"A skeleton in a clock, hey? That's a bit rummy. Do you happen to know any more about it, my wench?"
"Only — only that they say it used to belong to a doctor in our neighborhood. Years ago he sold it, or gave it away, or something. Then he died."
"Uh-huh. Don't stop there. Go on."
"Well! Aunt Cicely, that's Lady Fleet, saw it in Willaby's catalogue. She thought it would be nice as a present for Dr. Laurier; he's the son of the old doctor, you see. Aunt Cicely is kind. But she's so vague, though she's still very pretty, that she asked grandmother to bid."
"Oh, my eye!" breathed H.M. "Oh, lord love a duck! I want a look at that clock. Excuse me."
"But—"
"Sure, sure. I can't take it away. But a little largess, I think, ought to get me just a look at it. You two stay where you are!"
Martin made no objection. His blood was beating with the nearness of Jenny, his wits whirling, his entire universe concentrated on Jenny; and, he knew, she felt in much the same way.
"Now listen," he said. "Before the wires can get crossed again: what's your full name, and where do you live?"
"My name is Jennifer West, Grandmother — grandmother's made me hate titles so much we won't bother with the rest of it My mother is dead. My father's lived abroad since the beginning of the wan in Sweden. I live at a place called Brayle Manor."