"If I am not mistaken, then 'crime' is the only word.""But, forgive me, is it imaginable that the same criminal could destroy three men last year and kill an old woman more than sixty years ago?""Quite possible.You do not see? Then I hope to have the privilege of showing you presently.""It would seem, then, that the malignant thing is really undying - as poor May believed - a conscious being hidden there, but beyond our sight and knowledge?""No, no, my friend.Let me be frank.I have no theory that embraces either a good or evil spirit.Believe me, there are fewer things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.Man has burdened his brain with an infinite deal of rubbish of his own manufacture.Much of his principle and practice is built on myths and dreams.He is a credulous creature, and insanely tenacious to tradition; but I say to you, suspect tradition at every turn, and the more ancient the tradition, the more mistrust it.We harbor a great deal too much of the savage still in us - we still carry about far more of his mental lumber and nonsense than weimagine.Intellect should simplify rather than complicate, and those to come will look back with pity to see this generation, like flies, entangled in the webs of thought their rude forefathers spun.But the eternal verities are few; a child could count them.We are, however, a great deal too fond of believing what our ancestors believed.Alas, nobody sins more in this respect than I.Let us, then, throw overboard the supernatural, once and for all, so far as the Grey Room is concerned.No ghost haunts it; no succubus or succuba is hidden there, to harry the life out of good men and women.""It is strange that you should take almost the identical line of thought that poor Peter Hardcastle took.I hope to God you are right!""So far I am most certainly in the right.We can leave the other world out of our calculations."He asked various questions, many of which did not appear to bear on the subject, but he made no suggestions as yet, and advanced no theories.He suspected that Peter Hardcastle might have arrived at a conclusion had not death cut short his inquiry.>From time to time he lifted his hand gently for silence, and permitted a reply to penetrate his mind.
"I think very slowly about new things now," he said."An idea must sink in gradually and find its place.That is the worst of new ideas.There is so little room for them when you are eighty.The old and settled opinions fill the space, and are jealous and resent newcomers."Sir Walter explained to him presently that the room was being opened, and would be ready after luncheon.Whereupon he expressed concern for the workers.
"Let them have a care," he said, "for, if I am right, the danger is still present.Let them work with despatch, and not loiter about.""No harm has ever undertaken more than one, when in the room alone.The detectives saw and felt nothing.""Nevertheless, the assassin was quite equal to smudging out the detectives, believe me, Sir Walter."The day was fine, and Signor Mannetti expressed a wish to take the air.They walked on the terrace presently, and Mary joined them.He asked for her arm, and she gave it.
Prince padded beside her, and the visitor declared interest in him."Like myself, your dog is on the verge of better things," he said."Hewill do good deeds in the happy hunting grounds, be sure."They told him the feats of Prince, and he appeared to be interested."Nevertheless, the faithful creature ought to die now.He is blind andparalysis is crippling his hinder parts."Sir Walter patted the head of his ancient favorite.
"He dies on Friday," he said."The vet, will come then.I assure you the thought gives me very genuine pain.""He has earned euthanasia, surely.What is that fine tree with great white flowers? I have seen the like before, but am sadly ignorant of horticulture.""A tulip-tree," said Mary."It's supposed to be the finest in Devonshire.
"A beautiful object.But all is beautiful here.An English spring can be divine.I shall ask you to drive me to primroses presently.Those are azaleas - that bank of living fire - superb!"He praised the scene, and spoke about the formal gardens of Italy.
Then, when luncheon was finished and he had smoked a couple of cigarettes, Signor Mannetti rose, bowed to Sir Walter, and said:
"Now, if you please."
They accompanied and watched him silently, while his eyes wandered round the Grey Room.
The place was unchanged, and the dancing cherubs on the great chairs seemed to welcome daylight after their long darkness.
The visitor wandered slowly from end to end of the chamber, nodded to himself, and became animated.Then he checked his gathering excitement, and presently spoke.
"I think I am going to help you, Sir Walter," he said."That is great and good news, signor."Then the old man became inconsequent, and turned from the room to the contents.If, indeed, he had found a clue, he appeared in no haste to pursue it.He entered now upon a disquisition concerning the furniture, and they listened patiently, for he had showed that any interruptiontroubled him.But it seemed that he enjoyed putting a strain upon their impatience.
"Beautiful pieces," he said, "but not Spanish, as you led me to suppose.Spanish chestnut wood, but nothing else Spanish about them.They are of the Italian Renaissance, and it is most seemly that Italian craftsmanship of such high order should repose here, under an Italian ceiling.Strange to say, my sleeping apartment at Rome closely resembles this room.I live in a villa that dates from the fifteenth century, and belonged to the Colonna.My chests are more superb than these; but your suite - the bed and chairs - I confess are better than mine.There is, however, a reason for that.Let us examine them for the sake of Mrs.May.Are these carved chairs, with their reliefs of dancing putti, familiar to her - the figures, I mean?"Mary shook her head.
