The crop-headed lad handed the tailor a roll of the bluish satin and the two began fixing this in the mechanism in a manner reminiscent of a roll of paper in a nineteenth century printing machine.

Then they ran the entire thing on its easy, noiseless bearings across the room to a remote corner where a twisted cable looped rather gracefully from the wall.

They made some connexion and the machine became energetic and swift.
"What is that doing ?" asked Graham, pointing with the empty glass to the busy figures and trying to ignore the scrutiny of the new comer.

"Is that--some sort of force--laid on ?" "Yes," said the man with the flaxen beard.
"Who is _that_ ?" He indicated the archway behind him.
The man in purple stroked his little beard, hesitated, and answered in an undertone, "He is Howard, your chief guardian.

You see, Sire--it's a little difficult to explain.