But I want you to give me
a little time before you tell anybody that I was here that Sunday
morning. And, in return, I'll find your clock."
I hesitated, but however put out he was, he didn't look like a
criminal. Besides, he was a friend of my niece's, and blood is thicker
even than flood-water.
"There was nothing wrong about my being here," he went on, "but--I
don't want it known. Don't spoil a good story, Mrs. Pitman."
I did not quite understand that, although those who followed the trial
carefully may do so. Poor Mr. Howell! I am sure he believed that it
was only a good story. He got the description of my onyx clock and
wrote it down, and I gave him the manuscript for Mr. Ladley. That was
the last I saw of him for some time.
That Thursday proved to be an exciting day. For late in the afternoon
Terry, digging the mud out of the cellar, came across my missing gray
false front near the coal vault, and brought it up, grinning. And just
before six, Mr. Graves, the detective, rang the bell and then let
himself in. I found him in the lower hall, looking around.
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