Disillusioned, Beheim remained in the entryway of this third room, stressing his ears. He heard winded pants and fey melodic interjections, interspersed by snorts and the squeaking of bedsprings. Felipe and Lady Dolores were still busy, yet he would not like to assume a lot. However he was hesitant to leave his solitary lead, and he didn’t accept that that Alexandra would have guided him toward this path were there not strong proof to be had… except if, obviously, by convincing him to indiscretion, by designing his catch, she wanted to disgrace Agenor. In any case, in case this was the situation, would she not have effectively given the caution? No, he advised himself, her intentions would not be so effectively graspable. There should be a here thing. He let his look swing one final time about the residue-covered investigation. The books had gone immaculate for quite a long time, and it was odd, he thought, that Felipe, given his insightful demeanor, had not been moved by interest to inspect any less than a couple of them. More than odd. And afterward, he saw something odder yet. Except for a strip along with the dividers of the room, there was no residue on the floor, making it clear that a rug had as of late been eliminated. It was conceivable, Beheim thought, that this had been accomplished for corrective reasons before Felipe’s appearance; however, if the floor covering had been eliminated because it was filthy or worn, why then, at that point had it not been cleaned or supplanted? He dropped to his hands and knees and, as he had done on the turret, started a cautious examination of the stones. At the focal point of the room, he found a segment of five stones whose edges were worn smooth. He pried at them and distinguished a slight shift. There should be a switch, he thought, a type of system that would move them. He sprang to his feet, went to the shelves, and started hotly pulling out books individually, yet soon he understood that he may save time by giving the issue quiet thought… however deciding from the commotions giving from the bedchamber, he had no compelling reason to surge. He spent the following couple of moments pulling out blends of books that he chose by title or shading or subject; no downturn or break could shroud a switch, and he believed that assuming, undoubtedly, there was a hidden entrance, a mysterious room, the books should either hide or themselves be the instrument that would open it. However, no mix he attempted had any effect, and at long last, irate with himself, with Alexandra, he gave the globe a disappointing slap and set it turning. Without a sound, the segment of five stones swung descending to uncover a flight of stairs. Beheim stayed frozen in an eager and unfortunate disposition, sure that Felipe more likely than not heard the slap he’d given the globe. The clamors from the room had stopped. After a second, nonetheless, the sweethearts fired up again with a stirring of sheets, a trade of delicate charms, with sweet exhalations and significant murmurs, all flagging, he accepted, a change in position, a pianissimo development in their licentious ensemble. His chest started to hurt, and he comprehended that this was because he had been so grasped by strain, he had quite relaxing.
With the boundless alert, he plunged the steps—there were close to twelve—and entered a dull passageway smelling of clamminess and form, so confined he had to go in a hunch. He came in for a significant time frame, grabbing his direction aimlessly, feeling the spidery fingers of claustrophobia tickling the rear of his neck; finally, on turning a corner, he saw a chute of brilliant light enlightening the hall’s far end, the shafts as particular as those cast by a sorcery lamp. Twilight. Spilling through a cut window into a minuscule room outfitted with a harsh wooden table and seat. Still attentive, he edged forward. The view was of a dull cut of twilight Carpathia: pale mists, dark slopes with a sparkling stream twisting through them. A dead stogie lay on the table—dainty and dark, an awful frill. Felipe, Beheim reviewed, was prone to smoke an intermittent stogie. What’s more, there was additional proof that the Valea pioneer had invested energy here. Cinders threw about the floor. A few papers canvassed in an intense content, gotten into a cowhide organizer. A penknife with an engraved V on the cutting edge. Notwithstanding the table and seat, an unvarnished bureau was set flush against one divider.