The Skeleton in the Clock

The gentleman in question, having detached himself from the spectators, was now lumbering towards them in the aisle between bidders and wall From the arms-room he had retrieved his, Panama hat He carried the guisarme like a mighty man of war, thumping down its shaft at every step. But, when an attendant took it from him, it was with such a deferential, 'If you please, sir,' that H.M. only scowled. Then he surveyed Martin and Jenny.

'Not for the world,' he said querulously, 'would I show any curiosity. Oh, no. But burn me, I'd like to have some idea of what it is I paid two hundred quid for. They say it's back mere somewhere,' he nodded towards the rear of the room, 'and I can't get it till the end of the sale.'

'Please,' urged Jenny. 'Lower your voice. I can tell you what it is.'

'So?'

'It's a dock. A grandfather clock.'

'Well… now!' muttered the great man, and scratched his chin. A vast load seemed lifted from him. 'That's not bad. That’s not bad at all. I was sort of picturing myself goin' home with a fine big bit of needlework labelled, 'Jesus give you sleep.''

'The clock,' Jenny explained, 'hasn't got any works inside it. There's only a skeleton, fastened upright to the back, with its skull looking out through the glass clock-dial'

The effect of this remark was curious.

Instead of showing surprise or even sarcasm, H.M.'s big face smoothed itself out to utter expressionlessness. His small, sharp eyes fastened on Jenny in a way that evidently disconcerted her. He did not even seem to breathe. The thin voice of the auctioneer sounded far away.

'A skeleton in a clock, hey? That's a bit rummy. Do you happen to know any more about it, my wench?'

'Only — only that they say it used to belong to a doctor in our neighborhood. Years ago he sold it, or gave it away, or something. Then he died.'

'Uh-huh. Don't stop there. Go on.'

'Well! Aunt Cicely, that's Lady Fleet, saw it in Willaby's catalogue. She thought it would be nice as a present for Dr. Laurier; he's the son of the old doctor, you see. Aunt Cicely is kind. But she's so vague, though she's still very pretty, that she asked grandmother to bid.'

'Oh, my eye!' breathed H.M. 'Oh, lord love a duck! I want a look at that clock. Excuse me.'

'But—'

'Sure, sure. I can't take it away. But a little largess, I think, ought to get me just a look at it. You two stay where you are!'

Martin made no objection. His blood was beating with the nearness of Jenny, his wits whirling, his entire universe concentrated on Jenny; and, he knew, she felt in much the same way.

'Now listen,' he said. 'Before the wires can get crossed again: what's your full name, and where do you live?'

'My name is Jennifer West, Grandmother — grandmother's made me hate titles so much we won't bother with the rest of it My mother is dead. My father's lived abroad since the beginning of the wan in Sweden. I live at a place called Brayle Manor.'

'Is that anywhere near Fleet House?'

'About half a mile south of it Why?'

'Look here.' Martin hesitated. 'This engagement was— arranged. Wasn't it?'

Jenny hesitated too, and would not meet his eyes.

'Yes, I suppose you could call it that. We're practically broke; haven't a bean. The Fleets are very wealthy. Aunt Cicely…'

'Go on!'

'Well, Aunt Cicely's only weakness is that she is a bit of a snob about titles. Her husband gave I don't know how much to party-funds so he could get his knighthood. But that's not all! Richard is really.. fond of me. Richard—'

'Or 'dear Ricky, as we call him.''

'Darling, you mustn't talk like that!'

'Sorry. Do you know what black bile is? It's jealousy. Sorry.'

'He really is nice. He's a great athlete, and very intelligent too: a double-first at Cambridge.'

Fierce, tense, lowered whispers! Their voices were so soft, as they stood against the brown wall between the gilt chairs and the lacquered wardrobe, that no bidder could have complained of disturbance. Over a grimy skylight the sun alternately strengthened and darkened.

'If you don't mind,' said Martin, 'we'll omit the list of Richard's accomplishments. Jenny, I'm going to smash this marriage to blazes. Is that all right with you?'

'I think I should hate you if you didn't But grandmother ‘?

…

'There is a technique with grandmother. You saw it used today by a master hand. How long are you staying in town?'

'We've got to leave this evening. I'm — I'm to spend Saturday and Sunday at Fleet House.'

'Richard?'

'No! Not particularly!' The blue eyes grew puzzled. 'It's something rather mysterious.' 'How so?'

'Well, there's a friend of Aunt Cicely's, and mine too, named Ruth Callice. This morning, very early it seems, Ruth rang up Aunt Cicely. She asked if she could come down for the week-end, and bring two guests. I don't know who the two men are; but Ruth said Aunt Cicely would like them. Ruth said she had some tremendous project, about the old prison. She said it might not work, but she'd know for certain today whether some Ministry would say yes.'

Then, very quietly, Jenny added: 'Why did you jump when I said 'Ruth Callice.’'

Martin had not jumped. But, as they stood together negligently against the wall, their hands were locked together. Each tremor, each blood-beat, almost each thought, seemed to flow from one into the other. And women, at times like these, have an emotional power which is almost like mind-reading.

'Yes?' murmured Jenny.

'Because I'm one of the two men. I was in Ruth's flat last night'

'Oh,' murmured Jenny, and her gaze moved away. He felt, in the literal sense of touch, something wrong. 'Do you know Ruth well?'

'I've known her for years! She's one of the finest persons I ever met!'

'Oh. Did you ever tell her anything about — us?'

'Yes, several times. I'm afraid I got rather emotional about it last night She cheered me up.'

'How nice,' said Jenny, and suddenly tried to wrench her hands away. He held tightly. 'Then didn't she ever tell you who I was? Who 'Jenny' was? Why didn't she?'

'Probably because she had no more clue than I had.'

'Oh, yes, she had. She knew who I was. She knew all I knew about you, because I told her. Three years! And in the meantime, I suppose…'

It occurred to Martin Drake, quite accurately, that Jenny must feel about Ruth Callice much as he felt about Richard Fleet He must stop this nonsense. But such talk is contagious.

'If it comes to that why didn't you get in touch with me and tell me yourself?'

Jenny's pale complexion was flushed, and she was trembling.

'Because you thought it was just a casual adventure. Oh, yes, you did! Or else you'd have found me — somehow. You had to come to me, don't you see? Won't anybody leave me a little pride? Please let me go.'

'Jenny, listen to reason! You know how I feel, don't you?'

'Yes. I think so.'

Jenny's resistance fell away. It was trivial, a brushing of the wing in those fierce whispers. The hands of the clock on the far wall stood at a quarter past twelve; the morning's auction would soon be over. And yet in the state of mind of these two, all unintentionally they were precipitating tragedy and disaster which moved closer as steadily as the ticking of the clock. 'And now,' she said, 'you've been invited to Fleet House,' 'Ruth and Stannard can go there. I can't' 'Why not?'

'Damn it you can't accept a man's hospitality and then tell him you're going to break up his marriage. Isn't