The Grey Room

THE GREY ROOM
by Eden Phillpotts

CONTENTS
I. THE HOUSE PARTY
II. AN EXPERIMENT
III. AT THE ORIEL
IV. "BY THE HAND OF GOD"
V. THE UNSEEN MOVES
VI. THE ORDER FROM LONDON
VII. THE FANATIC
VIII. THE LABORS OF THE FOUR
IX. THE NIGHT WATCH
X. SIGNOR VERGILIO MANNETTI
XI. PRINCE DJEM
XII. THE GOLDEN BULL
XIII. TWO NOTES
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE PARTY

The piers of the main entrance of Chadlands were of red brick, and
upon each reposed a mighty sphere of grey granite. Behind them
stretched away the park, where forest trees, nearly shorn of their leaves
at the edge of winter, still answered the setting sun with fires of
thinning foliage. They sank away through stretches of brake fern, and
already amid their trunks arose a thin, blue haze - breath of earth made
visible by coming cold. There was frost in the air, and the sickle of a
new moon hung where dusk of evening dimmed the green of the
western sky.
The guns were returning, and eight men with three women arrived at
the lofty gates. One of the party rode a grey pony, and a woman walked
on each side of him. They chattered together, and the little company of
tweed - clad people passed into Chadlands Park and trudged forward,
where the manor house rose half a mile ahead.
Then an old man emerged from a lodge, hidden behind a grove of
laurel and bay within the entrance, and shut the great gates of scroll
iron. They were of a flamboyant Italian period, and more arrestive than
distinguished. Panelled upon them, and belonging to a later day than
they, had been imposed two iron coats of arms, with crest above and
motto beneath - the heraldic bearings of the present owner of
Chadlands. He set store upon such things, but was not responsible for
the work. A survival himself, and steeped in ancient opinions, his coat,
won in a forgotten age, interested him only less than his Mutiny medal
- his sole personal claim to public honor. He had served in youth as a
soldier, but was still a subaltern when his father died and he came into
his kingdom.
Now, Sir Walter Lennox, fifth baronet, had grown old, and his
invincible kindness of heart, his archaic principles, his great wealth,
and the limited experiences of reality, for which such wealth was
responsible, left him a popular and respected man. Yet he aroused
much exasperation in local landowners from his generosity and scorn
of all economic principles; and while his tenants held him the very
exemplar of a landlord, and his servants worshipped him for the best
possible reasons, his friends, weary of remonstrance, were forced to

forgive his bad precedents and a mistaken liberality quite beyond the
power of the average unfortunate who lives by his land. But he
managed his great manor in his own lavish way, and marvelled that
other men declared difficulties with problems he so readily solved.
That night, after a little music, the Chadlands' house party drifted to the
billiard - room, and while most of the men, after a heavy day far afield,
were content to lounge by a great open hearth where a wood fire burned,
Sir Walter, who had been on a pony most of the time, declared himself
unwearied, and demanded a game.
"No excuses, Henry," he said; and turned to a young man lounging in
an easy - chair outside the fireside circle.
The youth started. His eyes had been fixed on a woman sitting beside
the fire, with her hand in a man's. It was such an attitude as
sophisticated lovers would only assume in private but the pair were not
sophisticated and lovers still, though married. They lacked self -
consciousness, and the husband liked to feel his wife's hand in his.
After all, a thing impossible until you are married may be quite seemly
afterwards, and none of their amiable elders regarded their devotion
with cynicism.
"All right, uncle!" said Henry Lennox.
He rose - a big fellow with heavy shoulders, a clean - shaven, youthful
face, and flaxen hair. He had been handsome, save for a nose with a
broken bridge, but his pale brown eyes were fine, and his firm mouth
and chin well modelled. Imagination and reflection marked his
countenance.
Sir Walter claimed thirty points on his scoring board, and gave a miss
with the spot ball.
"I win to - night," he said.
He was a small, very upright man, with a face that seemed to belong to
his generation, and an expression seldom to be seen on a man younger
than seventy. Life had not puzzled him; his moderate intellect had

taken it as he found it, and, through the magic glasses of good