CHAPTER XXVIII
A SQUIRE OF DAMES
A little later, and Christabel sat before her looking-glass with herlovely hair about her shoulders. The glasses were gone and hermagnificent eyes gleamed and sparkled.
"Good night's work," she said to her smiling reflection. "Now the dangeris passed and now that I am away from that dreadful house I feel adifferent being. Strange what a difference a few hours has made! And Ihardly need my disguise--even at this moment I believe that Enid wouldnot recognise me. She will be pleased to know that her telegram came inso usefully. Well, here I am, and I don't fancy that anybody willrecognise Christabel Lee and Chris Henson for one and the same person."
She sat there brushing her hair and letting her thoughts drift along idlyover the events of the evening. Reginald Henson would have felt less easyin his mind had he known what these thoughts were. Up to now that oilyscoundrel hugged himself with the delusion that nobody besides FrankLittimer and himself knew that the second copy of "The Crimson Blind" hadpassed into Bell's possession.
But Chris was quite aware of the fact. And Chris _as_ Chris was supposedby Henson to be dead and buried, and was, therefore, in a position toplay her cards as she pleased. Up to now it seemed to her that she hadplayed them very well indeed. A cipher telegram from Longdean had warnedher that Henson was coming there, had given her more than a passing hintwhat Henson required, and her native wit had told her why Henson wasafter the Rembrandt.
Precisely why he wanted the picture she had not discovered yet. But sheknew that she would before long. And she knew also that Henson would tryand obtain the print without making his presence at Littimer Castleobvious. He was bringing Frank Littimer with him, and was therefore goingto use the younger man in some cunning way.
That Henson would try and get into the castle surreptitiously Chris hadfelt from the first. Once he did so the rest would be easy, as he knewexactly where to lay his hand on the picture. Therefore he could have nobetter time than the dead of night. If his presence were betrayed hecould turn the matter aside as a joke and trust to his native wit lateron. If he had obtained the picture by stealth he would have discreetlydisappeared, covering his tracks as he retreated.
Still, it had all fallen out very fortunately. Henson had been made tolook ridiculous; he had been forced to admit that he was giving Littimera lesson over the Rembrandt, and though the thing appeared innocentenough on the surface, Chris was sanguine that later on she could bringthis up in evidence against him.
"So far so good," she told herself. "Watch, watch, watch, and act whenthe time comes. But it was hard to meet Frank to-night and be able to saynothing. And how abjectly miserable he looked! Well, let us hope that thegood time is coming."
Chris was up betimes in the morning and out on the terrace. She felt nofurther uneasiness on the score of the disguise now. Henson was certainto be inquisitive, it was part of his nature, but he was not going tolearn anything. Chris smiled as she saw Henson lumbering towards her. Heseemed all the better for his night's rest.
"The rose blooms early here," he said, gallantly. "Let me expressthe hope that you have quite forgiven me for the fright I gave youlast night."
"I guess I don't recollect the fright," Chris drawled. "And if there wasany fright I calculate it was on the other side. And how are you thismorning? You look as if you had been in the wars. Got some trouble withyour throat, or what?"
"A slight operation," Henson said, airily. "I have been speaking toomuch in public lately and a little something had to be removed. I ammuch better."
The ready lie tripped off his tongue. Chris smiled slightly.
"Do you know, you remind me very much of somebody," he went on. "And yetI don't know why, because you are quite different. Lord Littimer tells meyou are an American."
"The Stars and Stripes," Chris laughed. "I guess our nation is the firston earth. Now, if you happen to know anything about Boston--"
"I never was in Boston in my life," Henson replied, hastily. The nameseemed to render him uneasy. "Have you been in England very long?"
Chris replied that she was enjoying England for the first time. But shewas not there to answer questions, her _role_ was to ask them. But shewas dealing with a past-master in the art of gleaning information, andHenson was getting on her nerves. She gave a little cry of pleasure as amagnificent specimen of a bloodhound came trotting down the terrace andpaused in friendly fashion before her.
"What a lovely dog," she exclaimed. "Do you like dogs, Mr. Henson?"
She looked up beamingly into his face as she spoke; she saw the heavyfeatures darken and the eyes grow small with anger.
"I loathe them, and they loathe me," Henson growled. "Look at him!"
He pointed to the dog, who showed his teeth with an angry growl. And yetthe great sleek head lay against the girl's knee in perfect confidence.Henson looked on uneasily and backed a little way. The dog marked hisevery movement.
"See how the brute shows his teeth at me," he said.
"Please send him away, Miss Lee. I am certain he is getting ready fora spring."
Henson's face was white and hot and wet, his lips trembled. He washorribly afraid. Chris patted the silky head and dismissed the dogwith a curt command. He went off instantly with a wistful, backwardlook in his eye.
"We are going to be great friends, that doggie and I," Chris said, gaily."And I don't like you any the better, Mr. Henson, because you don't likedogs and they don't like you. Dogs are far better judges of characterthan you imagine. Dr. Bell says--"
"What Dr. Bell?" Henson demanded, swiftly.
Chris had paused just in time: perhaps her successful disguise had madeher a trifle reckless.
"Dr. Hatherly Bell," she said. "He used to be a famous man before he fellinto disgrace over something or another. I heard him lecture on theanimal instinct in Boston once, and he said--but as you don't care fordogs it doesn't matter what he said."
"Do you happen to know anything about him?" Henson asked.
"Very little. I never met him, if that is what you mean. But I heard thathe had done something particularly disgraceful. Why do you ask?"
"Nothing more than a mere coincidence," Henson replied. "It is just alittle strange that you should mention his name here, especially afterwhat had happened last night. I suppose that, being an American, you fellin love with the Rembrandt. It was you who suggested securing it in itsplace, and then preventing my little jest from being successfully carriedout. Of course you have heard that the print was stolen once?"
"The knowledge is as general as the spiriting away of theGainsborough Duchess."
"Quite so. Well, the man who stole the Rembrandt was Dr. Hatherly Bell.He stole it that he might pay a gambling debt, and it was subsequentlyfound in his luggage before he could pass it on to the purchaser. I amglad you mentioned it, because the name of Bell is not exactly afavourite at the castle."
"I am much obliged to you," said Chris, gravely. "Was Dr. Bell afavourite once?"
"Oh, immense. He had great influence over Lord Littimer. He--but herecomes Littimer in one of his moods. He appears to be angry aboutsomething."
Littimer strode up, with a frown on his face and a telegram in his hand.Henson assumed to be mildly sympathetic.
"I hope it is nothing serious?" he murmured.
"Serious," Littimer cried. "The acme of audacity--yes. The telegram hasjust come. 'Must see you tonight on important business affecting thepast. Shall hope to be with you some time after dinner!'"
"And who is the audacious aspirant to an interview?" Chris asked,demurely.
"A man I expect you never heard of," said Littimer, "but who is quitefamiliar to Henson here. I am alluding to that scoundrel Hatherly Bell."
"Good heavens!" Henson burst out. "I--I mean, what colossal impudence!"
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