The room was very small; but when you wanted a blue velvet desk to write on, you had only to press a spring against the wall; and if you leaned upon the desk the Japanese workmen were ready to make you a new one.

There were springs everywhere, shaped like birds and mice and butterflies; and when you touched one of them something was sure to come out.

Blood-colored curtains separated the room from the alcove where Scrymgeour was to rest by night, and his bed became a bath by simply turning it upside down.

On one side of the bed was a wine-bin, with a ladder running up to it.

The door of the sitting-room was a symphony in gray, with shadowy reptiles crawling across the panels; and the floor--dark, mysterious--presented a fanciful picture of the infernal regions.