mere hangings to exclude light or draught, but fabrics to delight
the eye. The plainness of the walls was but a luxury to set off the
admirable collection of original sketches and clever caricatures that
adorned them. One end of the room was curtained off to serve as a
dining-room on necessity. No sybarite could have complained of the
comfort of the chairs or the arrangement of the light. The great table
at which Peter Masters sat, was not only of the most solid mahogany,
but it was put together by an artist in joinery--a skilful, silent
servant to its owner, offering him with a small degree of friction
every possible convenience a busy man could need. The only other
furniture in the room was a gigantic safe, or rather a series of
little safes cased in mahogany which filled one wall like a row of
school lockers, each labelled clearly with a letter.

Peter Masters leant back in his chair and gazed straight before him
for one moment--just that much space of time he allowed before the
next problem of the day came before him--then he rang one of the row
of electric bells suspended overhead.

Its short, imperious summons resounded directly in the room occupied
by the head clerk of the Lack Vale Coal Company, and that worthy,
without waiting to finish the word he begun writing, slipped from his
stool and hurried to the office door of his chief, where he knocked
softly and entered in obedience to a curt order. The room was a
simplified edition of the room on the top floor; everything was there,
but in a less luxurious degree, and the result was insignificant. The
manager of the Lack Vale Coal Company, who sat at the table, was a
hard-featured, thin-lipped man of forty-five, with thin hair already
turning grey, and pince-nez dangling from his button hole.

"Mr. Masters's bell, sir," said the clerk apologetically.

Mr. Foilet nodded and his thin lips tightened. He gathered up a sheaf
of carefully arranged papers and went out by a private door to the
central lift.

Peter greeted him affably and waved his hand to the opposite chair.

"You have Bennin's report at last?"

"Yes. He apologised for the delay, but thought it useless to send it
until he had investigated the gallery itself."

"That's the business of his engineers. If he is not satisfied with
them he should get others."

Mr. Foilet bowed, selected a paper from the sheaf he carried and
handed it over. Peter Masters perused it with precisely the same
kindly smilin