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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Doings of Raffles Haw"

At one end was the furnace and
boiler, the iron mouth of which was closed, though the fierce red
light beat through the cracks, and a dull roar sounded through the
building. On either side innumerable huge Leyden jars stood ranged in
rows, tier topping tier, while above them were columns of Voltaic
cells. Robert's eyes, as he glanced around, lit on vast wheels,
complicated networks of wire, stands, test-tubes, coloured bottles,
graduated glasses, Bunsen burners, porcelain insulators, and all the
varied _debris_ of a chemical and electrical workshop.
"Come across here," said Raffles Haw, picking his way among the heaps of
metal, the coke, the packing-cases, and the carboys of acid. "Yours is
the first foot except my own which has ever penetrated to this room
since the workmen left it. My servants carry the lead into the
ante-room, but come no further. The furnace can be cleaned and stoked
from without. I employ a fellow to do nothing else. Now take a look in
here."
He threw open a door on the further side, and motioned to the young
artist to enter. The latter stood silent with one foot over the
threshold, staring in amazement around him. The room, which may have
been some thirty feet square, was paved and walled with gold.


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