There was a faint perfume of Russian calf from the many rows of musty volumes which still filled the stately bookcases.

The oil paintings which hung upon the walls belonged to a remote period.

In a distant corner, four other men were playing bridge, speechless and almost motionless, the white faces of two of them like cameos under the electric light and against the dark walls.

There was no sound except the soft patter of the cards and the subdued movements of a servant preparing another bridge table by the side of the three men.

Then the door of the room was quietly opened and closed.