"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
ythat."
"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 écarté, 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 £800, 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 £800 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 £800. 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 £5. 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."
"Which man we have got to find, Bell."
"Granted. We will bait for him as one does for a wily old trout. The fly
shall be the Rembrandt, and you see he will rise to it in time. But
beyond this I have made one or two important discoveries to-day. We are
going to the house of the strange lady who owns 218 and 219, Brunswick
Square, and I shall be greatly mistaken if she does not prove to be an
old acquaintance of mine. There will be danger."
"You propose to go to-night?"
"I propose to go at once," Bell said. "Dark hours are always best for
dark business. Now, which is the nearest way to Longdean Grange?"
"So the House of the Silent Sorrow, as they call it, is to be our
destination! I must confess that the place has ever held a strange
fascination for me. We will go over the golf links and behind Ovingdean
village. It is a rare spot for a tragedy."
Bell rose and lighted a fresh cigar.
"Come along," he said. "Poke that Rembrandt behind your books with its
face to the wall. I would not lose that for anything now. No, on second
thoughts I find I shall have to take it with me."
David closed the door carefully behind him, and the two stepped out into
the night.