"Beastly smell." "Horrid." "Makes me cry to think of it." "But you're a born sentimentalist." "Ah. Goodnight. Shan't be meeting again for a few days. But Laurence here'll bring any messages." "I shan't trouble him," said Richard. "No? Well, that's your concern." Once again he relapsed into silence, then very suddenly flashed out the single word "Pineapple." Richard was accompanied up the stairs by the two silent servants. They ushered him into a room on the top landing, bowed and retired. The door closed with a metallic ring. He heard the sliding of a bolt, the jingle of a chain and the sound of footsteps descending. And all of a sudden he felt very lonely. CHAPTER 12. PINEAPPLE. The room in which Richard found himself was of modest size and unpretentious in decoration. Its walls were panelled in white and below the fireless grate was a second door leading to a small bedroom. There were no curtains to the windows which were closely shuttered, the shutters themselves being made of steel plates rivetted together and held in place by a series of dropping bars. Apparently some system of burglar alarm had been installed, an exceptionally large electric bell being fitted in the framing where, normally, the cornice poles would have run. Glancing over his shoulder Richard observed the absence of a handle to the door through which he had been admitted. A plain deal table occupied the centre of the room, with a couple of hard upright kitchen chairs, one on either side. There was no carpet nor any rug upon the floor. A single unshaded electric light bulb hung from the ceiling. "Hospitable sort of place," he remarked and passed through to the bedroom, the door of which was on a spring and closed behind him. Beyond the presence of a bed of extremely uncomfortable appearance the same severity confronted him. There was neither washstand nor dressing table, chair nor picture. Nothing to read, nothing to look at. The windows were shuttered and, as in the other room, a single light point was the only illumination. High up above the bed was the mouthpiece of what looked like a motor horn. This and an iron ventilating register let into the wall a couple of feet away from the pillow were the only objects that provided any variety in the way of decoration. The atmosphere of the place, though chilly, had a distinct sense of oppression. There was no vitality in the air--it breathed mossy and damp. "Do with an open window," said Richard and moved toward the shutters. He had hardly covered half the distance when the lights went out with startling suddenness. There was something distinctly eerie in the absolute darkness in which he found himself. He stretched out a hand and felt for the nearest wall like a blind man, groped his way to the door and opened it. But the other room was also in pitchy blackness. "Fuse gone somewhere," he conjectured. "May as well try and get to a chair and wait till the lights come on."