The Crimson Blind

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"I cannot see anything of you," she said.

"All the same, I can see your outline," Henson said, dismally. "I don't
feel quite so frightened now. I can hang on a bit longer, especially now
I know assistance is at hand. At first I began to be afraid that I was a
prisoner for the night. No; don't go. If I had a rope I should have the
proper confidence to swarm up again. And there is a coil of rope in the
arbour close by you. Hang it straight down over that middle boulder and
fasten your end round one of those iron pilasters."

The rope was there as Henson stated; indeed, he had placed it there
himself. With the utmost coolness and courage Chris did as she was
desired. But it took some little time to coax the rope to go over in the
proper direction. There was a little mutter of triumph from below, and
presently Henson, with every appearance of utter exhaustion, climbed over
the ledge to the terrace. At the same moment an owl hooted twice from the
long belt of trees at the bottom of the garden.

"I hope you are none the worse for your adventure?" Chris asked,
politely.

Henson said sententiously that he fancied not. His familiarity with the
cliffs had led him too far. If he had not fallen on a ledge of rock
goodness only knows what might have happened. Would Chris be so good as
to lend him the benefit of her arm back to the castle? Chris was
graciously willing, but she was full of curiosity at the same time. Had
Henson really been in danger, or was the whole thing some part of an
elaborate and cunning plot? Henson knew perfectly well that she had taken
a great fancy to the upper terrace, and he might--

Really it was difficult to know what to think. They passed slowly along
till the lights here and there from the castle shone on their faces. At
the same time a carriage had driven up to the hall door and a visitor was
getting out. With a strange sense of eagerness and pleasure Chris
recognised the handsome features and misshapen shape of Hatherly Bell.

"The expected guest has arrived," Henson said.

There was such a queer mixture of snarling anger and exulting triumph in
his voice that Chris looked up. Just for an instant Henson had dropped
the mask. A ray of light from the open door streamed fully across his
face. The malignant pleasure of it startled Chris. Like a flash she began
to see how she had been used by those miscreants.

"He is very handsome," she contrived to say, steadily.

"Handsome is that handsome does," Henson quoted. "Let us hope that Dr.
Bell will succeed in his mission. He has my best wishes."

Chris turned away and walked slowly as possible up the stairs. Another
minute with that slimy hypocrite and she felt she must betray herself.
Once out of sight she flew along the corridor and snapped up the electric
light. She fell back with a stifled cry of dismay, but she was more
sorrowful than surprised.

"I expected it," she said. "I knew that this was the thing they
were after."

The precious copy of Rembrandt was no longer there!

CHAPTER XXXI

BELL ARRIVES

There were more sides to the mystery than David Steel imagined. It had
seemed to him that he had pretty well all the threads in his hands, but
he would have been astonished to know how much more Hatherly Bell and
Enid Henson could have told him.

But it seemed to Bell that there was one very important thing to be done
before he proceeded any farther. He was interested in the mystery as he
was interested in anything where crime and cunning played a part. But he
was still more intent upon clearing his good name; besides, this would
give him a wider field of action.

In the light of recent discoveries it had become imperative that he
should once more be on good terms with Lord Littimer. Once this was
accomplished, Bell saw his way to the clearing up of the whole
complication. It was a great advantage to know who his enemy was; it was
a still greater advantage to discover the hero of the cigar-case and the
victim of the outrage in Steel's conservatory was the graceless scamp Van
Sneck, the picture dealer, who had originally sold "The Crimson Blind" to
Lord Littimer.

It was all falling out beautifully. Not only had Van Sneck turned up in
the nick of time, but he was not in a position to do any further
mischief. It suited Bell exactly that Van Sneck should be _hors de
combat_ for the moment.

The first thing to be done was to see Lord Littimer without delay. Bell
had no idea of humbly soliciting an interview. He proceeded to a
telegraph office the first thing the following morning and wired Littimer
to the effect that he must see him on important business. He had an hour
or two at his disposal, so he took a cab as far as Downend Terrace. He
found Steel slug-hunting in the conservatory, the atmosphere of which was
blue with cigarette smoke.

"So you are not working this morning?" he asked.

"How the dickens can I work?" David exclaimed, irritably. "Not that I
haven't been trying. I might just as well take a long holiday till this
mystery is cleared up for all the good I am. What is the next move?"

"My next move is to go to Littimer and convince him that he has done me a
great wrong. I am bound to have Littimer's ear once more."

"You are going to show him the spare Rembrandt, eh?"

"That's it. I flatter myself I shall astonish him. I've sent a telegram
to say I'm coming to-day, after which I shall proceed to storm the
citadel. I feel all the safer because nobody knows I have the engraving."

"My dear chap, somebody knows you have the picture."

"Impossible!" Bell exclaimed. "Only yourself and Enid Henson can possibly
be aware that--"

"All the same, I am speaking the truth," David said. "Last night when you
went into the hospital you gave me the print to take care of. At the same
time I noticed a rough-looking man presumedly asleep on the seat in the
road facing the hospital. Afterwards when I looked round he had
disappeared. At the time I thought nothing of it. When I came in here I
placed the precious roll of paper on my writing-table under the window
yonder. The window is a small one, as you can see, and was opened about a
foot at the top. I sat here with the light down and the room faintly
illuminated by the light in the conservatory. After a little time I saw a
hand and arm groping for something on the table, and I'm quite sure the
hand and arm were groping for your Rembrandt. The fellow muttered
something that I failed to understand, and I made a grab for him and got
him. Then the other hand made a dash for my head with an ugly piece of
gas-piping, and I had to let go."

"And you saw no more of the fellow?"

"No; I didn't expect to. I couldn't see his face, but there was one
peculiarity he had that I might tell you for your future guidance. He had
a thumb smashed as flat as the head of a snake, with one tiny pink nail
in the middle of it. So, if you meet a man like that on your journey
to-day, look to yourself. On the whole, you see that our enemies are a
little more awake than you give them credit for."

Bell nodded thoughtfully. The information was of the greatest possible
value to him. It told him quite plainly that Reginald Henson knew
exactly what had happened. Under ordinary circumstances by this time
Henson would be on his way to Littimer Castle, there to checkmate the
man he had so deeply injured. But fortunately Henson was laid by the
heels, or so Bell imagined.

"I am really obliged to you," Bell said. "Your information is likely to
be of the greatest possible service to me. I'm sorry you can't work."

"Don't worry about me," David said, grimly. "I'm gaining a vast quantity
of experience that will be of the greatest value to me later on. Besides,
I can go and compare notes with Miss Ruth Gates whilst you are away. She
is soothing."

"So I should imagine," Bell said, drily. "No, I must be off. I'll let you
know what happens at Littimer Castle. Good luck to you here."

And Bell bustled off. He was pleased to find a recent telegram of
acceptance from Littimer awaiting him, and before five o'clock he was
in the train for London. It was only after he left London that he began
to crawl along. Thanks to slow local lines and a badly fitting cross
service it was nearly eleven o'clock before he reached Moreton Station.
It did not matter much, because Littimer had said that a carriage
should meet him.

However, there was no conveyance of any kind outside the station. One
sleepy porter had already departed, and the other one, who took Bell's
ticket, and was obviously waiting to lock up, deposed that a carriage
from the castle had come to the station, but that some clerical gentleman
had come along and countermanded it. Whereupon the dog-cart had departed.

"Very strange," Bell muttered. "What sort of a parson was it?"

"I only just saw his face," the porter yawned. "Dressed in black, with a
white tie and a straw hat. Walked in a slouching kind of way with his
hands down; new curate from St. Albans, perhaps. Looked like a chap as
could take care of himself in a row."

"Thanks," Bell said, curtly. "I'll manage the walk; it's only two miles.
Good-night."

Bell's face was grim and set as he stepped out into the road. He knew
fairly well what this meant. It was pretty evident that his arch-enemy
knew his movements perfectly well, and that a vigorous attempt was being
made to prevent him reaching the castle. He called back to the porter.

"How long since the carriage went?" he asked.

A voice from the darkness said "Ten minutes," and Bell trudged on with
the knowledge that one of his enemies at least was close at hand. That
Reginald Henson was at the castle he had not the remotest idea. Nor did
he fear personal violence. Despite his figure, he was a man of enormous
strength and courage. But he had not long to wait.

Somebody was coming down the lonely road towards him, somebody in
clerical attire. The stranger stopped and politely, if a little huskily,
inquired if he was on the right way to Moreton Station. Bell responded as
politely that he was, and asked to know the time. Not that he cared
anything about the time; what he really wanted was to see the stranger's
hands. The little ruse was successful. In the dim light Bell could see a
flattened, hideous thumb with the pink parody of a nail upon it.

"Thanks, very much," he said, crisply. "Keep straight on."

He half turned as the stranger swung round. The latter darted at Bell,
but he came too late. Bell's fist shot out and caught him fairly on the
forehead. Then the stick in Bell's left hand came down with crushing
force on the prostrate man's skull. So utterly dazed and surprised was he
that he lay on the ground for a moment, panting heavily.

"You murderous ruffian," Bell gasped. "You escaped convict in an honest
man's clothes. Get up! So you are the fellow--"

He paused suddenly, undesirous of letting the rascal see that he knew too
much. The other man rolled over suddenly like a cat and made a dash for a
gap in the hedge. He was gone like a flash. Pursuit would be useless, for
pace was not Bell's strong point. And he was not fearful of being
attacked again.

"Henson seems to be pretty well served," he muttered, grimly.

Meanwhile, the man with the thumb was flying over the fields in the
direction of Littimer. He made his way across country to the cliffs with
the assured air of one who knows every inch of the ground. He had failed
in the first part of his instructions, and there was no time to be lost
if he was to carry out the second part successfully.

He struck the cliffs at length a mile or so away, and proceeded to
scramble along them till he lay hidden just under the terraces at
Littimer Castle. He knew that he was in time for this part of the
programme, despite the fact that his head ached considerably from the
force and vigour of Bell's assault. He lay there, panting and breathing
heavily, waiting for the signal to come.

Meanwhile, Bell was jogging along placidly and with no fear in his heart
at all. He did not need anybody to tell him what was the object of his
late antagonist's attack. He knew perfectly well that if the ruffian had
got the better of him he would never have seen the Rembrandt again.
Henson's hounds were on the track; but it would go hard if they pulled
the quarry down just as the sanctuary was in sight. Presently Bell could
see the lights of the castle.

By the lodge-gates stood a dog-cart; in the flare of the lamps Bell
recognised the features of the driver, a very old servant of Littimer's.
Bell took in the situation at a glance.

"Is this the way you come for me, Lund?" he asked.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Lund replied. "But a clergyman near the station
said you had gone another way, so I turned back. And when I got here I
couldn't make top nor tail of the story. Blest if I wasn't a bit nervous
that it might have been some plant to rob you. And I was going to drive
slowly along to the station again when you turned up."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong," said Bell, cheerfully. "And I don't look as
if I'd come to any harm. Anybody staying at the castle, Lund?"

"Only Mr. Reginald Henson, sir," Lund said, disparagingly.

Bell started, but his emotion was lost in the darkness. It came as a
great surprise to him to find that the enemy was actually in the field.
And how apprehensive of danger he must be to come so far with his health
in so shattered a condition. Bell smiled to himself as he pictured
Henson's face on seeing him once more under that roof.

"How long has Mr. Henson been here?" he asked.

"Only came yesterday, sir. Shall I drive you up to the house? And if you
wouldn't mind saying nothing to his lordship about my mistake, sir--"

"Make your mind easy on that score," Bell said, drily. "His lordship
shall know nothing whatever about it. On the whole, I had better drive up
to the house. How familiar it all looks, to be sure."

A minute later and Bell stood within the walls of the castle.

CHAPTER XXXII

HOW THE SCHEME WORKED OUT

Chris crossed the corridor like one who walks in a dream. She had not
enough energy left to be astonished even. Her mind travelled quickly over
the events of the past hour, and she began to see the way clear. But how
had somebody or other managed to remove the picture? Chris examined the
spot on the wall where the Rembrandt had been with the eye of a
detective.

That part of the mystery was explained in a moment. A sharp cutting
instrument, probably a pair of steel pliers with a lever attachment, had
been applied to the head of the four stays, and the flat heads had been
pinched off as clean as if they had been string. After that it was merely
necessary to remove the frame, and a child could have done the rest.

"How clever I am," Chris told herself, bitterly. "I'm like the astute
people who put Chubb locks on Russia leather jewel-cases that anybody
could rip open with a sixpenny penknife. And in my conceit I deemed the
Rembrandt to be absolutely safe. Now what--what is the game?"

It was much easier to ask the question than to answer it. But there were
some facts sufficiently obvious to Chris. In the first place she knew
that Reginald Henson was at the bottom of the whole thing; she knew that
he had traded on the fact that she had taken a fancy to the terrace as an
after-dinner lounge; indeed, she had told him so earlier in the day. He
had traded on the knowledge that he could prove an alibi if any
suspicions attached to him. The fact that he was in danger owing to a
slip on the edge of the cliff was all nonsense. He had not been in any
danger at all; he had seen Chris there, and he had made all that parade
with an eye to the future. As a matter of course, he was down there
settling matters with his accomplice of the maimed thumb, who had chosen
the cliff way of getting into the castle as the swiftest and the surest
from detection.

Yes, it was pretty obvious that the man with the thumb had stolen the
print, and that by this time he was far away with his possession. While
Chris was helping Henson the latter's accomplice had slipped into the
castle and effected the burglary. Chris flicked out the light in the
alcove as a servant came along. It was not policy for any of the
domestics to be too wise. Chris forced a smile to her face as the maid
came along.

"Allen," she asked, "are there many owls about here?"

"Never a one as I know, miss," the maid responded confidently. "I've been
here for eleven years, and I never heard of such a thing. Clifford, the
head keeper, couldn't sleep at nights if he thought as there was such a
thing on the estate. Have you heard one, miss?"

"I was evidently mistaken," Chris said. "Of course you would know best."

So the cry of the owl had been a signal of success. Chris sat in the
gloom there resolved to see the comedy played through. The events of the
night were not over yet.

"I'd give something to know what has taken place in the dining-room,"
Chris murmured.

She was going to know before long. The lights were being extinguished all
over the house. Henson came up to bed heavily, as one who is utterly worn
out. At the same time he looked perfectly satisfied with himself. He
might have been a vigilant officer who had settled all his plans and was
going to seek a well-earned rest before the enemy came on to his
destruction. In sooth Henson was utterly worn out. He had taxed his
strength to the uttermost, but he was free to rest now.

Meanwhile, the conference in the dining-room proceeded. Lord Littimer had
received his guest with frigid politeness, to which Bell had responded
with an equally cold courtesy. Littimer laid his cigar aside and looked
Bell steadily in the face.

"I have granted your request against my better judgment," he said. "I am
not sanguine that the least possible good can come of it. But I have
quite grown out of all my illusions; I have seen the impossible proved
too often. Will you take anything?"

"I hope to do so presently," Bell said, pointedly; "but not yet. In the
first instance I have to prove to you that I have not stolen your
Rembrandt."

"Indeed? I should like to know how you propose to do that."

"I shall prove it at once. You were under the impression that you
possessed the only copy of the 'Crimson Blind' in existence. When you
lost yours and a copy of the picture was found in my possession, you were
perfectly justified in believing that I was the thief."

"I did take that extreme view of the matter," Littimer said, drily.

"Under the circumstances I should have done the same thing. But you were
absolutely wrong, because there were two copies of the picture. Yours was
stolen by an enemy of mine who had the most urgent reasons for
discrediting me in your eyes, and the other was concealed amongst my
belongings. It was no loss to the thief, because subsequently the stolen
one--my own one being restored to you--could have been exposed and
disposed of as a new find. Your print is in the house?"

"It hangs in the gallery at the present moment."

"Very good. Then, my lord, what do you say to this?"

Bell took the roll of paper from his pocket, and gravely flattened it out
on the table before him, so that the full rays of the electric light
should fall upon it. Littimer was a fine study of open-mouthed surprise.
He could only stand there gaping, touching the stained paper with his
fingers and breathing heavily.

"Here is a facsimile of your treasure," Bell went on. "Here is the same
thing. You are a good judge on these matters, and I venture to say you
will call it genuine. There is nothing of forgery about the engraving."

"Good heavens, no," Littimer snapped. "Any fool could see that."

"Which you will admit is a very great point in my favour," Bell
said, gravely.

"I begin to think that I have done you a great injustice," Littimer
admitted; "but, under the circumstances, I don't see how I could have
done anything else. Look at that picture. It is exactly the same as mine.
There is exactly the same discolouration in the margin in exactly the
same place."

"Probably they lay flat on the top of one another for scores of years."

"Possibly. I can't see the slightest difference in the smallest
particular. Even now I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I am the
victim of some kind of plot or delusion. The house is quiet now and there
is nobody about. Before I believe the evidence of my senses--and I have
had cause to doubt them more than once--I should like to compare this
print with mine. Will you follow me to the gallery, if you haven't
forgotten the way?"

Littimer took up the treasure from the table gingerly.

He was pleased and at the same time disappointed; pleased to find that he
had been mistaken all these years, sorry in the knowledge that his
picture was unique no longer. He said nothing until the alcove was
reached, and Chris drew back in the shadow to let the others pass.

"Now to settle the question for all time," Littimer said. "Will you be so
good as to turn on the electric light? You will find the switch in the
angle of the wall on your right. And when we have settled the affair and
I have apologized to you in due form, you shall command my services and
my purse to right the wrong. If it costs me L10,000 the man who has done
this thing shall suffer. Please to put up the light, Bell."

Chris listened breathlessly. She was not quite certain what she was about
to see. She could hear Bell fumbling for the light, she heard the click
of the switch, and then she saw the brilliant belt of flame flooding the
alcove. Littimer paused and glanced at Bell, the latter looked round the
alcove as if seeking for something.

"I cannot see the picture here," he said. "If have made a mistake--"

Littimer stood looking at the speaker with eyes like blazing stars. Just
for a moment or two he was speechless with indignation.

"You charlatan," he said, hoarsely. "You barefaced trickster."

Bell started back. His mute question stung Littimer to the quick.

"You wanted to be cleared," the latter said. "You wanted to befool me
again. You come here in some infernally cunning fashion, you steal my
picture from the frame and have the matchless audacity to pass it off for
a second one. Man alive, if it were earlier I would have you flogged from
the house like the ungrateful dog that you are."

Chris checked down the cry that rose to her lips. She saw, as in a flash
of lightning, the brilliancy and simplicity and cunning of Henson's
latest and most masterly scheme.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE FRAME OF THE PICTURE

After the first passionate outburst of scorn Lord Littimer looked at his
visitor quietly. There was something almost amusing in the idea that Bell
should attempt such a trick upon him. And the listener was thoroughly
enjoying the scene now. There was quite an element of the farcical about
it. In the brilliant light she could see Littimer's dark, bitter face and
the helpless amazement on the strong features of Hatherly Bell. And,
meanwhile, the man who had brought the impossible situation about was
calmly sleeping after his strenuous exertions.

Chris smiled to herself as she thought out her brilliant _coup_. It
looked to her nothing less than a stroke of genius, two strokes, in fact,
as will be seen presently. Before many hours were over Henson's position
in the house would be seriously weakened. He had done a clever thing, but
Chris saw her way to a cleverer one still.

Meanwhile the two men were regarding one another suspiciously. On a round
Chippendale table the offending Rembrandt lay between them.

"I confess," Bell said, at length, "I confess that I am utterly taken by
surprise. And yet I need not be so astonished when I come to think of the
amazing cunning and audacity of my antagonist. He has more foresight than
myself. Lord Littimer, will you be so kind as to repeat your last
observation over again?"

"I will emphasize it, if you like?" Littimer replied. "For some deep
purpose of your own, you desired to make friends with me again. You tell
me you are in a position to clear your character. Very foolishly I
consent to see you. You come here with a roll of paper in your possession
purporting to be a second copy of my famous print. All the time you knew
it to be mine--mine, stolen an hour or two ago and passed instantly to
you. Could audacity go farther? And then you ask me to believe that you
came down from town with a second engraving in your possession."

"As I hope to be saved, I swear it!" Bell cried.

"Of course you do. A man with your temerity would swear anything.
Credulous as I may be, I am not credulous enough to believe that _my_
picture would be stolen again at the very time that you found _yours_"

"Abstracted by my enemy on purpose to land me in this mess."

"Ridiculous," Littimer cried. "Pshaw, I am a fool to stand here arguing;
I am a fool to let you stay in the house. Why, I don't believe you could
bring a solitary witness to prove that yonder picture was yours."

"You are mistaken, my lord. I could bring several."

"Credible witnesses? Witnesses whose characters would bear
investigation?"

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