“If the Crimson Circle keeps its word,” he said, “I guarantee that not a hair of one member of your Government shall be harmed in London. Whether I can capture the man who describes himself as the Crimson Circle, remains to be seen.” “I suppose,” said the Prime Minister, “there is no doubt that this unfortunate man, Heggitt, has been killed.” It was Derrick Yale who answered. “No, sir; the body was found early this morning. Mr. Heggitt, who lives at Marsden, left London last night by train, and apparently the crime was committed _en route_.” “It is deplorable, deplorable.” The Prime Minister shook his head. “A terrible orgy of murder and crime, and it seems that we are not at the end of it yet.” When they came out into Whitehall, Yale and his companion found that a large crowd had gathered, for news had leaked out that a meeting was being held to discuss this new and extraordinary problem which confronted the Government. Yale, who was recognised, was cheered, but Inspector Parr passed unnoticed through the crowd--to his intense relief. Undoubtedly the Crimson Circle was the sensation of the hour. Some of the evening newspaper placards bore a crimson circle in imitation of the famous insignia of the gang, and wherever men met, there the possibility of the Circle carrying their threat into effect was discussed. Thalia Drummond looked up as her employer came in. The evening newspaper was in front of her, and her chin rested on her clasped hands, and she read every line, word by word. Derrick noticed the interest, and observed, too, her momentary confusion as she folded the paper and put it away. “Well, Miss Drummond, what do you think of their last exploit?” “It is colossal,” she said. “In some respects, admirable.” He looked at her gravely. “I confess I can see little to admire,” he said. “You take rather a queer, twisted view of things.” “Don’t I?” she said coolly. “You must never forget, Mr. Yale, that I have a queer, twisted mind.” He paused at the door of his room and looked back at her, a long, keen scrutiny, which she met without so much as an eyelid quivering. “I think you should be very grateful that Mr. Johnson, of Mildred Street, no longer receives your interesting communications,” he said, and she was silent. He came out again soon after. “I am probably going to establish my offices at police head-quarters,” he said, “and realising that that atmosphere is one in which you will not flourish, I am leaving you here in control of my ordinary business.” “Are you accepting the responsibility for capturing the Crimson Circle?” she asked steadily. He shook his head. “Inspector Parr is in control,” he said, “but I am going to help him.” He made no further reference to his new task, and the rest of the morning was spent in routine work. He went out to lunch and said he would not be back that day, giving her instructions regarding letters he wished despatched.