ut a row of blue scallops on Eliza
Klinefelter's lavender slippers, and I put them away.

I got out the cuff-link and went with it to the pantry. Thomas was
wiping silver and the air was heavy with tobacco smoke. I sniffed and
looked around, but there was no pipe to be seen.

"Thomas," I said, "you have been smoking."

"No, ma'm." He was injured innocence itself. "It's on my coat, ma'm.
Over at the club the gentlemen--"

But Thomas did not finish. The pantry was suddenly filled with the
odor of singeing cloth. Thomas gave a clutch at his coat, whirled to
the sink, filled a tumbler with water and poured it into his right
pocket with the celerity of practice.

"Thomas," I said, when he was sheepishly mopping the floor, "smoking is
a filthy and injurious habit. If you must smoke, you must; but don't
stick a lighted pipe in your pocket again. Your skin's your own: you
can blister it if you like. But this house is not mine, and I don't
want a conflagration. Did you ever see this cuff-link before?"

No, he never had, he said, but he looked at it oddly.

"I picked it up in the hall," I added indifferently. The old man's
eyes were shrewd under his bushy eyebrows.

"There's strange goin's-on here, Mis' Innes," he said, shaking his
head. "Somethin's goin' to happen, sure. You ain't took notice that
the big clock in the hall is stopped, I reckon?"

"Nonsense," I said. "Clocks have to stop, don't they, if they're not
wound?"

"It's wound up, all right, and it stopped at three o'clock last night,"
he answered solemnly. "More'n that, that there clock ain't stopped for
fifteen years, not since Mr. Armstrong's first wife died. And that
ain't all,--no MA'M. Last three nights I slep' in this place, after
the electrics went out I had a token. My oil lamp was full of oil, but
it kep' goin' out, do what I would. Minute I shet my eyes, out that
lamp'd go. There ain't no surer token of death. The Bible sez, LET
YER LIGHT SHINE! When a hand you can't see puts yer light out, it means
death, sure."

The old man's voice was full of conviction. In spite of myself I had a
chilly sensation in the small of my back, and I left him mumbling over
his dishes. Later on I heard a crash from the pantry, and Liddy
reported that Beulah, who is coal black, had darted in front of Thomas
just as he picked up a tray of dishes; that the bad omen had been too
much for him, and he had dropped the tray.

The chug of the automobile