Police head-quarters was on its trial. The uncomfortable amount of space which the newspapers were giving to the latest of these tragedies which were associated with the name of Crimson Circle, the questions which were on the paper to be asked in Parliament, no less than the conferences behind closed doors at head-quarters, and the aloofness of all who were ordinarily connected with Inspector Parr in his work, were ominous signs which he did not fail to appreciate. There was hardly a newspaper which did not publish a very complete list of the outrages for which the Crimson Circle was responsible, and not one which did not mention pointedly the damning fact that from the very beginning of the Circle’s activity, Inspector Parr had had charge of the various cases. He asked for, and was granted, leave to make enquiries in France. During his few days’ absence, his superiors arranged for his successor. He had only one friend at head-quarters, and that curiously and strangely enough was Colonel Morton, the Commissioner in control of Parr’s department. Morton fought his case, but knew that it was a hopeless one from the beginning. In this he had the assistance of Derrick Yale. Yale made an early call at head-quarters and gave the fullest particulars with the object of exonerating his official colleague. “The mere fact that I was on the spot, and that I had been specially engaged to protect Froyant, must take a lot of responsibility from Parr’s shoulders,” he urged. The Commissioner leant back in his chair and folded his arms. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Yale,” he said bluntly, “but officially you have no existence, and I am afraid that nothing you will say is going to help Mr. Parr. He has had his chance--in fact, he has had several chances, and he has missed them.” Just as Yale was going the Commissioner beckoned him to remain. “You can throw light upon one subject, Mr. Yale,” he said. “It has reference to the killing of the man who shot James Beardmore: you remember Sibly, the sailor.” Yale nodded, and resumed the seat he had vacated. “Who was in the cell when you were taking this man’s evidence?” “Myself, Mr. Parr and an official shorthand writer.” “Man or woman?” asked the Commissioner. “A man. I think he was a member of your staff. And that was all. The jailer came in once or twice; in fact he came in while we were there, and brought the water, which was found afterwards to contain the poison.” The Commissioner opened a folder and selected from many documents a sheet of foolscap. “Here is the jailer’s statement,” he said. “I’ll save you the preliminaries, but this is what he says,” said the Commissioner; he fixed his glasses and read slowly: