the blinds! Good heavens, is it possible?"

"Found a Sistine Madonna or a stray Angelo?" David asked. "Or a ghost?
What _is_ the matter? Is it another phase of the mystery?"

"The Rembrandt," Bell gasped. "Look at it, man!"

Steel bent eagerly over the engraving. An old print, an old piece of
china, an antique jewel, always exercised a charm over the novelist. He
had an unerring eye for that kind of thing.

"Exquisite," he cried. "A Rembrandt, of course, but I don't recollect
the picture."

"The picture was destroyed by accident after Rembrandt had engraved it
with his own hand," Bell proceeded to explain. He was quite coherent now,
but he breathed fast and loud, "I shall proceed to give you the history
of the picture presently, and more especially a history of the
engraving."

"Has it any particular name?" David asked.

"Yes, we found that out. It was called 'The Crimson Blind!'"

"No getting away from the crimson blind," David murmured. "Still, I can
quite imagine that to have been the name of the picture. That shutter
or blind might have had a setting sun behind it, which would account
for the tender warmth of the kitchen foreground and the deep gloom
where the lovers are seated. By Jove, Bell, it is a magnificent piece
of work. I've a special fancy for Rembrandt engravings, but I never saw