Publisher's Synopsis
The night that I spent in the green room was in many ways like the one which Robert Ashton spent there. A heavy rain had set in, and the wind from the southwest was driving it against the windows of the room, just as it had done that other night. I had attempted to raise one of the windows before turning in, but it was impossible to keep it open for any length of time as the rain drove in fiercely and threatened to flood the room. As I lay in bed, unable to concentrate my thoughts upon the magazine I had picked up, I began to reconstruct in my mind the scene which had been enacted in this room but a few nights before. I pictured Robert Ashton, sitting at the small, marble-topped table, laboriously copying the inscription upon the base of the emerald figure, for what purpose I could not imagine.Includes a brief biography of the Author
