“I looked at my uncle quizzically—was he still joking? But no! he was in sober earnest: could it be possible he knew anything about the clock.
“I leaned back in my chair and smiled—feebly.
“‘In height,’ the vicar went on, ‘it could not have been far from seven feet, it had an enormous round head crowned with a black mass of shock hair, no ears, huge spider-like hands and toeless feet.
“‘I could not see its face as its back was turned on me.
“‘Urged on by an irresistible impulse (although half dead with terror), I followed the Thing.
“‘Striding noiselessly along, it left the spinney, and crossing several fields entered your grounds by the gate in the rear of the house.’
“‘What!’ my uncle roared, banging the table with his fist, ‘what! do you mean to tell me you allowed it to come here!’
“‘I couldn’t stop it,’ the vicar said apologetically, stretching forward to help himself to some more brandy. ‘It led me to your summer-house, vanishing through the doorway. Resolved on seeing the last, and hoping thereby to discover some clue to the mystery, I cautiously approached the window, and, peering through the glass, saw the creature walk stealthily across the floor and disappear into a gigantic clock. I verily believe I was as much scared by the sight of that clock as I had been by the appearance of the spectre—they were both satanically awful.’
“‘Is that all?’ my Uncle John inquired.
“‘It is,’ the vicar replied, ‘and is it not enough?’