ing
screen still standing before it. Tiffles had first wiped off the dust,
and then looked into it, and through it, and over it, and under it, with
an eye that was predetermined to pry out a secret. Then he felt of every
wheel, lever, cam, ratchet, drum, and other portion within reach of his
fingers. Everything was immovable. Then he stood aloof from the machine,
folded his arms, pursed up his lips, and cocked an eye at it, as if, by
the mere force of intellect, he would compel the dumb thing to give up
its mystery.

As Tiffles was applying this species of exorcism in vain, Marcus came to
his assistance.

"What on earth can it be?" exclaimed Tiffles. "Not a new kind of steam
engine; or an electrical apparatus; or a clock; or a sewing machine; or
anything for spinning, carding, or weaving--nothing that is adapted to
any useful labor. These heavy weights, that have fallen on the floor,
would give the works a kind of jerky motion for a few seconds, while the
weights were descending. Nothing more. But the ultimate purpose of the
machine is a puzzler."

"Mr. Minford always said that it was something that would revolutionize
the world of industry--that it was a new mechanical principle of
universal application."

Tiffles laughed a little. "Excuse my levity," said he, "but
inventors--and I am one of them, you know--always claim that they are
about to revolutionize the world of industry. I never knew one of them
to claim less than that for a patent flytrap or an improved sausage
stuffer. Mr. Minford was a man of genius, I dare say, but he probably
overestimated the importance of his invention. Have you any objection to
my prying the thing apart at this opening? I want to inspect some of the
works that are partly concealed. I pledge myself to put it together
again as good as new."

CHAPTER II.

A POSTHUMOUS SECRET.

"Go ahead," said Marcus; and Tiffles, inserting his walking stick in a
wide gap between two cog wheels, forced the strange machine apart. A
large brass drum upon which a small chain was loosely coiled, fell to
the floor. The other portions were not disturbed. Marcus picked up the
drum; and Tiffles cast his unerring eye in among the new jumble of
wheels and connecting levers that was brought to view.

"Can't make head or tail of it," said he, at length. "Let me see that
drum."

Marcus handed it to him. Tiffles took it, like an expert, between a
thumb and finger, and tapped it with his stick. It answer