introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.


“‘This is my secretary and manager,’ said the colonel.

‘By the way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just

now. I fear that you have felt the draught.’


“‘On the contrary,’ said I, ‘I opened the door

myself because I felt the room to be a little close.’


“He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. ‘Perhaps we had better

proceed to business, then,’ said he. ‘Mr. Ferguson and I will take

you up to see the machine.’


“‘I had better put my hat on, I suppose.’


“‘Oh, no, it is in the house.’


“‘What, you dig fuller’s-earth in the house?’


“‘No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind

that. All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what

is wrong with it.’


“We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat

manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors,

passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the thresholds of

which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. There were no

carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster

was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green,

unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I

had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and

I kept a keen eye upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and

silent man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at least a

fellow-countryman.


“Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which he

unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three of us could

hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered me

in.


“‘We are now,’ said he, ‘actually within the

hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if