The Crimson Blind

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"That's all right, dear. But why are you here? Has something dreadful
happened?"

"Well, I will try to tell you so in as few words as possible. I never
felt so ashamed of anything in my life."

"Don't tell me that our scheme has failed!" "Perhaps I need not go so far
as that. The first part of it came off all right, and then a very
dreadful thing happened. We have got Mr. David Steel into frightful
trouble. He is going to be charged with attempted murder and robbery."

"Ruth! But tell me. I am quite in the dark."

"It was the night when--well, you know the night. It was after Mr. Steel
returned home from his visit to 219, Brunswick Square--"

"You mean 218, Ruth."

"It doesn't matter, because he knows pretty well all about it by this
time. It would have been far better for us if we hadn't been quite so
clever. It would have been far wiser to have taken Mr. Steel entirely
into our confidence. Oh, oh, Enid, if we had only left out that little
sentiment over the cigar-case! Then we should have been all right."

"Dearest girl, my time is limited. I've got Reginald held up for the
time, but at any moment he may escape from his bondage. What about the
cigar-case?"

"Well, Mr. Steel took it home with him. And when he got home he found a
man nearly murdered lying in his conservatory. That man was conveyed to
the Sussex County Hospital, where he still lies in an unconscious state.
On the body was found a receipt for a gun-metal cigar-case set with
diamonds."

"Good gracious, Ruth, you don't mean to say--"

"Oh, I do. I can't quite make out how it happened, but that same case
that we--that Mr. Steel has--has been positively identified as one
purchased from Walen by the injured man. There is no question about it.
And they have found out about Mr. Steel being short of money, and the
L1,000, and everything."

"But we _know_ that that cigar-case from Lockhart's in North Street was
positively--"

"Yes, yes. But what has become of that? And in what strange way was the
change made? I tell you that the whole thing frightens me. We thought
that we had hit upon a scheme to solve the problem, and keep our friends
out of danger. There was the American at Genoa who volunteered to assist
us. A week later he was found dead in his bed. Then there was
Christiana's friend, who disappeared entirely. And now we try further
assistance in the case of Mr. Steel, and he stands face to face with a
terrible charge. And he has found us out."

"He has found us out? What do you mean?"

"Well, he called to see me. He called at 219, of course. And directly I
heard his name I was so startled that I am afraid I betrayed myself. Such
a nice, kind, handsome man, Enid; so manly and good over it all. Of
course he declared that he had been at 219 before, and I could only
declare that he had done nothing of the kind. Never, never have I felt so
ashamed of myself in my life before."

"It seems a pity," Enid said, thoughtfully. "You said nothing about 218?"

"My dear, he found it out. At least, Hatherly Bell did for him. Hatherly
Bell happened to be staying down with us, and Hatherly Bell, who knows
Mr. Steel, promptly solved, or half solved, that side of the problem. And
Hatherly Bell is coming here to-night to see Aunt Margaret. He--"

"Here!" Enid cried. "To see Aunt Margaret? Then he found out about you.
At all hazards Mr. Bell must not come here--he _must_ not. I would rather
let everything go than that. I would rather see auntie dead and Reginald
Henson master here. You _must_--"

In the distance came the rattle of harness bells and the trot of a horse.

"I'm afraid it's too late," Ruth Gates said, sadly. "I am afraid that
they are here already. Oh, if we had only left out that wretched
cigar-case!"

CHAPTER XI

AFTER REMBRANDT

"Before we go any farther," Bell said, after a long pause, "I should like
to search the house from top to bottom. I've got a pretty sound theory in
my head, but I don't like to leave anything to chance. We shall be pretty
certain to find something."

"I am entirely in your hands," David said, wearily. "So far as I am
capable of thinking out anything, it seems to me that we have to find
the woman."

"_Cherchez la femme_ is a fairly sound premise in a case like this, but
when we have found the woman we shall have to find the man who is at the
bottom of the plot. I mean the man who is not only thwarting the woman,
but giving you a pretty severe lesson as to the advisability of minding
your own business for the future."

"Then you don't think I am being made the victim of a vile conspiracy?"

"Not by the woman, certainly. You are the victim of some fiendish
counterplot by the man, who has not quite mastered what the woman is
driving at. By placing you in dire peril he compels the woman to speak to
save you, and thus to expose her hand."

"Then in that case I propose to sit tight," David said, grimly. "I am
bound to be prosecuted for robbery and attempted murder in due course. If
my man dies I am in a tight place."

"And if he recovers your antagonist may be in a tighter," Bell chuckled.
"And if the man gets well and that brain injury proves permanent--I mean
if the man is rendered imbecile--why, we are only at the very threshold
of the mystery. It seems a callous thing to say, but this is the
prettiest problem I have had under my hands."

"Make the most of it," David said, sardonically. "I daresay I should see
the matter in a more rational light if I were not so directly concerned.
But, if we are going to make a search of the premises, the sooner we
start the better."

Upstairs there was nothing beyond certain lumber. There were dust and
dirt everywhere, save in the hall and front dining-room, which, as
Bell sapiently pointed out, had obviously been cleared to make ready
for Steel's strange reception. Down in the housekeeper's room was a
large collection of dusty furniture, and a number of pictures and
engravings piled with their faces to the wall. Bell began idly to turn
the latter over.

"I am a maniac on the subject of old prints," he explained. "I never see
a pile without a wild longing to examine them. And, by Jove, there are
some good things here. Unless I am greatly mistaken--here, Steel, pull up
the blinds! Good heavens, is it possible?"

"Found a Sistine Madonna or a stray Angelo?" David asked. "Or a ghost?
What _is_ the matter? Is it another phase of the mystery?"

"The Rembrandt," Bell gasped. "Look at it, man!"

Steel bent eagerly over the engraving. An old print, an old piece of
china, an antique jewel, always exercised a charm over the novelist. He
had an unerring eye for that kind of thing.

"Exquisite," he cried. "A Rembrandt, of course, but I don't recollect
the picture."

"The picture was destroyed by accident after Rembrandt had engraved it
with his own hand," Bell proceeded to explain. He was quite coherent now,
but he breathed fast and loud, "I shall proceed to give you the history
of the picture presently, and more especially a history of the
engraving."

"Has it any particular name?" David asked.

"Yes, we found that out. It was called 'The Crimson Blind!'"

"No getting away from the crimson blind," David murmured. "Still, I can
quite imagine that to have been the name of the picture. That shutter
or blind might have had a setting sun behind it, which would account
for the tender warmth of the kitchen foreground and the deep gloom
where the lovers are seated. By Jove, Bell, it is a magnificent piece
of work. I've a special fancy for Rembrandt engravings, but I never saw
one equal to that."

"And you never will," Bell replied, "save in one instance. The picture
itself was painted in Rembrandt's modest lodging in the Keizerskroon
Tavern after the forced sale of his paintings at that hostel in the year
1658. At that time Rembrandt was painfully poor, as his recorded tavern
bills show. The same bills also disclose the fact that 'The Crimson
Blind' was painted for a private customer with a condition that the
subject should be engraved as well. After one impression had been taken
off the plate the picture was destroyed by a careless servant. In a
sudden fit of rage Rembrandt destroyed the plate, having, they say, only
taken one impression from it."

"Then there is only one of these engravings in the world? What a find!"

"There is one other, as I know to my cost," Bell said, significantly.
"Until a few days ago I never entertained the idea that there were two.
Steel, you are the victim of a vile conspiracy, but it is nothing to the
conspiracy which has darkened my life."

"Sooner or later I always felt that I should get to the bottom of the
mystery, and now I am certain of it. And, strange as it may seem, I
verily believe that you and I are hunting the same man down--that the one
man is at the bottom of the two evils. But you shall hear my story
presently. What we have to find out now is who was the last tenant and
who is the present owner of the house, and incidentally learn who this
lumber belongs to. Ah, this has been a great day for me!"

Bell spoke exultingly, a great light shining in his eyes. And David
sapiently asked no further questions for the present. All that he wanted
to know would come in time. The next move, of course, was to visit the
agent of the property.

A smart, dapper little man, looking absurdly out of place in an
exceedingly spacious office, was quite ready to give every information.
It was certainly true that 218, Brunswick Square, was to be let at an
exceedingly low rent on a repairing lease, and that the owner had a lot
more property in Brighton to be let on the same terms. The lady was
exceedingly rich and eccentric; indeed, by asking such low rents she was
doing her best to seriously diminish her income.

"Do you know the lady at all?" Bell asked.

"Not personally," the agent admitted. "So far as I can tell, the property
came into the present owner's hands some years ago by inheritance. The
property also included a very old house, called Longdean Grange, not far
from Rottingdean, where the lady, Mrs. Henson, lives at present. Nobody
ever goes there, nobody ever visits there, and to keep the place free
from prying visitors a large number of savage dogs are allowed to prowl
about the grounds."

Bell listened eagerly. Watching him, David could see that his eyes
glinted like points of steel. There was something subtle behind all this
common-place that touched the imagination of the novelist.

"Has 218 been let during the occupation of the present owner?"
Bell asked.

"No," the agent replied. "But the present owner--as heir to the
property--I am told, was interested in both 218 and 219, which used to be
a kind of high-class convalescent home for poor clergy and the widows and
daughters of poor clergy in want of a holiday. The one house was for the
men and the other for the women, and both were furnished exactly alike;
in fact, Mr. Gates's landlord, the tenant of 219, bought the furniture
exactly as it stands when the scheme fell through."

Steel looked up swiftly. A sudden inspiration came to him.

"In that case what became of the precisely similar furniture in
218?" he asked.

"That I cannot tell you," the agent said. "That house was let as it stood
to some sham philanthropist whose name I forget. The whole thing was a
fraud, and the swindler only avoided arrest by leaving the country.
Probably the goods were stored somewhere or perhaps seized by some
creditor. But I really can't say definitely without looking the matter
up. There are some books and prints now left in the house out of the
wreck. We shall probably put them in a sale, only they have been
overlooked. The whole lot will not fetch L5."

"Would you take L5 for them?" Bell asked.

"Gladly. Even if only to get them carted away."

Bell gravely produced a L5 note, for which he asked and received a
receipt. Then he and Steel repaired to 218 once more, whence they
recovered the Rembrandt, and subsequently returned the keys of the house
to the agent. There was an air of repressed excitement about Bell which
was not without its effect upon his companion. The cold, hard lines
seemed to have faded from Bell's face; there was a brightness about him
that added to his already fine physical beauty.

"And now, perhaps, you will be good enough to explain," David suggested.

"My dear fellow, it would take too long," Bell cried. "Presently I am
going to tell you the story of the tragedy of my life. You have doubtless
wondered, as others have wondered, why I dropped out of the road when the
goal was in sight. Well, your curiosity is about to be gratified. I am
going to help you, and in return you are going to help me to come back
into the race again. By way of a start, you are going to ask me to come
and dine with you to-night."

"At half-past seven, then. Nothing will give me greater pleasure."

"Spoken like a man and a brother. We will dine, and I will tell you my
story after the house is quiet. And if I ask you to accompany me on a
midnight adventure you will not say me nay?"

"Not in my present mood, at any rate. Adventure, with a dash of danger in
it, suits my present mood exactly. And if there is to be physical
violence, so much the better. My diplomacy may be weak, but physically I
am not to be despised in a row."

"Well, we'll try and avoid the latter, if possible," Bell laughed.
"Still, for your satisfaction, I may say there is just the chance of a
scrimmage. And now I really must go, because I have any amount of work to
do for Gates. Till half-past seven, _au revoir_."

Steel lighted a cigarette and strolled thoughtfully homewards along the
front. The more he thought over the mystery the more tangled it became.
And yet he felt perfectly sure that he was on the right track. The
discovery that both those houses had been furnished exactly alike at one
time was a most important one. And David no longer believed that he had
been to No. 219 on the night of the great adventure. Then he found
himself thinking about Ruth Gates's gentle face and lovely eyes, until he
looked up and saw the girl before him.

"You--you wanted to speak to me?" he stammered.

"I followed you on purpose," the girl said, quietly, "I can't tell you
everything, because it is not my secret to tell. But believe me
everything will come out right in the end. Don't think badly of me, don't
be hard and bitter because--"

"Because I am nothing of the kind," David smiled. "It is impossible to
look into a face like yours and doubt you. And I am certain that you are
acting loyally and faithfully for the sake of others who--"

"Yes, yes, and for your sake, too. Pray try and remember that. For your
sake, too. Oh, if you only knew how I admire and esteem you! If only--"

She paused with the deep blush crimsoning her face. David caught her
hand, and it seemed to him for a moment that she returned the pressure.

"Let me help you," he whispered. "Only be my friend and I will forgive
everything."

She gave him a long look of her deep, velvety eyes, she flashed him a
little smile, and was gone.

CHAPTER XII

"THE CRIMSON BLIND"

Hatherly Bell turned up at Downend Terrace gay and debonair as if he had
not a single trouble in the world. His evening dress was of the smartest
and he had a rose in his buttonhole. From his cab he took a square brown
paper parcel, which he deposited in David's study with particular care.

He made no allusion whatever to the sterner business of the evening; he
was gay and light-hearted as a child, so that Mrs. Steel sat up quite an
hour later than her usual time, absolutely unconscious of the fact that
she had broken a rigid rule of ten years' standing.

"Now let us go into the study and smoke a cigar," David suggested.

Bell dragged a long deck-chair into the conservatory and lighted a Massa.
Steel's offer of whisky and soda was declined.

"An ideal place for a novelist who has a keen eye for the beautiful,"
he said. "There you have your books and pictures, your stained glass
and china, and when you turn your eyes this way they are gladdened by
green foliage and lovely flowers. It's hard to connect such a room with
a tragedy."

"And yet the tragedy was worked out close by where you are sitting. But
never mind that. Come to your story, and let me see if we can fit it
into mine."

Bell took a fresh pull at his cigar and plunged into his subject.

"About seven years ago professional business took me to Amsterdam; a
brilliant young medical genius who was drinking himself prematurely into
his grave had made some wonderful discoveries relating to the brain and
psychology generally, so I decided to learn what I could before it
was too late. I found the young doctor to be an exceedingly good
fellow, only too ready to speak of his discoveries, and there I
stayed for a year. My word! what do I not owe to that misguided
mind! And what a revolution he would have made in medicine and
surgery had he only lived!

"Well, in Amsterdam I got to know everybody who was worth
knowing--medical, artistic, social. And amongst the rest was an
Englishman called Lord Littimer, his son, and an exceedingly clever
nephew of his, Henson by name, who was the son's tutor. Littimer was a
savant, a scholar, and a fine connoisseur as regarded pictures. He was
popularly supposed to have the finest collection of old prints in
England. He would travel anywhere in search of something fresh, and the
rumour of some apocryphal treasure in Amsterdam had brought him thither.
He and I were friends from the first, as, indeed, were the son and
myself. Henson, the nephew, was more quiet and reserved, but fond, as I
discovered, of a little secret dissipation.

"In those days I was not averse to a little life myself. I was
passionately fond of all games of cards, and I am afraid that I was in
the habit of gambling to a greater extent than I could afford. I don't
gamble now and I don't play cards: in fact, I shall never touch a card
again as long as I live. Why, you shall hear all in good time.

"We were all getting on very well together at that time when Lord
Littimer's sister paid us a visit. She came accompanied by a daughter
called Enid. I will not describe her, because no words of mine could do
her justice. In a word, I fell over head and ears in love with Enid, and
in that state I have remained ever since. Of all the crosses that I have
to bear the knowledge that I love Enid and that she loves--and despises
--me, is by far the heaviest. But I don't want to dwell upon that."

"We were a very happy party there until Van Sneck and Von Gulden turned
up. Enid and I had come to an understanding, and, though we kept our
secret, we were not going to do so for long. From the very first Von
Gulden admired her. He was a handsome, swaggering soldier, a
good-looking, wealthy man, who had a great reputation for gallantry, and
something worse. Perhaps the fellow guessed how things lay, for he never
troubled to conceal his dislike and contempt for me. It is no fault of
mine that I am extremely sensitive as to my personal appearance, but Von
Gulden played upon it until he drove me nearly mad. He challenged me
sneeringly to certain sports wherein he knew I could not shine; he
challenged me to ecarte, where I fancied I was his master.

"Was I? Well, we had been dining that night, and perhaps too freely, for
I entirely lost my head before I began the game in earnest. Those covert
sneers had nearly driven me mad. To make a long story short, when I got
up from the table that night, I owed my opponent nearly L800, without the
faintest prospect of paying a tenth part of it. I was only a poor,
ambitious young man then, with my way to make in the world. And if that
money were not forthcoming in the next few days I was utterly ruined."

"The following morning the great discovery was made. The Van Sneck I have
alluded to was an artist, a dealer, a man of the shadiest reputation,
whom my patron, Lord Littimer, had picked up. It was Van Sneck who
produced the copy of 'The Crimson Blind.' Not only did he produce the
copy, but he produced the history from some recently discovered papers
relating to the Keizerskroon Tavern of the year 1656, which would have
satisfied a more exacting man than Littimer. In the end the Viscount
purchased the engraving for L800 English.

"You can imagine how delighted he was with his prize--he had secured an
engraving by Rembrandt that was absolutely unique. Under more favourable
circumstances I should have shared that pleasure. But I was face to face
with ruin, and therefore I had but small heart for rejoicing.

"I came down the next morning after a sleepless night, and with a wild
endeavour to scheme some way of getting the money to pay my creditor. To
my absolute amazement I found a polite note from the lieutenant coldly
thanking me for the notes I had sent him by messenger, and handing me a
formal receipt for L800. At first I regarded it as a hoax. But, with all
his queer ways, Von Gulden was a gentleman. Somebody had paid the debt
for me. And somebody had, though I have never found out to this day."

"All the same, you have your suspicions?" Steel suggested.

"I have a very strong suspicion, but I have never been able to verify it.
All the same, you can imagine what an enormous weight it was off my mind,
and how comparatively cheerful I was as I crossed over to the hotel of
Lord Littimer after breakfast. I found him literally beside himself with
passion. Some thief had got into his room in the night and stolen his
Rembrandt. The frame was intact, but the engraving had been rolled up and
taken away."

"Very like the story of the stolen Gainsborough."

"No doubt the one theft inspired the other. I was sent off on foot to
look for Van Sneck, only to find that he had suddenly left the city. He
had got into trouble with the police, and had fled to avoid being sent to
gaol. And from that day to this nothing has been seen of that picture."

"But I read to-day that it is still in Littimer Castle," said David.

"Another one," Bell observed. "Oblige me by opening yonder parcel. There
you see is the print that I purchased to-day for L5. This, _this_, my
friend, is the print that was stolen from Littimer's lodgings in
Amsterdam. If you look closely at it you will see four dull red spots in
the left-hand corner. They are supposed to be blood-spots from a cut
finger of the artist. I am prepared to swear that this is the very print,
frame and all, that was purchased in Amsterdam from that shady scoundrel
Van Sneck."

"But Littimer is credited with having one in his collection,"
David urged.

"He has one in his collection," Bell said, coolly, "And, moreover, he is
firmly under the impression that he is at present happy in the possession
of his own lost treasure. And up to this very day I was under exactly the
same delusion. Now I know that there must have been two copies of the
plate, and that this knowledge was used to ruin me."

"But," Steel murmured, "I don't exactly see--"

"I am just coming to that. We hunted high and low for the picture, but
nowhere could it be found. The affair created a profound impression in
Amsterdam. A day or two later Von Gulden went back to his duty on the
Belgian frontier and business called me home. I packed my solitary
portmanteau and departed. When I arrived at the frontier I opened my
luggage for the Custom officer and the whole contents were turned out
without ceremony. On the bottom was a roll of paper on a stick that I
quite failed to recognise. An inquisitive Customs House officer opened it
and immediately called the lieutenant in charge. Strange to say, he
proved to be Von Gulden. He came up to me, very gravely, with the paper
in his hand.

"'May I inquire how this came amongst your luggage?' he asked.

"I could say nothing; I was dumb. For there lay the Rembrandt. The red
spots had been smudged out of the corner, but there, the picture was.

"Well, I lost my head then. I accused Von Gulden of all kinds of
disgraceful things. And he behaved like a gentleman--he made me ashamed
of myself. But he kept the picture and returned it to Littimer, and I
was ruined. Lord Littimer declined to prosecute, but he would not see me
and he would hear of no explanation. Indeed, I had none to offer. Enid
refused to see me also or reply to my letters. The story of my big
gambling debt, and its liquidation, got about. Steel, I was ruined. Some
enemy had done this thing, and from that day to this I have been a
marked man."

"But how on earth was it done?" Steel cried.

"For the present I can only make surmises," Bell replied. "Van Sneck was
a slippery dog. Of course, he had found two of those plates. He kept the
one back so as to sell the other at a fancy price. My enemy discovered
this, and Van Sneck's sudden flight was his opportunity. He could afford
to get rid of me at an apparently dear rate. He stole Littimer's
engraving--in fact, he must have done so, or I should not have it at this
moment. Then he smudged out some imaginary spots on the other and hid it
in my luggage, knowing that it would be found. Also he knew that it would
be returned to Littimer, and that the stolen plate could be laid aside
and produced at some remote date as an original find. The find has been
mine, and it will go hard if I can't get to the bottom of the mystery
now. It is strange that your mysterious trouble and mine should be bound
up so closely together, but in the end it will simplify matters, for the
very reason that we are both on the hunt for the same man."

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