“Servants dining-room,” Thwaite commented. Turning on the lights in each we went through a series of rooms; a sort of sitting-room, with card-tables and checker-boards; a library walled with bookcases and open book-shelves, its two stout oak tables littered with magazines and newspapers; a billiard room with three tables, a billiard-table, a pool-table and one for bagatelle; a sort of lounging room, all leather-covered sofas and deep armchairs; an entry with hat-hooks and umbrella-stands, the outer door dark oak with a great deal of stained glass set in and around it. “All servants’ rooms,” Thwaite commented. “Every bit of the furniture is natural man-size. Let’s go on.” Back we went along a passage and into a big kitchen beyond the dining-room. “Never mind the pantries till we come down again,” Thwaite commanded. “Let’s go upstairs. We’ll do the banqueting-hall after those bedrooms, and the writing rooms and study last. I want a real sight of those pictures.” They passed the dead flunkey as if he had not been there at all. On the floor above Thwaite touched Rivvins’ elbow. “I forgot these,” he said. We inspected a medium-sized sitting-room with a round center-table, an armchair drawn up by it, and in the armchair a magazine and a sort of wadded smoking-jacket. Next this room was a bedroom and a bathroom. “Mr. Footman’s quarters,” Thwaite remarked, staring unconcernedly at a photograph of a dumpy young woman and two small children, set on the bureau. “All man-size furniture here, too.” Rivvin nodded. Up the second flight of that back-stair we went again. It ended in a squarish hallway or lobby or room with nothing in it but two settees. It had two doors. Rivvin pushed one open, felt up and down for the electric button and found it. We all three gasped; we almost shouted. We had had glimpses of this gallery before, but the flood of light from a thousand bulbs under inverted trough-reflectors dazzled us; the pictures fairly petrified us. The glare terrified me. “Surely we are crazy,” I objected, “to make all this illumination. It’s certain to give the alarm.” “Alarm nothing,” Thwaite snapped. “Haven’t I watched these buildings night after night. I told you he is never disturbed at any hour, lights or no lights.” My feeble protest thus brushed away I became absorbed, like the others, in those incredible paintings. Rivvin was merely stupidly dazed in uncomprehending wonder, Thwaite keenly speculative, questing for a clue to the origin of their peculiarities, I totally bewildered at the perfection of their execution, shivering at their uncanniness. The gallery was all of ninety feet long, nearly thirty wide and high. Apparently it had a glass roof above the rectangle of reflectors. The pictures covered all four walls, except the little door at either end. None was very small and several were very large. A few were landscapes, but all had figures in them, most were crowded with figures. Those figures!