The Crimson Blind

F >> Fred M. White >> The Crimson Blind

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"Did Henson know that Mr. Steel would be from home that night?" he asked.

"Of course. He probably also knew where our meeting with Mr. Steel was to
take place."

"Then the matter is pretty obvious," said Rawlins. "Van Sneck, by some
means or other, gets an inkling of what is going on. He wanted money from
Henson, which he couldn't get, Henson being very short lately, and then
they quarrelled. Van Sneck was fool enough to threaten Henson with what
he was going to do. Van Sneck's note was dispatched by hand and
intercepted by Henson with a reply. By the way, will you be good enough
to give me the gist of the reply?"

"It was a short letter from Mr. Steel and signed with his initials, and
saying in effect that he was at home every night and would see Van Sneck
about twelve or some time like that. He was merely to knock quietly, as
the household would be in bed, and Mr. Steel would let him in."

"And Mr. Steel never wrote that letter at all?"

"No; for the simple reason that he never had Van Sneck's note."

"Which Henson intercepted, of course. Now, the mere fact of the reply
coming on Mr. Steel's paper is evidence that Henson had plotted some
other or alternative scheme against Mr. Steel. How long before the
cigar-case episode had you decided to consult the novelist?"

"We began to talk about it nine or ten days before."

"And Henson got to hear of it. Then a better idea occurred to Henson, and
the first idea which necessitated getting hold of Mr. Steel's notepaper
was abandoned. Subsequently, as you have just told me, the note-paper
came in useful after all. Henson knew that Steel would be out that night.
And, therefore, Van Sneck is deliberately lured to Steel's house to be
murdered there."

"I see," Chris said, faintly. "This had never occurred to me before.
Murdered, by whom?"

"By whom? Why, by Reginald Henson, of course."

Just for a moment Chris felt as if all the world was slipping away
under her feet.

"But how could he do it?" she asked.

"Quite easily. And throw all the blame on Mr. Steel. Look at the evidence
he had ready to his hand against the latter. The changed cigar-case would
come near to hang a man. And Van Sneck was in the way. Steel goes out to
meet you or some of your friends. All his household are in bed. As a
novelist he comes and goes as he likes and nobody takes any heed. He goes
and leaves his door on the latch. Any money it is the common latch they
put on thousands of doors. Henson lets himself into the house and coolly
waits Van Sneck's coming. The rest you can imagine."

Chris had no reply for a moment or two. Rawlins's suggestion had burst
upon her like a bomb. And it was all so dreadfully, horribly probable.
Henson could have done this thing with absolute impunity. It was
impossible to imagine for a moment that David Steel was the criminal. Who
else could it be, then, but Reginald Henson?

"I'm afraid this has come as a shock to you," Rawlins said, quietly.

"It has, indeed," said Chris. "And your reasoning is so dreadfully
logical."

"Well, I may be wrong, after all," Rawlins suggested.

Chris shook her head doubtfully. She felt absolutely assured that Rawlins
was right. But, then, Henson would hardly have run so terrible a risk for
a little thing like that. He could easily have silenced Van Sneck by a
specious promise or two. There must be another reason for--

It came to Chris in a moment. She saw the light quite plainly.

"Mr. Smith," she said, eagerly, "where did you first meet Henson and
Van Sneck?"

"We first came together some eight years ago in Amsterdam."

"Would you mind telling me what your business was?"

"So far as I can recollect it was connected with some old silver--William
and Mary and Queen Anne cups and _jardinieres_. We had made a bit of a
find that we could authenticate, but we wanted a lot of the stuff,
well--faked. You see, Van Sneck was an authority on that kind of thing,
and we employed him to cut marks off small genuine things and attach them
to spurious large ones. On the whole, we made a very successful business
of it for a long time."

"You found Van Sneck an excellent copyist. Did he ever copy
anything for you?"

"No. But Henson employed him now and again. Van Sneck could construct a
thing from a mere description. There was a ring he did for Henson--"

"Was that called Prince Rupert's ring, by any chance?"

"That was the name of the ring. Why?"

"We will come to that presently. Did you ever see Prince Rupert's ring?"

"Well, I did. It was in Amsterdam again, about a year later than the time
I mentioned just now. Henson brought the real ring for Van Sneck to copy.
Van Sneck went into raptures over it. He said he had never seen anything
of the kind so beautiful. He made a copy of the ring, which he handed
back with the original to Henson."

Chris nodded. This pretty faithful copy of the ring was the one that
Henson had used as a magnet to draw Lady Littimer's money and the same
one that had found its way into Steel's possession. But Chris had another
idea to follow up.

"You hinted to me just now that Henson was short of money," she said. "Do
you mean to say he is in dire need of some large sum?"

"That's it," Rawlins replied. "I rather fancy there has been some stir
with the police over some business up at Huddersfield some years ago."

"A so-called home both there and at Brighton?"

"That's it. It was the idea that Henson conveyed to me when I saw him at
Moreton Wells. It appears that a certain Inspector Marley, of the
Brighton Police, is the same man who used to have the warrants for the
Huddersfield affair in his hands. Henson felt pretty sure that Marley had
recognised him. He told me that if the worst came to the worst he had
something he could sell to Littimer for a large sum of money."

"I know," Chris exclaimed. "It is the Prince Rupert's ring."

"Well, I can't say anything about that. Is this ring a valuable
property?"

"Not in itself. But the loss of it has caused a dreadful lot of misery
and suffering. Mr. Smith, Reginald Henson had no business with that ring
at all. He stole it and made it appear as if somebody else had done so by
means of conveying the copy to the very last person who should have
possessed it. That sad business broke up a happy home and has made five
people miserable for many years. And whichever way you turn, whichever
way you look, you find the cloven foot of Henson everywhere. Now, what
you have told me just now gives me a new idea. The secret that Henson was
going to sell to Lord Littimer for a large sum was the story of the
missing ring and the restitution of the same."

"Kind of brazening it out, you mean?"

"Yes. Lord Littimer would give three times ten thousand pounds to have
that ring again. But at this point Henson has met with a serious check in
his plans. Driven into a corner, he has resolved to make a clean breast
of it to Lord Littimer. He procures the ring from his strong box, and
then he makes a discovery."

"Which is more than I have. Pray proceed."

"He discovers that he has not got the real Prince Rupert's ring."

Rawlins looked up with a slightly puzzled air.

"Will you kindly tell me what you mean?" he said.

"It was a forgery. Van Sneck made a copy from a mere description. That
copy served its purpose with a vengeance, and is now at the bottom of the
North Sea. I need not go into details, because it is a family secret, and
does not concern our conversation at all. At that time the _real_ ring
came into Henson's possession, and he wanted a copy to hold over the head
of an unfortunate lady whom he would have ruined before long. You told me
just now that Van Sneck had fallen in love with Prince Rupert's ring and
could hardly bear to part with it. He didn't."

"No? But how could he retain it?"

"Quite easily. The copy was quite faithful, but still _it was_ a copy.
But secretly Van Sneck makes a copy that would deceive everybody but an
expert, and this he hands over to--"

"To Henson as the real ring," Rawlins cried, excitedly.

Chris smiled, a little pleased at her acumen.

"Precisely," she said. "I see that you are inclined to be of my opinion."

"Well, upon my word, I am," Rawlins confessed. "But I don't quite
see why--"

"Please let me finish," Chris went on, excitedly. "Reginald Henson is
driven back on his last trenches. He has to get the ring for Lord
Littimer. He takes out the ring after all these years, never dreaming
that Van Sneck would dare to play such a trick upon him, and finds out
the forgery. Did you ever see that man when he is really angry?"

"He is not pretty then," Rawlins said.

"Pretty! He is murder personified. Kindly try to imagine his feelings
when he discovers he has been deceived. Mind you, this is only a theory
of mine, but I feel certain that it will prove correct. Henson's last
hope is snatched away from him. But he does not go straight to Van Sneck
and accuse him of his duplicity. He knows that Van Sneck stole the ring
for sheer love of the gem, and that he would not dare to part with it. He
assumes that the ring is in Van Sneck's possession. And when Van Sneck
threatened to expose part of the business to Mr. Steel, Henson makes no
attempt to soothe him. Why? Because he sees a cunning way of getting back
the ring. He himself lures Van Sneck to Mr. Steel's house, and there he
almost murders him for the sake of the ring. Of course, he meant to kill
Van Sneck in such a way that the blame could not possibly fall upon him."

"Can you prove that he knew anything about it?"

"I can prove that he knew who Van Sneck was at a time when the hospital
people were doing their best to identify the man. And I know how
fearfully uneasy he was when he got to know that some of us were aware
who Van Sneck was. It has been a pretty tangle for a long time, but the
skein is all coming out smoothly at last. And if we could get the ring
which Henson forced by violence from Van Sneck--"

"Excuse me. He did nothing of the kind."

Chris looked up eagerly.

"Oh," she cried, "have you more to tell me, then?"

"Nothing authentic," Rawlins said; "merely surmise. Van Sneck is going to
recover. If he does it will be hard for Henson, who ought to get away
with his plunder at once. Why doesn't he go and blackmail Lord Littimer
and sell him the ring and clear out of the country? He doesn't do so
because the ring is not yet in his possession."

"Then you imagine that Van Sneck--"

"Still has the ring probably in his possession at the present moment. If
you only knew where Van Sneck happened to be."

Chris rose to her feet with an excited cry.

"I do know," she exclaimed; "he is in the house where he was half
murdered. And Mr. Steel shall know all this before he sleeps to-night."

CHAPTER LI

HERITAGE IS WILLING

Bell's sanguine expectation that Van Sneck would be ready for an
immediate operation was not quite correct. As the day wore on the man
seemed more feverish and restless, which feverishness was followed by a
certain want of strength. After due deliberation Dr. Cross suggested that
the operation should be postponed for a day or two.

"The man is out of our hands," he said. "You have identified him, and
you desire that he should remain here. It is pretty irregular
altogether. And I hope I shan't get into trouble over it. Still, in such
capable hands as yours--"

Bell acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

"Between Heritage and myself," he said, "we shall pull him through, eh,
Heritage?"

The other doctor nodded brightly. For some little time he had been
directly under Bell's influence, and that had meant a marvellous change
for the better, he had lost a deal of his hesitating manner, and was
looking forward to the operation with the keenest interest.

"However, I will put you all right," Bell said. "I fancy the time has
come when we can confide to a certain extent in Marley. And if the police
approve of Van Sneck being here, I don't see that you can say any more."

Cross was emphatically of the same opinion. Later on, in the course of a
long interview with Marley, Bell and Steel opened the latter's eyes to a
considerable extent.

"Well, I must congratulate you, sir," he said to Steel. "I'm bound to
confess that things looked pretty black against you at one time. Indeed,
I should have been fully justified in arresting you for the attempted
murder of Van Sneck."

"But you never deemed me guilty, Marley?"

"No, I didn't," Marley said, thoughtfully. "I argued in your favour
against my better judgment. I gather even now that there is a great deal
for me to know."

"And which you are not going to learn," Bell said, drily. "When we have
Van Sneck all right again, and ready to swear to the author of the
mischief, you will have to be satisfied."

"That would satisfy me, sir. And I'm glad that cigar-case mystery is
settled. You'll let me know how the operation goes on?"

Steel promised to do so, and the two returned to Downend Terrace
together. They found Heritage a little excited and disturbed.

"Do you know I have had a visitor?" he exclaimed.

Bell started slightly. He looked just a little anxious.

"I'm going to guess it at once," he said. "Reginald Henson has
been here."

"You are certainly a wonderful fellow," Heritage said, admiringly.
"Nobody else could possibly have guessed that. He came to see me,
of course."

"Oh, of course," Bell said, drily. "Naturally, he would have no
ulterior motive. Did he happen to know that we had a kind of patient
under the roof?"

Heritage explained that Henson seemed to know something about it. Also,
by singular coincidence, he had met Van Sneck abroad. He expressed a
desire to see the patient, but Heritage's professional caution had got
the better of his friendship for once. Henson had given way finally,
saying that he hoped to call again later in the day.

"It's a good thing you were firm," Bell said, grimly. "Otherwise there
would have been no need for an operation on Van Sneck. My dear Heritage,
it's quite time your eyes were opened to the true nature of your friend.
Henson watched Steel and myself out of the house He wanted to see Van
Sneck; he has probably known from the first that the latter was here."

"Matter of philanthropy, perhaps," Heritage suggested.

"A matter of murder," Bell said, sternly. "My dear fellow, Van Sneck was
nearly done to death in yonder conservatory, and his would-be assassin
was Reginald Henson."

"I was never more astounded in my life," gasped Heritage. "I have always
looked upon Henson as the soul of honour and integrity. And he has always
been so kind to me."

"For his own purposes, no doubt. You say that he found you a home after
your misfortunes came upon you. He came to see you frequently. And yet he
always harped upon that wretched hallucination of yours. Why? Because you
were the Carfax family doctor for a time, and at any moment you might
have given valuable information concerning the suicide of Claire Carfax.
Tell Heritage the story of Prince Rupert's ring, Steel."

David proceeded to do so at some length. Heritage appeared to be deeply
interested. And gradually many long-forgotten things came back to him.

"I recollect it all perfectly well," he said. "Miss Carfax and myself
were friends. Like most people with badly balanced intellects, she had
her brilliant moments. Why, she showed me that ring with a great deal of
pride, but she did not tell me its history. She was very strange in her
manner that morning; indeed, I warned her father that she wanted to be
most carefully looked after."

"Did she say how she got the ring?" Steel asked.

Heritage did not answer for a moment.

"Oh, yes," he said, presently, "She said it was a present from a good
boy, and that Reginald Henson had given it her in an envelope. I met
Henson close by, but I didn't mention the ring."

"And there you have the whole thing in a nutshell!" Bell exclaimed.
"Nothing of this came out at the inquest, because the ring story was
hushed up, and Heritage was not called because he had nothing to do with
the suicide. But Henson probably saw poor Claire Carfax show you the
ring, and he got a bit frightened, and he kept an eye upon you
afterwards. When you broke down he looked after you, and he took precious
good care to keep your hallucination always before your eyes. Whenever he
came to see you he always did that."

"You are quite right there," Heritage admitted. "He mentioned it this
afternoon when I said I was going to take part in the operation on Van
Sneck. He asked me if I thought it wise to try my nerves so soon again
with the electric light."

"And I hope you told him he was talking nonsense," Bell said, hastily.
"There, let us change the subject. The mere mention of that man's name
stifles me."

Morning brought a long letter from Chris Henson to David, giving him in
detail the result of her recent interview with John Rawlins. There was a
postscript to the letter which David showed to Bell with a certain
malicious glee.

"A nasty one for our friend Henson," he said. "What a sweet surprise it
will be for that picturesque gentleman the next time he goes blackmailing
to Longdean Grange."

Bell chuckled in his turn. The net was drawing very close about Henson.

"How is Van Sneck to-day?" David asked.

"Much better," Bell replied. "I propose to operate to-night. I'm glad to
hear that your mother is going to be away a day or two longer."

Heritage appeared to be ready and eager for the work before him. A
specially powerful electric light had been rigged up in connection with
the study lamp, and an operating table improvised from the kitchen. More
than once Bell looked eagerly at Heritage, but the latter stood the
scrutiny bravely. Once the operation was successfully through. Heritage
would never suffer from hallucinations again.

"I fancy everything is ready now," Bell said, at length. "After dinner
to-night and this thing will be done. Then the story will be told--"

"Mr. Reginald Henson to see you, sir."

A servant looked in with this information and a card on a tray. There was
a slight commotion outside, the vision of a partially-wrecked bicycle on
the path, and a dusty figure in the hall with his head in his hand.

"The gentleman has met with an accident, sir," the parlourmaid said.
Henson seemed to be knocked about a great deal. He was riding down the
terrace, he said, when suddenly he ran over a dog, and--

"What sort of a dog?" Bell snapped out. "What colour and size?"

Henson was utterly taken aback by the suddenness of the question. He
gasped and stammered. He could not have told Bell more plainly that the
"accident" was an artistic fake.

"You must stay here till you feel all right again," David suggested.

"Stay here for the night," Bell growled, _sotto voce._ "Stay here till
to-morrow morning and hear something from Van Sneck's lips that will
finish his interesting career for some time. Medical treatment be hanged.
A clothes-brush and some soap and water are all the physic that he
requires."

Presently Henson professed himself to be better. His superficial injuries
he bore with a manly fortitude quite worthy of his high reputation. He
could afford to smile at them. But he feared that there was something
internal of a sufficiently serious nature. Every time he moved he
suffered exquisite agony. He smiled in a faint kind of way. Bell watched
him as a cat watches a mouse. And he could read a deeper purpose behind
that soft, caressing manner. What it was he did not know, but he meant to
find out before the day was passed.

"Hadn't we better send him to the hospital?" David suggested.

"What for?" was Bell's brutal response. "There's nothing whatever the
matter with the man."

"But he has every appearance of great pain."

"To you, perhaps, but not to me. The man is shamming. He has come here
for some purpose, which will be pretty sure to transpire presently. The
knave never dreams that we are watching him, and he hugs himself with the
delusion that we take his story for gospel. Fancy a man in the state that
he pretends to be in sending his card to you! Let him stay where we can
keep an eye upon the chap. So long as he is under our observation he
can't do any mischief outside."

There was wisdom in what Bell suggested, and David agreed. Despite his
injuries, Henson made a fair tea, and his dinner, partaken of on the
dining-room sofa, was an excellent one.

"And now, do not let me detain you, as you have business," he smiled. "I
shall be quite comfortable here if you will place a glass of water by my
side. The pain makes me thirsty. No, you need not have any further
consideration for me."

He smiled with patient resignation, the smile that he had found so
effective on platforms. He lay back with his eyes half closed. He seemed
to be asleep.

"I fancy we can leave him now," Bell said, with deep sarcasm. "We need
have no further anxiety. Perfect rest is all that he requires."

Henson nodded in a sleepy fashion; his eyes were closed now till the
others had left the room. Once he was alone he was alert and
vigorous again.

"Ten minutes," he muttered, "say, a quarter of an hour. A touch, a spot
of water, and the thing is done. And I can never be found out."

CHAPTER LII

PUTTING THE LIGHT OUT

Once the trio were in the operating-room Bell gave one rapid glance at
Heritage. But the latter seemed to have forgotten all his fears. There
was an alert air about him; he was quiet and steady. There was something
of the joy of battle in his eyes.

"Now go and fetch Van Sneck in," Bell said.

The patient came at length. Everything was ready. Van Sneck murmured
something and looked vaguely about him, like a man suddenly aroused from
a deep sleep. But he obeyed quite willingly when Bell commanded him to
get on the table. A moment or two later and he was gone under the
influence of the ether administered by Bell.

A case of glittering instruments lay on the table. The strong
electric light was switched on and hung just over the head of the
unconscious patient.

"You hold the sponge," Bell whispered to David. "There will be very
little blood. I like to have a man with me who has coolness and courage.
Oh, here is the spot. Feel the depression of the skull, Heritage. That is
where the pressure lies, and no larger than a pea."

Heritage nodded, without reply. He took up the knife, there was a flash
of steel in the brilliant light and a sudden splash of blood. There was a
scrape, scrape that jolted horribly on David's nerves, followed by a
convulsive movement of Van Sneck's body.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Heritage murmured. "How easily it comes away."

Bell was watching in deep admiration of the strong hand that was yet
light as thistledown. The big electric light flickered for just a moment,
and Heritage stood upright.

"Don't be a fool," Bell said, sternly. "It's a mere matter of current."
Heritage muttered that it must be. Nevertheless it had given him quite a
turn. His face was set and pale and his hand shook ever so slightly. The
knife was cutting deep, deeper--

A snarling oath broke from Bell's lips as the light flickered again and
popped out suddenly, leaving the whole room in intense darkness. Heritage
cried aloud. David felt a hand guiding his fingers to the patient's head.

"Press the sponge down there and press hard," Bell whispered. "It's a
matter of life and death. Another minute and Van Sneck would have gone.
Heritage, Heritage, pull yourself together. It was no fault of yours the
light went out--the fault is mine."

Bell stumbled down the kitchen stairs and returned with a candle. The
electric lights were out all over the ground floor with the exception of
the hall. One of the circuits had given out completely, as sometimes
happens with the electric light. Bell leapt on a table and turned the
hall light out. A second later and he was dragging the long spare flex
from the impromptu operating-room to the swinging cord over the hall
lamp. With a knife he cut the cord loose, he stripped the copper wires
beneath, and rapidly joined one flex to the other.

"It's amateur work, but I fancy it will do," he muttered. "Anyway, that
rascal is powerless to interfere with the circuit that controls the
hall light."

Snap went the hall switch--there was a sudden cry from Heritage as the
big lamp over the head of Van Sneck flared up again. Bell raced into the
study and shut the door.

"A trick," he gasped. "The light was put out. For Heaven's sake,
Heritage, don't get brooding over those fancies of yours _now._ I tell
you the thing was done deliberately. Here, if you are too weak or feeble,
give the knife to _me_."

The request had a sting in it. With an effort Heritage pulled
himself together.

"No," he said, firmly, "I'll do it. It was a cruel, dastardly trick to
play upon me, but I quite see now that it _was_ a trick. Only it's going
to make a man of me instead."

Bell nodded. His eyes were blazing, but he said nothing. He watched
Heritage at work with stern approval. Nothing could have been more
scientific, more skilful. It seemed a long time to David, looking on, but
it was a mere matter of minutes.

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