ely.
"I think it is now prepared for us--I do not wish to bore you with a
repetition of magical sliding walls."

There was something now that numbed the ache in Jimmie Dale's brain--a
sense of some deadly, remorseless thing that seemed to be constantly
creeping closer to him, clutching at him--to smother him, to choke him.
There was something absolutely fiendish, terrifying, in the veneer of
culture around him.

They had entered the second room. This, like the other, was a
pseudo-bedroom; but here the movable wall was already down. Ranged along
the right-hand side were a great number of cabinets that slid in and
out, much after the style and fashion used by clothing dealers to stock
and display their wares. These cabinets were now all open, displaying
hundreds of costumes of all kinds and descriptions, and evidently
complete to the minutest detail. The cabinets were flanked by
full-length mirrors at each end of the room, and on little tables before
the mirrors was an assortment, that none better than Jimmie Dale himself
could appreciate, of make-up accessories.

The man smiled apologetically.

"I am afraid this is rather uninteresting," he said. "I have shown it to
you simply that you may understand that we are alive to the importance
of detail. Disguise, that is daily vital to us, is an art that depends
essentially on detail. I venture to say we could impersonate any
character or type or nationality or class in the United States at a
moment's notice. But"--he took Jimmie Dale's arm again and conducted him
out into the corridor, while the two men who were evidently acting
the role of guards followed closely behind--"there is still the third
room--here." He halted Jimmie Dale before the door. "I have asked you
to answer two questions, Mr. Dale," he said softly. "I ask you now to
remember the alternative."

They still stood before the door. There was that uncanny silence
again--it seemed to Jimmie Dale to last interminably. Neither of the
three men surrounding him moved nor spoke. Then the door before him was
opened on an unlighted room, and he was led across the threshold. He
heard the door close behind him. The lights came on. And then it seemed
as though he could not move, as though he were rooted to the spot---and
the colour ebbed from his face. Three figures were before him: the two
men who had carried the glasses from the first room, and the chauffeur
who had driven him in the taxicab. The two men still held t