Jimmy sighed, but gave in.
“Oh! very well,” he said, and passed in, setting his teeth a little.
There were white flowers arranged on the coverlet, and the room had been tidied and set to rights.
Jimmy gave one quick, nervous glance at the still, white face. Could that be cherubic, pink Gerry Wade? That still peaceful figure. He shivered.
As he turned to leave the room, his glance swept the mantelshelf and he stopped in astonishment. The alarm clocks had been ranged along it neatly in a row.
He went out sharply. Ronny was waiting for him.
“Looks very peaceful and all that. Rotten luck on him,” mumbled Jimmy.
Then he said:
“I say, Ronny, who arranged all those clocks like that in a row?”
“How should I know? One of the servants, I suppose.”
“The funny thing is,” said Jimmy, “that there are seven of them, not eight. One of them’s missing. Did you notice that?”
Ronny made an inaudible sound.
“Seven instead of eight,” said Jimmy, frowning. “I wonder why.”