Evidently relations between Nyla and the Colonel had ripened prosperously during their outing. The President having gone off for his much-needed nap, these two explored the old north tower, and on the dark stairway the Colonel's arm stole protectively round her. The famous Purple Room, so-called from its rich wine-coloured hangings, was lighted only by a narrow casement in the six-foot stone fortification; it was a funereal place with a stale flavour of ancient orgy. The painted dado, perhaps fortunately, was scarcely visible in the dim light. The Colonel struck a match, but after one glimpse of Paphian distempers he extinguished it hastily. Always sensitive to psychic influences, he seemed a little depressed, and spoke gloomily of the difficulties of his career as an agent of international amenity.
