Haworth stared at him an instant and then, opening the door a little wider, made a slight motion of invitation. Pentecost stepped in with a muttered, “You’re very kind,” and glanced quickly about the vast entrance hall in which he found himself—an enormous place two stories in height and with a great stairway at the further end rising to a landing and from that branching to each side. The place was seemingly quite destitute of furniture or floor covering, and he found himself wondering how the young man had managed to make no sound when he crossed it to open the door. He would look at his feet later, when there was more light; it was very dim in the hall. Closing the massive front door, Haworth moved to the large double doorway on the left—on the left as you enter the house, I mean—and stood waiting for his caller to enter before him. Pentecost did so and found himself in a large and lofty room with high paneled wainscoting of some dark wood, and a white marble mantel on the side opposite as he came in. There were two large windows in that wall—one on either side of the fireplace, though not near it; and another in the wall at his left which faced off toward Torrington Road. At the further end of the room—which was quite a distance, as it was an exceedingly long one—were two doors, one of which (a swing door held partly open by a chair shoved against it) revealed a butler’s pantry beyond. This large apartment was evidently the dining room—or once had been. The wainscoting, heavily built and with deeply set panels, was fully six feet high and extended entirely around it. Though somewhat shadowed, this room was lighter than the great hall, and he saw mechanical blueprints and drawings laid out on a cheap kitchen table near the middle of it, with small tools and implements scattered about. Books and papers were piled and balanced here and there. The floor was covered with what had once been a handsome carpet—now worn and threadbare. The windows, he noticed, had cheap roller shades to them—but judging from the cornices and rich but faded lambrequins above—had once evidently had the heavy draperies of an earlier fashion. Pentecost was an instantaneous observer, requiring no time exposure, so that there had hardly been a pause when he turned to speak to Haworth. But Haworth wasn’t there. He had followed into the room after Pentecost, but had slipped to one side and was now wandering back and forth along the wall toward the further end. He appeared to have forgotten the other’s presence, and his eyes shifted about, giving him the look of one tortured by some harrowing thought or memory. In a few moments his restless glance accidentally fell on Pentecost and he came to a sudden stop and stood staring at him. “Oh—you!” he muttered, half to himself. “Quite right,” said Pentecost. “Well, what is it?” the young man asked, moving toward him. “Perhaps I ought not to have intruded like this.”