“I see,” said the doctor, in a cheerful, conversational tone, “that you are all Freemasons here. It’s an interesting profession. Or should I call it a religion? I’m not one myself. I always heard it involved a man in a lot of subscriptions to charities.”
Mr. Red made no reply. He crossed the hall, flung open a door with a magnificent gesture, and motioned Dr. O’Grady to enter the dining-room. The doctor hesitated for a moment. He was not a nervous man, but he was startled by what he saw. The room was brightly lit with four large lamps. The walls were hung with crimson cloth on which were embroidered curious beasts, something like crocodiles, but with much longer legs than crocodiles have, and with forked tongues. They were all bright yellow, and stood out vividly from their crimson background.
“Enter,” said Mr. Red.
Dr. O’Grady faced the crocodiles. In the course of his medical experience he had often met men who had seen such beasts in unlikely places and been haunted by them unpleasantly; but his own conscience was clear. He was strictly temperate, and he knew that the pictures on the walls in front of him could not be a symptom of delirium. Mr. Red followed him into the room and shut the door. It was painted crimson on the inside, and a large yellow crocodile crawled across it.
“I suppose,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that you got leave from Lord Manton to paper and paint the house. I dare say this sort of thing”—he waved his hand towards the crocodile on the door, which was surrounded with a litter of repulsive young ones—“is the latest thing in art; but you’ll excuse my saying that it’s not precisely comfortable or soothing. I hope you don’t intend to include one of those beasts in your new statue.”
Mr. Red made no reply. He crossed the room, opened a cupboard, and took out of it a bottle and some glasses. He set them on the table and poured out some wine. Dr. O’Grady, watching his movements, was inclined to revise the opinion that he had formed during the drive. Mr. Red was not merely pompous. He was majestic.
“Drink,” said Mr. Red.
Dr. O’Grady looked at the wine dubiously. It was bright green. He was accustomed to purple, yellow, and even white beverages. He did not like the look of the stuff in the glass in front of him.
“If,” he said, “that is the liqueur which the French drink, absinthe, or whatever they call it, I think I won’t venture on a whole claret glass of it. I’m a temperate man, and I must keep my hand steady if I’m to spend the rest of the night picking grains of shot out of your friend.”