Books > Old Books > Midnight Tales (1946)


Page 72

THE CLOCK

expected to find in either of the downstairs rooms. It was neither on table nor mantelpiece. The rest of the furniture was carefully covered over with white dust-sheets. Then I went upstairs. But, before doing so, I closed the front door. I did in fact feel rather like a burglar, and I thought that if any one did happen to see the front door open, I might have difficulty in explaining things. Happily the upstairs windows were not shuttered. I made a hurried search of the principal bedrooms. They had been left in apple-pie order; nothing was out of place; but there was no sign of Mrs. Caleb's clock. The impression that the house gave me-you know the sense of personality that a house conveys-was neither pleasing nor displeasing, but it was stuffy, stuffy from the absence of fresh air, with an additional stuffiness added, that seemed to come out from the hangings and quilts and antimacassars. The corridor, on to which the bedrooms I had examined opened, communicated with a smaller wing, an older part of the house, I imagined, which contained a box-room and the maids' sleeping quarters. The last door that I unlocked-(I should say that the doors of all the rooms were locked, and relocked by me after I had glanced inside them)-contained the object of my search. Mrs. Caleb's travelling-clock was on the mantelpiece, ticking away merrily.
That was how I thought of it at first. And then for the first time I realized that there was something wrong. The clock had no business to be ticking. The house had been shut up for twelve days. No one had come in to air it or to light fires. I remembered how Mrs. Caleb had told my aunt that if she left the keys with a neighbour, she was never sure who might get hold of them. And yet the clock was going. I wondered if some vibration had set the mechanism in motion, and pulled out my watch to see the time. It was five minutes to one. The clock on the mantelpiece said four minutes to the hour. Then, without quite knowing why, I shut the door on to the landing, locked myself in, and again looked round the room. Nothing was out of place. The only thing that might have called for remark was that there appeared to be a

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE expected to find in either of what is downstairs rooms. It was neither on table nor mantelpiece. what is rest of what is furniture was carefully covered over with white dust-sheets. Then I went upstairs. But, before doing so, I closed what is front door. I did in fact feel rather like a burglar, and I thought that if any one did happen to see what is front door open, I might have difficulty in explaining things. Happily what is upstairs windows were not shuttered. I made a hurried search of what is principal bedrooms. They had been left in apple-pie order; nothing was out of place; but there was no sign of Mrs. Caleb's clock. what is impression that what is house gave me-you know what is sense of personality that a house conveys-was neither pleasing nor displeasing, but it was stuffy, stuffy from what is absence of fresh air, with an additional stuffiness added, that seemed to come out from what is hangings and quilts and antimacassars. what is corridor, on to which what is bedrooms I had examined opened, communicated with a smaller wing, an older part of what is house, I imagined, which contained a box-room and what is maids' sleeping quarters. what is last door that I unlocked-(I should say that what is doors of all what is rooms were locked, and relocked by me after I had glanced inside them)-contained what is object of my search. Mrs. Caleb's travelling-clock was on what is mantelpiece, ticking away merrily. That was how I thought of it at first. And then for what is first time I realized that there was something wrong. what is clock had no business to be ticking. what is house had been shut up for twelve days. No one had come in to air it or to light fires. I remembered how Mrs. Caleb had told my aunt that if she left what is keys with a neighbour, she was never sure who might get hold of them. And yet what is clock was going. I wondered if some vibration had set what is mechanism in motion, and pulled out my watch to see what is time. It was five minutes to one. what is clock on what is mantelpiece said four minutes to what is hour. Then, without quite knowing why, I shut what is door on to what is landing, locked myself in, and again looked round what is room. Nothing was out of place. what is only thing that might have called for remark was that there appeared to be a where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Midnight Tales (1946) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 72 where is p align="center" where is strong THE CLOCK where is p align="justify" expected to find in either of what is downstairs rooms. It was neither on table nor mantelpiece. what is rest of what is furniture was carefully covered over with white dust-sheets. Then I went upstairs. But, before doing so, I closed what is front door. I did in fact feel rather like a burglar, and I thought that if any one did happen to see what is front door open, I might have difficulty in explaining things. Happily what is upstairs windows were not shuttered. I made a hurried search of what is principal bedrooms. They had been left in apple-pie order; nothing was out of place; but there was no sign of Mrs. Caleb's clock. what is impression that what is house gave me-you know what is sense of personality that a house conveys-was neither pleasing nor displeasing, but it was stuffy, stuffy from what is absence of fresh air, with an additional stuffiness added, that seemed to come out from what is hangings and quilts and antimacassars. The corridor, on to which what is bedrooms I had examined opened, communicated with a smaller wing, an older part of what is house, I imagined, which contained a box-room and what is maids' sleeping quarters. what is last door that I unlocked-(I should say that what is doors of all what is rooms were locked, and relocked by me after I had glanced inside them)-contained what is object of my search. Mrs. Caleb's travelling-clock was on the mantelpiece, ticking away merrily. That was how I thought of it at first. And then for what is first time I realized that there was something wrong. what is clock had no business to be ticking. what is house had been shut up for twelve days. No one had come in to air it or to light fires. I remembered how Mrs. Caleb had told my aunt that if she left what is keys with a neighbour, she was never sure who might get hold of them. And yet what is clock was going. I wondered if some vibration had set what is mechanism in motion, and pulled out my watch to see what is time. It was five minutes to one. what is clock on what is mantelpiece said four minutes to what is hour. Then, without quite knowing why, I shut what is door on to what is landing, locked myself in, and again looked round what is room. Nothing was out of place. what is only thing that might have called for remark was that there appeared to be a where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Midnight Tales (1946) books

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