DANGERS OF THE PASSAGE 315 



books numbered from 1 to 80 in three shelves. The 

 catalogue lay by the side of them, and I cast my eye 

 over it. Here were books to suit all tastes; " Librarian, 

 Adolf Henrik Lindstrom," I read at the end. So he 

 was librarian, too truly a many-sided man. Long 

 rows of cases stood here, full of whortleberry jam, 

 cranberries, syrup, cream, sugar, and pickles. In one 

 corner I saw every sign of a dark-room; a curtain was 

 hung up to keep the light off, and there was an array 

 of developing-dishes, measuring-glasses, etc. This loft 

 was made good use of. We had now seen everything, 

 and descended again to continue our inspection. 



Just as we reached the pent-house, Lindstrom came 

 in with a big bucket of ice; I understood that it was to 

 be used in the manufacture of water. My companion 

 had armed himself with a large and powerful lantern, 

 and I saw that we were going to begin our underground 

 travels. In the north wall of the pent-house there was 

 a door, and through this we went, entering a passage 

 built against the house, and dark as the grave. The 

 lantern had lost its power of illumination; it burned 

 with a dull, dead light, which did not seem to penetrate 

 beyond the glass. I stretched my hands in front of me. 

 My host stopped and gave me a lecture on the wonder- 

 ful order and tidiness they had succeeded in establishing 

 among them. I was a willing listener, for I had already 

 seen enough to be able to certify the truth of what he 

 told me without hesitation. But in the place we were 



