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The Crimson Blind   By: (1859-)

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First Page:

THE CRIMSON BLIND

By FRED. M. WHITE

1905

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. "WHO SPEAKS?" II. THE CRIMSON BLIND III. THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS IV. IN EXTREMIS V. "RECEIVED WITH THANKS" VI. A POLICY OF SILENCE VII. No. 218, BRUNSWICK SQUARE VIII. HATHERLY BELL IX. THE BROKEN FIGURE X. THE HOUSE OF THE SILENT SORROW XI. AFTER REMBRANDT XII. "THE CRIMSON BLIND" XIII. "GOOD DOG!" XIV. BEHIND THE BLIND XV. A MEDICAL OPINION XVI. MARGARET SEES A GHOST XVII. THE PACE SLACKENS XVIII. A COMMON ENEMY XIX. ROLLO SHOWS HIS TEETH XX. FRANK LITTIMER XXI. A FIND XXII. "THE LIGHT THAT FAILED" XXIII. INDISCRETION XXIV. ENID LEARNS SOMETHING XXV. LITTIMER CASTLE XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST XXVII. SLIGHTLY FARCICAL XXVIII. A SQUIRE OF DAMES XXIX. THE MAN WITH THE THUMB AGAIN XXX. GONE! XXXI. BELL ARRIVES XXXII. HOW THE SCHEME WORKED OUT XXXIII. THE FRAME OF THE PICTURE XXXIV. THE PUZZLING OF HENSON XXXV. CHRIS HAS AN IDEA XXXVL. A BRILLIANT IDEA XXXVII. ANOTHER TELEPHONIC MESSAGE XXXVIII. A LITTLE FICTION XXXIX. THE FASCINATION OF JAMES MERRITT XL. A USEFUL DISCOVERY XLI. A DELICATE ERRAND XLII. PRINCE RUPERT'S RING XLIII. NEARING THE TRUTH XLIV. ENID SPEAKS XLV. ON THE TRAIL XLVI. LITTIMER'S EYES ARE OPENED XLVII. THE TRACK BROADENS XLVIII. WHERE IS RAWLINS? XLIX. A CHEVALIER OF FORTUNE L. RAWLINS IS CANDID LI. HERITAGE IS WILLING LII. PUTTING THE LIGHT OUT LIII. UNSEALED LIPS LIV. WHERE IS THE RING? LV. KICKED OUT LVI. WHITE FANGS LVII. HIDE AND SEEK

THE CRIMSON BLIND.

CHAPTER I

"WHO SPEAKS?"

David Steel dropped his eyes from the mirror and shuddered as a man who sees his own soul bared for the first time. And yet the mirror was in itself a thing of artistic beauty engraved Florentine glass in a frame of deep old Flemish oak. The novelist had purchased it in Bruges, and now it stood as a joy and a thing of beauty against the full red wall over the fireplace. And Steel had glanced at himself therein and seen murder in his eyes.

He dropped into a chair with a groan for his own helplessness. Men have done that kind of thing before when the cartridges are all gone and the bayonets are twisted and broken and the brown waves of the foe come snarling over the breastworks. And then they die doggedly with the stones in their hands, and cursing the tardy supports that brought this black shame upon them.

But Steel's was ruin of another kind. The man was a fighter to his finger tips. He had dogged determination and splendid physical courage; he had gradually thrust his way into the front rank of living novelists, though the taste of poverty was still bitter in his mouth. And how good success was now that it had come!

People envied him. Well, that was all in the sweets of the victory. They praised his blue china, they lingered before his Oriental dishes and the choice pictures on the panelled walls. The whole thing was still a constant pleasure to Steel's artistic mind. The dark walls, the old oak and silver, the red shades, and the high artistic fittings soothed him and pleased him, and played upon his tender imagination. And behind there was a study, filled with books and engravings, and beyond that again a conservatory, filled with the choicest blossoms. Steel could work with the passion flowers above his head and the tender grace of the tropical ferns about him, and he could reach his left hand for his telephone and call Fleet Street to his ear.

It was all unique, delightful, the dream of an artistic soul realised. Three years before David Steel had worked in an attic at a bare deal table, and his mother had £3 per week to pay for everything... Continue reading book >>




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