“You did!” Penny exclaimed with sudden interest. “How many times would you say it struck at midnight? I mean the Hubell Tower clock.”
“Such a question!” Mrs. Weems protested, thoroughly exasperated.
“It’s a very important one,” Penny insisted. “My reputation and five gallons of gas are at stake, so weigh well your words before you speak.”
“The clock struck twelve, of course!”
“There, you see, Penny,” Mr. Parker grinned triumphantly. “Does that satisfy you?”
“Mrs. Weems,” Penny persisted, “did you actually count the strokes?”
“Certainly not. Why should I? The clock always strikes twelve, therefore it must have struck that number last night.”
“I regret to say, you’ve just disqualified yourself as a witness in this case,” Penny said, helping herself to the last strip of bacon on the platter. “I must search farther afield for proof.”
“What are you talking about anyhow?” the housekeeper protested. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”
As she finished breakfast, Penny explained to Mrs. Weems how the disagreement with her father had arisen. The housekeeper displayed slight interest in the tale of the clock, but asked many questions about the fire at the Preston farm.