The Crimson Blind | Page 3

voice.
He saw the quick pulsation of the striker and he came back to earth
again.
Jefferies of the Weekly Messenger, of course. Jefferies was fond of a
late chat on the telephone. Steel wondered grimly, if Jefferies would
lend him £1,000. He flung himself down in a deep lounge-chair and
placed the receiver to his ear. By the deep, hoarse clang of the wires, a
long-distance message, assuredly.
"From London, evidently. Halloa, London! Are you there?"
London responded that it was. A clear, soft voice spoke at length.
"Is that you, Mr. Steel? Are you quite alone? Under the circumstances
you are not busy to-night?"
Steel started. He had never heard the voice before. It was clear and soft

and commanding, and yet there was just a suspicion of mocking irony
in it.
"I'm not very busy to-night," Steel replied. "Who is speaking to me?"
"That for the present we need not go into," said the mocking voice. "As
certain old-fashioned contemporaries of yours would say, 'We meet as
strangers!' Stranger yet, you are quite alone!"
"I am quite alone. Indeed, I am the only one up in the house."
"Good. I have told the exchange people not to ring off till I have
finished with you. One advantage of telephoning at this hour is that one
is tolerably free from interruption. So your mother is asleep? Have you
told her what is likely to happen to you before many hours have
elapsed?"
Steel made no reply for a moment. He was restless and ill at ease
to-night, and it seemed just possible that his imagination was playing
him strange tricks. But, no. The Moorish clock in its frame of
celebrities droned the quarter after twelve; the scent of the Dijon roses
floated in from the conservatory.
"I have told nobody as yet," Steel said, hoarsely. "Who in the name of
Heaven are you?"
"That in good time. But I did not think you were a coward."
"No man has ever told me so--face to face."
"Good again. I recognise the fighting ring in your voice. If you lack
certain phases of moral courage, you are a man of pluck and resource.
Now, somebody who is very dear to me is at present in Brighton, not
very far from your own house. She is in dire need of assistance. You
also are in dire need of assistance. We can be of mutual advantage to
one another."
"What do you mean by that?" Steel whispered.

"Let me put the matter on a business footing. I want you to help my
friend, and in return I will help you. Bear in mind that I am asking you
to do nothing wrong. If you will promise me to go to a certain address
in Brighton to night and see my friend, I promise that before you sleep
the sum of £1,000 in Bank of England notes shall be in your
possession."
No reply came from Steel. He could not have spoken at that moment
for the fee-simple of Golconda. He could only hang gasping to the
telephone. Many a strange and weird plot came and went in that
versatile brain, but never one more wild than this. Apparently no reply
was expected, for the speaker resumed:--
"I am asking you to do no wrong. You may naturally desire to know
why my friend does not come to you. That must remain my secret, our
secret. We are trusting you because we know you to be a gentleman,
but we have enemies who are ever on the watch. All you have to do is
to go to a certain place and give a certain woman information. You are
thinking that this is a strange mystery. Never was anything stranger
dreamt of in your philosophy. Are you agreeable?"
The mocking tone died out of the small, clear voice until it was almost
pleading.
"You have taken me at a disadvantage," Steel said. "And you know--"
"Everything. I am trying to save you from ruin. Fortune has played you
into my hands. I am perfectly aware that if you were not on the verge of
social extinction you would refuse my request. It is in your hands to
decide. You know that Beckstein, your creditor, is absolutely merciless.
He will get his money back and more besides. This is his idea of
business. To-morrow you will be an outcast--for the time, at any rate.
Your local creditors will be insolent to you; people will pity you or
blame you, as their disposition lies. On the other hand, you have but to
say the word and you are saved. You can go and see the Brighton
representatives of Beckstein's lawyers, and pay them in paper of the
Bank of England."

"If I was assured of your bona-fides," Steel murmured.