After Pet had looked at all the objects of interest visible from the bell tower--Uncle Ith pointing them out with the pride of an owner--Bog called Pet aside, and said, "Now, Uncle Ith, I have something to show her that I used to think most interesting of all."
Pet rested her hand upon his arm, and gazed through the southeastern window, in the direction indicated by Bog's forefinger.
"Right there," said he, "midway between those two tall chimneys, and a trifle south of the line of that steeple--the last two windows in the upper story of that old house--do you see them?"
Pet looked along his outstretched arm, to get the precise direction, and then said, hurriedly, "It is my old home."
The sight of those familiar windows, in which the calico curtains still hung, recalled the horrid vision of that dreadful night. Pet turned pale, and shuddered. "Let us look elsewhere, Bog," said she.
"I beg your pardon, dearest; but I wanted to tell you how many hours I had spent in this cupola, day and night, gazing at those two windows, and feeling, oh, so happy! if I could but catch a glimpse of you or your shadow. But I never told Uncle Ith about it."
Uncle Ith had not overheard this conversation, but he had followed with his eyes the direction pointed out by Bog. As the young couple stepped back from the window, he said:
"I see some strange sights occasionally, my children" (he was fond of calling young people his children), "I can tell you. There are a couple of windows, in the upper story of that old brick house, between the two big chimneys, that used to interest me some."
"We see them," said Bog and Pet.
"About five years back, I began to notice lights burnin' in that room, long after all other lights, except the street lamps, was put out. Of course, this attracted my attention, and I used to feel a queer kind of pleasure in looking into the room with my spyglass, and wonderin' what was goin' on there. The curtains were usually drawn over the lower sashes; but, this tower bein' fifty or sixty feet higher than the house, I could look over the top of the curtains, and see somethin'. An old man, tall and slim, and a young girl, 'peared to be the only folks that lived there. Are you sick, young lady?" said he, observing that Pet looked pale.
"Oh, no; I am not sick--only a little fatigued."
"What a brute I was, not to offer you a chair! Now do sit down, young lady."
Pet did so, and Uncle Ith resumed:
"The old gentleman was a machinist, I s'pose, for I used to see his shadow on the wall, goin' through the motions of filin', sawin', and hammerin', though I could never guess what he was workin' on. I have known him sometimes to be at this queer business till daylight. For three years the strange old gentleman never missed a night at his work. I fear you are not quite well, young lady. Take a glass of water."
Pet sipped from the proffered glass, and declared that she was much better now,
"One night, about two years ago, I took a look into this room with my spyglass. I generally didn't do it until three or four o'clock in the mornin', when all the other lights in the neighborhood was out. But, on that partickler night, about eleven o'clock, I happened to observe that one of the window curtains which covered the lower sash was left partly undrawn. This had never occurred before, and so I brought my glass to bear on the room at once. A tall gentleman, whose face I had often seen movin' in the room over the top o' the curtain, was just in the act of takin' his departure, which he did without shakin' hands. The old man then went to his place at the other window, and tackled to his work again. He had been at it about twenty minutes, when a bar, or rod, which stuck up above the curtain, and was somehow connected with his work, fell forward with a quick motion, as if it was jerked away. The old man stooped, picked it up, and fixed it in its place again. His face, as well as I could see through my glass in the night time, at that distance, showed a wonderful amount of surprise and astonishment--at the fall of this rod or bar, I s'pose. He then seemed to be filin' on somethin', and afterward stooped down, as if to put it into some part of the machine, or whatever it was. Jest at that minute the Post Office struck, and I put down my glass, and turned my head toward the sound, to catch the district. It struck seven. I jumped to the lever, and started the old bell for seven, too. As I was strikin' the first round, my eyes happened to rest on the strange window again. The old man was not standin' there. The bar, or rod, had fallen out of its place again, I s'posed, and I expected every minute to see the old man appear at the window, and fix it again. But he didn't show himself any more that night--and (which is the curious part of my story) I've never seen him since. Whether he dropped dead from heart disease, I can't guess; but certain I am that he is dead, for--"
Poor Pet here exhibited such signs of faintness, that Bog, who had been leaning against the edge of the window, gazing at the well-known window with a strange fascination, sprang to her side, and instantly bathed her brow with water from Uncle Ith's old pitcher, near at hand. This restored her. "Be calm, dearest," said Bog.
"What--what is the matter with the young lady?" asked Uncle Ith, in great trepidation. "Shall I run for a doctor?"
"No, Uncle Ith; no doctor. But we won't talk any more about this strange room at present. It affects Miss Wilkeson's nerves."
"The shock is past, dear Bog," said she, "and I can bear to hear everything."
"But you must promise to control yoursell, darling," said Bog, tenderly.
"One question, Uncle Ith," said he. "How long a time were your eyes off the room, after the first stroke for the Seventh District?"
"Not more than three seconds."
"And you are sure that there was nobody in the room?"
"Certain; for I must have seen him enter, or go out."
"Then, Uncle Ith, you have cleared up a great mystery."
"What! What mystery?"
"The death of Mr. Minford, the inventor, my old friend, and the protector and guardian of Miss Wilkeson. He lived in that very room! He was at work on a perpetual-motion machine! It was operated, somehow, by weights! It started suddenly, when you saw that rod, or lever, fall to the floor! Mr. Minford put the rod in its place, and made some little improvement in the works! The machine started again at a moment when your eyes were turned away! The rod fell with greater violence, struck the inventor on the head, and killed him! That is the whole story; and stupid we have all been not to have guessed it before."
Nature furnished her own sweet relief to Pet's pent-up emotions. She burst into tears. "Thank Heaven," said she, "it is all plain now!"
Pet had not whispered it to Mrs. Crull, or Bog, or her uncle, or to any other living soul, but the mystery of that awful night had hung over her young mind like a pall, which in vain she had tried to lift.
"What a blockhead I am," cried Uncle Ith, "not to take the papers! If I had only taken the papers, now, I should ha' read all about that affair, and might ha' guessed that the man who was s'posed to be murdered was the man I had seen workin' in that room for three years. Then I should ha' offered myself as a witness, and might ha' thrown some light on the business. I'll 'scribe for a paper to-day, instead of trustin' to hearsay for the news."
"And a very neglectful fellow was I," said Bog, "not to have called here and seen you, after that sad affair. But the truth was, that Pet went to live with her best of friends, Mrs. Crull, and I had no longer a desire to look at the room from your bell tower. In fact," Bog added, with a smile, "the tower has not been quite as interesting for two years past as it used to be. If I had come up here at any time since Mr. Minford's death, I should probably have told you of the supposed murder, and pointed out those windows to you. But--"
"But you forgot all about your old uncle. Ha! I understand. Well, I forgive you, seein' what there was to 'sturb your recollections." Uncle Ith looked affectionately at Pet, who smiled and blushed through her tears.
The old man continued: "I 'member once when we met in the street, about two years ago--"
"I used to come around this way, you must know, Uncle Ith, in order to meet you, two or three times a week."
"I give you credit for that, Bog. You never disowned your poor old uncle. But, as I was sayin', I 'member one time when we met, that you told me somethin' about the murder of somebody of your 'quaintance. But I didn't take no partickler interest in it, because I didn't know any of the parties concerned. And, of course, I didn't dream that poor Mr. Minford was the man I had seen workin' away there for three years. But the main fault is mine, because I don't take the papers. I see, now, that every man ought to take the papers--if only as a duty to his feller man." Uncle Ith coughed, as one who utters a maxim of great moral depth.
It was then agreed, at Bog's suggestion, that Uncle Ith, accompanied by him, should call at Overtop's office, at early business hours (when Uncle Ith was off duty), next day, and consult upon the best course to be adopted to make his testimony public, and set the mystery of Mr. Minford's death forever at rest.
This having been done, Bog and Pet withdrew, and had hardly reached the foot of the tower, when the musical thunder of the great bell announced the constantly reiterated story of a fire in the Seventh--that most combustible of all the city districts.