o it is, Tom," said Henry. "Mary says it should be called the Rose
Room, not the grey one."

"All who care to do so can see it," answered Sir Walter, rising. "We
will look in on our way to bed. Get the key from my key-cabinet in the
study, Henry. It's labelled 'Grey Room.'"

CHAPTER II. AN EXPERIMENT

Ernest Travers, Felix Fayre-Michell, Tom May, and Colonel Vane followed
Sir Walter upstairs to a great corridor, which ran the length of the
main front, and upon which opened a dozen bedrooms and dressing-rooms.
They proceeded to the eastern extremity. It was lighted throughout, and
now their leader took off an electric bulb from a sconce on the wall
outside the room they had come to visit.

"There is none in there," he explained, "though the light was installed
in the Grey Room as elsewhere when I started my own plant twenty years
ago. My father never would have it. He disliked it exceedingly, and
believed it aged the eyes."

Henry arrived with the key. The door was unlocked, and the light
established. The party entered a large and lofty chamber with ceiling
of elaborate plaster work and silver-grey walls, the paper on which was
somewhat tarnished. A pattern of dim, pink roses as large as cabbages
ran riot over it. A great oriel window looked east, while a smaller one
opened upon the south. Round the curve of the oriel ran a cushioned seat
eighteen inches above the ground, while on the western side of the room,
set in the internal wall, was a modern fireplace with a white Adams
mantel above it. Some old, carved chairs stood round the walls, and in
one corner, stacked together, lay half a dozen old oil portraits, grimy
and faded. They called for the restorer, but were doubtfully worth his
labors. Two large chests of drawers, with rounded bellies, and a very
beautiful washing-stand also occupied places round the room, and against
the inner wall rose a single, fourposter bed of Spanish chestnut, also
carved. A grey, self-colored carpet covered the floor, and on one of the
chests stood a miniature bronze copy of the Faun of Praxiteles.

The apartment was bright and cheerful of aspect. Nothing gloomy or
depressing marked it, nor a suggestion of the sinister.

"Could one wish for a more amiable looking room?" asked Fayre-Michell.

They gazed round them, and Ernest Travers expressed admiration at the
old furniture.

"My dear Walter, why hide these things here?" he asked. "They are
beautiful, and may be valuable