"The wall is purely a matter of mechanical construction, operated
hydraulically." The man was speaking softly at Jimmie Dale's side.
"The room beneath is built to correspond; the base, ceiling, and wall
mouldings here do not have to be very ingenious to effect a disguise.
I might say, however, that few visitors, other than yourself, have ever
seen anything here but a bedroom." He waved his hand toward the retorts,
the racks of test tubes, the hundred and one articles that strewed the
laboratory bench. "As for this, its purpose is twofold. We, as well,
as the police, have often need of analysis. We make it. If we require a
drug, a poison, say, we compound it from its various ingredients, or,
as the case may be, distil it, perhaps--it is, you will agree, somewhat
more difficult to trace to its source if procured that way. And speaking
of poisons"--he stepped forward, and lifted a glass-stoppered bottle
containing a colourless liquid from a shelf--"in a modest way we have
even done some original research work here. This, for instance, is
as Utopian from our standpoint as the formation, and personnel of the
organisation I have briefly outlined to you. It possesses very essential
qualities. It is almost instantaneous in its action, requires a very
small quantity, and defies detection even by autopsy." He uncorked the
bottle, and dipped in a long glass rod.
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