Роберт Артур - The Mystery of the Screaming Clock

“Mr. Hugenay!” It was Bob who spoke now. Still tied to a chair, he had been staring at the art thief ever since he had entered. “It was you who chased us yesterday and stole the clock, wasn’t it?”

Mr. Hugenay made a slight bow. “I plead guilty. However, I intended no harm. I only wanted to, shall we say, help you in your search? But this is no time for talking, pleasant though it is to meet old acquaintances again. Men, handcuff those three to that post.”

A steel post rose in the centre of the garage to support the roof. Cowed by the policemen’s guns, Mr. Jeeters, Jerry and Carlos stood with their backs to it while one of the blue-coated men manacled their wrists. The right wrist of each man was handcuffed to the left wrist of the man beside him, so that when the policemen had finished, the three made a circle around the steel post, quite unable to go anywhere.

“Very good,” Hugenay said. “Now it is time for us to get on with our business.”

“Wait a minute, Hugenay.” It was Jeeters who spoke, and he was trying to sound pleasant. “Why don’t we all throw in together? Between us we can probably find the stuff a lot quicker.”

“I know everything you know,” Hugenay said lightly. “You tried to get ahead of me and you must suffer for it. In any case, as you see I am working with the police now. All right, men, untie the boys and let’s get started for Bert Clock’s library.”

A moment later the six were in a large black sedan, moving at a normal speed through the Hollywood streets.

Hugenay chuckled to himself as they rode along.

“My boy,” he said to Jupiter, who sat beside him, “no doubt you had given up all thought of ever seeing me again.”

“Well, yes sir, I had,” Jupiter admitted. “Especially after the police came through the windows. I never expected you to be working with the police.”

Hugenay chuckled again. “The police? I merely rented two police uniforms at a costume shop today and presto! — I had two policemen for assistants. Do not be fooled by surface appearances.”

Jupiter gulped. He had been fooled — just as much fooled as Carlos and the others. His reluctant admiration for Hugenay rose.

“Harry,” Jupiter said to the boy who was squeezed in beside him, “we are co-operating with Mr. Hugenay. I agreed to do so if he would help get you and Bob free. He has done that. Also he has said he will do one thing more — he’ll prove your father is innocent.”

“He will?” Harry exclaimed. “Golly, that’s terrific!”

“It is simple, my boy,” Hugenay said. “I will tell you the circumstances, Mr. Bert Clock, the former actor, has — if you have not already guessed it — been the brains behind a gang of art thieves that has been operating for years in this area, stealing valuable paintings from wealthy motion picture people who did not guard them well enough.”

“Of course!” Bob said. “That’s why Mr. Clock changed his name some years ago and has been acting so mysterious. He’s a thief. I’ll bet he stole those paintings that were hidden under the linoleum in Harry’s kitchen.”

“Perhaps he did not steal them himself,” Hugenay said as they rolled along. “He had assistants to do that. Jerry, the former jockey, was one. He used several jockeys, because they are small men and can get through windows easily. He sold the pictures to wealthy South American collectors who would keep them safely hidden. Carlos was a contact with the South Americans.

“A couple of years ago, several paintings were stolen that Mr. Clock could not get rid of. Two of his best South American customers had just been put in jail after the failure of a plot to overthrow their government. So Mr. Clock hid the paintings, and told his men he would sell them later, when the time was ripe.

“However, he made no move and Jerry and Carlos decided to act on their own. They stole three paintings and brought them to Mr. Clock to sell, demanding that he also produce the five — yes, it was five — that were hidden.

“However, by one of those freakish coincidences with which life is full, the police investigatiing this latest art robbery turned their attention to someone in Mr. Clock’s own house — your father, Harry. Frightened lest they learn too much, Mr. Clock hid the three new paintings where the police would find them and blame your father.”

“He framed my father!” Harry said bitterly. “And Mom and I always thought he was such a nice guy.”

“Yes, he framed your father. Then, shortly after that, he vanished. I believe Carlos and Jerry and perhaps Jeeters were pressing him too hard. He didn’t dare bring the missing pictures out of hiding, so he left for South America and hid himself. From everyone but me, that is. I have connections all over the world, if I may boast a bit.

“I contacted him, suggesting he let me have the pictures to handle — you see, I had made it my business to learn all about his activities — but he refused. He was sick, in fact he was dying, and he was feeling remorse about your father, Harry. He sent off the strange screaming clock and several messages to various old friends, and then he died.”

“But why did he send the messages and the clock, Mr. Hugenay?” Bob asked. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler just to write a letter to the police?”

“Bert Clock was never a simple man,” Mr. Hugenay said. “He did it the way he did for some reason. Perhaps we will guess that reason when we decode the strange messages.”

“But Mr. Jeeters burned the messages,” Jupiter reminded him. “He burned all of the first two and half of the third message.”

“But naturally you remember them?” Hugenay asked, a trifle anxious.

“I remember the first two,” Jupiter admitted. “But the third was all numbers. I couldn’t possibly remember it. Anyway, I only saw it once, then Carlos got the bottom half from me. The first message said, ‘I suggest yousee the book’ and the second message said, ‘Only a room where Father Timehums’ .”

“Book?” Hugenay frowned. “What book, I wonder? The room where time hums is simple enough, of course. It can only be the room of many clocks. I assumed all along our starting point would be there. Well, here we are. Once we are inside we can ponder the message further.”

The car stopped at the kerb. They all got out and walked up the path to the home of Bert Clock. Harry let them in and went to look for his mother.

As he called her name, they heard a pounding on the cellar door. He quickly unlocked it and Mrs. Smith emerged.

“Thank goodness you came, Harry!” she said. “That awful Mr. Jeeters and his friends! They locked me in the cellar and said I’d have to stay there until they got back. I see you have some policemen with you. Well, I want them arrested right away!”

“They have been taken care of, madam,” Mr. Hugenay said, making a bow. “Indeed, we are here on business that vitally concerns you.”

“This is Mr. Hugenay!” Harry said excitedly. “He says he can prove Dad is innocent.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” his mother exclaimed.

“In order to do that,” Mr. Hugenay said, “we must be allowed into Mr. Clock’s — or Mr. Hadley’s if you prefer the name he used — library. We may have to do some damage. I assure you it is necessary to prove your husband innocent. Have we your permission?”

“Yes, of course. Anything!” Mrs. Smith said happily. “Tear the house down if it will clear Ralph.”

“Thank you. Now I shall ask you and Harry and Bob to remain outside the library while I and my men are at work. You will communicate with no one. If the telephone rings, do not answer it. Is it agreed?”

“Yes indeed. The boys and I will stay in the kitchen and have a bite to eat — I haven’t eaten for hours. Go right ahead, Mr. Hugenay.”