The Clue in the Old Clock

The Box with the false bottom

 “Stop being lazy, Jean,” said June, suddenly bursting into the room like a hurricane.

“What do you mean?” he asked, noticeably irritated. “Our holidays have just started, and surely you won’t grudge me even one day of relaxation? What have you been doing, by the way, other than reading a novel?”

“Oh, don’t get annoyed,” pleaded his twin sister. “It’s just that Mom has asked us to do a bit of cleaning.”

“And what does Mom mean by a bit of cleaning? Usually it’s a thorough turning over of all the junks accumulated over five years,” said the fourteen year old reproachfully.

“It’s worse than that this time. It’s all junks stashed away by our ancestors for the last fifty years,” rued his sister.

Jean sat up in alarm. “I hope you are not serious, June. What exactly did Mom tell you?”

June sat down, and pushed forward a pack of chips. Jean obligingly took a few.

“Listen, Jean. The room at the back of the garden – the one which is always locked – is to be opened today!”

“And you’re the grand chief guest to inaugurate its opening, right?” said Jean with a scoff.

“You may enjoy that honor, if you like. The thing is that a lot of rubbish has accumulated there since the room was last used by our grandfather. May be junks were collected even by our great grandfather from his voyages. We’ve to sort out all the precious dirt, sell or donate or throw away whatever we can, and make the room livable,” June explained patiently.

“And who’s going to live there? Some ghost two thousand years of age, I suppose,” remarked Jean.

“No, it’s for a more flesh-and-blood person,” said June. ”Our gardener is due to retire from his National Park job next week, and so he has to vacate his government quarters. He’s to be put up here and he will maintain a beautiful garden, devoting every full day to growing pretty roses, chrysanthemums and cacti.”

“And we are to work in the heat, getting parched and dehydrated like cacti!” bemoaned Jean.

“I’ll bring plenty of lemonade and orangeade for us both. But finish these chips fast, and let’s march off to open the Pandora Room!” said June with assumed airs.

So they took some food and drinks, and proceeded solemnly with a pair of rusty keys towards the junk room, as it was called. After some juggling with the rusty lock, they managed to open the doors, still strong and solid, being made of durable teak wood.

They had a fit of cough upon inhaling the musty air inside and immediately rushed out. June cautiously re-entered the room, threw open all the three windows, and emerged out again to join her brother.

“We’ll go in after sometime, when the stale air clears up a bit,” said the girl. “Meanwhile, we may enjoy some refreshments.”

 An hour or two later, the twins were busy sorting a huge pile of most amazing collection of old and useless things. What an odd assortment of junk items - books, diaries, pens, boxes, vases, bottles, glasses, spoons, toys, brushes, broken umbrellas, and other articles that defied classification and beggared description!

They were extremely hot and exhausted, for the task was both arduous and time-consuming.

“What a trying time we have on the first day of our vacation!” said Jean in despair.

Suddenly June pounced upon a small wooden box, secured with a small padlock. She hit the rusty padlock with a hammer, and it snapped open.

“Jean,” she exclaimed, “just what we wanted for that project. It’s the right size, isn’t it?”

Jean looked at the box and said, “I think so – though I fancy it may be a trifle shorter in height”

“Measure it with this antique instrument here,” suggested June, handing him an old, broken piece of a wooden ruler.

“We want eight inches. Let me see – gosh, June, we’re in luck. It’s exactly 9.20035 inches in height!” said Jean with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Idiot,” said June, pulling his ears in fun. “Even with a modern electronic ruler, you can’t get that accurate.”

“That’s an artistic touch,” said Jean. “Shall we try to put that contraption in it?”

“Yes, let’s go now. We’ll come after lunch. I’m both famished and tired,” June proposed, and Jean gladly accepted it. They took the box and returned.

While Mom laid the table for a delicious lunch, pleased with the twin’s hard work, Jean tried to put the device which he and June had carefully assembled last week as part of their Physics project.

But somehow it did not fit in. About an inch of their ‘equipment’ protruded out of the top, and he could not shut the lid.

“What a waste! The box is too small,” he said in said disappointment.

“Nuts!” teased June. “You didn’t measure it properly – otherwise I know our device is a hair’s breadth less than eight inches.”

But Jean insisted he had measured it very carefully. “May be the rulers were made differently a hundred years ago!” he offered an explanation without conviction.

“Nonsense, Jean, inches and feet and yards have been the same for ages. Here’s a ruler – a modern one, if that’s of any comfort to you. Measure again and see.”

Jean took the object carefully out, closed the lid and measured it once again.

“Look, June, it is nine inches in height. Why doesn’t the project just fit inside?”

 “That’s absurd, Jean. The bottom can’t be more than an inch thick. Measure the inside – I’m sure it can’t be less than eight deep” said June.

Jean opened the lid, laid the ruler vertically along its side and found it just below seven inches in depth.

“You’re wrong June. The bottom plank is two inches or so thick! The outside is 9 and the inside seven!” said Jean, glad that he had scored a point over his sister who was always pulling his leg.

“No way,” said June confidently. Then she got a sudden idea, “May be there is a false bottom. We’ll see after lunch.”

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The Old Parchment

The twins were really excited now. A false bottom – that’s what always led to some nice, juicy mystery in detective novels.

“Don’t expect too much, Jean,” she warned. “What happens in fiction seldom happens in real life.”

“It has been said that truth is stranger than fiction,” said Jean hopefully.

“We’ll see, but it may turn out to be nothing. After all, this box is at least fifty or even a hundred years old. Even if we find an important secret concealed under the false bottom, it has probably ceased to be of much relevance or value by now,” said June, her reasoning as clear and logical as ever.

They took it back to the junk-room and after a great deal of effort – for the wood was solid teak – managed to separate the bottom. Jean was expecting either currency or gold or diamonds, and was clearly disappointed when all he found was an old pale, yellowed white sheet.

June took it out and said, “It’s very old – that’s obvious. But do you find anything a bit out of the way?”

“Nothing interesting,” said Jean carelessly. ‘’It may have been a closely guarded grandma’s recipe or a student’s test paper who had secured a zero!”

June never let go an opportunity to mock him. “Well, Jean, it could be yours – as a student in your previous birth, in case God had decided to reuse the same brains once more.”

Jean kicked out at her but she nimbly moved out of the way, so the full force of impact was borne by an old wall-clock. The whole thing fell open, and they could see strange machinery inside.

“Ah, such was the mechanism of the great chiming clocks wound with a huge key once a week – or was it once a month?” said an amused June.

Jean was angrily rubbing his injured leg. “Gosh, how heavy and strong the grandfather clock is!” he exclaimed.

“Just in case you decide to kick a second time and manage to break the cover glass, you might get its shards inside your flesh. So will you please put them in this bowl here – God, it has some weight!” said June passing him an old brass bowl.

At the end of the day, the room looked somewhat livable. Both of them were worn-out, and were enjoying a few minutes of rest. Lazily, June picked out the sheet from the wooden box with a false bottom.

“Jean, I asked you whether you notice something odd about it?” she repeated for a second time.

“None, except that it’s yellowed with age,” replied Jean. 

“It’s not paper at all – it’s parchment. It was used in olden times. That’s what makes this find amusing.”

“And what’s inside? Any clue to hidden gold?” asked Jean without interest.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” said June. “Sit up, we may see what’s in it,” said June as she unfolded the parchment carefully. It was blank.

“If it’s a test paper, the student must have got at least the marks for neatness,” said Jean.

But June was not listening. No one would hide a blank parchment with so much trouble. There must be something – though it may no longer be of any of worth. But it must have been something of great value to someone who had taken so much pain to cleverly conceal it.

The light was fading, and so June lit a candle. Jean looked at her in astonishment, “What’s the big idea? Want to spend the night here?”

“No, I just want to think for five minutes, and please don’t interrupt me, Jean,” said June seriously.

“Well, I’m leaving now. You can enjoy your historic parchment,” said June. He hurriedly got up and walked off.

But his pant brushed the candlestick, and it fell on the parchment that June was so intently gazing at.

There were some brief skirmishes between them as usual, and June carefully made the candle stand upright again. Then she gave a squeal, “Jean, look here!”

“What?” barked an irate Jean, not quite getting at what thrilled his sister so much.

“See the parchment – it was blank before. Both of us saw it, didn’t we?” said June. “But now I see some faint drawing – looks like the rising sun.”

Jean sat down again, much puzzled. “I think darkness brings out the hidden writing. We should come back here at midnight,” he said.

“You are my silliest and stupidest brother, but you are invaluable, Jean – I really couldn’t do anything without you!” exclaimed June beaming at her sibling.

“Is it a compliment or an insult?” asked Jean glaring at her balefully.

“It means your stupid remarks always guide me to correct conclusions. In picking the fallacy in your utterances, I see the light,” said June, quietly enjoying his malevolence.

“Well, if you see the light, then blow out the candle and lead me to the kitchen,” snapped an enraged Jean.

“Don’t get irritated, my dear brother. When you said darkness had brought out the writing or drawing, I immediately realized that it was the heat of the candle flame that has done the trick. Sit here like a good boy and help me bring out all the writing on it with the candles,” pleaded June.

Jean was now too interested to get angry with her or walk off, so he meekly submitted to her dictates. After about twenty minutes, the parchment was almost alive with strange writings and pictures.

“Is all the writing and drawing done by the same person?” wondered Jean.

“It’s possible, but there’s something here that bothers me. The rising sun, the midday sun and the setting sun are specimens of fine art. Yet the skull has been drawn by a poor artist – or by a child!” said June, knitting her eyebrows in deep thought.

“Yes, the skull is somewhat badly drawn – an old and stupid skull with wrinkled bones – but bones can’t be wrinkled, can they?” Jean asked, totally perplexed.

“That’s the point. An old man may have wrinkled skin, but wrinkled bones in skull – they don’t make sense,” said the girl, looking as foxed as her brother.

“I thought pirates used a skull as their symbol. Unless it is copyright-registered by the pirates’ guild, anyone may draw skulls - yet who could use such a distorted version of the symbol? It is almost a mockery of a pirate!”

June gave a sudden shriek, and June looked up, literally scared.

“Did you hurt your toe or develop a sudden tummy ache?” he asked with real concern.

“You’ve put me on the right path, even if your remark was meant as a joke. It is a fact that the skull was universally accepted as a pirate’s trademark. And your remark about making a mockery of a pirate put an idea in my head”.

“You mean the skull is deliberately drawn so atrociously to ridicule a pirate?” Jean asked, seeing a faint glimmer of light.

“Quite so,” returned June. “May be the person – whoever it might be – has really tried to deride a pirate, because he succeeded in fooling him,” June suggested.

“But surely no sensible pirate would want to rob that parchment – unless he was an art lover,” disputed Jean.

“He may have wanted some object whose whereabouts are hidden in the clue on this sheet,” surmised June sensibly.

“Well, can we read the clue?” asked not a too hopeful Jean.

“We can try – and if we fail, you can submit it to your art teacher as your vacation assignment,” June said, lightly poking him in the ribs.

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Revelations

The twins completed their work of tidying up the room the next day, disposed of everything except the box, the clock and the parchment. They had gone through the diaries and the books but, beyond the obvious fact that their great grandfather had been a passionate sailor, they had gleaned no extra information.

The brain-racking sessions began in right earnest thereafter. After dinner, they both sat in the studies and began to seriously unravel the mysterious message on the parchment – if it indeed was any message.

“The rising sun, the midday sun and the setting sun – the passage of time through the day – or the rotation of the earth, if that’s what the circle represents,” said June.

“Yes, that might indicate time. But that doesn’t make much sense, does it?” asked Jean.

“I don’t quite know. But what is that V with unequal arms?” asked June.

“V for Victory?” suggested Jean.

“Quite possible – but one is not likely to write all these stuff in a sheet which is meant to contain a code for something valuable, to be protected from coming into the hands of a pirate,” said June.

“He might have done so in jubilation – a skull mocking the pirate and a Victory sign for himself,” suggested Jean.

Suddenly, June glanced at the heavy brass bowl, which contained the dismantled parts of the antique clock. The dial of the clock was lying crooked. She just straightened it out absent-mindedly. The next moment her eyes were sparkling.

“Gosh, Jean – we have been blind as beetle! It was before us all the time!” she exclaimed a little unnecessary loud.

“I hope you wouldn’t startle me with sudden interjections,” complained June. “Now what new discovery have you made?”

“The clock, of course – they represent the hands of the clock. That’s why they’re unequal.”

“Then the circle represents the face of the clock” said Jean, getting brighter.” It’s wonderful. And it’s sheer luck that we did not throw away the clock!”

“The thing – whether some information or some object – regarded by our ancestors as valuable is hidden in the clock – or so I assume. It may not be the case though, for all we have is pure conjecture and intelligent imagination,” said June in a very practical tone.

“But what do these other symbols mean? Something is scribbled, but I can’t decipher it,” remarked Jean.

“We may come to that afterwards. For now, let’s dismantle the clock. Could you kick at it a second time?” said June teasingly.

Jean would have retorted with a rude reply, but just at that moment their mother entered the room. June, on a sudden urge, hugged and kissed her.

“Are you free, Mom? Could you tell us some story?” she asked.

“What a strange request? Next you would want me to sing you a lullaby when you sleep!” said mother with a laugh.

“She doesn’t need a soft lullaby to sleep,” said Jean, jumping at the opportunity to tease his sister. “She needs a loud cacophony to wake up.”

“Well,” said June, paying no attention to her brother’s tirade, “the point is that we’ve somehow got very interested in our ancestors – after cleaning the room. We thought it might be interesting to know something about them.”

“There’s nothing remarkable about your grandfather. His life was as simple and mundane as your father’s. But your great grandfather – he was an interesting man, though what I know of him is mostly hearsay.”

“Well, true or not – it might be interesting to hear. He was a sailor, wasn’t he?” asked Jean, suddenly beginning to see through June’s game-plan.

“Yes, the stories are interesting – even if they are rumors,” agreed their mother. “It is said that his prized treasure consisted of just three things – his diary, the box which you were measuring at lunch yesterday, and an old clock.”

“Any reason why?” asked June, trying to repress her excessive curiosity. “I can understand the diary – most people, especially sailors, cherish their memoirs and accounts of their voyages. But why the box and the clock?”

“I don’t know, but he risked his life to guard it. He was, it is said, waylaid thrice – but no one knew where he’d hidden the box,” said mother, little suspecting any purpose behind her children’s questions.

“Perhaps he’d hidden a diamond in it,” said Jean casually – just to elicit more information from mother.

“I don’t know about diamonds – for he was a poor man. But there were rumors that he had stolen a black pearl from some robbers who had themselves stolen it from the royal queen during one of her voyages,” said mother, much to the delight of the twins.

“But he didn’t return it to the queen or the police, did he?” queried June.

“He may have wanted to, but then – being almost illiterate – didn’t know how to go about it. He was being hounded by robbers and pirates – and, I think, he died soon thereafter,” said mother.

“And no one knows what became of the black pearl,” said a disappointed Jean.

“It was rumored that he threw the pearl into the sea – but no one knows for sure,” said mother, as she rose to depart, saying she had a lot of work to do.

“Gone, June – all our brainy enterprise comes to a zilch,” said Jean in dismay.  

“Not necessarily,” said June encouragingly. “The rumor of having thrown the pearl into the sea may have been deliberately planted by him to ward off his pursuers.”

“You still have hopes, do you?” he asked in disbelief.

“There’s a chance – just a faint chance. The first thing is to pull that clock apart into pieces,” said June with a frown. “But we can’t do that without very small screw-drivers, and only clock-makers have them.”

“For once, I could help you,” said Jean eagerly. “Why not call Peter? His father runs a watch repairing shop.”

“Perhaps we’ve no other way out,” agreed a reluctant June.  “But a word of caution – don’t even breathe a word about any pearl or anything.”

“Of course I won’t! What do you take me for – a nitwit?’ thundered Jean, really hurt.

“Well, then, phone him. He might ask you to bring the clock over to his father’s shop – and that won’t do. Tell him casually that it is an old clock which is beyond repairing, and that we just wish to study the machinery,” suggested June.

So Jean complied with the suggestion, and an eager Peter promised to come with a small screw driver. When he came, they handed him the bowl containing parts of the half-dismantled clock.

“Ooh! Isn’t it heavy?” asked a delighted Peter. He had seen light, electronic watches and clocks all his life – and he couldn’t say enough to admire the ancient piece.

“There’s no name as to the company that manufactured it,” he said. June’s eyes gleamed, but she hid her elation.

“Maybe,” she thought to herself, “the sailor had got a watchmaker to design a clock to his specification.”

The boy unscrewed the parts as well as he could.

“I can’t do anything more,” he said. “I don’t think it can be split any further – but my father would be in a better position to advice you,” he said. They ate some buns and caramel crunches and drank hot cocoa. Finally he took leave of them.

After he departed, June examined the parts of the clock strewn on the floor. Let’s put them back into the bowl,” she said to Jean.

“June,” exclaimed Jean, “Peter has forgotten his screw-driver. “

“All for a good cause! I wanted to see if the hands of the clock could be separated from the dial,” June said.

“We can leave it for tomorrow – I’m tired,” said Jean apologetically.

“No, we can’t,” corrected June. “He may come back for his screw-driver any time, if his father finds it missing and questions him. We’ll do it now, and either take his screw-driver back to him or phone him to come and collect it.”

Jean tried his best, but could not unscrew the hands fixed on the dial. June tried it next. While she was holding the heavy dial and trying to insert the screwdriver in the narrow groove of the screw, the whole object slipped off her hand.

She let out one of her characteristic squeals and went into an unsteady waltz. Between balancing herself and trying to save the piece from hitting the ground, all she could manage was to get a firm hold on the minute hand, as thick as a modern pencil for two-thirds of its length. She held on to it with tenacity for all it was worth, but the piece nevertheless crashed on to the floor with a loud boom, and she stared in horror at the antique.

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The Black Pearl

“Thank God, it did not land on your feet,” said June to her frightened brother.

“Your habit of imitating an owl’s screech saved me. I unknowingly moved away,” said a relieved Jean. “But what is it between your fingers, June?”

June transferred her gaze to her hand, and saw a long, thin and grey worm-like thing dangling.

“What can this be? It is hollow and….,” June began, but Jean interrupted her.

“Look here, June,” he cried out, “the minute hand is now metallic silver, and not grey like the hour hand!”

 June gave another owl-like performance, and Jean unconsciously jumped a foot farther.

“It is a sheath-like covering over the minute hand, Jean. I never knew I could peel it off like a banana skin!” she exclaimed.

With great strength and tenacity, they managed to slip the covering off the hour hand, too. Then they stared at the shining silvery hands of the clock.

“Do you think it is silver?” asked Jean.

“Mutts! It’s platinum, costlier than gold!” returned June with awe.

Now, it was Jean’s turn to give out a squeal.

“So that’s why our great grandfather treasured this clock. There’s no pearl after all.”

But June did not reply. Her mind was now full of what Peter had said – there was no manufacturer’s name or logo anywhere on the clock. Her suspicion that the clock may have been made by a watchmaker to the sailor-ancestor’s special order was strengthened.

She told Jean about it and added, “If that’s so, it’s quite likely that he would have ensured a clever concealing pocket somewhere. But I can’t simply think of any possible space.”

“We’ve already taken the instrument to pieces,” said Jean. “He may have really thrown the pearl into the sea, or – may be – sold it and converted it into platinum, and asked some watchmaker friend of his to fix it as the hands of a clock.”

“Bring out the drawing, Jean. Let’s now look at the parchment again,” said June. “But first let’s move the clock away to our factory.”

The factory was a nick-name for the small room in the attic where the children kept what they regarded as their collection – and their parents regarded as pure litter.

“What’s the hurry, June?” he asked. “We could do it later.”

“If Peter comes back for his screw-driver, I don’t want him to see the change in color of the hands of the clock,” whispered June.

So, they painstakingly moved the bowl with parts of the clock to safety. They sat down with the parchment spread out in front of them.

They studied it in silence, trying to guess where any pearl might be secreted.

“Is it a balloon,” asked Jean, pointing to a circle with a dotted line attached to it representing a thread.

June did not reply – for she was engrossed in deep thinking.

Jean added, realizing his mistake, “Of course, I’m looking at it upside down. It could be a balloon hanging from a thread – but balloons float up, don’t they?”

 June stared at him, and then hugged him in a tight squeeze. Jean gasped: “Oh, I can’t breathe – don’t reduce me to a skeleton on the parchment!”

June gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and said: “You’ve solved the puzzle, Jean. Just like a genius.”

“What? I don’t remember finding any balloon in the room,” said Jean in amazement. “What have I solved, and how?”

“What looks like an inverted balloon to you is very probably the pendulum bob of the clock. I’m sure it opens in two halves, like some snail shells. While you were sitting on the wrong side, I was looking at it the right way all the time – yet I couldn’t fathom its meaning.”

”Oh, neither did I. Just a chance remark about balloons,” said Jean in all fairness.

“Yet that gave me the idea. Let’s see whether it opens,” said June.

They tinkered with it for about ten minutes, before it fell open when they accidentally pressed an almost invisible spring near the junction of the massive bob and the thick shaft of the pendulum. Inside it was the black pearl, small in size, but of greater value than even a large diamond.

They took it to their parents, who were greatly astonished. Their parents decided that it belonged to the crown and handed it over to the police, who were equally dumbfounded. They took away the diamond, to be returned to the heiress. But they gave the platinum rods back to the family.

June and Jean related a mind-boggling story of how they had succeeded in finding the pearl.

At last, their parents asked, “Well, these platinum bars are truly valuable. What reward would you like, my dears?”

June said, “I might gift Jean with a pain-killer spray, to be applied whenever he kicks out at anything.”

Jean said, “I’d like to gift June with a silencer to be fitted in her throat to reduce her sudden screams of delight.”

Then they winked at one another and said, “Let’s ask something more inexpensive and enjoyable.”

All were listening with bated breath. And everyone broke into a chorus of laughter when June said, “Now we can rightly demand that Mom sing us a lullaby tonight!”

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