“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.

“Won’t it ring?”

“No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is.”

“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”

“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”

“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.

“Done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.

“Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”

“They seem to have been of a most interesting character — dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”

Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his stepdaughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, camp a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wail, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.

“What’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.

“My stepfather’s business papers.”

“Oh! you have seen inside, then?”

“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”

“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”

“No. What a strange idea!”

“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.

“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.”

“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.

“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. “Hello! Here is something interesting!”

The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.

“What do you make of that, Watson?”

“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why if should be tied.”

“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.”

“Ah, but a civil war would be different. I’ve no interest in fighting Germans. But a civil war would be different.”

“That’s a fact, it would,” said Jim.

“Only rather worse,” said Robert.

“No, I don’t agree,” cried Josephine. “You’d feel you were doing something, in a civil war.”

“Pulling the house down,” said Lilly.

“Yes,” she cried. “Don’t you hate it, the house we live in—London— England—America! Don’t you hate them?”

“I don’t like them. But I can’t get much fire in my hatred. They pall on me rather,” said Lilly.

“Ay!” said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.

Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.

“Still,” said Tanny, “there’s got to be a clearance some day or other.”

“Oh,” drawled Clariss. “I’m all for a clearance. I’m all for pulling the house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good cook.”

“May I come to dinner?” said Jim.

“Oh, yes. You’d find it rather domestic.”

“Where do you live?”

“Rather far out now—Amersham.”

“Amersham? Where’s that—?”

“Oh, it’s on the map.”

There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat watching him, unconsciously.

“Hello you!” said Jim. “Have one?”

Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.

“You believe in love, don’t you?” said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and grinning at him.

“Love!” said Aaron.

“LOVE! he says,” mocked Jim, grinning at the company.

“What about it, then?” asked Aaron.

“It’s life! Love is life,” said Jim fiercely.

“It’s a vice, like drink,” said Lilly.

“Eh? A vice!” said Jim. “May be for you, old bird.”

“More so still for you,” said Lilly.

“It’s life. It’s life!” reiterated Jim. “Don’t you agree?” He turned wolfishly to Clariss.

“Oh, yes—every time—” she drawled, nonchalant.

“Here, let’s write it down,” said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel–piece panel:—LOVE IS LIFE.

Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.

“Oh, I hate love. I hate it,” she protested.

Jim watched her sardonically.

“Look at her!” he said. “Look at Lesbia who hates love.”

“No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can’t love properly,” put in Josephine.