The Crimson Blind | Page 7

voice said. "We knew that you were in the habit of sitting up
alone late at night, hence the telephone message. You will perhaps
wonder how we came to know so much of your private affairs. Rest
assured that we learnt nothing in Brighton. Presently you may gather
why I am so deeply interested in you; I have been for the past fortnight.
You see, we were not quite certain that you would come to our
assistance unless we could find some means of coercing you. Then we

go to one of the smartest inquiry agents in the world and say: 'Tell us
all about Mr. David Steel without delay. Money is no object.' In less
than a week we know all about Beckstein. We leave matters till the last
moment. If you only knew how revolting it all was!"
"So your tone seems to imply, madam," Steel said, drily.
"Oh, but truly. You were in great trouble, and we found a way to get
you out. At a price; ah, yes. But your trouble is nothing compared with
mine--which brings me to business. A fortnight ago last Monday you
posted to Mr. Vanstone, editor of the Piccadilly Magazine, the synopsis
of the first four or five chapters of a proposed serial for the journal in
question. You open that story with a young and beautiful woman who
is in deadly peril. Is not that so?"
"Yes," Steel said, faintly. "It is just as you suggest. But how--"
"Never mind that, because I am not going to tell you. In common
parlance--is not that the word?--that woman is in a frightful fix. There
is nothing strained about your heroine's situation, because I have heard
of people being in a similar plight before. Mr. Steel, I want you to tell
me truthfully and candidly, can you see the way clear to save your
heroine? Oh, I don't mean by the long arm of coincidence or other
favourite ruses known to your craft. I mean by common sense, logical
methods, by brilliant ruses, by Machiavelian means. Tell me, do you
see a way?"
The question came eagerly, almost imploringly, from the darkness.
David could hear the quick gasps of his questioner, could catch the
rustle of the silken corsage as she breathed.
"Yes," he said, "I can see a brilliant way out that would satisfy the
strictest logician. But you--"
"Thank Heaven! Mr. Steel, I am your heroine. I am placed in exactly
the same position as the woman whose story you are going to write.
The setting is different, the local colouring is not the same, but the
same deadly peril menaces me. For the love of Heaven hold out your

hand to save a lonely and desperate woman whose only crime is that
she is rich and beautiful. Providence had placed in my hands the gist of
your heroine's story. Hence this masquerade; hence the fact that you are
here to-night. I have helped you--help me in return."
It was some time before Steel spoke.
"It shall be as you wish," he said. "I will tell you how I propose to save
my heroine. Her sufferings are fiction; yours will be real. But if you are
to be saved by the same means, Heaven help you to bear the troubles
that are in front of you. Before God, it would be more merciful for me
to be silent and let you go your own way."
CHAPTER III
THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS
David was silent for some little time. The strangeness of the situation
had shut down on him again, and he was thinking of nothing else for
the moment. In the dead stillness of the place he could hear the quick
breathing of his companion; the rustle of her dress seemed near to him
and then to be very far off. Nor did the pitchy darkness yield a jot to his
now accustomed eyes. He held a hand close to his eyes, but he could
see nothing.
"Well?" the sweet voice in the darkness said, impatiently. "Well?"
"Believe me, I will give you all the assistance possible. If you would
only turn up the light--"
"Oh, I dare not. I have given my word of honour not to violate the seal
of secrecy. You may say that we have been absurdly cautious in this
matter, but you would not think so if you knew everything. Even now
the wretch who holds me in his power may have guessed my strategy
and be laughing at me. Some day, perhaps--"
The speaker stopped, with something like a sob in her throat.

"We are wasting precious time," she went on, more calmly. "I had
better tell you my history. In your story a woman commits a crime: she
is guilty of a serious breach of