Felix took us into his studio. It was that oddly shaped space at the very top of the house, where ceiling heights had to accommodate themselves to the varying angles of roof slope. At each angle of its pitch a big skylight had been fitted into the roof and all these skylights were fitted with systems of multiple screens and shades.

When Felix first opened the door on it, all these shades were tightly drawn and the whole studio was as dark as night. He quickly fixed that, rolling back the shades on some of the skylights and adjusting screens on the others. He flew about the place making these adjustments and it was obvious that what he was doing was the fruit of long experience. None of his movements was tentative. There was no process of trial and error. Starting with the room completely blacked out, as it was when we came in, he unerringly fixed things so that the whole place was bathed in the maximum of light without at any point admitting even so much as a crack of glare.

Expecting something more-than average wacky, I was surprised by what we found. There was no display of either works in progress or of finished work. Here and there on work table or pedestal stood a shape with a sheet or a tarpaulin draped over it. These shapes might have been mad, but there was no telling. They were all completely shrouded. The equipment was solid and heavy and in good condition. Everything was orderly and it seemed to be arranged for the workman's comfort, convenience and efficiency. There were tools about but they were neatly kept. There was no confusion and no litter. Supplies of sheet metal were neatly stacked in bins.