The Crimson Blind

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"The brute is fast asleep," he said. "I've just been in his room. He left
the lamp burning, and there is a lump on the side of his head as big as
an ostrich egg. But he didn't mean to go to sleep; he hasn't taken any of
his clothes off. On the whole, sir, wouldn't it be better for you to wake
our man up and get him away?"

David was of the same opinion. Van Sneck was lying on the bed looking
vacantly about him. He seemed older and more worn, perhaps, because his
beard and moustache were growing ragged and dirty on his face. He pressed
his hand to his head in a confused kind of way.

"I tell you I can't find it," he said; "the thing slipped out of my
hand--a small thing like that easily might. What's the good of making a
fuss about a ring not worth L20? Search my pockets if you like. What a
murderous-looking dog you are when you're out of temper!"

All this in a vague, rambling way, in a slightly foreign accent. David
touched him on the shoulder.

"Won't you come back with me to Brighton?" he said.

"Certainly," was the ready response; "you look a good sort of chap. I'll
go anywhere you please. Not that I've got a penny of money left. What a
spree it has been. Who are you?"

"My name is Steel. I am David Steel, the novelist."

A peculiarly cunning look came over Van Sneck's face.

"I got your letter," he said. "And I came. It was after I had had that
row with Henson. Henson is a bigger scoundrel than I am, though you may
not think it."

"I accept your statement implicitly," David said, drily.

"Well, he is. And I got your letter. And I called.... And you nearly
killed me. And I dropped it down in the corner of the conservatory."

"Dropped what?" David asked, sharply.

"Nothing," said Van Sneck. "What do you mean by talking about dropping
things. I never dropped anything in my life. I make others do that, eh,
eh! But I can't remember anything. It just comes back to me, and then
there is a wheel goes round in my head.... Who are you?"

David gave up the matter as hopeless. This was emphatically a case
for Bell. Once let him get Van Sneck back to Brighton and Bell could
do the rest.

"We'd better go," he said to Enid. "We are merely wasting time here."

"I suppose so," Enid said, thoughtfully. "All the same, I should greatly
like to know what it is that our friend Van Sneck dropped."

It was a long and tedious journey back to Brighton again, for the patient
seemed to tire easily, and he evinced a marked predilection for sitting
by the roadside and singing. It was very late before David reached his
house. Bell beamed his satisfaction. Van Sneck, with a half-gleam of
recognition of his surroundings, and with a statement that he had been
there before, lapsed into silence. Bell produced a small phial in a
chemist's wrapper and poured the contents into a glass. With a curt
command to drink he passed the glass over to Van Sneck.

The latter drank the small dose, and Bell carried him more or less to a
ground-floor bedroom behind the dining-room. There he speedily undressed
his patient and got him into bed. Van Sneck was practically fast asleep
before his head had touched the pillow.

"I went out and got that dose with a view to eventualities," Bell
explained. "I know pretty well what is the matter with Van Sneck, and I
propose to operate upon him, with the help of Heritage. I've put him in
my bed and locked the door. I shall sleep in the big armchair."

David flung himself into a big deck lounge and lighted a cigarette.

"My word, that has been a bit of a business," he said. "Pour me out a
little whisky in one of the long glasses and fill it up with soda....
Oh, that's better. I never felt so thirsty in my life. I got Van Sneck
away without Henson having the slightest suspicion that he was there,
and I had the satisfaction of giving Henson a smashing blow without his
seeing me."

"Sounds like conjuring," Bell said, behind his cigar. "Explain yourself."

David went carefully into details. He told the story of Prince Rupert's
ring to a listener who followed him with the most flattering attention.

"Of course, all this is new to me," Bell said, presently, "though I knew
the family well up to that time. Depend upon it, Enid is right. Henson
has got the ring. But how fortunately everything seems to have turned out
for the scoundrel."

"If a man likes to be an unscrupulous blackguard he can make use of all
events," David said. "But even Henson is not quite so clever as we take
him to be. He has found out the trick we played upon him over Chris
Henson, but he hasn't the faintest idea that all this time he has been
living under the same roof at Littimer."

"The girl is a wonderful actress," Bell replied. "I only guessed who she
was. If I hadn't known as much as I do she would have deceived me. But
Henson has shot his bolt. After we have operated upon Van Sneck we shall
be pretty near the truth. It is a great pull to have him in the house."

"And a nasty thing for Henson--"

"Who will find out before to-morrow is over. I feel pretty sure that this
house is watched carefully. Any firm of private detectives would do that,
and they need be told nothing either. I know that I was followed when I
went to the chemist's to fetch that dose for our friend yonder. Still, it
is a sign that Henson is getting frightened."

"Why do you bring Heritage into this matter?" David asked.

"Well, for a variety of reasons. First of all, Heritage is an old
friend of mine, and I take a great interest in his case. I am going to
give him a chance to recover his lost confidence, and he is a splendid
operator. Besides, I want to know why Henson has gone out of his way to
be so kind to Heritage. And, finally, Heritage was the family doctor of
the Carfax people you just mentioned before he went to practise in
London. Let me once get Heritage round again, and I shall be greatly
disappointed if he does not give us a good deal of valuable information
regarding Reginald Henson."

"And Cross. What about him?"

"Oh, Cross will do as I ask him. Without egotism, he knows that the case
is perfectly safe in my hands. And if we care to look after Van Sneck,
why, there will be one the less burden in the hospital. What a funny
business it is! Van Sneck gets nearly done to death under this roof, and
he comes back here to be cured again."

David yawned sleepily as he rose.

"Well, I've had enough of it for to-night," he said. "I'm dog-tried, and
I must confess to feeling sick of the Hensons and Littimers, and all
their works."

"Including their friend, Miss Ruth Gates?" Bell said, slily. "Still, they
have made pretty good use of you, and I expect you will be glad to get
back to your work again. At the same time, you need not trouble your head
for plots for many a day."

David admitted that the situation had its compensations, and went off to
bed. Bell met him the next day as fresh as if he had had a full night's
rest, and vouchsafed the information that the patient was as well as
possible. He was cold and no longer feverish.

"In fact, he is ready for the operation at any time," he said. "I shall
get Heritage here to dinner, and we shall operate afterwards with
electric light. It will be a good steadier for Heritage's nerves, and
the electric light is the best light of all for this business. If you
have got a few yards of spare flex from your reading-lamp I'll rig the
thing up without troubling your electrician. I can attach it to your
study lamp."

"I've got what you want," David said. "Now come in to breakfast."

There was a pile of letters on the table, and on the top a telegram. It
was a long message, and Bell watched Steel's face curiously.

"From Littimer Castle," he suggested. "Am I right?"

"As usual," David cried. "My little scheme over that diamond star has
worked magnificently. Miss Chris tells me that she has--by Jove, Bell,
just listen--she has solved the problem of the cigar-case; she has found
out the whole thing. She wants me to meet her in London to-morrow, when
she will tell me everything."

CHAPTER XLVI

LITTIMER'S EYES ARE OPENED

Lord Littimer sat on the terrace, shaded from the sun by an awning over
his deck-chair. From his expression he seemed to be at peace with all the
world. His brown, eager face had lost its usually keen, suspicious look;
he smoked a cigarette lazily. Chris sat opposite him looking as little
like a hard-working secretary as possible.

As a matter of fact, there was nothing for her to do. Littimer had
already tired of his lady secretary idea, and had Chris not
interested and amused him he would have found some means to get rid
of her before now.

But she did interest and amuse and puzzle him. There was something
charmingly reminiscent about the girl. She was like somebody he had once
known and cared for, but for the life of him he could not think who. And
when curiosity sometimes got the better of good breeding Chris would
baffle him in the most engaging manner.

"Really, you are an exceedingly clever girl," he said.

"In fact, we are both exceedingly clever," Chris replied, coolly. "And
yet nobody is ever quite so clever as he imagines himself to be. Do you
ever make bad mistakes, Lord Littimer?"

"Sometimes," Littimer said, with a touch of cynical humour. "For
instance, I married some years ago. That was bad. Then I had a son, which
was worse."

"At one time you were fond of your family?"

"Well, upon my word, you are the only creature I ever met who has had the
audacity to ask me that question. Yes, I was very fond of my wife and my
son, and, God help me, I am fond of them still. I don't know why I talk
to you like this."

"I do," Chris said, gently. "It is because unconsciously you yearn for
sympathy. And you fancy you are in no way to blame; you imagine that you
acted in the only way consistent with your position and dignity. You
fancied that your son was a vulgar thief. And I am under the impression
that Lady Littimer had money."

"She had a large fortune," Littimer said, faintly. "Miss Lee, do you know
that I have a great mind to box your ears?"

Chris laughed unsteadily. She was horribly frightened, though she did not
show it. She had been waiting for days to catch Littimer in this mood.
And she did not feel disposed to go back now. The task must be
accomplished some time.

"Lady Littimer was very rich," she went on, "and she was devoted to
Frank, your son. Now, if he had wanted a large sum of money very badly,
and had gone to his mother, she would have given it to him without the
slightest hesitation?"

"What fond mother wouldn't?"

"I am obliged to you for conceding the point. Your son wanted money.
and he robbed you when he could have had anything for the asking from
his mother."

"Sounds logical," Littimer said, flippantly. "Who had the money?"

"The same man who stole Prince Rupert's ring--Reginald Henson."

Littimer dropped his cigarette and sat upright in his chair. He was keen
and alert enough now. There were traces of agitation on his face.

"That is a serious accusation," he said.

"Not more serious than your accusation against your son," Chris retorted.

"Well, perhaps not," Littimer admitted. "But why do you take up
Frank's cause in this way? Is there any romance budding under my
unconscious eyes?"

"Now you are talking nonsense," Chris said, with just a touch of colour
in her cheeks. "I say, and I am going to prove when the time comes, that
Reginald Henson was the thief. I am sorry to pain you, but it is
absolutely necessary to go into these matters. When those foolish
letters, written by a foolish girl, fell into your hands, your son vowed
that he would get them back, by force if necessary. He made that rash
speech in hearing of Reginald Henson. Henson probably lurked about until
he saw the robbery committed. Then it occurred to him that he might do a
little robbery on his own account, seeing that your son would get the
credit of it. The safe was open, and so he walked off with your ring and
your money."

"My dear young lady, this is all mere surmise."

"So you imagine. At that time Reginald Henson had a kind of home which he
was running at 218, Brunswick Square, Brighton. Lady Littimer had just
relinquished a similar undertaking there. Previously Reginald Henson had
a home at Huddersfield. Mind you, he didn't run either in his own name,
and he kept studiously in the background. But he was desperately hard up
at the time in consequence of his dissipation and extravagance, and the
money he collected for his home went into his own pocket. Then the police
got wind of the matter, and Reginald Henson discreetly disappeared from
Brighton just in time to save himself from arrest for frauds there and at
Huddersfield. A member of the Huddersfield police is in a high position
at Brighton. He has recognised Reginald Henson as the man who was
'wanted' at Huddersfield. I don't know if there will be a prosecution
after all these years, but there you are."

"You are speaking from authority?"

"Certainly I am. Reginald Henson, as such, is not known to Inspector
Marley, but I sent the latter a photograph of Henson, and he returned it
this morning with a letter to the effect that it was the man the
Huddersfield police were looking for."

"What an interesting girl you are," Littimer murmured. "Always so
full of surprises. Our dear Reginald is even a greater rascal than I
took him for."

"Well, he took your money, and that saved him. He took your ring, a
facsimile of which he had made before for some ingenious purpose. It came
with a vengeance. Then Claire Carfax committed suicide, thanks to your
indiscretion and folly."

"Go on. Rub it in. Never mind about my feelings."

"I'm not minding," Chris said, coolly. "Henson saw his game and played it
boldly. I could not have told you all this yesterday, but a letter I had
this morning cleared the ground wonderfully. Henson wanted to cause
family differences, and he succeeded. Previously he got Dr. Bell out of
the way by means of the second Rembrandt. You can't deny there is a
second Rembrandt now, seeing that it is locked up in your safe. And where
do you think Bell found it? Why, at 218, Brunswick Square, Brighton,
where Henson had to leave it seven years ago when the police were so hot
upon his trail. He was fearful lest you and Bell should come together
again, and that is why he came here at night to steal your Rembrandt. And
yet you trusted that man blindly all the time your own son was suffering
on mere suspicions. How blind you have been!"

"I'm blind still," Littimer said, curtly. "My dear young lady, I admit
that you are making out a pretty strong case; indeed, I might go farther,
and say that you have all my sympathy. But what you say would not be
taken as evidence in a court of law. If you produce that ring, for
instance--but that is at the bottom of the North Sea."

Chris took a small cardboard box from her pocket, and from thence
produced a ring. It was a ruby ring with black pearls on either side, and
had some inscription inside.

"Look at that," she said. "It was sent to me to-day by my--by a friend of
mine. It is the ring which Reginald Henson shows to Lady Littimer when he
wants money from her. It was lost by Henson a night or two ago, and it
fell into the hands of someone who is interested, like myself, in the
exposure and disgrace of Reginald Henson."

Littimer examined the ring carefully.

"It is a wonderfully good imitation," he said, presently.

"So I am told," said Chris. "So good that it must have actually been
copied from the original. Now, how could Henson have had a copy made
unless he possessed the original? Will you be good enough to answer me
that question, Lord Littimer?"

Littimer could do no more than gaze at the ring in his hand for
some time.

"I could have sworn--indeed, I am ready to swear--that the real ring was
never in anybody's possession but mine from the day that Frank was a year
old till it disappeared. Of course, scores of people had looked at it,
Henson amongst the rest. But how did Claire Carfax--"

"Easily enough. Henson had a first copy made from a description. I don't
know why; probably we shall never know why. Probably he had it done when
he knew that your son and Miss Carfax had struck up a flirtation. It was
he who forged a letter from Frank to Miss Carfax, enclosing the ring. By
that means he hoped to create mischief which, if it had been nipped in
the bud, could never have been traced to him. As matters turned out he
succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. He had got the real ring, too,
which was likely to prove a very useful thing in case he ever wanted to
make terms. A second and a faithful copy was made--the copy you hold in
your hands--to hold temptingly over Lady Littimer's head when he wanted
large sums of money from her."

"The scoundrel! He gets the money, of course?"

"He does. To my certain knowledge he has had nearly L70,000. But the case
is in good hands. You have only to wait a few days longer and the man
will be exposed. Already, as you see, I have wound his accomplice, the
Reverend James Merritt, round my finger. Of course, the idea of getting
up a bazaar has all been nonsense. I am only waiting for a little further
information, and then Merritt will feel the iron hand under the velvet
glove. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Merritt can tell us where Prince
Rupert's ring is. Already Van Sneck is in our grasp."

"Van Sneck! Is he in England?"

"He is. Did you read that strange case of a man being found half murdered
in the conservatory of Mr. Steel, the novelist, in Brighton? Well, that
was Van Sneck. But I can't tell you any more at present. You must wait
and be content."

"Tell me one thing, and I will wait as long as you like. Who are you?"

Chris shook her head, merrily. A great relief had been taken off her
mind. She had approached a delicate and difficult matter, and she had
succeeded beyond her expectations. That she had shaken the man opposite
her sorely was evident from his face. The hardness had gone from his
eyes, his lips were no longer bitter and cynical.

"I may have been guilty of a great wrong," he murmured. "All these years
I may have been living under a misapprehension. And you have told me what
I should never have suspected, although I have never had a high opinion
of my dear Reginald. Where is my wife now?"

"She is still at Longdean Grange. You will notice a great change in her,
a great and sorrowful change. But it is not too late to--"

Littimer rose and went swiftly towards the house. At any other time the
action would have been rude, but Chris fully understood. She had
touched the man to the bottom of his soul, and he was anxious to hide
his emotion.

"Poor man," Chris murmured. "His hard cynicism conceals a deal of
suffering. But the suffering is past; we have only to wait patiently for
daylight now."

Chris rose restlessly in her turn and strolled along the terrace to her
favourite spot looking over the cliffs. There was nobody about; it was
very hot there. The girl removed her glasses and pushed back the banded
hair from her forehead. She had drawn a photograph from her pocket which
she was regarding intently. She was quite heedless of the fact that
somebody was coming along the cliffs towards her. She raised the
photograph to her lips and kissed it tenderly.

"Poor Frank," she murmured. "Poor fellow, so weak and amiable. And yet
with all your faults--"

Chris paused, and a little cry escaped her lips. Frank Littimer, looking
very wild and haggard, stood before her.

"I beg your pardon," he began. "I came to see you because--"

The words died away. He staggered back, pale as the foam beating on the
rocks below, his hand clutching at his left side as if there was some
mortal pain there.

"Chris," he murmured. "Chris, Chris, Chris! And they told me--"

He could say no more, he could only stand there trembling from head to
foot, fearful lest his mocking senses were making sport of him. Surely,
it was some beautiful vision he had come upon. With one unsteady hand he
touched the girl's sleeve; he pressed her warm red cheeks with his
fingers, and with that touch his manhood came back to him.

"Darling," he whispered, eagerly. "Dearest, what does it mean?"

Chris stood there, smiling rosily. She had not meant to betray herself;
fate had done that for her, and she was not sorry. It was a cruel trick
they had played upon Frank, but it had been necessary. Chris held out her
hand with a loving little gesture.

"Are you not going to kiss me, dear?" she asked, sweetly.

Frank Littimer needed no further invitation. It was quiet and secluded
there, and nobody could possibly see them. With a little sigh Chris felt
her lover's arms about her and his kisses warm on her lips. The clever,
brilliant girl had disappeared; a pretty, timid creature stood in her
place for the time. For the moment Frank Littimer could do no more than
gaze into her eyes with rapture and amazement. There was plenty of time
for explanations.

"Let us go into the arbour," Frank suggested. "No, I am not going to
release your hand for a moment. If I do you will fly away again. Chris,
dear Chris, why did you serve me so?"

"It was absolutely necessary," Chris replied. "It was necessary to
deceive Reginald Henson. But it was hard work the other night."

"You mean when I came here and--"

"Tried to steal the Rembrandt. Oh, you needn't explain. I know that you
had to come. And we have Henson in our power at last."

"I am afraid that is too good to be true. But tell me everything from the
beginning. I am as dazed and confused as a tired man roused out of a
sound sleep."

Chris proceeded to explain from the beginning of all things. It was an
exceedingly interesting and exciting narrative to Frank Littimer, and he
followed it carefully. He would have remained there all day listening to
the music of Chris's voice and looking into her eyes. He had come there
miserable and downcast to ask a question, and behold he had suddenly
found all the joy and sweetness of existence.

"And so you have accomplished all this?" he said, at length. "What a
glorious adventure it must have been, and how clever you are! So is Mr.
David Steel. Many a time I have tried to break through the shackles, but
Reginald has always been too strong for me."

"Well, he's shot his bolt, now," Chris smiled. "I have just been opening
your father's eyes."

Frank laughed as he had not laughed for a long time.

"Do you mean to say he doesn't know who you are?" he asked.

"My dear boy, he hasn't the faintest idea. Neither had you the faintest
idea when I made you a prisoner the other night. But he will know soon."

"God grant that he may," Frank said, fervently.

He bent over and pressed his lips passionately to those of Chris. When he
looked up again Lord Littimer was standing before the arbour, wearing his
most cynical expression.

"He does know," he said. "My dear young lady, you need not move. The
expression of sweet confusion on your face is infinitely pleasing. I did
not imagine that one so perfectly self-possessed could look like that. It
gives me quite a nice sense of superiority. And you, sir?"

The last words were uttered a little sternly. Frank had risen. His face
was pale, his manner resolute and respectful.

"I came here to ask Miss Lee a question, sir, not knowing, of course,
who she was."

"And she betrayed herself, eh?"

"I am sorry if I have done so," Chris said, "but I should not have done
so unless I had been taken by surprise. It was so hot that I had taken
off my glasses and put my hair up. Then Frank came up and surprised me."

"You have grown an exceedingly pretty girl, Chris," Littimer said,
critically. "Of course, I recognise you now. You are nicer-looking than
Miss Lee."

Chris put on her glasses and rolled her hair down resolutely.

"You will be good enough to understand that I am going to continue Miss
Lee for the present," she said. "My task is a long way from being
finished yet. Lord Littimer, you are not going to send Frank away?"

Littimer looked undecided.

"I don't know," he said. "Frank, I have heard a great deal to-day to
cause me to think that I might have done you a grave injustice. And yet I
am not sure.... In any case, it would be bad policy for you to remain
here. If the news came to the ears of Reginald Henson it might upset Miss
Machiavelli's plans."

"That had not occurred to me for the moment," Chris exclaimed. "On the
whole, Frank had better not stay. But I should dearly like to see you two
shake hands."

Frank Littimer made an involuntary gesture, and then he drew back.

"I'd--I'd rather not," he said. "At least, not until my character has
been fully vindicated. Heaven knows I have suffered enough for a boyish
indiscretion,''

"And you have youth on your side," Littimer said gravely. "Whereas I--"

"I know, I know. It has been terrible all round. I took those letters
of poor Claire's away because they were sacred property, and for no eye
but mine--"

"No eye but yours saw them. I was going to send them back again. I
wish I had."

"Aye, so do I. I took them and destroyed them. But I take Heaven to
witness that I touched nothing else besides. If it was the last word I
ever uttered--what is that fellow doing here in that garb? It is one of
Henson's most disreputable tools."

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