The Death Chamber Read Online Free PDF

knowledge of psychic phenomena and the paranormal. Founded in 1917 by Sir Lewis Caradoc.’
    The Caradoc Society might be winding itself down but it appeared to be doing so in a civilized and gentlemanly manner. The door was painted a glossy green, the brass door-knocker was polished.
As Georgina reached for the knocker a curtain in one of the downstairs windows twitched, and then the door was opened by a man who was presumably Vincent N. Meade. He was older than he had sounded
on the phone – at least sixty and probably a bit more – and well-built in a rather soft, flabby fashion. He wore a dark red velvet jacket, (
velvet
at half past five in the
afternoon?), with a pale pink shirt and a flowing cravat knotted at the neck. Georgina’s inner eye placed him in a sugary pink room furnished with puffy white sofas and tasselled satin
cushions.
    Vincent Meade was apparently charmed to meet Georgina – actually Walter Kane’s great-granddaughter, my word, this was a historic day in the Society’s annals. His large soft
hands enfolded Georgina’s, and she had to repress the urge to snatch them away from him.
    They were all so pleased she had agreed to make the journey, said Vincent, especially at this time of year, so dreary the autumn he always thought, and no doubt she led a very busy life. And was
this the only suitcase she had brought? Then he would carry it upstairs for her there and then – no, he insisted; there were two flights of stairs, and the second one was quite steep. To
someone who had had three years of David’s equality (‘You can manage your own cases, can’t you, George? Yes, thought you could,’), this modest chivalry was agreeable.
    The flat was on the second floor, and consisted of an L-shaped room with easy chairs and a coffee table in the larger half, and sink, cooker and fridge in the shorter half. There was a narrow
bedroom with a divan and wall cupboards, and a minuscule shower room and loo opening directly off it. It was all perfectly clean and comfortable, although it had the characterless look of a hotel
bedroom and Georgina itched to bring the marvellous purple hillside colours into the house, and to put strong green ferns in copper pots to contrast with the white walls and beige carpet.
    ‘I think you’ll find it all right here, Miss Grey,’ said Vincent, setting the case down. ‘It’s very small, but we always hope it’s acceptable to our
visitors.’
    ‘It’s fine,’ said Georgina. ‘I’ll be very comfortable.’
    ‘There’s milk and bread in the kitchen, and the bed’s made up. There’s a radio but no television I’m afraid, on account of being almost smack up against the
foothills of Torven, as you might say. It’s only a small mountain, well, the purists would say it’s not really a mountain at all – not
high
enough, you see – but
whether it’s a mountain or a molehill the TV signal’s virtually non-existent.’
    ‘I believe I’d rather have Torven than television anyway,’ said Georgina, glancing through the window at the sweeping scenery. Even on a dark October evening the would-be
mountain was a spectacular, velvety sweep of purple and cobalt blue. She would leave the curtains open tonight so she could watch the light changing on Torven’s slopes.
    ‘Would you really? Now I’ll just bring you up a cup of tea – no, it’s no trouble at all, I had the kettle on in readiness for your arrival. I won’t be a
minute.’
    He bumbled happily away, and while he was gone Georgina unpacked the few things she had brought with her, hanging her jacket in the wardrobe where it rattled emptily.
    The tea, when it came, was in china cups with lemon as well as milk, and biscuits arranged on a paper doily.
    ‘The Society’s solicitor is expecting us at his office tomorrow morning,’ said Vincent busily pouring out the tea. ‘He’ll see the letters you’ve brought with
you, and there are a few of your great-grandfather’s papers that he’ll