactly in a bed of roses just now,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t worry me a bit.” He looked steadily at Jack. “By the way, your young friend is in a new job.” Jack started. “My young friend?” he stammered. “You mean Miss----” “Miss Drummond, I mean. Derrick Yale has engaged her,” he chuckled softly at Jack’s astonishment. “Engaged Miss Thalia Drummond? You’re joking, surely?” said Jack. “I thought he was joking when he suggested it. He’s a queer bird, is Yale.” “He ought to be at head-quarters, a lot of people think,” said Jack, and realised that he had made a _faux pas_ before the words were out. But if Mr. Parr was hurt he did not show it.