my peering, for which I was duly thankful, and after
another fruitless survey of the windows in the wall before me, I drew
back and prepared to leave the place. This was by no means a pleasant
undertaking. I could now see what I had only felt before, and to
traverse the space before me amid beetles and spiders required a
determination of no ordinary nature. I was glad when I reached the great
doors and more than glad when they closed behind me.

"So much for Room A," thought I.

The next most promising apartment was in the same corridor as the
dining-room. It was called the Dark Parlor. Entering it, I found it dark
indeed, but not because of lack of light, but because its hangings were
all of a dismal red and its furniture of the blackest ebony. As this
mainly consisted of shelves and cabinets placed against three of its
four walls, the effect was gloomy indeed, and fully accounted for the
name which the room had received. I lingered in it, however, longer than
I had in the big drawing-room, chiefly because the shelves contained
books.

Had anything better offered I might not have continued my explorations,
but not seeing exactly how I could pass away the time more profitably, I
chose out another key and began to search for the Flower Parlor. I found
it beyond the dining-room in the same hall as the Dark Parlor.

It was, as I might have expected from the name, the brightest and most
cheerful spot I had yet found in the whole house. The air in it was even
good, as if sunshine and breeze had not been altogether shut out of it,
yet I had no sooner taken one look at its flower-painted walls and
pretty furniture than I felt an oppression difficult to account for.
Something was wrong about this room. I am not superstitious and have no
faith in premonitions, but once seized by a conviction, I have never
known myself to be mistaken as to its import. Something was wrong about
this room--what, it was my business to discover.

Letting in more light, I took a closer survey of the objects I had
hitherto seen but dimly. They were many and somewhat contradictory in
character. The floor was bare--the first bare floor I had come upon--but
the shades in the windows, the chintz-covered lounges drawn up beside
tables bestrewn with books and other objects of comfort and luxury,
bespoke a place in common if not every-day use.

A faint smell of tobacco assured me in whose use, and from the minute I
recognized that this was William's sa