But this desire was heartily approved by both Miss Gwynne and Mr. Montelet, and the little party speedily were on their way along corridors and up stairs, until at last they reached the fatal room.
"As you see, the door itself is of steel," whispered young Montelet as he fitted the key into the lock and let it swing inward. "My dear father chose this room on purpose, and had every inch covered with steel plates. These in their turn have been covered with tapestries and objects of art, as you see."
Cleek did see, for his eyes were comprehensively taking in the strange scene before him. The room was practically a replica of an Assyrian temple, supported at one end by two fluted columns between which could be seen the figures of the Assyrian bull gods, dedicated to Assur-bani-pal and Ishtar, or Ashtaroth. Sombre and inscrutable, they seemed to gaze down in contempt on the little group huddled before the stone steps which led up to an altar on the top of which twinkled a little flame. Just below it stood a marble pedestal, with a shining engraved steel case on the top, and from the glass panel surmounting it Cleek guessed that this had been the home of the vanished Fire Opal.
He gazed from this pedestal round the walls, hung with priceless tapestries, then to the floor carpeted by Oriental rugs that seemed to reproach them for their profane footsteps.
"Very pretty idea," said he, finally, scratching his head and letting his mouth gape open stupidly. "Sort of reminds me of Earl's Court, don't yer know. Pretty little light that, but not much good to see by, eh?"
"No one ever had need to come in at night, Mr. Headland," said young Montelet, with quiet dignity. "I have never seen it at night, though neither have I ever seen that little lamp out. As a matter of fact, I don't suppose I have entered the place half a dozen times since it was constructed."
"Nor I," put in Miss Gwynne. "I hate it. The very atmosphere reeks of death and crime." She gave a quick, apprehensive glance about her, and shivered against Mr. Montelet's shoulder.
Cleek crossed to where a couch, at the end of the room, bore the shrouded body of Lady Montelet, and drew back the covering with gentle fingers.
It was evident at a glance that at whatever hour of the night or morning death had come to her, she had made no preparation for going to sleep; for though her body was arrayed in a warm dressing-gown, her hair was elaborately waved and coiffed as it had been during the day.