Роберт Артур - The Mystery of the Screaming Clock

“Thank you,” Hugenay said and turned to Jupiter. “Lead us to the library, my boy.”

Meanwhile, unaware of the excitement into which Bob and Jupiter had been plunged, Pete was at home watching television with his father. Mr. Crenshaw was a technical expert with the motion picture industry, and often travelled to the far corners of the world to help make films.

Pete was having trouble keeping his mind on the TV detective story. He was still thinking about the mystery of Mr. Clock and his strange clock. As the programme ended, he asked his father a question.

“Did I know Bert Clock?” his father replied. “I certainly did. Not well, of course, but I ran into him on a couple of pictures. What a screamer that fellow was! Made your blood turn cold. There was an old picture — oh, back twenty years ago, I guess, in which he pulled a very interesting trick.”

“Trick!” Pete idly reached for a potato chip from the bowl on the table and munched on it. He loved potato chips. “What kind of trick, Dad?”

“What?” his father asked, already watching the next programme. Pete repeated the question. His father, absorbed in an exciting Western, answered somewhat absent-mindedly. Pete blinked. This was something Jupiter didn’t know. Pete couldn’t see how it possibly fitted in, but Jupe liked to know everything possible about his cases. Maybe he ought to call Jupe and tell him.

Even if First was in bed, he’d want to know.

“It’s getting late,” Mr. Crenshaw said abruptly. “Time for you to be in bed, boy. Up you go!”

“Okay, Dad,” Pete agreed and went off to bed without phoning. He could tell Jupe when he saw him in the morning.

INSIDE THE ROOM of clocks, Mr. Hugenay became very business-like. He directed his two men to pull the shades tightly. Then he switched on all the lights and surveyed the room.

“Hundreds of books,” he murmured. “Three paintings, probably worthless. A large mirror. Many clocks. Some panelled walls where a hiding place could be concealed. Now the first message tells us to see a book. The second message directs us to this room where time hums. The third message — let me see the third message, boy.”

Jupiter handed him the torn top half of the third message. Hugenay looked at the numbers and scowled.

“Reference to words on certain pages of a book, obviously,” he said. “But meaningless without the proper book. Boy, what book do you think it might be?”

“I haven’t any idea, sir,” Jupiter replied. “Though it’s probably a book in this room somewhere.”

“Yes, I think so, too. Let us look at a few.”

Hugenay went to the nearest shelf, pulled out three or four books and glanced through them. He thrust them back.

“Pah!” he said. “They mean nothing There are too many books to look at every one. Yet we must have the message. Think, boy, think. You’re supposed to be good at thinking.”

Jupiter pinched his lip to make his thoughts come faster.

“Mr. Hugenay — ” he said at last.

“Yes, boy?”

“These messages were meant for Rex King He was supposed to solve them. Therefore it seems logical that he would know what book Mr. Clock meant.”

“Of course he’ll know! We only have to telephone him and ask him.”

“But he’s in the hospital.”

“That is bad.” Hugenay’s face fell. “Try another idea.”

“We could ask his wife. She might know.”

“Of course. Sound thinking. Phone her and ask her.”

“I’d better have Bob ask her,” Jupiter said “He talked to her.”

He led the way to the kitchen, where Bob was having cocoa with Mrs. Smith and Harry.

“Find anything, First?” he asked.

“Not yet. We need your assistance.” Jupe explained what he wanted Bob to do. Bob went to the telephone in the hall, looked up Rex King’s number, and dialled. He recognized Mrs. King’s voice when she answered.

He told her about the mysterious book Bert Clock had referred to in the message. It was probably a book that her husband would have known about. Could she suggest any book which Bert Clock would have referred to as the book?

“Yes, I think so,” Mrs. King said. “A good many years ago, Bert wrote a book about his experiences in radio. My husband helped him some with the writing. It was called A Clock Screams at Midnight . Does that help?”

“It certainly does!” Bob exclaimed. “Thank you very much.” He hung up and relayed the news to Jupiter and Mr. Hugenay. They whirled back into the library and closed the door. Bob went back to the kitchen to wait some more, wondering what this new development would uncover.

After a couple of minutes of scanning the shelves, Hugenay snatched up a book.

“Here it is,” he said. “ A Clock Screams at Midnight , by Albert Clock. Now we are making progress. Where is that message? Let me see — page number 3, word number 27. I will look for it. You, boy, write the words down as I proceed.”

He leafed through the book to page 3 and counted words.

“The word is ‘stand,’ ” he reported. “Now for the rest”

He worked rapidly. Jupiter wrote down each word as they found it.

Presently Hugenay came to the end of the torn message. “That’s all,” he said. “The rest of the message is gone. Read what we have.” Jupiter read the message aloud. “Stand in the middle of the room at one minute to midnight.Have two detectives and two reporters with you. Hold hands, making a circle,and keep absolutely silent for one minute. At midnight exactly — ”

He stopped. “That’s where the message ends, Mr. Hugenay.”

“A thousand thunders! It ends just before it tells us anything. At midnight exactly — what? What is supposed to happen? There’s no way to tell. That Bert Clock had a very clever mind. We can’t guess what he was thinking.”

He sighed. “There’s nothing for it,” he said. “We’ll just have to tear the room apart. Either the pictures are hidden in this room, or perhaps there’s a key to a storage vault hidden here. It would help if we knew what we were looking for but, as we don’t, we’ll make the best of it.”

“Wait, Mr. Hugenay!” Jupiter said. “Could the pictures be those pictures on the wall? I mean, could the real pictures have had new pictures painted over them?”

“No, no, I’m sure that’s not the case, but I’ll look.”

Hugenay took down the nearest picture and examined it closely. He scraped the paint at one corner with his penknife.

“No, just a worthless picture,” he said. “We’ll start by leafing through all the other books, to see if there is a concealed key. Then we’ll examine the walls and the bookcases for hidden cupboards or sliding panels.”

“Wait!” Jupiter pleaded. “I’ve had another idea, sir.”

“Another? Your mind hums like a top!” Hugenay exclaimed. “What is it this time?”

“I think I know of a way we might get the rest of the message in the book, sir.”

“Well, then let’s have it!”

“When people pick out words in a book to make a message,” Jupiter said, “they often put a pencil mark beneath the word to help them count down to it. If the message words in Mr. Clock’s book have pencil marks under them, we can find the rest of the message by looking through the book till we see more words marked with pencil.”

“Remarkable cogitation,” Hugenay said. “Let us check and see.” Quickly he looked through Mr. Clock’s book again.

“You’re right, boy! Each word of the message has a small pencil dot beneath it. Here — you look for the rest of the message.” Jupiter took the book and turned each page slowly, looking only for a tiny pencil dot. Presently he came to a word. He called it out and Hugenay wrote it down. It took quite a while to go through the book page by page, but Jupiter was interested in the job and did not pause. At last Jupiter could find no more marks. “Very well,” Hugenay said. “I’ll read the whole message. ‘Standin the middle of the room at one minute to midnight. Have two detectivesand two reporters with you. Hold hands, making a circle, and keep absolutelysilent for one minute. At midnight exactly the alarm of the screaming clockwhich I sent you should go off. Have it set at full volume. Let the screamcontinue until my hiding place is uncovered’. ” Mr. Hugenay looked at Jupiter. “What do you suppose it means?” he asked. Jupiter frowned. It was one of the strangest messages he had ever encountered. “It sounds to me,” he said, “as if the screaming clock will make some kind of mechanism work that will open a hidden panel, or something like that. Locks can be made that will open only at special sounds. Some will open only if the owner speaks to them. I think Mr. Clock’s scream must do something like that.”