I don't know how in the world I came to overlook it, but I think you ought to know that there's a way of getting into the picture gallery without using either the windows or the stairs, and that way ought to be both searched and guarded." "Where is it?
What is it?
Why in the world didn't you tell me in the first place ?" exclaimed Narkom irritably, as he glanced round the place searchingly.

"Is it a panel?
a secret door?
or what?
This is an old house, and old houses are sometimes a very nest of such things." "Happily, this one isn't.

It's a modern innovation, not an ancient relic, that offers the means of entrance in this case.

A Yankee occupied this house before I bought it from him--one of those blessed shivery individuals his country breeds, who can't stand a breath of cold air indoors after the passing of the autumn.

The wretched man put one of those wretched American inflictions, a hot-air furnace, in the cellar, with huge pipes running to every room in the house--great tin monstrosities bigger round than a man's body, ending in openings in the wall, with what they call 'registers,' to let the heat in, or shut it out as they please.