As I have said, the building was entirely windowless, ventilation being secured by forced draught from an engine-room in the basement. Consequently, artificial light was necessary at all times, and a very agreeable quality of it was furnished by electroliers concealed behind ground-glass slides in the walls and ceilings of the various apartments. The light thus obtained was diffused rather than direct, and, being colorless, it closely approximated natural conditions, the delusion being heightened by the construction of the wall panels so as to simulate windows. To add again to the effect, these lights had been gradually lowered as the day wore on. Now it must be almost dark in the outside world, and it was twilight in the common room of the Utinam Club; I could no longer distinguish between the motionless figures of the men around me and the shadows that enveloped them. Even the fire was dying out; in a few moments the darkness would become profound, and I felt my pulse slow down with the chill of the thought.
One single ember remained in the fireplace; I watched it gleaming like a great red eye in its bed of ashes, then it winked and went out, and at the same instant the last ray from the false windows disappeared. Strain my eyes as I would, the sensitive retina remained absolutely unaffected; the darkness had finally come, and from one to another of that desolate company ran a little, tremulous sigh, then the silence of complete negation.
From the apex of the domed ceiling a sudden and wonderful effulgence of rose-colored light streamed forth, flooding the great room with glorious color and life. Magical were its effects. Men straightened up in their chairs and looked about them, the flush of returning animation in their cheeks, and their eyes bright with questioning interest. A youngish chap leaned over and spoke earnestly to his neighbor, then some one laughed aloud. Instantly the flood-gates were opened; the air was vibrant with the hum of conversation, the ringing of call-bells, and the sputtering of fusees. A blue haze of cigarette-smoke formed itself above the heads of the assemblage; the Utinam Club had come to its own again.
The large folding-doors at the east end were now opened, disclosing the supper-room beyond—a spacious apartment, and decorated with a barbaric splendor of gilding and intricate plastic work. I remarked particularly the preponderance of the red tints; indeed, no other shade of color could I discover—but of this more particularly hereafter. Indiman looked at me, and we trooped out with the rest—que voulez-vous? One must always dine.
We found a small table; the napery and glass were exquisite, the cuisine and service perfect. We surrendered ourselves to the allurements of the hour. I was conscious of an unusual lightness and exhilaration of spirit; Indiman's eyes were sparkling with unwonted brilliancy. I raised my champagne-glass: "To the Utinam Club," I said, with enthusiasm, and rather more loudly than I had intended. The toast was at once re-echoed from every mouth, and a burst of laughter followed.
A late-comer entered and looked about the room somewhat uncertainly, for all the tables had been taken. It was Mr. Colman Hoyt. He saw us and smiled genially. "We have room here," called out Indiman, and he joined us.
"I am fortunate as ever," he said, as he took his seat. "New friends, old wine; and our chef's sauce tartare is incomparable to-night. What more can the heart of man desire?"
"Not even the North Pole?" said Indiman.
"Ah, the Pole! Bah! I can put my hand on it when I want it. Did I tell you that I start to-morrow on my fifth expedition? Success is certain. Will you honor me by drinking to it?" We drank solemnly.
"I thought you were wearing a dark-green scarf," I interrupted, somewhat irrelevantly, speaking to Indiman.