"Just for the sake of curiosity," he remarked, "and not because I believe that delightful sales talk we were given, let's see if it will ring when I tap. It should, you know." He tapped the lip of the bell. A muted _thunk_ was the only response. Then he tried with a coin, a paper knife, and the bottom of a glass. In each instance the resulting sound was nothing like a bell ringing. "If you've finished, Mark," Edith said then, with feminine tolerance, "let me show you how it's done." "Gladly," her husband agreed. She took the bell and turned away for a moment. Then she shook the bell vigorously. A clear, sweet ringing shivered through the room--so thin and etherial that small involuntary shivers crawled up his spine. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "How did you do that?" "I just put the clapper back in place with some thread," Edith told him. "The clapper?" He struck his forehead with his palm. "Don't tell me--the crystal necklace we bought twenty years ago!" "Of course." Her tone was composed. "As soon as young Sam Kee told us about his father's separating the clapper and the bell, I remembered the central crystal pendant on my necklace. It _is_ shaped like a bell clapper--we mentioned it once. "I guessed right away we had the missing clapper. But I didn't say so. I wanted to score on you, Mark--" she smiled affectionately at him--"and because, you know, I had a queer feeling Sam Kee, junior, wouldn't let us have the bell if he guessed we had the clapper." "I don't think he would." Mark Williams picked up his pipe and rubbed the bowl with his thumb. "Yet he didn't really believe that story he told us any more than we do." "No, but his father did. And if old Sam Kee had told it to us--remember how wrinkled and wise he seemed?--I do believe we'd have believed the story." "You're probably right." Dr. Williams rang the bell and waited. The thin, sweet sound seemed to hang in the air a long moment, then was gone. "Nope," he said. "Nothing happened. Although, of course, that may be because there was no deceased around to respond." "I'm not sure I feel like joking about the story." A small frown gathered on Edith's forehead. "I had planned to use the bell as a dinner bell and to tell the story to our guests. But now--I'm not sure." Frowning, she stared at the bell until the ringing of the telephone in the hall brought her out of her abstraction. "Sit still, I'll answer." She hurried out. Dr. Williams, turning the rose crystal bell over in his hand, could hear the sudden tension in her voice as she answered. He was on his feet when she reentered. "An emergency operation at the hospital," she sighed. "Nice young man--automobile accident. Fracture of the skull, Dr. Amos says. He wouldn't have disturbed you but you're the only brain man in town, with Dr. Hendryx away on vacation." "I know." He was already in the hall, reaching for his hat. "Man's work is from sun to sun, but a doctor's work is never done," he misquoted.