11
How Trouble Began
When the last of his guests had said good-night, Perceval turned to me and, with apologies for making me mount to the stars, took me up in a lift to his smoking- room.
This was a fair-sized square room, with a very large window on one side. We were so high up that, lying back among the cushions and looking out, I saw nothing but the stars in a black sky.
The room was pleasantly warm, and the floor was covered with a heavy Persian rug. There was practically nothing in the place but lounges and smoking materials of all possible kinds. The walls were of a smoky grey, and at first seemed blank. But while we lounged and talked I found that they were covered with the faintest possible suggestion of face and figure. They were alive with those delicate things you may somet
