The Crimson Blind | Page 4

A queer little laugh, a laugh of triumph, came over the wires.
"I have anticipated that question. Have you Greenwich time about
you?"
Steel responded that he had. It was five-and-twenty minutes past twelve.
He had quite ceased to wonder at any questions put to him now. It was
all so like one of his brilliant little extravanganzas.
"You can hang up your receiver for five minutes," the voice said.
"Precisely at half-past twelve you go and look on your front doorstep.
Then come back and tell me what you have found. You need not fear
that I shall go away."
Steel hung up the receiver, feeling that he needed a little rest. His
cigarette was actually scorching his left thumb and forefinger, but he
was heedless of the fact. He flicked up the dining-room lights again and
rapidly made himself a sparklet soda, which he added to a small whisky.
He looked almost lovingly at the gleaming Cellini tankard, at the pools
of light on the fair damask. Was it possible that he was not going to
lose all this, after all?
The Moorish clock in the study droned the half-hour.
David gulped down his whisky and crept shakily to the front door with
a feeling on him that he was doing something stealthily. The bolts and
chain rattled under his trembling fingers. Outside, the whole world
seemed to be sleeping. Under the wide canopy of stars some black
object picked out with shining points lay on the white marble breadth
of the top step. A gun-metal cigar-case set in tiny diamonds.
The novelist fastened the front door and staggered to the study. A
pretty, artistic thing such as David had fully intended to purchase for
himself. He had seen one exactly like it in a jeweller's window in North
Street. He had pointed it out to his mother. Why, it was the very one!
No doubt whatever about it! David had had the case in his hands and

had reluctantly declined the purchase.
He pressed the spring, and the case lay open before him. Inside were
papers, soft, crackling papers; the case was crammed with them. They
were white and clean, and twenty-five of them in all. Twenty-five Bank
of England notes for £10 each--£250!
David fought the dreamy feeling off and took down the telephone
receiver.
"Are you there?" he whispered, as if fearful of listeners. "I--I have
found your parcel."
"Containing the notes. So far so good. Yes, you are right, it is the same
cigar-case you admired so much in Lockhart's the other day. Well, we
have given you an instance of our bona-fides. But £250 is of no use to
you at present. Beckstein's people would not accept it on account--they
can make far more money by 'selling you up,' as the poetic phrase goes.
It is in your hands to procure the other £750 before you sleep. You can
take it as a gift, or, if you are too proud for that, you may regard it as a
loan. In which case you can bestow the money on such charities as
commend themselves to you. Now, are you going to place yourself
entirely in my hands?"
Steel hesitated no longer. Under the circumstances few men would, as
he had a definite assurance that there was nothing dishonourable to be
done. A little courage, a little danger, perhaps, and he could hold up his
head before the world; he could return to his desk to-morrow with the
passion flowers over his head and the scent groves sweet to his nostrils.
And the mater could dream happily, for there would be no sadness or
sorrow in the morning.
"I will do exactly what you tell me," he said.
"Spoken like a man," the voice cried. "Nobody will know you have left
the house--you can be home in an hour. You will not be missed. Come,
time is getting short, and I have my risks as well as others. Go at once
to Old Steine. Stand on the path close under the shadow of the statue of

George IV. and wait there. Somebody will say 'Come,' and you will
follow. Goodnight."
Steel would have said more, but the tinkle of his own bell told him that
the stranger had rung off. He laid his cigar-case on the writing-table,
slipped his cigarette-case into his pocket, satisfied himself that he had
his latch-key, and put on a dark overcoat. Overhead the dear old mater
was sleeping peacefully. He closed the front door carefully behind him
and strode resolutely into the darkness.
CHAPTER II
THE CRIMSON BLIND
David walk swiftly along, his mind in a perfect whirl. Now that once he
had started he was eager to see the adventure through. It was strange,
but stranger things had happened. More than