CHAPTER VI

The room was a study in masculine luxury. The brown walls were hung
with a choice selection of sporting prints, varied here and there
with silverpoint etchings of beautiful women in various poses. There
were a good many photographs, mostly signed, above the mantelpiece; a
cigar cabinet, a case of sporting-rifles and shot guns, some fishing
tackle, a case of books, distributed appropriately about the
apartment. There were some warlike trophies displayed without
ostentation, a handsome writing-table on which stood a telephone. On
a thick green rug stretched in front of the fireplace, a fox terrier
lay blinking at the wood fire. The room was empty and silent except
for the slow ticking of an ancient clock which stood underneath an
emblazoned coat of arms in the far corner. The end of a log broke off
and fell hissing into the hearth. The fox terrier rose reluctantly to
his feet, shook himself and stood looking at the smoking fragment in
an aggrieved manner. Satisfied that no personal harm was intended to
him, however, he presently curled himself up once more. Again the
apartment seemed to become the embodiment of repose. The clock, after
a hoarse wheezing warning, struck seven. The dog opened one eye and
looked up at it. A few minutes later, the peace of the place was
broken in a different fashion. There was the sound of a key being
hastily fitted into the lock of the outside door. The dog rose to his
feet expectantly. The door which led into the apartment was thrown
open and hastily slammed to. A man, breathing heavily, stood for a
moment upon the threshold, his head stooped a little as though
listening. Then, without a glance, even, at the dog who jumped to
greet him, he crossed the room with swift, stealthy footsteps. Before