The Crimson Blind

by Fred M. White

It was much easier to ask the question than to answer it. But there were some facts sufficiently obvious to Chris. In the first place she knew that Reginald Henson was at the bottom of the whole thing; she knew that he had traded on the fact that she had taken a fancy to the terrace as an after-dinner lounge; indeed, she had told him so earlier in the day. He had traded on the knowledge that he could prove an alibi if any suspicions attached to him. The fact that he was in danger owing to a slip on the edge of the cliff was all nonsense. He had not been in any danger at all; he had seen Chris there, and he had made all that parade with an eye to the future. As a matter of course, he was down there settling matters with his accomplice of the maimed thumb, who had chosen the cliff way of getting into the castle as the swiftest and the surest from detection.

Yes, it was pretty obvious that the man with the thumb had stolen the print, and that by this time he was far away with his possession. While Chris was helping Henson the latter's accomplice had slipped into the castle and effected the burglary. Chris flicked out the light in the alcove as a servant came along. It was not policy for any of the domestics to be too wise. Chris forced a smile to her face as the maid came along.

"Allen," she asked, "are there many owls about here?"

"Never a one as I know, miss," the maid responded confidently. "I've been here for eleven years, and I never heard of such a thing. Clifford, the head keeper, couldn't sleep at nights if he thought as there was such a thing on the estate. Have you heard one, miss?"

"I was evidently mistaken," Chris said. "Of course you would know best."

So the cry of the owl had been a signal of success. Chris sat in the gloom there resolved to see the comedy played through. The events of the night were not over yet.

"I'd give something to know what has taken place in the dining-room,"
Chris murmured.

She was going to know before long. The lights were being extinguished all over the house. Henson came up to bed heavily, as one who is utterly worn out. At the same time he looked perfectly satisfied with himself. He might have been a vigilant officer who had settled all his plans and was going to seek a well-earned rest before the enemy came on to his destruction. In sooth Henson was utterly worn out. He had taxed his strength to the uttermost, but he was free to rest now.

Meanwhile, the conference in the dining-room proceeded. Lord Littimer had received his guest with frigid politeness, to which Bell had responded with an equally cold courtesy. Littimer laid his cigar aside and looked Bell steadily in the face.

"I have granted your request against my better judgment," he said. "I am not sanguine that the least possible good can come of it. But I have quite grown out of all my illusions; I have seen the impossible proved too often. Will you take anything?"