There is certainly a stir somewhere, but he can not locate it, not quite satisfy himself whether it is a footfall or a rustle that he hears.

The clock in the library strikes twelve, then the one in the hall gives one great boom, and stops.

Instantly he raises his revolver and shoots directly at its face.

No sound from human lips answers the discharge of the weapon.

In the flash which for a moment has lighted up the whole place, he catches one glimpse of the broken dial with its two hands pointing directly at twelve, but nothing more.