Henley commenced crawling through the breach. Stepping upon an
earthern floor, he found himself in a vault-like chamber--damp,
mouldy, and foul of atmosphere. He glanced hurriedly about, and then
turned to examine the wall through which he had come. Just as he had
surmised, the bricks had been laid from the inner side, and plastered
over within. The person who had done the work must have had some
other means of escape. This set him to wondering where the other
entrance could be, and to a careful search around the wall; but there
was no door, no window, nor opening of any kind. How had the work
been done? While he was wondering, he stumbled over something in the
floor, and, recovering, threw back his head, holding his candle high
above it. He was startled by the sight of what appeared to be four
shadowy human faces, looking directly at him from above.
Instinctively he sought his revolver, but before drawing it perceived
that what he had taken for living people were simply four portraits,
of the most remarkable character he had ever beheld. Paul stared in
bewilderment at the sight before him. The pictures were so old, their
canvases so rotten and mildewed and stained with the accumulated
fungi of time and darkness that it was only by degrees that the
intention of the artist became manifest. In the hall and other
apartments of the old house, Henley thought he had seen the most
original and inexplicable pictures ever painted; but here, buried
forever from the sight of human eyes, were the most dreadful
countenances ever transcribed from life or the imagination of man.
Torture was clearly depicted upon each face; but not torture alone,
for horror, fright, and mental agony were strangely blended in each.
Not a face that looked down upon him from those antiquated frames but
bore that agonized, heart-broken, terrified expression. Paul was
paralyzed; a kind of mesmeric spell held him to the spot, so that he
could not remove his eyes from the uncanny scene before him. Then a