CHAPTER XII

"THE CRIMSON BLIND"


Hatherly Bell turned up at Downend Terrace gay and debonair as if he had
not a single trouble in the world. His evening dress was of the smartest
and he had a rose in his buttonhole. From his cab he took a square brown
paper parcel, which he deposited in David's study with particular care.

He made no allusion whatever to the sterner business of the evening; he
was gay and light-hearted as a child, so that Mrs. Steel sat up quite an
hour later than her usual time, absolutely unconscious of the fact that
she had broken a rigid rule of ten years' standing.

"Now let us go into the study and smoke a cigar," David suggested.

Bell dragged a long deck-chair into the conservatory and lighted a Massa.
Steel's offer of whisky and soda was declined.

"An ideal place for a novelist who has a keen eye for the beautiful,"
he said. "There you have your books and pictures, your stained glass
and china, and when you turn your eyes this way they are gladdened by
green foliage and lovely flowers. It's hard to connect such a room with
a tragedy."

"And yet the tragedy was worked out close by where you are sitting. But