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 £5."
"Would you take £5 for them?" Bell asked.
"Gladly. Even if only to get them carted away."
Bell gravely produced a £5 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.