showed not the least sign of disorder. The chairs were in their places. Not
a piece of furniture was missing. The people who had lived there and who
had made it the most individual room in their house had gone away leaving
everything just as it was, the books which they used to read, the
knick-knacks on the tables and consoles.

Renine examined the old grandfather's clock, contained in its tall carved
case which showed the disk of the pendulum through an oval pane of glass.
He opened the door of the clock. The weights hanging from the cords were at
their lowest point.

At that moment there was a click. The clock struck eight with a serious
note which Hortense was never to forget.

"How extraordinary!" she said.

"Extraordinary indeed," said he, "for the works are exceedingly simple and
would hardly keep going for a week."

"And do you see nothing out of the common?"

"No, nothing ... or, at least...."

He stooped and, from the back of the case, drew a metal tube which was
concealed by the weights. Holding it up to the light:

"A telescope," he said, thoughtfully. "Why did they hide it?... And they
left it drawn out to its full length.... That's odd.... What does it mean?"

The clock, as is sometimes usual, began to strike a second time, sounding