Caw's mouth opened. "My master's orders" was on his tongue. And yet, as he had just said in other words, the object of the clock's existence, so far as he knew it, had been already attained. "So far as he knew it!"—that was the clause that stuck.
"Well, Caw?" said Alan, "what were you going to say?"
Caw shook his head. "I haven't knowledge enough to answer either 'yes' or 'no.' I have imagined, Mr. Alan, that that clock may be doing more than just telling the time. Sometimes, indeed, I think it—it knows something."
At that moment a bell rang in the distance. "Excuse me, sir," said Caw and went out.
"What's the man driving at?" said Alan with natural enough impatience.
"Well," his friend replied slowly, "doesn't it seem queer that the clock should have been put there simply to proclaim when the year was up? A grocer's calendar could have done that much—"
"By Jove!" Christopher's nephew strode across the room and stood staring at the timepiece. "Teddy," he said at last, "if it weren't for that blighted Green Box, I'd be imagining all sorts of—"
Caw entered with a telegram on a tray. "For you, Mr. France," he said, presenting it. "The messenger waits."
Teddy read and went rather pale.
"Not bad news, old man?" Alan asked, coming over.