"He come here afore nine," said Meg, who was a large, stupid countrywoman, with more muscle than brains; "it wasn't so when master lived, was it, Miss Dora?"
"No. But I don't suppose it matters much now when Mr. Joad comes, Meg."
"I dunno 'bout that," said the servant, putting her large hands on her hips; "it takes long to clean up bookshop, it do. I rarely get it done afore nine. I declare, miss, when Mr. Joad come this morn, I couldn't believe 'twas so late. Thought I, Clock's gone wrong again."
"What clock?" asked Dora, remembering the strange remark made by Pallant.
"Lor, miss, how sharp you speak!" said Meg, rather startled by the abruptness of the question. "Why, clock in hall, for sure!"
"Was it ever wrong, Meg?"
"A whole hour, miss; though how it could have lost hour in night I dunno. But it was ten when I looked at it in morning, while kitchen clock was nine. Too fast by hour, Miss Dora."
"On what night was it wrong?" asked Dora, eagerly feeling that she was on the verge of a discovery.
"Why, miss, it went wrong on night master had head bashed. Not as I wonder, miss, for my aunt had husband as died, and clock--her clock, miss--struck thirteen. Seems as clock knows of deaths and funerals," concluded Meg reflectively.
"Was the clock in the hall wrong by an hour when you saw it in the morning after the crime had been committed?"