"Then in that case I propose to sit tight," David said, grimly. "I am bound to be prosecuted for robbery and attempted murder in due course. If my man dies I am in a tight place." "And if he recovers your antagonist may be in a tighter," Bell chuckled. "And if the man gets well and that brain injury proves permanent--I mean if the man is rendered imbecile--why, we are only at the very threshold of the mystery. It seems a callous thing to say, but this is the prettiest problem I have had under my hands." "Make the most of it," David said, sardonically. "I daresay I should see the matter in a more rational light if I were not so directly concerned. But, if we are going to make a search of the premises, the sooner we start the better." Upstairs there was nothing beyond certain lumber. There were dust and dirt everywhere, save in the hall and front dining-room, which, as Bell sapiently pointed out, had obviously been cleared to make ready for Steel's strange reception. Down in the housekeeper's room was a large collection of dusty furniture, and a number of pictures and engravings piled with their faces to the wall. Bell began idly to turn the latter over. "I am a maniac on the subject of old prints," he explained. "I never see a pile without a wild longing to examine them. And, by Jove, there are some good things here. Unless I am greatly mistaken--here, Steel, pull up 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 one equal to that."