Then came a picture gallery, but this was on a second storey and lighted from the roof. Treasures of art ancient and modern glowed here under the radiance of the light, which illuminated every room. A smoking-room fashioned like a ship's cabin: a Japanese apartment, crammed with the lacquer work, and stiff embroideries of Yeddo and Yokahama; a shooting gallery; a bowling alley; a music room, containing a magnificent Erard. Finally a dozen bedrooms furnished with taste and luxury. To crown all they discovered a gymnasium fitted up completely even to foils and boxing gloves: and a huge bathroom. This last was throughout of white marble, with a square pool of water in the centre. "What a pond to bathe in!" cried Jim enviously, for he was hot and dusty. "Our hermit is an ancient Roman; he understands how to enjoy life. Come along Robin!"
But by this time they had explored almost the whole of the wonderful house. There remained the back premises, but on entering, they found nothing but darkness and dirt, squalor and coldness. The hermit's attention to his mansion stopped short at the servant's door. "And I don't believe he has any servants," declared Joyce. "How the deuce does he keep all this clean?"
The doctor shook his head. He hardly knew what to say. The situation was beyond him. A palace in the wilderness, with an open door inviting thieves! Crammed with treasures, brilliant with light, uninhabited, deserted. Was there ever anything so wonderful? He had to pinch himself to make sure that he was awake. "We have got into the world of the fourth dimension: the fairy-land of the Arabian Nights. What do you think Joyce?"
"I think we had better climb up to the tower," said Robin with unusual common sense, "It is the only place we have left unexplored. There is a light there too; Aladdin may be aloft."
Herrick shook his head. "He would have heard the bell. However come along. We must find someone."
With some difficulty they discovered the staircase leading to the tower. It was narrow but straight, and not so steep as might have been expected. At the top Herrick--leading as usual--was confronted by a closed door of plain deal. It was not locked however, and having knocked without receiving a reply he opened it. Joyce at his heels peeped over his shoulder and beheld a small square room with windows on all four sides, and a large central globe burning in the ceiling. In contrast to the rest of the house, this room was absolutely bare. Blank walls, Chinese matting on the floor, a camp bedstead in one corner, a deal table without a covering in another, and two cane chairs. No anchorite could have had a more ascetic cell.
Herrick took in the scene at a glance, took in also, its--to him--central feature, the body of a man lying face downwards, near the bed. Joyce saw the corpse also, and remained at the door, shaking and white.
"Murder or suicide?" Jim asked himself as he turned over the dead.
That, which had once been a man, was in evening dress. In the finest of linen and jewellery, the most immaculate of clothes, it lay under the scrutinising eye of Dr. Herrick. A lean evil face, with a hook nose, scanty grey hair cut short and a long moustache carefully trimmed. The left hand gripped a revolver; the shirt front over the heart was covered with blood, and a stream, coagulated and black, streaked the matting.
"In God's name?" cried Joyce not daring to enter, "what is it?"