The Crimson Blind - Fred M. White

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      David replied somewhat grudgingly that he had never done such a thing before. He would like to have concealed the fact, but it was bound to come out sooner or later. He had strolled along the front and round Brunswick Square. Marley shrugged his shoulders.

      “Well, it’s a bit of a puzzle to me,” he admitted. “You go out for a midnight walk—a thing you have never done before—and when you come back you find somebody has got into your house by means of a stolen latch-key and murdered somebody else in your conservatory. According to that, two people must have entered the house.”

      “That’s logic,” David admitted. “There can be no murder without the slain and the slayer. My impression is that somebody who knows the ways of the house watched me depart. Then he lured his victim in here under pretence that it was his own house—he had the purloined latch- key—and murdered him. Audacious, but a far safer way than doing it out of doors.”

      But Marley’s imagination refused to go so far. The theory was plausible enough, he pointed out respectfully, if the assassin had been assured that these midnight rambles were a matter of custom. The point was a shrewd one, and Steel had to admit it. He almost wished now that he had suggested that he often took these midnight rambles. He regretted the fiction still more when Marley asked if he had had some appointment elsewhere to-night.

      “No,” David said, promptly, “I hadn’t.”

      He prevaricated without hesitation. His adventure in Brunswick Square could not possibly have anything to do with the tragedy, and nothing would be gained by betraying that trust.

      “I’ll run round to the hospital and come and see you again in the morning, sir,” Marley said. “Whatever was the nature of the crime, it wasn’t robbery, or the criminal wouldn’t have left that cigar-case of yours behind. Sir James Lythem had one stolen like that at the last races, and he valued it at £80.”

      “I’ll come as far as the hospital with you,” said Steel.

      At the bottom of the flight of steps they encountered Dr. Cross and the policeman. The former handed over to Marley a pocket-book and some papers, together with a watch and chain.

      “Everything that we could find upon him,” he explained.

      “Is the poor fellow dead yet?” David asked.

      “No,” Cross replied. “He was stabbed twice in the back in the region of the liver. I could not say for sure, but there is just a chance that he may recover. But one thing is pretty certain—it will be a good long time before he is in a position to say anything for himself. Good-night, Mr. Steel.”

      David went indoors thoughtfully, with a general feeling that something like a hand had grasped his brain and was squeezing it like a sponge. He was free from his carking anxiety now, but it seemed to him that he was paying a heavy price for his liberty. Mechanically, he counted out the bank-notes, and almost as mechanically he cut his initials on the gun-metal inside the cigar-case. He was one of the kind of men who like to have their initials everywhere.

      He snapped the lights out and went to bed at last. But not to sleep. The welcome dawn came at length and David took his bath gratefully. He would have to tell his mother what had happened, suppressing all reference to the Brunswick Square episode. It was not a pleasant story, but Mrs. Steel assimilated it at length over her early tea and toast.

      “It might have been you, my dear,” she said, placidly. “And, indeed, it is a dreadful business. But why not telephone to the hospital and ask how the poor fellow is?”

      The patient was better but was still in an unconscious condition.

      V. “RECEIVED WITH THANKS

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      “Steel swallowed a hasty breakfast and hurried off town- wards. He had £1,000 packed away in his cigar-case, and the sooner he was free from Beckstein the better he would be pleased. He came at length to the offices of Messrs. Mossa and Mack, whose brass-plate bore the legend that the gentry in questions were solicitors, and that they also had a business in London. As David strode into the offices of the senior partner that individual looked up with a shade of anxiety in his deep, Oriental eyes.

      “If you have come to offer terms,” he said, nasally, “I am sorry—”

      “To hear that I have come to pay you in full,” David said, grimly; “£974 16s. 4d. up to yesterday, which I understand is every penny you can rightfully claim. Here it is. Count it.”

      He opened the cigar-case and took the notes therefrom. Mr. Mossa counted them very carefully indeed. The shade of disappointment was still upon his aquiline features. He had hoped to put in execution to-day and sell David up. In that way quite £200 might have been added to his legitimate earnings.

      “It appears to be all correct,” Mossa said, dismally.

      “So I imagined, sir. You will be so good as to indorse the receipt on the back of the writ. Of course you are delighted to find that I am not putting you to painful extremities. Any other firm of solicitors would have given me time to pay this. But I am like the man who journeyed from Jericho to Jerusalem—”

      “And fell amongst thieves! You dare to call me a thief? You dare—”

      “I didn’t,” David said, drily. “That fine, discriminating mind of yours saved me the trouble. I have met some tolerably slimy scoundrels in my time, but never any one of them more despicable than yourself. Faugh! the mere sight of you sickens me. Let me get out of the place so that I can breathe.”

      David strode out of the office with the remains of his small fortune rammed into his pocket. In the wild, unreasoning rage that came over him he had forgotten his cigar-case. And it was some little time before Mr. Mossa was calm enough to see the diamonds winking at him.

      “Our friend is in funds,” he muttered. “Well, he shall have a dance for his cigar-case. I’ll send it up to the police-station and say that some gentleman or other left it here by accident. And if that Steel comes back we can say that there is no cigar-case here. And if Steel does not see the police advertisement he will lose his pretty toy, and serve him right. Yes, that is the way to serve him out.”

      Mr. Mossa proceeded to put his scheme into execution whilst David was strolling along the sea front. He was too excited for work, though he felt easier in his mind than he had done for months. He turned mechanically on to the Palace Pier, at the head of which an Eastbourne steamer was blaring and panting. The trip appealed to David in his present frame of mind. Like most of his class, he was given to acting on the spur of the moment…. It was getting dark as David let himself into Downend Terrace with his latchkey.

      How good it was to be back again! The eye of the artist rested fondly upon the beautiful things around. And but for the sport of chance, the whim of fate, these had all passed from him by this time. It was good to look across the dining-table over venetian glass, to see the pools of light cast by the shaded electric, to note the feathery fall of flowers, and to see that placid, gentle face in its frame of white hair opposite him. Mrs. Steel’s simple, unaffected pride in her son was not the least gratifying part of David’s success.

      “You have not suffered from the shock, mother?” he asked.

      “Well, no,” Mrs. Steel confessed, placidly. “You see, I never had what people call nerves, my dear. And, after all, I saw nothing. Still, I am very, very sorry for that poor young man, and I have sent to inquire after him several times.”

      “He is no worse or I should have heard of it.”

      “No, and no better. And Inspector Marley has been here to see you twice to-day.”

      David pitied himself as much as a man could pity himself considering his surroundings. It was rather annoying that this should have happened at a time when he was so busy. And Marley would have all sorts of questions to ask at all sorts of inconvenient

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