“Some more port? No. Well—would you care to come and see the actual room itself? And I particularly want you, my dear, to see it by artificial light.” He turned to his wife. “I think you’ll agree that it’s an immense improvement. In fact, I’m seriously thinking of using it in future as my study. It’s small, of course—in fact, tiny. But it’s so far removed from any noise or disturbance. And I find, Denver, that I can concentrate better in a confined space.”
He was leading the way along an upstair corridor as he talked.
“I am a bit of a recluse, and I write a little. Dull, scientific stuff. And I really believe that in this room I have got my ideal working room.”
He had reached the top of the stairs in the tower and opened the door.
“Quaint, isn’t it? Those Chinese hangings round the walls give it a cosy effect. And then this door—sound-proof. I cannot hear any noise when I’m at work.”
They were standing in the centre of the room, and Jack Denver looked round with frank curiosity. It certainly was quaint. Above their heads, through the glass dome, he could see the sky glittering with stars—a magnificent view, as his host had said. A thick pile carpet covered the floor, and the only pieces of furniture were a heavy desk that filled half the room and a big chair. The electric light was concealed just where the dome commenced, and threw its direct rays upwards, giving a pleasant diffused light all over the room. And the walls—hexagonal in shape—were completely covered with rich yellow Oriental silk panels. A bizarre room—almost an uncanny room; yet with a strange element of fascination about it.
“There was one thing I omitted to mention at dinner in my little story,” said Hubert Garling. “From what small study I have made of the matter, there can be no doubt that Mrs. Shaw and Lord Greyton died of suffocation. In fact, I once made a calculation that the supply of air would have lasted them about twelve hours. This room is half the original size.”
“Poor brutes!” remarked Denver.
“Moreover,” continued his host, “the fact that Mr. Shaw was unable to watch their death struggle must have robbed his revenge of much of its charm.”
For a moment they saw his face—distorted, fiendish; then the door shut, and they were alone. Half stupefied they stared at one another; the whole thing was so sudden, so utterly unexpected. And it was the girl who recovered herself first and spoke.