“‘I will describe it to you to the best of my ability,’ he said. ‘To begin with it was naked--stark, staring naked!’ “‘How positively indecent,’ murmured Uncle John, ‘really vicar, I don’t wonder you were frightened.’ “‘And then,’ the vicar continued, disregarding the interruption, ‘it was grey!--from head to foot a uniform livid grey.’ “‘A grey monstrosity! Ah! now THAT is interesting!’ “I looked at my uncle quizzically--was he still joking? But no! he was in sober earnest: could it be possible he knew anything about the clock. “I leaned back in my chair and smiled--feebly. “‘In height,’ the vicar went on, ‘it could not have been far from seven feet, it had an enormous round head crowned with a black mass of shock hair, no ears, huge spider-like hands and toeless feet. “‘I could not see its face as its back was turned on me. “‘Urged on by an irresistible impulse (although half dead with terror), I followed the Thing. “‘Striding noiselessly along, it left the spinney, and crossing several fields entered your grounds by the gate in the rear of the house.’ “‘What!’ my uncle roared, banging the table with his fist, ‘what! do you mean to tell me you allowed it to come here!’ “‘I couldn’t stop it,’ the vicar said apologetically, stretching forward to help himself to some more brandy. ‘It led me to your summer-house, vanishing through the doorway. Resolved on seeing the last, and hoping thereby to discover some clue to the mystery, I cautiously approached the window, and, peering through the glass, saw the creature walk stealthily across the floor and disappear into a gigantic clock. I verily believe I was as much scared by the sight of that clock as I had been by the appearance of the spectre--they were both satanically awful.’ “‘Is that all?’ my Uncle John inquired. “‘It is,’ the vicar replied, ‘and is it not enough?’ “My Uncle John got on his feet. “‘Before returning a verdict,’ he said, ‘I must see the clock. Let us go to the summer-house at once.’ “The vicar and I were loud in our protests--‘We were sure my uncle must be tired; better put off the investigation to the morrow.’ “It was, however, of no avail; there was no gainsaying Uncle John when once he had made up his mind to do anything. “We accordingly escorted him without further delay to the garden. “The clock was standing quite peacefully where I had had it set. “As soon as my uncle saw it he caught hold of my arm. ‘Where on earth did you get it from, Harry?’ he cried, bubbling over with excitement. ‘The last time I saw that clock was in Kleogh Castle, the home of the Blakes. It had been in their possession for centuries, and was made from what is supposed to be the oldest bog-oak in Ireland. Ah! the old lady left it you, did she? and you say she got it from Kelly’s in Grafton Street. “‘Come! that explains everything. The Blakes--poor beggars--were sold up last year, and Kelly’s, I know, were represented at the sale.