The grating closed quietly behind them, the car disappeared and they stood looking about them in bewilderment and pleasure. So far as they could see the big apartment was empty of any persons save themselves, but they couldn’t be certain of that for there were shadowy recesses where the white light from the big skylights didn’t penetrate, and a balcony of dark, richly carved oak, screened and curtained, stretched across the front end of the studio. [Illustration: In a great studio] At the other end a broad fireplace was flanked by a tall screen of Spanish leather which glowed warmly where the light found it. A white bearskin was laid in front of it. Other rugs were scattered here and there, queer, low-toned prayer rugs many of them, with tattered borders and silky sheen. The walls were hung with tapestries against which was the dull glitter of armor. Strange vessels of pottery and copper and brass stood about, and two big, black oak chests, elaborately carved, half hidden by silken cushions and embroideries, guarded the fireplace. There was a dais under the skylight, and on it was a chair. At a little distance was a big easel holding a canvas, and beside it a cabinet for paints and brushes. There were few pictures in sight, but over the room hung a faint and not unpleasant odor of paint and oil and turpentine. At one of the broad, low windows--there were only two and both were wide open--was a great jar of yellow roses. Under the window was a wide seat upholstered in green leather and piled with cushions. And amidst the cushions, a fact only now discerned by the visitors, lay a red setter viewing them calmly with big brown eyes. “It’s Jack,” Chub whispered. “I’ve met him before. He’s sure to chew holes in us if we stir. Little Chub stays right here until help comes.” But evidently Jack had become interested, for he slowly descended from the window-seat and came across the room, his tail wagging slowly. “We’d better run,” counseled Chub in pretended terror. But the red setter’s intentions were apparently friendly. He sniffed at Roy and allowed himself to be patted. Then he walked around to Dick and Chub and completed his investigations, finally becoming quite enthusiastic in his welcome and digging his nose into Chub’s hand. “Bet you he knows us!” cried Chub, softly and delightedly. “The rascal forgets that the first time we met he made a face at me and growled. Well, all is forgiven, Jack. Where’s your master, sir?” “I suppose we might as well sit down,” said Roy, “instead of standing here like a lot of ninnies.” “Did you ever see such a place in your life?” asked Dick. “It looks like a museum and a palace all rolled into one!” “Gee, but I wish I was an artist!” sighed Chub. “I wonder what’s on the easel. Do you think we could look?” “No, I think we’ll go over there and sit down and not snoop,” answered Roy severely. “Come on.”