"But you must promise to control yoursell, darling," said Bog, tenderly.
"One question, Uncle Ith," said he. "How long a time were your eyes off the room, after the first stroke for the Seventh District?"
"Not more than three seconds."
"And you are sure that there was nobody in the room?"
"Certain; for I must have seen him enter, or go out."
"Then, Uncle Ith, you have cleared up a great mystery."
"What! What mystery?"
"The death of Mr. Minford, the inventor, my old friend, and the protector and guardian of Miss Wilkeson. He lived in that very room! He was at work on a perpetual-motion machine! It was operated, somehow, by weights! It started suddenly, when you saw that rod, or lever, fall to the floor! Mr. Minford put the rod in its place, and made some little improvement in the works! The machine started again at a moment when your eyes were turned away! The rod fell with greater violence, struck the inventor on the head, and killed him! That is the whole story; and stupid we have all been not to have guessed it before."
Nature furnished her own sweet relief to Pet's pent-up emotions. She burst into tears. "Thank Heaven," said she, "it is all plain now!"
Pet had not whispered it to Mrs. Crull, or Bog, or her uncle, or to any other living soul, but the mystery of that awful night had hung over her young mind like a pall, which in vain she had tried to lift.