“Could I examine that decrepit old clock in the hidden room again? I happen to be making a collection of clocks.”
“Then you can make no mistake about this superb specimen in Sienna marble,” urged the dealer.
“But, like Jacqueline,” smilingly protested Mrs. Gordon, “I prefer something that has a touch of mystery about it. And that old clock, shut up in the darkness there, one knows not how many years, ought to have a history.”
“But it is so very, very old,” cried old Luigi deprecatingly. “It has not gone for two hundred years.”
“That hardly makes it less interesting,” I said dryly. “Let us see the clock by all means.” The reluctance of both St. Hilary and Luigi had struck me as being rather strange.
“Your Excellency surely does not mean to give it away? It is an heirloom of the family,” expostulated old Luigi obstinately.
“I have told you to bring it out,” commanded the duke.
Very reluctantly the old man entered the little chamber.
“It is too heavy,” he cried from within. “I can not lift it.”
Duke da Sestos and myself went to his assistance. Together we carried it to the sala and placed it on the center-table. The slight jar set a number of bells ringing in musical confusion.