In The Salon

Julius Ricardo pushed aside the curtains with a thrill of
excitement. He found himself standing within a small oblong room
which was prettily, even daintily, furnished. On his left, close
by the recess, was a small fireplace with the ashes of a burnt-out
fire in the grate. Beyond the grate a long settee covered in pink
damask, with a crumpled cushion at each end, stood a foot or two
away from the wall, and beyond the settee the door of the room
opened into the hall. At the end a long mirror was let into the
panelling, and a writing-table stood by the mirror. On the right
were the three windows, and between the two nearest to Mr. Ricardo
was the switch of the electric light. A chandelier hung from the
ceiling, an electric lamp stood upon the writing-table, a couple
of electric candles on the mantel-shelf. A round satinwood table
stood under the windows, with three chairs about it, of which one
was overturned, one was placed with its back to the electric
switch, and the third on the opposite side facing it.

Ricardo could hardly believe that he stood actually upon the spot
where, within twelve hours, a cruel and sinister tragedy had taken
place. There was so little disorder. The three windows on his
right showed him the blue sunlit sky and a glimpse of flowers and
trees; behind him the glass doors stood open to the lawn, where
birds piped cheerfully and the trees murmured of summer. But he
saw Hanaud stepping quickly from place to place, with an
extraordinary lightness of step for so big a man, obviously
engrossed, obviously reading here and there some detail, some
custom of the inhabitants of that room.