more of what the good people of this town call,
'Daddy Voigt's follies.' With all my heart!
Let those laugh who win. No thief can steal
my keys. No burglar can pick my lock. No
power on earth, short of a battering-ram or a
barrel of gunpowder, can move that door, till my
little sentinel inside—my worthy friend who goes
'Tick, Tick,' as I tell him—says, 'Open!' The
big door obeys the little Tick, Tick, and the
little Tick, Tick, obeys me. That!" cried Daddy
Voigt, snapping his fingers, "for all the thieves
in Christendom!"

"May I see it in action?" asked Obenreizer.
"Pardon my curiosity, dear sir! You know
that I was once a tolerable worker in the clock
trade."

"Certainly you shall see it in action," said
Maître Voigt. "What is the time now? One
minute to eight. Watch, and in one minute
you will see the door open of itself."

In one minute, smoothly and slowly and
silently, as if invisible hands had set it free,
the heavy door opened inward, and disclosed
a dark chamber beyond. On three sides, shelves
filled the walls, from floor to ceiling. Arranged
on the shelves, were rows upon rows of boxes
made in the pretty inlaid woodwork of Switzerland,
and bearing inscribed on their fronts (for
the most part in fanciful coloured letters) the
names of the notary's clients.

Maître Voigt lighted a taper, and led the way
into the room.

"You shall see the clock," he said, proudly.
"I possess the greatest curiosity in Europe.
It is only a privileged few whose eyes can look at
it. I give the privilege to your good father's
son—you shall be one of the favoured few
who enter the room with me. See! here it is,
on the right-hand wall at the side of the
door."

"An ordinary clock," exclaimed Obenreizer.
"No! Not an ordinary clock. It has only
one hand."

"Aha!" said Maître Voigt. "Not an
ordinary clock, my friend. No, no. That one hand
goes round the dial. As I put it, so it
regulates the hour at which the door shall open.
See! The hand points to eight. At eight the
door opened, as you saw for yourself."

"Does it open more than once in the four-
and-twenty hours?" asked Obenreizer.

"More than once?" repeated the notary,
with great scorn. "You don't know, my good
friend, Tick Tick! He will open the door as
often as I ask him. All he wants, is his
directions, and he gets them here. Look below the
dial. Here is a half-circle of steel let into the
wall, and here is a hand (called the regulator) that
travels round it, just as my hand chooses. Notice,
if you please, that there are figures to guide me
on the half-circle of steel. Figure I. means:
Open once in the four-and-twenty hours. Figure
II. means: Open twice; and so on to the end.
I set the regulator every morning, after I have
read my letters, and when I know what my day's
work is to be. Would you like to see me set it
now? What is to-day? Wednesday. Good!
This is the day of our rifle-club; there is little
business to do; I grant a half-holiday. No work
here to-day, after three o'clock. Let us first
put away this portfolio of municipal papers.
There! No need to trouble Tick-Tick to
open the door until eight to-morrow. Good! I
leave the dial-hand at eight; I put back the
regulator to 'I'; I close the door; and closed
the door remains, past all opening by anybody,
till to-morrow morning at eight."

Obenreizer's quickness instantly saw the means
by which he might make the clock-lock betray its
master's confidence, and place its master's
papers at his disposal.

"Stop, sir!" he cried, at the moment when
the notary was closing the door. "Don't I see
something moving among the boxes—on the
floor there?"

(Maître Voigt turned his back for a moment
to look. In that moment, Obenreizer's ready
hand put the regulator on, from the figure 'I.'
to the figure 'II.' Unless the notary looked
again at the half-circle of steel, the door would
open at eight that evening, as well as at eight
next morning, and nobody but Obenreizer
would know it.)

"There is nothing!" said Maître Voigt.
"Your troubles have shaken your nerves, my
son. Some shadow thrown by my taper; or some
poor little beetle, who lives among the old
lawyer's secrets, running away from the light.
Hark! I hear your fellow-clerk in the office.
To work! to work! and build to-day the first
step that leads to your new fortunes!"

He good humouredly pushed Obenreizer out
before him; extinguished the taper, with a last
fond glance at his clock which passed harmlessly
over the regulator beneath; and closed the
oaken door.

At three, the office was shut up. The notary
and everybody in the notary's employment,
with one exception, went to see the rifle-shooting.
Obenreizer had pleaded that he was not
in spirits for a public festival. Nobody knew
what had become of him. It was believed that
he had slipped away for a solitary walk.

The house and offices had been closed but a
few minutes, when the door of a shining
wardrobe, in the notary's shining room, opened, and
Obenreizer stepped out. He walked to a
window, unclosed the shutters, satisfied himself that
he could escape unseen by way of the garden,
turned back into the room, and took his place
in the notary's easy chair. He was locked up in
the house, and there were five hours to wait
before eight o'clock came.

He wore his way through the five hours:
sometimes reading the books and newspapers
that lay on the table: sometimes thinking:
sometimes walking to and fro. Sunset came on.
He closed the window-shutters before he kindled
a light. The candle lighted, and the time drawing
nearer and nearer, he sat, watch in hand,
with his eyes on the oaken door.

At eight, smoothly and softly and silently
the door opened.

One after another, he read the names
on the outer rows of boxes. No such name
as Vendale! He removed the outer row,