The Crimson Blind

by Fred M. White

  CHAPTER XXVII

  SLIGHTLY FARCICAL

  Something bulky was struggling to get through the window. Half hidden inthe shadow, Christabel watched with the deepest interest. If she had beenafraid at first that sensation had entirely departed by this time. Fromthe expression of her face she might have been enjoying the novelsituation. It was certainly not without a suggestion of the farcical.

  The burly figure contrived to squeeze through the narrow casement atlength and stood breathing loudly in the corridor. It was not a pleasantsight that met Christabel's gaze--a big man with a white, set face androlling eyes and a stiff bandage about his throat. Evidently the intruderwas utterly exhausted, for he dropped into a chair and nursed his headbetween his hands.

  "Now what has become of that fool?" he muttered. "Ah!"

  He looked round him uneasily, but his expression changed as his eyes fellon the Rembrandt. He had the furtive look of a starving man who picks upa purse whilst the owner is still in sight. He staggered towards thepicture and endeavoured to take it gently from the support. He triedagain and again, and then in a paroxysm of rage he tore at theframe-work.

  "I guess that it can't be done," Christabel said, drawlingly. "See,stranger?"

  Reginald Henson fairly gasped. As he turned round the ludicrous mixtureof cunning and confusion, anger and vexatious alarm on his face causedthe girl to smile.

  "I--I beg your pardon," he stammered.

  "I said it can't be done," the girl drawled, coolly. "Sandow couldn't doit. The frame is made of iron and it is fixed to the wall by four longstays. It's a neat job, though I say it myself; I persuaded Lord Littimerto have it done. And when I heard you two prowling about down there I wasglad. I've got the other one safe."

  "Oh, you've got the other one safe?" Henson said, blankly.

  He would have liked to have burst out into a torrent of passion, only herecognised his position. The thing was shamefully funny. It was anythingbut nice for a man of his distinguished position to be detected in an actsuspiciously like vulgar burglary. Still, there must be some plausibleway out of the difficulty if he could only think of it. Only this girlwith the quaint, pretty face and spectacles did not look in the leastlike a fool. He would have to try what blandishments would do.

  "Are you aware who I am?" he asked, blandly.

  "What does it matter? I've got the other one, and no doubt he will beidentified by the police. If he doesn't say too much he may get off witha light sentence. It is quite easy to see that you are the greaterscoundrel of the two."

  "My dear young lady, do you actually take me for a burglar?"

  There was a note of deep pain in Henson's voice. He had dropped into achair again, with a feeling of utter weakness upon him. The girl'sresolute mien and the familiar way in which she handled her revolverfilled him with the deepest apprehension.

  "I am a very old friend and relative of Lord Littimer's," he said.

  "Oh, indeed. And is the other man a relative of Lord Littimer's also?"

  "Oh, why, confound it, yes. The other man, as you call him, is LordLittimer's only son."

  Christabel glanced at Henson, not without admiration.

  "Well, you are certainly a cool hand," she said. "You are two cleverthieves who have come here for the express purpose of robbing LordLittimer of one of his art treasures. I happen to catch one, and heimmediately becomes the son of the owner of the place. I am so fortunateas to bag the other bird, and he resolves himself into a relative of myhost's. And you really expect me to believe a Hans Andersen fairy storylike that!"

  "I admit that appearances are against me," Henson said, humbly. "But I amspeaking the truth."

  "Oh, indeed. Then why didn't you come in through the front door? Theviolent exercise you were taking just now must be dangerous to a man ofyour build!"

  "I am afraid I shall have to make a clean breast of it," Henson said,with what he fondly imagined to be an engaging smile. "You may, perhaps,be aware that yonder Rembrandt has a history. It was stolen from itspresent owner once, and I have always said that it will be stolen again.Many a time have I urged Lord Littimer to make it secure."

  "How grateful you should be to me for having done so!"

  "Ah, you are cynical still, which is a bad thing for one so youngand--er--charming. I came down here to see my very noble relative, andhis son accompanied me. I came to try and make peace between father andson. But that is a family matter which, forgive me, I cannot discuss witha stranger. Our train was late, or we should have been here long ago. Onreaching the castle it struck me as a good idea to give Lord Littimer alesson as to his carelessness. My idea was to climb through the window,abstract the Rembrandt, and slip quietly into my usual bedroom here. Thenin the morning, after the picture has been missed, I was going to tellthe whole story. That is why Mr. Littimer entered this way and why Ifollowed when I found that he had failed to return. It was a foolishthing to do, and the _denouement_ has been most humiliating. I assure youthat is all."

  "Not quite," Christabel drawled. "There is something else."

  "And what may that be, my dear young lady?"

  "To tell your story to Lord Littimer before you sleep. That kind ofromance may do for Great Britain, but it wouldn't make good familyreading in the States."

  "But, my dear young lady, I beg of you, implore you--"

  "Come off the grass! I'm to let you go quietly to bed and retire myself,so that when morning arrives you will be missing together with as muchplunder as you can carry away. No, sir."

  Henson advanced angrily. His prudence had gone for the time. As he camedown upon Christabel she raised her revolver and fired two shots in quicksuccession over Henson's shoulder. The noise went echoing andreverberating along the corridor like a crackling of thunder. A door cameopen with a click, then a voice demanded to know what was wrong.

  "Now I guess the fat is in the fire," Christabel said.

  Henson dropped into a chair and groaned. Lord Littimer, elegantly attiredin a suit of silk pyjamas and carrying a revolver in his hand, camecoolly down the corridor. A curious servant or two would have followed,but he waved them back crisply.

  "Miss Lee," he said, with a faint, sarcastic emphasis, "and my dearfriend and relative, Reginald Henson--Reginald, the future owner ofLittimer Castle!"

  "So he told me, but I wouldn't believe him," said Christabel.

  "It is a cynical age," Littimer remarked. "Reginald, what doesthis mean?"

  Henson shook his head uneasily.

  "The young lady persisted in taking me for a burglar," he groaned.

  "And why not?" Christabel demanded. "I was just going to bed when I heardvoices in the forecourt below and footsteps creeping along. I came intothe corridor with my revolver. Presently one of the men climbed up theivy and got into the corridor. I covered him with my revolver and fairlydrove him into a bedroom and locked him in."

  "So you killed with both barrels?" Littimer cried, with infiniteenjoyment.

  "Then the other one came. He came to steal the Rembrandt."

  "Nothing of the kind," the wretched Henson cried. "I came to give you alesson, Lord Littimer. My idea was to get in through the window, stealthe Rembrandt, and, when you had missed it, confess the whole story. Mycharacter is safe."

  "Giddy," Littimer said, reproachfully. "You are so young, so boyish, sobuoyant, Reginald. What would your future constituents have said had theyseen you creeping up the ivy? They are a grave people who take themselvesseriously. Egad, this would be a lovely story for one of those pryingsociety papers. 'The Philanthropist and the Picture.' I've a good mind tosend it to the Press myself."

  Littimer sat down and laughed with pure enjoyment.

  "And where is the other partridge?" he asked, presently.

  Christabel seemed to hesitate for a moment, her sense of humour of thesituation had departed. Her hand shook as she turned the key in the door.

  "I am afraid you are going to have an unpleasant surprise," Henson said.

  Littimer glanced keenly at
the speaker. All the laughter died out ofhis eyes; his face grew set and stern as Frank Littimer emerged intothe light.

  "And what are you doing here?" he asked, hoarsely. "What do you expect togain by taking part in a fool's trick like this? Did I not tell you neverto show your face here again?"

  The young man said nothing. He stood there looking down, dogged, quiet,like one tongue-tied. Littimer thundered out his question again. Hecrossed over, laying his hands on his son's shoulders and shaking him asa terrier might shake a rat.

  "Did you come for anything?" he demanded. "Did you expect anymercy from--"

  Frank Littimer shook off his grasp gently. He looked up for thefirst time.

  "I expected nothing," he said. "I--I did not come of my own free will. Iam silent now for the sake of myself and others. But the time maycome--God knows it has been long delayed. For the present, I am bound inhonour to hold my tongue."

  He flashed one little glance at Henson, a long, angry glance. Littimerlooked from one to the other in hesitation for a moment. The hard linesbetween his brows softened.

  "Perhaps I am wrong," he muttered. "Perhaps there has been a mistakesomewhere. And if ever I find out I have--pshaw, I am talking like asentimental schoolgirl. Have I not had evidence strong as proof of HolyWrit that ... Get out of my sight, your presence angers me. Go, and neverlet me see you again. Reginald, you were a fool to bring that boy hereto-night. See him off the premises and fasten the door again."

  "Surely," Christabel interfered, "surely at this time of the night--"

  "You should be in bed," Littimer said, tartly. "My dear young lady, ifyou and I are to remain friends I must ask you to mind your own business.It is a dreadfully difficult thing for a woman to do, but you must try.You understand?"

  Christabel was evidently putting a strong constraint on her tongue, forshe merely bowed and said nothing. She had her own good reasons for thediplomacy of silence. Henson and Frank Littimer were disappearing in thedirection of the staircase.

  "I say nothing," Christabel said. "But at the same time I don't fancy Ishall care very much for your distinguished friend Reginald Henson."

  Littimer smiled. All his good humour seemed to have returned to him. Onlythe dark lines under his eyes were more accentuated.

  "A slimy, fawning hound," he whispered. "A mean fellow. And the best ofit is that he imagines that I hold the highest regard for him.Good-night."