The Crimson Blind

by Fred M. White

  CHAPTER VI

  A POLICY OF SILENCE

  Steel dropped into a chair and gazed at Inspector Marley with mildsurprise. At the same time he was not in the least alarmed. Not that hefailed to recognise the gravity of the situation, only it appealed in thefirst instance to the professional side of his character.

  "Walen is quite sure?" he asked. "No possible doubt about that, eh?"

  "Not in the least. You see, he recognised his private mark at once, andBrighton is not so prosperous a place that a man could sell a L70cigar-case and forget all about it--that is, a second case, I mean. It'smost extraordinary."

  "Rather! Make a magnificent story, Marley."

  "Very," Marley responded, drily. "It would take all your well-knowningenuity to get your hero out of this trouble."

  Steel nodded gravely. This personal twist brought him to the earth again.He could clearly see the trap into which he had placed himself. Therebefore him lay the cigar-case which he had positively identified as hisown; inside, his initials bore testimony to the fact. And yet the samecase had been identified beyond question as one sold by a highlyrespectable local tradesman to the mysterious individual now lying in theSussex County Hospital.

  "May I smoke a cigarette?" David asked.

  "You may smoke a score if they will be of any assistance to you, sir,"Marley replied. "I don't want to ask you any questions and I don't wantyou--well, to commit yourself. But really, sir, you must admit--"

  The inspector paused significantly. David nodded again.

  "Pray proceed," he said: "speak from the brief you have before you."

  "Well, you see it's this way," Marley said, not without hesitation. "Youcall us up to your house, saying that a murder has been committed there;we find a stranger almost at his last gasp in your conservatory withevery signs of a struggle having taken place. You tell us that theinjured man is a stranger to you; you go on to say that he must havefound his way into your house during a nocturnal ramble of yours. Well,that sounds like common sense on the face of it. The criminal has studiedyour habits and has taken advantage of them. Then I ask if you are in thehabit of taking these midnight strolls, and with some signs of hesitationyou say that you have never done such a thing before. Charles Dickens wasvery fond of that kind of thing, and I naturally imagined that you hadthe same fancy. But you had never done it before. And, the only time, aman is nearly murdered in your house."

  "Perfectly correct," David murmured. "Gaboriau could not have put itbetter. You might have been a pupil of my remarkable acquaintanceHatherly Bell."

  "I am a pupil of Mr. Bell's," Marley said, quietly. "Seven years ago heinduced me to leave the Huddersfield police to go into his office, whereI stayed until Mr. Bell gave up business, when I applied for and gainedmy present position. Curious you should mention Mr. Bell's name, seeingthat he was here so recently as this afternoon."

  "Staying in Brighton?" Steel asked, eagerly. "What is his address?"

  "No. 219, Brunswick Square."

  It took all the nerve that David possessed to crush the cry that rose tohis lips. It was more than strange that the man he most desired to see atthis juncture should be staying in the very house where the novelist hadhis great adventure. And in the mere fact might be the key to the problemof the cigar-case.

  "I'll certainly see Bell," he muttered. "Go on, Marley."

  "Yes, sir. We now proceed to the cigar-case that lies before you. It wasalso lying on the floor of your conservatory on the night in question. Isuggested that here we might have found a clue, taking the precaution atthe same time to ask if the article in question was your property. Youlooked at the case as one does who examines an object for the first time,and proceeded to declare that it was not yours. I am quite prepared toadmit that you instantly corrected yourself. But I ask, is it a usualthing for a man to forget the ownership of a L70 cigar-case?"

  "A nice point, and I congratulate you upon it," David said.

  "Then we will take the matter a little farther. A day or two ago you werein dire need of something like L1,000. Temporarily, at any rate, you werepractically at the end of your resources. If this money were notforthcoming in a few hours you were a ruined man. In vulgar parlance, youwould have been sold up. Mossa and Mack had you in their grip, and theywere determined to make all they could out of you. The morning followingthe outrage at your house you call upon Mr. Mossa and produce thecigar-case lying on the table before you. From that case you producenotes sufficient to discharge your debt--Bank of England notes, thenumbers of which, I need hardly say, are in my possession. The money isproduced from the case yonder, which case we _know_ was sold to theinjured man by Mr. Walen."

  Marley made a long and significant pause. Steel nodded.

  "There seems to be no way out of it," he said.

  "I can see one," Marley suggested. "Of course, it would simplify mattersenormously if you merely told me in confidence whence came those notes.You see, as I have the numbers, I could verify your statement beyondquestion, and--"

  Marley paused again and shrugged his shoulders. Despite his cold,official manner, he was obviously prompted by a desire to serve hiscompanion. And yet, simple as the suggestion seemed, it was the very lastthing with which Steel could comply.

  The novelist turned the matter over rapidly in his mind. His quickperceptions flashed along the whole logical line instantaneously. He waslike a man who suddenly sees a midnight landscape by the glare of adazzling flash of lightning.

  "I am sorry," he said, slowly, "very sorry, to disappoint you. Were oursituations reversed, I should take up your position exactly. But it sohappens that I cannot, dare not, tell you where I got those notes from.So far as I am concerned they came honestly into my hands in payment forspecial services rendered. It was part of my contract that I shouldreveal the secret to nobody. If I told you the story you would decline tobelieve it; you would say that it was a brilliant effort of a novelist'simagination to get out of a dangerous position."

  "I don't know that I should," Marley replied. "I have long since ceasedto wonder at anything that happens in or connected with Brighton."

  "All the same I can't tell you, Marley," Steel said, as he rose. "My lipsare absolutely sealed. The point is: what are you going to do?"

  "For the present, nothing," Marley replied. "So long as the man in thehospital remains unconscious I can do no more than pursue whatBeaconsfield called 'a policy of masterly inactivity.' I have told you agood deal more than I had any right to do, but I did so in the hope thatyou could assist me. Perhaps in a day or two you will think better of it.Meanwhile--"

  "Meanwhile I am in a tight place. Yes, I see that perfectly well. It isjust possible that I may scheme some way out of the difficulty, and if soI shall be only too pleased to let you know. Good-night, Marley, and manythanks to you."

  But with all his ingenuity and fertility of imagination David could seeno way out of the trouble. He sat up far into the night scheming; therewas no flavour in his tobacco; his pictures and flowers, his silver andchina, jarred upon him. He wished with all his heart now that he had leteverything go. It need only have been a temporary matter, and there wereother Cellini tankards, and intaglios, and line engravings in the worldfor the man with money in his purse.

  He could see no way out of it at all. Was it not possible that the wholething had been deliberately planned so as to land him and his brains intothe hands of some clever gang of swindlers? Had he been tricked andfooled so that he might become the tool of others? It seemed hard tothink so when he recalled the sweet voice in the darkness and itspassionate plea for help. And yet the very cigar-case that he had beentold was the one he admired at Lockhart's had proved beyond question tobe one purchased from Walen's!

  If he decided to violate his promise and tell the whole story nobodywould believe him. The thing was altogether too wild and improbable forthat. And yet, he reflected, things almost as impossible happen inBrighton every day. And what proof had he to offer?

  Well, there was one thing certain.
At least three-quarters of thosebank-notes--the portion he had collected at the house with the crimsonblind--could not possibly be traced to the injured man. And, again, itwas no fault of Steel's that Marley had obtained possession of thenumbers of the notes. If the detective chose to ferret out facts forhimself no blame could attach to Steel. If those people had only chosento leave out of the question that confounded cigar-case!

  David's train of thought was broken as an idea came to him. It was not solong since he had a facsimile cigar-case in his hand at Lockhart's, inNorth Street. Somebody connected with the mystery must have seen himadmiring it and reluctantly declining the purchase, because the voicefrom the telephone told him that the case was a present and that it hadcome from the famous North Street establishment.

  "By Jove!" David cried. "I'll go to Lockhart's tomorrow and see if thecase is still there. If so, I may be able to trace it."

  Fairly early the next morning David was in North Street. For the timebeing he had put his work aside altogether. He could not have written adozen consecutive lines to save the situation. The mere effort topreserve a cheerful face before his mother was a torture. And at any timehe might find himself forced to meet a criminal charge.

  The gentlemanly assistant at Lockhart's remembered Steel and thecigar-case perfectly well, but he was afraid that the article had beensold. No doubt it would be possible to obtain a facsimile in the courseof a few days.

  "Only I required that particular one," Steel said. "Can you tell me whenit was sold and who purchased it?"

  A junior partner did, and could give some kind of information. Severalpeople had admired the case, and it had been on the point of sale severaltimes. Finally, it had passed into the hands of an American gentlemanstaying at the Metropole.

  "Can you tell me his name?" David asked, "or describe him?"

  "Well, I can't, sir," the junior partner said, frankly. "I haven't theslightest recollection of the gentleman. He wrote from the Metropole onthe hotel paper describing the case and its price and inclosed the fullamount in ten-dollar notes and asked to have the case sent by post to thehotel. When we ascertained that the notes were all right, we naturallyposted the case as desired, and there, so far as we are concerned, was anend of the matter."

  "You don't recollect his name?"

  "Oh, yes. The name was John Smith. If there is anything wrong---"

  David hastily gave the desired assurance. He wanted to arouse nosuspicion. All the same, he left Lockhart's with a plethora of suspicionsof his own. Doubtless the jewellers would be well and fairly satisfied solong as the case had been paid for, but from the standpoint of David'ssuperior knowledge the whole transaction fairly bristled with suspicion.

  Not for one moment did Steel believe in the American at the Metropole.Somebody stayed there doubtless under the name of John Smith, and thatsaid somebody had paid for the cigar-case in dollar notes the tracing ofwhich might prove a task of years. Nor was it the slightest use toinquire at the Metropole, where practically everybody is identified by anumber, and where scores come and go every day. John Smith would onlyhave to ask for his letters and then drop quietly into a sea of oblivion.

  Well, David had got his information, and a lot of use it was likely toprove to him. As he walked thoughtfully homewards he was debating in hismind whether or not he might venture to call at or write to 219,Brunswick Square, and lay his difficulties before the people there. Atany rate, he reflected, with grim bitterness, they would know that he wasnot romancing. If nothing turned up in the meantime he would certainlyvisit Brunswick Square.

  He sat in his own room puzzling the matter out till his head ached andthe flowers before him reeled in a dazzling whirl of colour. He lookedround for inspiration, now desperately, as he frequently did when thewarp of his delicate fancy tangled. The smallest thing sometimes fed themachine again--a patch of sunshine, the chip on a plate, the damaged edgeof a frame. Then his eye fell on the telephone and he jumped to his feet.

  "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed. "If I had been plotting this businessout as a story. I should have thought of that long ago.... No, I don'twant any number, at least, not in that way. Two nights ago I was calledup by somebody from London who held the line for fully half an hour orso. I've--I've forgotten the address of my correspondent, but if you canascertain the number ... yes, I shall be here if you will ring me up whenyou have got it.... Thanks."

  Half an hour passed before the bell trilled again. David listenedeagerly. At any rate, now he was going to know the number whence themysterious message came--0017, Kensington, was the number. David mutteredhis thanks and flew to his big telephone directory. Yes, there itwas--"0017, 446, Prince's Gate, Gilead Gates."

  The big volume dropped with a crash on the floor. David looked down atthe crumpled volume with dim, misty amazement.

  "Gilead Gates," he murmured. "Quaker, millionaire, and philanthropist.One of the most highly-esteemed and popular men in England. And from hishouse came the message which has been the source of all the mischief. Andyet there are critics who say the plots of my novels are too fantastic!"