Adrian could hear Nick rummaging around the office behind him, but he fought the urge to turn away from the clapper, because Hailey was concentrating on what he was saying; she, at least, seemed to rightly value his expertise.

“Two local metalworkers named John Pass and John Stowe—their names now adorn the bell, smack in the middle—were tasked with crafting a substitute. They melted down the original bell in their foundry in Philadelphia, recast it to new specifications, and added a higher concentration of copper to the mix, hoping for a better result. But when the new bell was brought up into the steeple of the State House and rung again—it emitted a sound so awful, the entire town complained. Once again, the bell was broken down to be recast.”

“And that bell is the one we now call the Liberty Bell? The one that’s hanging in Philadelphia today?”

“Yes and no,” Adrian said. “Because Pass and Stowe failed again. The second bell sounded no better than the first. The assembly, so disturbed by the process, ordered a new bell from England. But when that bell arrived, it, too, sounded awful. So, the good people of Philadelphia were now blessed with two terrible sounding bells. They hung the British bell in the State House cupola, and the Pass and Stowe bell—which we now call the Liberty Bell—in the steeple. The British bell was rung multiple times daily to count the hours. The Liberty Bell was saved—most likely due to the awful sound it emitted when rung—for special occasions. Such as, to celebrate when King George III took the throne in 1761.”

Nick had arrived at the glass display case behind Adrian and was eyeing the contents. But at least he’d been listening carefully enough to comment.

“Not exactly a moment of great liberty. When did the new bell get the crack?”

“Nobody’s certain; at some point over the next decade the bronze started to show strain. But its last ringing was on George Washington’s birthday in 1846—as the final peal reverberated over the city, the bronze fractured in the way we see it today. And it was never rung again.”

Hailey seemed to be going over the facts. Her expression was inscrutable—or maybe it was just the whiskey—but Adrian could imagine some sort of calculations taking place in her head.

“Before it cracked, wasn’t it also rung on July 4, 1776? To announce the Declaration of Independence?” she asked.