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"Yes, of course. Will you please come in also, gentlemen? I do not desire to be rude, but this regrettable interruption could not have occurred at a less fortunate moment. I must request you to lower your voices and to make as little noise as possible. You will understand, I trust, that I have a reason for my request."

The lobby which they entered was paved with what Dr. Fawcett (something of an archaeologist) judged to be fragments of Roman mosaic, cleverly reconstructed in a geometrical design. Indeed, there was nothing about the appointments of the place to suggest that it formed part of a London house. Its character transported the doctor to Pompeii. On the walls were singular frescoes, and a ceiling of lapis lazuli blue had been gemmed with stars in mother o' pearl or some other translucent material.

Four antique pillars supported this ceiling, or heaven, and between two of them a purple curtain hung. A niche in one wall enshrined a statuette of Isis, an Ancient Egyptian piece, quite perfect, which must have been of great value. A lamp burned before it. Otherwise, although the lobby swam in a sort of liquid radiance, the source of light was invisible. And now, the scarlet door being closed, that oppression of incense which had been perceptible outside, became almost unendurable—a subtle prompting to be repelled at all costs.