They climb to the second floor and walk down a long, wide aisle between empty desks to a round meeting room. The Inspector finds this construction inherently offensive. It’s so obdurately wrong-headed to have a round room in the middle of a square building, especially having gone out of your way to make a point of the angles. She recognises it for deliberately created architectural dissonance, a critique of design as a concept made in the form of design—the kind of imbecilic caprice common in early-twenty-first-century spaces, as quaint and unwelcome now as narrow service stairs and low-ceilinged accommodations for servants. In one corner there’s what she thinks is probably an upright film-editing station: a trophy of the old media age, stuffed and mounted in here as a gesture of mastery. There’s a spotlight trained on the green metal casing to set off the period hammer-finish paint.