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White, Fred M. (Frederick Merrick), 1859-

"The Crimson Blind"

"
"I feel rather guilty letting you go alone," Bell said.
"Not a bit of it," said David, cheerfully. "Smoke your cigar, and if
you need any supper ring for it. You can safely leave matters in my
hands. Van Sneck shall stay here till he is fit, and then you shall
operate upon him. After that he ought to be as clay in the hands of the
potter. So long."
And David went off gaily enough. He kept to the cliffs for the first part
of the distance, and then struck off across the fields in the direction
of Longdean. The place was perfectly quiet, the village was all in
darkness as he approached the lodge-gates of the Grange. Beyond the drive
and between the thick, sad firs that shielded the house he could see the
crimson lights gleaming here and there. He could catch the rumble and
scratch in the bushes, and ever and again a dog whined. The big gate was
closed as David peeped in searching for his guide.
"Williams," he whispered; "Williams, where are you?"
But no reply came. The silence was full of strange, rushing noises, the
rush of blood in David's head. He called again and again, but no reply
came.


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