Silence fell. We looked at
one another, and we were both about to express a mutual doubt, when,
unheralded by any unfastening of bolts or bars, the door was opened,
and a huge mulatto, dressed in white, stood there regarding us.
I started nervously, for the apparition was so unexpected, but Nayland
Smith, without evidence of surprise, thrust a card into the man's
hand.
"Take my card to Mr. Van Roon, and say that I wish to see him on
important business," he directed authoritatively.
The mulatto bowed and retired. His white figure seemed to be swallowed
up by the darkness within, for beyond the patch of uncarpeted floor
revealed by the peeping sunlight, was a barn-like place of densest
shadow. I was about to speak, but Smith laid his hand upon my arm
warningly, as, out from the shadows, the mulatto returned. He stood on
the right of the door and bowed again.
"Be pleased to enter," he said, in his harsh, negro voice. "Mr. Van
Roon will see you."
The gladness of the sun could no longer stir me; a chill and sense of
foreboding bore me company as beside Nayland Smith I entered Cragmire
Tower.
CHAPTER XXII
THE MULATTO
The room in which Van Roon received us was roughly of the shape of an
old-fashioned key-hole; one end if it occupied the base of the tower,
upon which the remainder had evidently been built. In many respects it
was a singular room, but the feature which caused me the greatest
amazement was this--it had no windows!
In the deep alcove formed by the tower sat Van Roon at a littered
table, upon which stood an oil reading-lamp, green-shaded, of the
"Victoria" pattern, to furnish the entire illumination of the
apartment.
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