CHAPTER IIOver and Over
Impressed by the suggestion, he set the beer-glass down on the table and stared at it. Nothing happened. Lightning flashed. Owen glanced at the window. The cypress was still gone. On an impulse he looked under the bed again, half expecting to see the cypress. Nothing.
Straightening, he looked at the blue enamel clock. Its hands crept steadily on toward ten fifty-three, that erroneous hour from which he had corrected it. He was conscious of growing tension. At ten-fifty-three, he suspected, something might happen.…
It didn’t. Baffled, he picked up the clock and compared it with the electric dial on the bureau. Yes—no—something had or hadn’t happened. He wasn’t sure which. But the electric clock said ten-forty. Thirteen minutes had passed since his re-setting of th
