“I must get cover of some kind,” said Tom. “Do you not hear their footsteps? I shall be caught like a rat in a trap!” His glance traveled rapidly about the room. “Have you not a cupboard or some such thing in which I can conceal myself?” “No,” said Mr. Foster, in despair. But suddenly his face lighted up. “I have it; the very thing.” Grasping Tom by the arm he threw open a door. The boy found himself in a wide hallway at the end of which was a broad steep flight of stairs leading to the floor above. Almost at the foot of the staircase was a large clock whose wooden works made a burring sound as they moved, and whose great pendulum ticked loudly, slowly, solemnly. The clock almost reached from floor to ceiling: Mr. Foster threw open the painted glass door. “There is room for you there,” said he. In a moment Tom was inside the big clock with the door closed upon him; almost at the same moment the outer door opened, and the Tories came stamping noisily into the hall. “I don’t believe there is any one about the place except those who belong here,” said one of them in a loud voice. “I tell you I heard a strange voice,” insisted Mark Harwood. “Bah!” The owner of the big voice was a huge man, with massive limbs and the torso of a giant. As he came down the hall he grumbled, “How long are you going to keep us at this place, anyhow; let’s put the torch to it and be off.” “Plenty of time for that,” said Mark. “Don’t be in a hurry.” “Hurry,” growled the big man. “We’ve been here,” he drew out a heavy gold watch, “almost three hours,” he continued, consulting the timepiece. “Oh, your watch is wrong!” “Wrong! This watch is never wrong. But, hold on, let’s compare it with Master Foster’s clock.” Tom held his breath as the speaker paused before the clock. “Hello, the confounded thing has stopped,” said the big man. “Run down, I suppose. Wait, gentlemen; I’ll do Foster a favor by opening his clock and winding it up.” He had his hand upon the catch of the clock door when Mark Harwood pulled him away. “Never mind the clock,” said the latter; “let us attend to more important matters.” Mr. Foster had re-entered the dining-room as soon as Tom had hidden himself in the clock case; therefore he neither saw nor heard what passed in the hall. The Tories came into the room, their swords clanking and their spurs jingling. “It’s a good thing for you, Foster,” growled the huge man, whose name, by the way, was Clarage--a notorious bully and leader of a body of Major Gainey’s loyalists--“that we did not find any one lurking about the grounds.” “You could not have done much worse than you have already done,” said Mr. Foster, bitterly. “So you think,” put in Mark Harwood. “But we would have proven you wrong without loss of time, my dear sir; mind you that.” “A long rope and a stout limb for the spy,” laughed Clarage; “and not to be any way mean, Foster, we would have given you a place beside him.”