"Most of the rooms are unfurnished, and the garden is a wilderness,
but the structure of the brickwork in the tower may interest you
archaeologically, and the view across the moor is at least as fine as
any in the neighbourhood."
So, with his brilliant smile and a gesture of one thin yellow hand,
the crippled traveller made us free of his odd dwelling. As I passed
out from the room close at Smith's heels, I glanced back, I cannot say
why. Van Roon already was bending over his papers, in his
green-shadowed sanctuary, and the light shining down upon his smoked
glasses created the odd illusion that he was looking over the tops of
the lenses and not down at the table as his attitude suggested.
However, it was probably ascribable to the weird chiaroscuro of the
scene, although it gave the seated figure an oddly malignant
appearance, and I passed through the utter darkness of the outer room
to the front door. Smith opening it, I was conscious of surprise to
find dusk come--to meet darkness where I had looked for sunlight.
The silver wisps which had raced along the horizon, as we came to
Cragmire Tower, had been harbingers of other and heavier banks. A
stormy sunset smeared crimson streaks across the skyline, where a
great range of clouds, like the oily smoke of a city burning, was
banked, mountain topping mountain, and lighted from below by this
angry red. As we came down the steps and out by the gate, I turned and
looked across the moor behind us.
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