The Crimson Blind | Page 6

and finally stopped before one of the big
houses where lights were gleaming from the hall and dining-room
windows. They were electric lights by their great power, and, save for
the hall and dining-room, the rest of the house lay in utter darkness.
The cycle bell let off an approving staccato from behind the blankety
fog as Steel pulled up.
There was nothing abnormal about the house, nothing that struck the
adventurer's eye beyond the extraordinary vividness of the crimson
blind. The two side-windows of the big bay were evidently shuttered,
but the large centre gleamed like a flood of scarlet overlaid with a
silken sheen. Far across the pavement the ruby track struck into the
heart of the fog.
"Vivid note," Steel murmured. "I shall remember that impression."
He was destined never to forget it, but it was only one note in the

gamut of adventure now. With a firm step he walked up the marble
flight and turned the handle. It felt dirty and rusty to the touch.
Evidently the servants were neglectful, or they were employed by
people who had small regard for outward appearances.
The door opened noiselessly, and Steel closed it behind him. A
Moorish lantern cast a brilliant flood of light upon a crimson carpet, a
chair, and an empty oak umbrella-stand. Beyond this there was no atom
of furniture in the hall. It was impossible to see beyond the
dining-room door, for a heavy red velvet curtain was drawn across.
David's first impression was the amazing stillness of the place. It gave
him a queer feeling that a murder had been committed there, and that
everybody had fled, leaving the corpse behind. As David coughed away
the lump in his throat the cough sounded strangely hollow.
He passed into the dining-room and looked eagerly about him. The
room was handsomely furnished, if a little conventional--a big
mahogany table in the centre, rows of mahogany chairs upholstered in
morocco, fine modern prints, most of them artist's proofs, on the walls.
A big marble clock, flanked by a pair of vases, stood on the mantelshelf.
There were a large number of blue vases on the sideboard. The red
distemper had faded to a pale pink in places.
"Tottenham Court Road," Steel smiled to himself. "Modern, solid,
expensive, but decidedly inartistic. Ginger jars fourteen guineas a pair,
worth about as many pence. Moneyed people, solid and respectable, of
the middle class. What brings them playing at mystery like this?"
The room was most brilliantly lighted both from overhead and from the
walls. On the shining desert of the dining-table lay a small, flat parcel
addressed to David Steel, Esq. The novelist tore off the cover and
disclosed a heap of crackling white papers beneath. Rapidly he fluttered
the crisp sheets over--seventy-five Bank of England notes for £10 each.
It was the balance of the loan, the price paid for Steel's presence. All he
had to do now was to place the money in his pocket and walk out of the
house. A few steps and he would be free with nobody to say him nay. It
was a temptation, but Steel fought it down. He slipped the precious

notes into his pocket and buttoned his coat tightly over them. He had no
fear for the coming day now.
"And yet," he murmured, "what of the price I shall have to pay for
this?"
Well, it was worth a ransom. And, so long as there was nothing
dishonourable attached to it, Steel was prepared to redeem his pledge.
He knew perfectly well from bitter experience that the poor man pays
usurious rates for fortune's favours. And he was not without a strange
sense of gratitude. If--
Click, click, click. Three electric switches were snapped off almost
simultaneously outside, and the dining-room was plunged into pitchy
darkness. Steel instantly caught up a chair. He was no coward, but he
was a novelist with a novelist's imagination. As he stood there the
sweetest, most musical laugh in the world broke on his ear. He caught
the swish of silken drapery and the subtle scent that suggested the
fragrance of a woman's hair. It was vague, undefined, yet soothing.
"Pray be seated, Mr. Steel," the silvery voice said. "Believe me, had
there been any other way, I would not have given you all this trouble.
You found the parcel addressed to you? It is an earnest of good faith. Is
not that a correct English expression?"
David murmured that it was. But what did the speaker mean? She
asked the question like a student of the English language, yet her accent
and phrasing were perfect. She laughed again noiselessly, and once
more Steel caught the subtle, entrancing perfume.
"I make no further apology for dragging you here at this time," the
sweet