“Will you telephone to Derrick Yale? I think he is going to be considerably startled.” The prophecy understated the case. Derrick Yale arrived half an hour after the shooting in such haste that his appearance suggested that he had dressed over his pyjama suit. He listened to Parr’s story, and then: “I don’t want to be uncomplimentary, inspector,” he laughed, “but you’re the last person in the world I should have thought they would have wanted to shoot.” “Thank you,” said Parr, who was gingerly fixing a lint pad over his bruised chest. “I don’t mean that as uncomplimentary; I merely mean that such a definite challenge to the police is the last thing in the world I expected them to deliver.” He frowned heavily. “I don’t understand it,” he said as though speaking to himself. “I wonder why she wanted to know. I’m talking about Thalia Drummond. She asked me this morning what was your address,” he said. “I understand your name is not even in the telephone book or in the local directory.” “What did you say?” “I gave her some evasive answer, but I’ve just remembered that my private address book is accessible, and she could easily have discovered it without troubling to ask me. I wonder she didn’t.” Jack gave a weary sigh. “Really, Yale, you’re not suggesting that Miss Drummond fired that shot, are you? Because, if you are, it’s a ridiculous suggestion. Oh, I know what you’re going to say: she’s a bad lot and has been guilty of all sorts of miserable little crimes, but that doesn’t make her a murderess!” “You’re quite right,” replied Yale after a pause. “I’m being unjust to the girl, and it doesn’t seem that I’m starting fair if I am sincere in my desire to give her a chance. I wanted to see you to-night, by the way, Parr.” He took from his pocket a card and laid it on the table before the inspector. “How does that strike you for nerve?” “When did you get it?” “It was waiting in the letter-box for me, but I didn’t see it, curiously enough, until I was rushing out to find a taxi to bring me here. Isn’t it colossal?” The card bore a symbol familiar enough to the two men, but at the very sight of that Crimson Circle, Jack shuddered. Within the hoop was written: “_You are serving the losing side. Serve us instead and you shall be rewarded tenfold. Continue your present work, and you die on the fourth of next month._” “That gives you about ten days,” said Parr seriously, and it might have been the pain he had suffered, or excitement, but he seemed suddenly to lose his colour. “Ten days,” he muttered. “Of course, I take not the slightest notice of that threat,” said Derrick Yale cheerfully. “I must confess that after my unpleasant experience at the office I almost credit them with supernatural gifts.” “Ten days,” repeated the detective. “Have you made any plans? Ordinarily, where would you be on the fourth of next month?”