The Crimson Blind

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David pitied himself as much as a man could pity himself considering his
surroundings. It was rather annoying that this should have happened at a
time when he was so busy. And Marley would have all sorts of questions to
ask at all sorts of inconvenient seasons.

Steel passed into his study presently and lighted a cigarette. Despite
his determination to put the events of yesterday from his mind, he found
himself constantly returning to them. What a splendid dramatic story they
would make! And what a fascinating mystery could be woven round that
gun-metal cigar-case!

By the way, where was the cigar-case? On the whole it would be just as
well to lock the case away till he could discover some reasonable excuse
for its possession. His mother would be pretty sure to ask where it came
from, and David could not prevaricate so far as she was concerned. But
the cigar-case was not to be found, and David was forced to the
conclusion that he had left it in Mossa's office.

A little annoyed with himself he took up the evening _Argus_. There was
half a column devoted to the strange case at Downend Terrace, and just
over it a late advertisement to the effect that a gun-metal cigar-case
had been found and was in the hands of the police awaiting an owner.

David slipped from the house and caught a 'bus in St. George's Road.

At the police-station he learnt that Inspector Marley was still on the
premises. Marley came forward gravely. He had a few questions to ask, but
nothing to tell.

"And now perhaps you can give me some information?" David said, "You are
advertising in to-night's _Argus_ a gun-metal cigar-case set with
diamonds."

"Ah," Marley said, eagerly, "can you tell us anything about it?"

"Nothing beyond the fact that I hope to satisfy you that the case is
mine."

Marley stared open-mouthed at David for a moment, and then relapsed into
his sapless official manner. He might have been a detective
cross-examining a suspected criminal.

"Why this mystery?" David asked. "I have lost a gun-metal cigar-case set
with diamonds, and I see a similar article is noted as found by the
police. I lost it this morning, and I shrewdly suspect that I left it
behind me at the office of Mr. Mossa."

"The case was sent here by Mr. Mossa himself," Marley admitted.

"Then, of course, it is mine. I had to give Mr. Mossa my opinion of him
this morning, and by way of spiting me he sent that case here, hoping,
perhaps, that I should not recover it. You know the case Marley--it was
lying on the floor of my conservatory last night."

"I did notice a gun-metal case there," Marley said, cautiously.

"As a matter of fact, you called my attention to it and asked if it
was mine."

"And you said at first that it wasn't, sir."

"Well, you must make allowances for my then frame of mind," David
laughed. "I rather gather from your manner that somebody else has been
after the case; if that is so, you are right to be reticent. Still, it is
in your hands to settle the matter on the spot. All you have to do is to
open the case, and if you fail to find my initials, D.S., scratched in
the left-hand top corner, then I have lost my property and the other
fellow has found his."

In the same reticent fashion Marley proceeded to unlock a safe in the
corner, and from thence he produced what appeared to be the identical
cause of all this talk. He pulled the electric table lamp over to him and
proceeded to examine the inside carefully.

"You are quite right," he said, at length. "Your initials are here."

"Not strange, seeing that I scratched them there last night," said David,
drily. "When? Oh, it was after you left my house last night."

"And it has been some time in your possession, sir?"

"Oh, confound it, no. It was--well, it was a present from a friend for a
little service rendered. So far as I understand, it was purchased at
Lockhart's, in North Street. No, I'll be hanged if I answer any more of
your questions, Marley. I'll be your Aunt Sally so far as you are
officially concerned. But as to yonder case, your queries are distinctly
impertinent."

Marley shook his head gravely, as one might over a promising but
headstrong boy.

"Do I understand that you decline to account for the case?" he asked.

"Certainly I do. It is connected with some friends of mine to whom I
rendered a service a little time back. The whole thing is and must remain
an absolute secret."

"You are placing yourself in a very delicate position, Mr. Steel."

David started at the gravity of the tone. That something was radically
wrong came upon him like a shock. And he could see pretty clearly that,
without betraying confidence, he could not logically account for the
possession of the cigar-case. In any case it was too much to expect
that the stolid police officer would listen to so extravagant a tale
for a moment.

"What on earth do you mean, man?" he cried.

"Well, it's this way, sir," Marley proceeded to explain. "When I pointed
out the case to you lying on the floor of your conservatory last night
you said it wasn't yours. You looked at it with the eyes of a stranger,
and then you said you were mistaken. From information given me last night
I have been making inquiries about the cigar-case. You took it to Mr.
Mossa's, and from it you produced notes to the value of nearly L1,000 to
pay off a debt. Within eight-and forty hours you had no more prospect of
paying that debt than I have at this moment. Of course, you will be able
to account for those notes. You can, of course?"

Marley looked eagerly at his visitor. A cold chill was playing up
and down Steel's spine. Not to save his life could he account for
those notes.

"We will discuss that when the proper time comes," he said, with fine
indifference.

"As you please, sir. From information also received I took the case to
Walen's, in West Street, and asked Mr. Walen if he had seen the case
before. Pressed to identify it, he handed me a glass and asked me to find
the figures (say) '1771. x 3,' in tiny characters on the edge. I did so
by the aid of the glass, and Mr. Walen further proceeded to show me an
entry in his purchasing ledger which proved that a cigar-case in
gun-metal and diamonds bearing that legend had been added to the stock
quite recently--a few weeks ago, in fact."

"Well, what of that?" David asked, impatiently. "For all I know, the case
might have come from Walen's. I said it came from a friend who must needs
be nameless for services equally nameless. I am not going to deny that
Walen was right."

"I have not quite finished," Marley said, quietly. "Pressed as to when
the case had been sold, Mr. Walen, without hesitation, said: 'Yesterday,
for L72 15s.' The purchaser was a stranger, whom Mr. Walen is prepared
to identify. Asked if a formal receipt had been given, Walen said that it
had. And now I come to the gist of the whole matter. You saw Dr. Cross
hand me a mass of papers, etc., taken from the person of the gentleman
who was nearly killed in your house?"

David nodded. His breath was coming a little faster. His quick mind had
run on ahead; he saw the gulf looming before him.

"Go on," said he, hoarsely, "go on. You mean to say that--"

"That amongst the papers found in the pocket of the unfortunate stranger
was a receipted bill for the very cigar-case that lies here on the table
before you!"

CHAPTER VI

A POLICY OF SILENCE

Steel dropped into a chair and gazed at Inspector Marley with mild
surprise. At the same time he was not in the least alarmed. Not that he
failed to recognise the gravity of the situation, only it appealed in the
first instance to the professional side of his character.

"Walen is quite sure?" he asked. "No possible doubt about that, eh?"

"Not in the least. You see, he recognised his private mark at once, and
Brighton is not so prosperous a place that a man could sell a L70
cigar-case and forget all about it--that is, a second case, I mean. It's
most extraordinary."

"Rather! Make a magnificent story, Marley."

"Very," Marley responded, drily. "It would take all your well-known
ingenuity to get your hero out of this trouble."

Steel nodded gravely. This personal twist brought him to the earth again.
He could clearly see the trap into which he had placed himself. There
before him lay the cigar-case which he had positively identified as his
own; inside, his initials bore testimony to the fact. And yet the same
case had been identified beyond question as one sold by a highly
respectable local tradesman to the mysterious individual now lying in the
Sussex County Hospital.

"May I smoke a cigarette?" David asked.

"You may smoke a score if they will be of any assistance to you, sir,"
Marley replied. "I don't want to ask you any questions and I don't want
you--well, to commit yourself. But really, sir, you must admit--"

The inspector paused significantly. David nodded again.

"Pray proceed," he said: "speak from the brief you have before you."

"Well, you see it's this way," Marley said, not without hesitation. "You
call us up to your house, saying that a murder has been committed there;
we find a stranger almost at his last gasp in your conservatory with
every signs of a struggle having taken place. You tell us that the
injured man is a stranger to you; you go on to say that he must have
found his way into your house during a nocturnal ramble of yours. Well,
that sounds like common sense on the face of it. The criminal has studied
your habits and has taken advantage of them. Then I ask if you are in the
habit of taking these midnight strolls, and with some signs of hesitation
you say that you have never done such a thing before. Charles Dickens was
very fond of that kind of thing, and I naturally imagined that you had
the same fancy. But you had never done it before. And, the only time, a
man is nearly murdered in your house."

"Perfectly correct," David murmured. "Gaboriau could not have put it
better. You might have been a pupil of my remarkable acquaintance
Hatherly Bell."

"I am a pupil of Mr. Bell's," Marley said, quietly. "Seven years ago he
induced me to leave the Huddersfield police to go into his office, where
I stayed until Mr. Bell gave up business, when I applied for and gained
my present position. Curious you should mention Mr. Bell's name, seeing
that he was here so recently as this afternoon."

"Staying in Brighton?" Steel asked, eagerly. "What is his address?"

"No. 219, Brunswick Square."

It took all the nerve that David possessed to crush the cry that rose to
his lips. It was more than strange that the man he most desired to see at
this juncture should be staying in the very house where the novelist had
his great adventure. And in the mere fact might be the key to the problem
of the cigar-case.

"I'll certainly see Bell," he muttered. "Go on, Marley."

"Yes, sir. We now proceed to the cigar-case that lies before you. It was
also lying on the floor of your conservatory on the night in question. I
suggested that here we might have found a clue, taking the precaution at
the same time to ask if the article in question was your property. You
looked at the case as one does who examines an object for the first time,
and proceeded to declare that it was not yours. I am quite prepared to
admit that you instantly corrected yourself. But I ask, is it a usual
thing for a man to forget the ownership of a L70 cigar-case?"

"A nice point, and I congratulate you upon it," David said.

"Then we will take the matter a little farther. A day or two ago you were
in dire need of something like L1,000. Temporarily, at any rate, you were
practically at the end of your resources. If this money were not
forthcoming in a few hours you were a ruined man. In vulgar parlance, you
would have been sold up. Mossa and Mack had you in their grip, and they
were determined to make all they could out of you. The morning following
the outrage at your house you call upon Mr. Mossa and produce the
cigar-case lying on the table before you. From that case you produce
notes sufficient to discharge your debt--Bank of England notes, the
numbers of which, I need hardly say, are in my possession. The money is
produced from the case yonder, which case we _know_ was sold to the
injured man by Mr. Walen."

Marley made a long and significant pause. Steel nodded.

"There seems to be no way out of it," he said.

"I can see one," Marley suggested. "Of course, it would simplify matters
enormously if you merely told me in confidence whence came those notes.
You see, as I have the numbers, I could verify your statement beyond
question, and--"

Marley paused again and shrugged his shoulders. Despite his cold,
official manner, he was obviously prompted by a desire to serve his
companion. And yet, simple as the suggestion seemed, it was the very last
thing with which Steel could comply.

The novelist turned the matter over rapidly in his mind. His quick
perceptions flashed along the whole logical line instantaneously. He was
like a man who suddenly sees a midnight landscape by the glare of a
dazzling flash of lightning.

"I am sorry," he said, slowly, "very sorry, to disappoint you. Were our
situations reversed, I should take up your position exactly. But it so
happens that I cannot, dare not, tell you where I got those notes from.
So far as I am concerned they came honestly into my hands in payment for
special services rendered. It was part of my contract that I should
reveal the secret to nobody. If I told you the story you would decline to
believe it; you would say that it was a brilliant effort of a novelist's
imagination to get out of a dangerous position."

"I don't know that I should," Marley replied. "I have long since ceased
to wonder at anything that happens in or connected with Brighton."

"All the same I can't tell you, Marley," Steel said, as he rose. "My lips
are absolutely sealed. The point is: what are you going to do?"

"For the present, nothing," Marley replied. "So long as the man in the
hospital remains unconscious I can do no more than pursue what
Beaconsfield called 'a policy of masterly inactivity.' I have told you a
good deal more than I had any right to do, but I did so in the hope that
you could assist me. Perhaps in a day or two you will think better of it.
Meanwhile--"

"Meanwhile I am in a tight place. Yes, I see that perfectly well. It is
just possible that I may scheme some way out of the difficulty, and if so
I shall be only too pleased to let you know. Good-night, Marley, and many
thanks to you."

But with all his ingenuity and fertility of imagination David could see
no way out of the trouble. He sat up far into the night scheming; there
was no flavour in his tobacco; his pictures and flowers, his silver and
china, jarred upon him. He wished with all his heart now that he had let
everything go. It need only have been a temporary matter, and there were
other Cellini tankards, and intaglios, and line engravings in the world
for the man with money in his purse.

He could see no way out of it at all. Was it not possible that the whole
thing had been deliberately planned so as to land him and his brains into
the hands of some clever gang of swindlers? Had he been tricked and
fooled so that he might become the tool of others? It seemed hard to
think so when he recalled the sweet voice in the darkness and its
passionate plea for help. And yet the very cigar-case that he had been
told was the one he admired at Lockhart's had proved beyond question to
be one purchased from Walen's!

If he decided to violate his promise and tell the whole story nobody
would believe him. The thing was altogether too wild and improbable for
that. And yet, he reflected, things almost as impossible happen in
Brighton every day. And what proof had he to offer?

Well, there was one thing certain. At least three-quarters of those
bank-notes--the portion he had collected at the house with the crimson
blind--could not possibly be traced to the injured man. And, again, it
was no fault of Steel's that Marley had obtained possession of the
numbers of the notes. If the detective chose to ferret out facts for
himself no blame could attach to Steel. If those people had only chosen
to leave out of the question that confounded cigar-case!

David's train of thought was broken as an idea came to him. It was not so
long since he had a facsimile cigar-case in his hand at Lockhart's, in
North Street. Somebody connected with the mystery must have seen him
admiring it and reluctantly declining the purchase, because the voice
from the telephone told him that the case was a present and that it had
come from the famous North Street establishment.

"By Jove!" David cried. "I'll go to Lockhart's tomorrow and see if the
case is still there. If so, I may be able to trace it."

Fairly early the next morning David was in North Street. For the time
being he had put his work aside altogether. He could not have written a
dozen consecutive lines to save the situation. The mere effort to
preserve a cheerful face before his mother was a torture. And at any time
he might find himself forced to meet a criminal charge.

The gentlemanly assistant at Lockhart's remembered Steel and the
cigar-case perfectly well, but he was afraid that the article had been
sold. No doubt it would be possible to obtain a facsimile in the course
of a few days.

"Only I required that particular one," Steel said. "Can you tell me when
it was sold and who purchased it?"

A junior partner did, and could give some kind of information. Several
people had admired the case, and it had been on the point of sale several
times. Finally, it had passed into the hands of an American gentleman
staying at the Metropole.

"Can you tell me his name?" David asked, "or describe him?"

"Well, I can't, sir," the junior partner said, frankly. "I haven't the
slightest recollection of the gentleman. He wrote from the Metropole on
the hotel paper describing the case and its price and inclosed the full
amount in ten-dollar notes and asked to have the case sent by post to the
hotel. When we ascertained that the notes were all right, we naturally
posted the case as desired, and there, so far as we are concerned, was an
end of the matter."

"You don't recollect his name?"

"Oh, yes. The name was John Smith. If there is anything wrong---"

David hastily gave the desired assurance. He wanted to arouse no
suspicion. All the same, he left Lockhart's with a plethora of suspicions
of his own. Doubtless the jewellers would be well and fairly satisfied so
long as the case had been paid for, but from the standpoint of David's
superior knowledge the whole transaction fairly bristled with suspicion.

Not for one moment did Steel believe in the American at the Metropole.
Somebody stayed there doubtless under the name of John Smith, and that
said somebody had paid for the cigar-case in dollar notes the tracing of
which might prove a task of years. Nor was it the slightest use to
inquire at the Metropole, where practically everybody is identified by a
number, and where scores come and go every day. John Smith would only
have to ask for his letters and then drop quietly into a sea of oblivion.

Well, David had got his information, and a lot of use it was likely to
prove to him. As he walked thoughtfully homewards he was debating in his
mind whether or not he might venture to call at or write to 219,
Brunswick Square, and lay his difficulties before the people there. At
any rate, he reflected, with grim bitterness, they would know that he was
not romancing. If nothing turned up in the meantime he would certainly
visit Brunswick Square.

He sat in his own room puzzling the matter out till his head ached and
the flowers before him reeled in a dazzling whirl of colour. He looked
round for inspiration, now desperately, as he frequently did when the
warp of his delicate fancy tangled. The smallest thing sometimes fed the
machine again--a patch of sunshine, the chip on a plate, the damaged edge
of a frame. Then his eye fell on the telephone and he jumped to his feet.

"What a fool I am!" he exclaimed. "If I had been plotting this business
out as a story. I should have thought of that long ago.... No, I don't
want any number, at least, not in that way. Two nights ago I was called
up by somebody from London who held the line for fully half an hour or
so. I've--I've forgotten the address of my correspondent, but if you can
ascertain the number ... yes, I shall be here if you will ring me up when
you have got it.... Thanks."

Half an hour passed before the bell trilled again. David listened
eagerly. At any rate, now he was going to know the number whence the
mysterious message came--0017, Kensington, was the number. David muttered
his thanks and flew to his big telephone directory. Yes, there it
was--"0017, 446, Prince's Gate, Gilead Gates."

The big volume dropped with a crash on the floor. David looked down at
the crumpled volume with dim, misty amazement.

"Gilead Gates," he murmured. "Quaker, millionaire, and philanthropist.
One of the most highly-esteemed and popular men in England. And from his
house came the message which has been the source of all the mischief. And
yet there are critics who say the plots of my novels are too fantastic!"

CHAPTER VII

NO. 2l8, BRUNSWICK SQUARE

The emotion of surprise seemed to have left Steel altogether. After the
last discovery he was prepared to believe anything. Had anybody told him
that the whole Bench of Bishops was at the bottom of the mystery he would
have responded that the suggestion was highly probable.

"Still, it's what the inimitable Dick Swiveller would call a
staggerer," he muttered. "Gates, the millionaire, the one great
capitalist who has the profound respect of the labour world. No, a man
with a record like that couldn't have anything to do with it. Still, it
must have been from his house that the mysterious message came. The
post-office people working the telephone trunk line would know that--a
fact which probably escaped the party who called me up.... I'll go to
Brunswick Square and see that woman. Money or no money, I'll not lie
under an imputation like this."

There was one thing to be done beforehand, and that was to see Dr. Cross.
From the latter's manner he evidently knew nothing of the charge hanging
over Steel's head. Marley was evidently keeping that close to himself and
speaking to nobody.

"Oh, the man is better." Cross said, cheerfully. "He hasn't been
identified yet, though the Press has given us every assistance. I fancy
the poor fellow is going to recover, though I am afraid it will be a
long job."

"He hasn't recovered consciousness, then?"

"No, and neither will he for some time to come. There seems to be a
certain pressure on the brain which we are unable to locate, and we dare
not try the Roentgen rays yet. So on the whole you are likely to escape
with a charge of aggravated assault."

David smiled grimly as he went his way. He walked the whole distance to
Hove along North Street and the Western Road, finally turning down
Brunswick Square instead of _up_ it, as he had done on the night of the
great adventure. He wondered vaguely why he had been specially instructed
to approach the house that way.

Here it was at last, 219, Brunswick Square--220 above and, of course, 218
below the house. It looked pretty well the same in the daylight, the same
door, the same knocker, and the same crimson blind in the centre of the
big bay window. David knocked at the door with a vague feeling of
uncertainty as to what he was going to do next. A very staid,
old-fashioned footman answered his ring and inquired his business.

"Can--can I see your mistress?" David stammered.

The staid footman became, if possible, a little more reserved. If the
gentleman would send in his card he would see if Miss Ruth was
disengaged. David found himself vaguely wondering what Miss Ruth's
surname might be. The old Biblical name was a great favourite of his.

"I'm afraid I haven't a card," he said. "Will you say that Mr. Steel
would like to see--er--Miss Ruth for a few minutes? My business is
exceedingly pressing."

The staid footman led the way into the dining-room. Evidently this was no
frivolous house, where giddy butterflies came and went; such gaudy
insects would have been chilled by the solemn decorum of the place. David
followed into the dining-room in a dreamy kind of way, and with the
feeling that comes to us all at times, the sensation of having done and
seen the same thing before.

Nothing had been altered. The same plain, handsome, expensive furniture
was here, the same mahogany and engravings, the same dull red walls, with
the same light stain over the fire-place--a dull, prosperous,
square-toed-looking place. The electric fittings looked a little
different, but that might have been fancy. It was the identical room.
David had run his quarry to earth, and he began to feel his spirits
rising. Doubtless he could scheme some way out of the difficulty and
spare his phantom friends at the same time.

"You wanted to see me, sir? Will you be so good as to state your
business?"

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