A Tell-Tale Shadow.
“What’s going on here?” said Vane to himself, as he was walking up the town, and then, the colour rose to his cheeks, and he looked sharply round to see if he was observed.
But Greythorpe town street was as empty as usual. There was Grader’s cat in the window, a dog asleep on a step, and a few chickens picking about in front of the carrier’s, while the only sounds were the clink, clink of the blacksmith’s hammer upon his anvil, and the brisk tapping made by Chakes, as he neatly executed repairs upon a pair of shoes.
A guilty conscience needs no accuser, and, if it had not been for that furtive visit to the clock, Vane would not have looked round to see if he was observed before hurrying up to the church, and entering the tower, for the open door suggested to him what was going on.
He mounted the spiral staircase, and, on reaching the clock-chamber, its door being also open, Vane found himself looking at the back of a bald-headed man in his shirt-sleeves, standing with an oily rag in his hand, surrounded by wheels and other portions of the great clock.
Vane stopped short, and there was a good deal of colour in his face still, as he watched the man till he turned.
“Come to put the clock right, Mr Gramp?” he said.
“How do, sir; how do? Yes, I’ve come over, and not before it was wanted. Clocks is like human beings, sir, and
gets out of order sometimes. Mr Syme sent word days ago, but I was too busy to come sooner.”