in this place ticking--notice that? Not a clock ticking! They've all stopped!"
"You're right!" exclaimed Casey. "The watch is the only thing going in the whole place!"
The milkmen looked quickly at Darcy.
"Yes, the clocks have all stopped," he said, wetting his lips with his tongue. "I didn't notice it before, though I did hear the watch in her hand ticking--I thought it was her heart beating--I guess I said that before--I don't know what I am saying. This has upset me frightfully."
"I should think it would," agreed Casey. "Funny thing about the clocks all stopping, though. S'pose they all ran down at once?"
"They couldn't," Darcy answered, "I wound the regulator only yesterday," and he pointed to the tall timepiece in the show window--the solemn-ticking clock by which many passersby set their watches. "The other clocks--"
"And they've all stopped at different times!" added Tremlain. "That's funny, too."
If anything could be funny in that place of death, this fact might be. And it was a fact. Of the many clocks in the store not one was ticking, and all pointed to different hours. The big regulator indicated 10:22; a chronometer in a showcase was five hours and some minutes ahead of that. The clock over Darcy's work table noted the hour of 7:56. Some cheaper clocks, alarms among them, on the shelves, which were usually going, showed various hours.
They had all stopped. Only the watch in the dead woman's hand was ticking, and that showed approximately the right time--a little after six o'clock.
"Well, we've got to get the police," said Casey. "Then I've got to travel on--customers waiting for me."
"You--you won't leave me here alone--will you?" asked Darcy.
"Isn't there any one else in the house?" asked Tremlain, for the living-rooms were above the jewelry store--a substantial brown stone building of the style of three decades ago.
"Only Sallie Page, the cook. She's deaf, and she'll be more of a nuisance than a help. Mrs. Darcy's maid won't be in until noon. I don't want to be left--"
"Oh, you won't be alone long," observed Casey. "The police will be here as soon as we send 'em word. And here's a crowd outside already."
There was one--made up of men and boys with, here and there, a factory girl on her way to work. They had seen the two milk wagons in front of the jewelry store--the store which, though most of the more valuable pieces were in the safe--still showed in the gleaming windows much that caught the eye of the passerby. Some one sensed the unusual. Some one stopped--then another. Some one had caught sight, on peering into the store, of the prostrate figure with that blotch of red in the white hair.
The crowd, increasing each minute, pressed against the still locked front doors. Those in the van flattened their noses against the glass in grotesque fashion.
"Hurry and get the police!" begged Darcy.
Casey was about to telephone, when Tremlain, who had gone out into the alley from the side door, hurried back to report:
"Here comes a cop now. Saw the crowd I guess. We can just tell him what we saw, Casey, and then slide along. I'm late as it is."
"So'm I!"
The policeman, his heavy-soled shoes creaking importantly, came along the street, hurrying not in the least. He knew whatever it was would keep for him.
"What's the row?" demanded Patrolman Mulligan.
"Looks like the old lady was murdered," Casey answered. "I was just going to telephone to headquarters." He told briefly what he knew, which was corroborated by Tremlain, then the two left to cover their routes, after giving their addresses to the policeman.
The crowd grew larger. From outside it looked like a convention of umbrellas. The rain still drizzled and turned to steam and mist as it warmed on the many bodies in the throng--a mist that mingled with that of the rain itself. In spite of the storm, the crowd grew and remained. Those who might be late at bench, lathe or loom unheeded the passing of time. It was not every day they could be so close to a murder.
The crowd filled the entire space in front of the jewelry store. The bolder spirits rattled the knob of the locked portals, and tapped on the glass that was now misty and grimy from hands and noses pressed against it. The crowd began to surge into the alley, whence a side door gave entrance into Mrs. Darcy's place. Some even ventured to press into the store itself--the store where the silent figure lay huddled between the showcases.
"Now then slide out of here--take a walk!" advised Mulligan, as he shoved out some of the men and boys who had entered. "Get out! You can read all about it in the papers. The reporters'll be here soon enough," he added with a wink at Darcy. "I'll
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