Trust Pugh to find a remarkable explanation for a simple fact; if the explanation leans toward the supernatural, so much the more satisfactory to Pugh. I knew better. "The sound which you hear is merely the throbbing or the trembling of the mechanism with which it is intended that the box should be opened. The mechanism is placed just where you are tapping it with the hammer. Every tap causes it to jar." "It sounds to me like the ticking of a deathwatch. However, on such subjects, Tress, I know what you are." "My dear Pugh, give it an extra hard tap, and you will see." He gave it an extra hard tap. The moment he had done so, he started. "I've done it now." "What have you done?" "Broken something, I fancy." He listened intently, with his ear to the box. "No--it seems all right. And yet I could have sworn I had damaged something; I heard it smash." "Give me the box." He gave it me. In my turn, I listened. I shook the box. Pugh must have been mistaken. Nothing rattled; there was not a sound; the box was as empty as before. I gave a smart tap with the hammer, as Pugh had done. Then there certainly was a curious sound. To my ear, it sounded like the smashing of glass. "I wonder if there is anything fragile inside your precious puzzle, Pugh, and, if so, if we are shivering it by degrees?" II "What _is_ that noise?" I lay in bed in that curious condition which is between sleep and waking. When, at last, I _knew_ that I was awake, I asked myself what it was that had woke me. Suddenly I became conscious that something was making itself audible in the silence of the night. For some seconds I lay and listened. Then I sat up in bed. "What _is_ that noise?" It was like the tick, tick of some large and unusually clear-toned clock. It might have been a clock, had it not been that the sound was varied, every half dozen ticks or so, by a sort of stifled screech, such as might have been uttered by some small creature in an extremity of anguish. I got out of bed; it was ridiculous to think of sleep during the continuation of that uncanny shrieking. I struck a light. The sound seemed to come from the neighborhood of my dressing-table. I went to the dressing-table, the lighted match in my hand, and, as I did so, my eyes fell on Pugh's mysterious box. That same instant there issued, from the bowels of the box, a more uncomfortable screech than any I had previously heard. It took me so completely by surprise that I let the match fall from my hand to the floor. The room was in darkness. I stood, I will not say trembling, listening--considering their volume--to the _eeriest_ shrieks I ever heard. All at once they ceased. Then came the tick, tick, tick again. I struck another match and lit the gas.