The Crimson Blind

by Fred M. White

"Et apres he will stay here. He shall stay here, and you shall say that it is dangerous to remove him. Cross shall be told and Marley shall be told, and the public shall be discreetly kept in ignorance for the present. I'll go over there at once, as there is no time to be lost. Miss Henson suggests that I should come, and she tells me that Williams will wait at the lodge-gates for me. But you are going to stay here."

"Oh, indeed! And why am I going to stay here?"

"Because, my dear friend, I can easily manage the business single-handed, and because you must run no risk of meeting Henson yonder. You are not now supposed to know where the family are, nor are you supposed to take the faintest interest in them. Stay here and make yourself comfortable till I return…. Are you there? I will be at Longdean as soon as possible and bring Van Sneck here. No, I won't ring off; you had better do that. I shall be over in less than an hour."

David hung up the receiver and proceeded to don a short covert coat and a cap. In the breast-pocket of the coat he placed a revolver.

"Just as well to be on the safe side," he said. "Though I am not likely to be troubled with the man with the thumb again. Still, Henson may have other blackguards; he may even know where Van Sneck is at the present moment, for all I know to the contrary."

"I feel rather guilty letting you go alone," Bell said.

"Not a bit of it," said David, cheerfully. "Smoke your cigar, and if you need any supper ring for it. You can safely leave matters in my hands. Van Sneck shall stay here till he is fit, and then you shall operate upon him. After that he ought to be as clay in the hands of the potter. So long."

And David went off gaily enough. He kept to the cliffs for the first part of the distance, and then struck off across the fields in the direction of Longdean. The place was perfectly quiet, the village was all in darkness as he approached the lodge-gates of the Grange. Beyond the drive and between the thick, sad firs that shielded the house he could see the crimson lights gleaming here and there. He could catch the rumble and scratch in the bushes, and ever and again a dog whined. The big gate was closed as David peeped in searching for his guide.

"Williams," he whispered; "Williams, where are you?"

But no reply came. The silence was full of strange, rushing noises, the rush of blood in David's head. He called again and again, but no reply came. Then he heard the rush and fret of many feet, the cry of a pack of hounds, a melancholy cry, with a sombre joy in it. He saw a light gleaming fitfully in the belt of firs.