As he drew them apart a cloud of dust filled the air.
"These curtains, at least, have not been touched for years," he said.
The gray light of mid-afternoon suffused the room, revealing an astonishing retreat. The walls were lined with open book-shelves which reached from the floor nearly to the ceiling, leaving only space enough for a row of marble busts and squat bronze vases. At the southern end of the room was a massive flat-topped desk, and in the centre stood a long carved table laden with curious and outlandish ornaments. Beneath the windows and in the corners were piles of pamphlets and portfolios; and along the moulding of the bookcases hung gargoyles and old prints yellow with age. Two enormous Persian lamps of perforated brass depended from the ceiling, and beside the centre-table stood a Chinese sconce eight feet high. The floor was covered with overlapping Oriental rugs laid at all angles; and at each end of the fireplace was a hideous, painted totem-pole reaching to the beams. A thick coating of dust overlay everything.
Vance returned to the door and, striking another match, closely examined the inner knob.
"Some one," he announced, "has been here recently. There's no sign of dust on this knob."
"We might get the finger-prints," suggested Heath.
Vance shook his head.
"Not even worth trying. The person we're dealing with knows better than to leave sign manuals."
He closed the door softly and threw the bolt. Then
