“My Uncle John got on his feet.
“‘Before returning a verdict,’ he said, ‘I must see the clock. Let us go to the summer-house at once.’
“The vicar and I were loud in our protests—‘We were sure my uncle must be tired; better put off the investigation to the morrow.’
“It was, however, of no avail; there was no gainsaying Uncle John when once he had made up his mind to do anything.
“We accordingly escorted him without further delay to the garden.
“The clock was standing quite peacefully where I had had it set.
“As soon as my uncle saw it he caught hold of my arm. ‘Where on earth did you get it from, Harry?’ he cried, bubbling over with excitement. ‘The last time I saw that clock was in Kleogh Castle, the home of the Blakes. It had been in their possession for centuries, and was made from what is supposed to be the oldest bog-oak in Ireland. Ah! the old lady left it you, did she? and you say she got it from Kelly’s in Grafton Street.
“‘Come! that explains everything. The Blakes—poor beggars—were sold up last year, and Kelly’s, I know, were represented at the sale.
“‘But now comes the extraordinary part of the affair. The grey figure our friend the vicar has just described to us tallies exactly with the phantasm that used to haunt Kleogh, and which the Blakes have always regarded in the light of a family ghost.