The Crimson Blind | Page 5

one correspondent with
queer personal experiences had taught him that. Nor was Steel in the
least afraid. He was horribly frightened of disgrace or humiliation, but
physical courage he had in a high degree. And was he not going to save
his home and his good name?
David had not the least doubt on the latter score. Of course he would do
nothing wrong, neither would he keep the money. This he preferred to
regard as a loan--a loan to be paid off before long. At any rate, money
or no money, he would have been sorry to have abandoned the
adventure now.
His spirits rose as he walked along, a great weight had fallen from his
shoulders. He smiled as he thought of his mother peacefully sleeping at
home. What would his mother think if she knew? But, then, nobody
was to know. That had been expressly settled in the bond.
Save for an occasional policeman the streets were deserted. It was a
little cold and raw for the time of year, and a fog like a pink blanket
was creeping in from the sea. Down in the Steine the big arc-lights
gleamed here and there like nebulous blue globes; it was hardly
possible to see across the road. In the half-shadow behind Steel the

statue of the First Gentleman in Europe glowed gigantic, ghost-like in
the mist.
It was marvellously still there, so still that David could hear the tinkle
of the pebbles on the beach. He stood back by the gate of the gardens
watching the play of the leaf silhouettes on the pavement, quaint
patterns of fantastic designs thrown up in high relief by the arc-light
above. From the dark foggy throat of St. James's Street came the tinkle
of a cycle bell. On so still a night the noise seemed bizarre and out of
place. Then the cycle loomed in sight; the rider, muffled and humped
over the front wheel, might have been a man or a woman. As the cyclist
flashed by something white and gleaming dropped into the road, and
the single word "Come" seemed to cut like a knife through the fog.
That was all; the rider had looked neither to the right nor to the left, but
the word was distinctly uttered. At the same instant an arm dropped and
a long finger pointed to the gleaming white square in the road. It was
like an instantaneous photograph--a flash, and the figure had vanished
in the fog.
"This grows interesting," Steel muttered. "Evidently my shadowy
friend has dropped a book of rules in the road for me. The plot
thickens."
It was only a plain white card that lay in the road. A few lines were
typed on the back of it. The words might have been curt, but they were
to the point:--
"Go along the sea front and turn into Brunswick Square. Walk along
the right side of the square until you reach No. 219. You will read the
number over the fanlight. Open the door and it will yield to you; there
is no occasion to knock. The first door inside the hall leads to the
dining-room. Walk into there and wait. Drop this card down the gutter
just opposite you."
David read the directions once or twice carefully. He made a mental
note of 219. After that he dropped the card down the drain-trap nearest
at hand. A little way ahead of him he heard the cycle bell trilling as if
in approval of his action. But David had made up his mind to observe

every rule of the game. Besides, he might be rigidly watched.
The spirit of adventure was growing upon Steel now. He was no longer
holding the solid result before his eyes. He was ready to see the thing
through for its own sake. And as he hurried up North Street, along
Western Road, and finally down Preston Street, he could hear the
purring tinkle of the cycle bell before him. But not once did he catch
sight of the shadowy rider.
All the same his heart was beating a little faster as he turned into
Brunswick Square. All the houses were in pitchy darkness, as they
naturally would be at one o'clock in the morning, so it was only with
great difficulty that Steel could make out a number here and there. As
he walked slowly and hesitatingly along the cycle bell drummed
impatiently ahead of him.
"A hint to me," David muttered. "Stupid that I should have forgotten
the directions to read the number over the fanlight. Also it is logical to
suppose that I am going to find lights at No. 219. All right, my friend;
no need to swear at me with that bell of yours."
He quickened his pace again