boot-tops. He unlocked
the door with a large key he produced from a pocket,
swung the door open (it was well-oiled, no Inner-
Sanctum squeaks), and bowed Childe on through. The
room inside was a large (it could even be called great)
hall. Two halls, rather, because one ran along the front
of the house and halfway down it was a broad entrance
to another hall which seemed to run the depth of the
house. The carpets were thick and wine-colored with a
very faint pattern in green. A few pieces of heavy, solid
Spanish-looking furniture sat against the walls.
Glam asked Childe to wait while he announced him.
Childe watched the giant stoop to go through the doorway
to the center hall. Then he jerked his head to the right
because he had caught a glimpse of somebody down at
the far end just going around the corner. He was startled,
because he had seen no one at that end when he came in.
Now he saw the back of a tall woman, the floor-length
full black skirt, white flesh of the back revealed in the V
of the cut, high-piled black hair, a tall black comb.
He felt cold and, for a second, disoriented.
He had no more time to think about the woman then,
because his host came to greet him. Igescu was a tall
slim man with thick, wavy, brown-blond hair, large,
bright green eyes, pointed features, a large curving nose
and a dimple in his right cheek. The moustache was
gone. He seemed to be about sixty-five years old, a
vigorous athletic sixty-five. He wore a dark-blue business
suit. His tie was black with a faint bluish symbol in its
center. Childe could not make it out; the outlines seemed
to be fluid, to change shape as Igescu changed position.
His voice was deep and pleasant, and he spoke with
only a tinge of foreign pronunciation. He shook hands
with Childe. His hands were large and strong-looking and
his grip was powerful. His hand was cold but not ab-
normally so. He was a very amiable and easygoing
host but made it clear that he intended to allow his guest
to remain only an hour. He asked Childe a few questions
about his work and the magazine he represented. Childe
gave him glib answers; he was prepared for more inter-
rogation than he got.
Glam had disappeared somewhere. Igescu immediately
took Childe on a guided tour. This lasted about five
minutes and was confined to a few rooms on the first
floor. Childe could not get much idea of the layout of the
house. They returned to a large room off the central hall
where Igescu asked Childe to sit down. This was also
fitted with Spanish-type furniture and a grand piano.
There was a fireplace, above the mantel of which was a
large oil painting. Childe, sipping on an excellent brandy,
listened to his host but studied the portrait. The subject
was a beautiful young woman dressed in Spanish costume
and holding a large ivory-yellowish fan. She had unusually
heavy eyebrows and extremely dark eyes, as if the
painter had invented a paint able to concentrate black-
ness. There was a faint smile about the lips—not Mona
Lisa-ish, however—the smile seemed to indicate a deter-
mination to—what? Studying the lips, Childe thought
that there was something nasty about the smile, as if there
were a deep hatred there and a desire to get revenge.
Perhaps the brandy and his surroundings made him think
that, or perhaps the artist was the nasty and hateful one
and he had projected onto the innocent blankness of the
subject his own feelings. Whatever the truth, the artist
had talent. He had given the painting the authenticity
of more than life.
He interrupted Igescu to ask him about the painting.
Igescu did not seem annoyed.
"The artist's name was Krebens," he said. "If you get
close to the painting, you'll see it in miniscule letters at
the left-hand corner. I have a fairly good knowledge of
art history and local history, but I have never seen an-
other painting by him. The painting came with the house;
it is said to be of Dolores del Osorojo. I am convinced
that it is, since I have seen the subject."
He
the door with a large key he produced from a pocket,
swung the door open (it was well-oiled, no Inner-
Sanctum squeaks), and bowed Childe on through. The
room inside was a large (it could even be called great)
hall. Two halls, rather, because one ran along the front
of the house and halfway down it was a broad entrance
to another hall which seemed to run the depth of the
house. The carpets were thick and wine-colored with a
very faint pattern in green. A few pieces of heavy, solid
Spanish-looking furniture sat against the walls.
Glam asked Childe to wait while he announced him.
Childe watched the giant stoop to go through the doorway
to the center hall. Then he jerked his head to the right
because he had caught a glimpse of somebody down at
the far end just going around the corner. He was startled,
because he had seen no one at that end when he came in.
Now he saw the back of a tall woman, the floor-length
full black skirt, white flesh of the back revealed in the V
of the cut, high-piled black hair, a tall black comb.
He felt cold and, for a second, disoriented.
He had no more time to think about the woman then,
because his host came to greet him. Igescu was a tall
slim man with thick, wavy, brown-blond hair, large,
bright green eyes, pointed features, a large curving nose
and a dimple in his right cheek. The moustache was
gone. He seemed to be about sixty-five years old, a
vigorous athletic sixty-five. He wore a dark-blue business
suit. His tie was black with a faint bluish symbol in its
center. Childe could not make it out; the outlines seemed
to be fluid, to change shape as Igescu changed position.
His voice was deep and pleasant, and he spoke with
only a tinge of foreign pronunciation. He shook hands
with Childe. His hands were large and strong-looking and
his grip was powerful. His hand was cold but not ab-
normally so. He was a very amiable and easygoing
host but made it clear that he intended to allow his guest
to remain only an hour. He asked Childe a few questions
about his work and the magazine he represented. Childe
gave him glib answers; he was prepared for more inter-
rogation than he got.
Glam had disappeared somewhere. Igescu immediately
took Childe on a guided tour. This lasted about five
minutes and was confined to a few rooms on the first
floor. Childe could not get much idea of the layout of the
house. They returned to a large room off the central hall
where Igescu asked Childe to sit down. This was also
fitted with Spanish-type furniture and a grand piano.
There was a fireplace, above the mantel of which was a
large oil painting. Childe, sipping on an excellent brandy,
listened to his host but studied the portrait. The subject
was a beautiful young woman dressed in Spanish costume
and holding a large ivory-yellowish fan. She had unusually
heavy eyebrows and extremely dark eyes, as if the
painter had invented a paint able to concentrate black-
ness. There was a faint smile about the lips—not Mona
Lisa-ish, however—the smile seemed to indicate a deter-
mination to—what? Studying the lips, Childe thought
that there was something nasty about the smile, as if there
were a deep hatred there and a desire to get revenge.
Perhaps the brandy and his surroundings made him think
that, or perhaps the artist was the nasty and hateful one
and he had projected onto the innocent blankness of the
subject his own feelings. Whatever the truth, the artist
had talent. He had given the painting the authenticity
of more than life.
He interrupted Igescu to ask him about the painting.
Igescu did not seem annoyed.
"The artist's name was Krebens," he said. "If you get
close to the painting, you'll see it in miniscule letters at
the left-hand corner. I have a fairly good knowledge of
art history and local history, but I have never seen an-
other painting by him. The painting came with the house;
it is said to be of Dolores del Osorojo. I am convinced
that it is, since I have seen the subject."
He
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