The isolated situation and gloomy architecture
of this venerable mansion must have impressed the most casual observer
with the thought that here was the spot for the perpetration of dark
deeds, were it not for the fact that the place was brilliantly
illumined with electricity, while the silence was emphasised rather
than disturbed by the monotonous, regular thud of an accumulator
pumping the subtle fluid into a receptive dynamo situated in an
outhouse to the east.
The night was gloomy and lowering after a day of rain, but the very
sombreness of the scene made the brilliant stained glass windows stand
out like the radiant covers of a Christmas number. Such was the
appearance presented by 'Undershaw', the home of Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle, situated among the wilds of Hindhead, some forty or fifty miles
from London. Is it any wonder that at a spot so remote from
civilisation law should be set at defiance, and that the one lone
policeman who perambulates the district should tremble as he passed
the sinister gates of 'Undershaw'?
In a large room of this manor house, furnished with a luxuriant
elegance one would not have expected in a region so far from
humanising influences, sat two men. One was a giant in stature, whose
broad brow and smoothly shaven strong chin gave a look of
determination to his countenance, which was further enhanced by the
heavy black moustache which covered his upper lip.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387