The House of the Schemers by Fred M. White

Ailsa's cheeks flamed as she followed Stern into the room beyond. She had half-expected to find something in the way of comfort, if not luxury; but nothing of the kind presented itself to view. There was a shabby linoleum on the floor, a couple of chairs, looking very much the worse for wear, a table, and a cheap clock over the shelf. In a corner cupboard, Ailsa felt quite sure, John Stern kept his cooking utensils.

The room was very dark, being faintly illumined by a small window, so high up that it was impossible to see out of it, so there was no opportunity for a close examination of John Stern's features. In any case the green shade that he wore over his eyes would have precluded anything of the kind. He brought one chair forward.