e mantelpiece to the left
there still stood the electric table-light, and by its side still lay
the screwdriver.... He determined to pass straight through the
drawing-room. At the further edge of the carpet, on the parquet flooring
between the carpet and the portiere leading to the inner hall, he
noticed under the ray of his lamp footprints in the dust--footprints of
a man, and smaller footprints, either of a woman or a child. He remained
motionless, staring at them. Then it occurred to him that during the
days between the death of its tenant and the sealing-up the flat would
probably not have been cleaned, and that these footprints must have been
made months ago by the last persons to leave the flat. Little dust would
fall after the closing of the flat. He was glad that he had thought of
that explanation. It was a convincing explanation.

Nevertheless he dared not proceed. For on the other mantelpiece to the
right there was a clock, and while staring in the ghostly silence at the
footprints, he had fancied that his ear caught the ticking of the clock.
Imagination, doubtless! But he dared not proceed until he had satisfied
himself that his ears had deluded him; and, equally, he dared not
approach the clock to satisfy himself. He could only gaze at the
reflection of the clock in the opposite mirror. In the opposite mirror
the hands indicated half a minute past nine; hence the clock was really
at half a minute to three, and if it was actually going, it might be
expected to strike immediately. He waited. He heard a preliminary
grinding noise familiar to students of symptoms in clocks, and in the
fraction of a second he was bathed from head to foot in a cold
perspiration.

The clock struck three.

The next instant he walked boldly up to the clock and bent his ear to
it. No, he could hear nothing. It had stopped. He glared steadily at the
hands for two minutes by his own watch; they did not move.

In the back of his head, in the small of his back, in his legs, little
tracts of his epidermis tickled momentarily. He wiped his face, and
walked boldly away from the clock to the portiere, which he lifted with
one arm. Then he threw the light of his lamp direct on the dial, and
glared at it again, fearful lest it should have taken advantage of his
departure to resume its measuring of eternity.

Could a clock go for four months? A clock could be made that would go
for four months. But this was not a freak-clock. It was a large