They were now in the cellar, and in another moment the trio had passed through the laundry—past the fruit closets and the coal bins, and were now ushered into the partitioned corner which had been converted into a library and laboratory. They entered the library, which was comfortably furnished, brilliantly lighted, well ventilated and altogether a Cosy Corner for—a studious man.
Book-shelves encircled the walls, and many and musty were the ancient volumes which jostled the modern authorities thereon. The further room, connecting the laboratory, was now in total darkness. But through the black open doorway came a soft musical burr-r-r-r-ing, whirr-r-r-r-r-ing. Now and then little sparkles of light crossed the black aperture.
Bill beamed upon his guests. He tilted his hat back a bit further, then he took off his coat, his cuffs. He began to look like Business.
Out of the big, wooden pail he lifted a long, slim, dark bottle. From his pocket he drew forth a corkscrew. The bottle he set on the table. The corkscrew he laid beside the bottle. Then he ranged three-wide-mouthed, slim-necked glasses side by side.
“And here’s to us—later,”—he lightly remarked.
But to such as Alonzo Leffingwell “Extra Dry” does not appeal. The Seer viewed the spread with something like scorn. Then he turned his attention to the connecting door. He riveted his gaze upon the open doorway of the darkened inner chamber.
“I feel strangely drawn to that room,” he murmured to Imogene.
“Well, I don’t,” she answered with emphasis. “Let’s go straight back—after the Mumm.”
“Well, I should say—NIT”—and Bill playfully pushed her toward the room where the little sparkles flew across the blackness. “Come along Leff, we’re now ready to draw the first cork.” And reaching up, Bill Vanderhook pressed a button in the door-jamb.