“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 you see 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.”

“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.