The Corner House by Fred M. White

It was a curious scene, a scene to remember long afterwards. In all Lawrence's imaginative writing he had never constructed anything more striking than this. He was about to hear the story of a strange crime, and it could not be told in a better setting than the Corner House.

The garish sunlight struggled through the grimy panes. Under ordinary conditions the drawing-room was a luxurious one. But the fine dust of years had settled upon pictures and statues and upon the upholstery of the old Empire furniture. As Charlton paced to and fro a gossamer cloud of dust seemed to follow him.