"But the clock does, and very exactly," interrupted the mayor.

"The mayor," said M. Domini, "in his notes, well explains that the
movements of the clock stopped when it fell."

"But see here," said M. Plantat, "it was the odd hour marked by
that clock that struck me. The hands point to twenty minutes past
three; yet we know that the countess was fully dressed, when she
was struck. Was she up taking tea at three in the morning? It's
hardly probable."

"I, too, was struck with that circumstance," returned M. Lecoq, "and
that's why I said, 'not so stupid!' Well, let's see."

He lifted the clock with great care, and replaced it on the mantel,
being cautious to set it exactly upright. The hands continued to
point to twenty minutes past three.

"Twenty past three!" muttered he, while slipping a little wedge
under the stand. "People don't take tea at that hour. Still less
common is it that people are murdered at daylight."

He opened the clock-case with some difficulty, and pushed the longer
hand to the figure of half-past three.

The clock struck eleven!

"Good," cried M. Lecoq, triumphantly. "That is the truth!" and
drawing the lozenge-box from his pocket, he excitedly crushed a