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stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: Mystery Clock
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 1000
Rating: Gen
Inspired by: This Mystery Clock created by Cartier and Maurice Couet in 1921. Also, inspired by a line in a work of literature, s-s-see if you can guess-s-s it.
Summary: Bertie's NYC flat comes furnished with an interesting clock.
Prompt:
I considered the fireworks a propitious, if that’s the word I want and Jeeves assures me it is, omen.
It was the first night after Jeeves and I had settled into our residence in New York City.
Jeeves had poured whiskeys and s.’s and he and I were relaxing on the balcony, taking in a pyrotechnical display and generally feeling that all was right with the world.
“The flat suits our needs admirably, Jeeves.”
“Distinctly comfortable, sir.”
“But that the clock on the mantlepiece. An exquisite piece of craftsmanship, you’ll allow, but it has no hands. How the deuce is a cove supposed to tell time with that thing? Or is it for the man who know never requires knowledge of the hour?”
“You must stand in a certain vantage point, sir, then the hands will become visible.”
“I knew there was a trick!”
“Yes, sir. But the vantage point seems to vary. I have only come upon it twice. Once, when you inquired about the cinema.”
“The film had already started by that hour.”
“And the second time when you inquired about launderer’s hours of operation.”
“Yes, they’d already closed. Two items for tomorrow, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jeeves made a curious cough, like a sheep uncertain if it’s swallowed a blade of grass or a cricket.
“The clock hands appear to be floating, sir. No doubt, an optical illusion.”
“No doubt.”
The finale exploded across the skyline.
“Do you require anything else, sir?”
“Just the wireless, Jeeves. I fancy this new programme ‘The Midnight Mystery Hour.’”
“Very well, sir.”
---
…Mister Phineas Murgatroyd was murdered…Murdered?...Yes, murdered!...But what time?...Twelve forty-six…forty-six minutes past midnight…
“Sir?”
“Jeeves!” I started. “Good Lord, I must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?”
“It is twelve fifty-five.”
“Poor Mister Murgatroyd’s dead.”
“Sir?”
“The Midnight Mystery Hour.” I yawned. “I never even heard who killed him.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, I’m for bed.”
---
“I’ve tried,” I said the next day as Jeeves was making a close scrutiny of the clock, “And I can’t see the hands at all.”
“It’s a rare phenomenon, but, sir, this is gold, platinum, ebonite, citrine, and diamonds.”
“Real diamonds!?”
“Real, sir.”
Now for the reader who enjoys picturing such things, here is a visual of our curious timepiece.
The centre was a fetching amber colour and in the shape of a square cut gem, like a topaz, Jeeves informs me. There may or may not have been hands inside, floating. Around the centre was a thin diamond border and then a larger light blue border with roman numbers in gold. Outside of this was a square of ebony with diamond ivy-clovers in each corner. The thin outside border was gold and black and the whole business was sitting on a gold and black stand with another diamond ivy-clover.
As I said, a beaut of a sundial.
“Jeeves, it seems out of place here. Not that this isn’t a toppin’ flat, but it isn’t, well, a gallery or jewelers or a museum.”
“Yes, sir, the thought had occurred to me as well.”
“Well, I am off to lunch with Corky. I’m supposed to meet him at noon.”
I glanced at the clock, and lo and behold, there were hands, diamonds ones, telling me it was already one in the afternoon.
“Dash it all, Jeeves! I’m frightfully tardy!” I exclaimed and rushed off like the White Rabbit in Alice’s Wonderland.
---
“Jeeves,” I said three days later when I’d missed a show, a concert, and a train to take me to Long Island to visit Rocky Todd, “I don’t even want to look at that clock anymore! But something compels me to do so! Not always but at certain times.”
“Shall I relocate it, sir?”
“Forthwith, Jeeves.”
The next day was a complete cock-up.
Jeeves did something he’d never done before, viz. he was late with my breakfast, so late as to make everything he brought inedible. Cold tea, horrible eggs, cindered rashers.
He was far more distressed than I was.
“I don’t understand it, sir.”
The clock went back on the mantlepiece. Neither one of us wanted to contemplate what might happen to the gent’s nightcap.
That night I awoke to a loud noise. At first, I judged it another round of fireworks, but no, the spectacle was in the sitting room.
Jeeves and I arrived to find a stranger lying face down on the rug. His head looked like it’d seen the business end of a Louisville Slugger, and there just beyond his outstretched hands, was the clock.
“I shall telephone the police, sir.”
Not wishing to disturb the scene of the crime, I skirted the edge and peered at the interloper and the clock.
“Twelve fifty-one, Jeeves. The eleventh-hour for Mister Pilferer here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves with his ear to the blower.
One attempted burglary with thief fatally undone by the object of his larceny is enough to get the blood pumping, but three in a week was enough to fray even the strongest set of nerves. The police were asking questions in a decidedly pointed manner. None of the attempts had yet to succeed in removing the clock from the premises.
Jeeves and I were having an afternoon ramble, debating the pros and cons of various strategies, when we waltzed into a high-end gallery and found something relevant to our interests.
‘Mystery Clock’ read the plaque with a description that made Jeeves and I exchange significant glances.
But no clock was on the stand.
I inquired of the gallery owner about it. He was a curious-looking cove with dark glasses, reptilian-skin boots, and a slight lisp.
“S-s-stolen,” he said, but he didn’t seem too broken up about it.
“We have it!” I informed him.
That made him lower the specs and fix us with yellow eyes. “S-s-so you do. S-s-shall I collect it?”
We agreed readily enough, and by the time Jeeves and I returned to the flat, the clock was gone.
“Only one hour, Jeeves,” I said.
He nodded gravely. “Too late.”
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 1000
Rating: Gen
Inspired by: This Mystery Clock created by Cartier and Maurice Couet in 1921. Also, inspired by a line in a work of literature, s-s-see if you can guess-s-s it.
Summary: Bertie's NYC flat comes furnished with an interesting clock.
Prompt:
I considered the fireworks a propitious, if that’s the word I want and Jeeves assures me it is, omen.
It was the first night after Jeeves and I had settled into our residence in New York City.
Jeeves had poured whiskeys and s.’s and he and I were relaxing on the balcony, taking in a pyrotechnical display and generally feeling that all was right with the world.
“The flat suits our needs admirably, Jeeves.”
“Distinctly comfortable, sir.”
“But that the clock on the mantlepiece. An exquisite piece of craftsmanship, you’ll allow, but it has no hands. How the deuce is a cove supposed to tell time with that thing? Or is it for the man who know never requires knowledge of the hour?”
“You must stand in a certain vantage point, sir, then the hands will become visible.”
“I knew there was a trick!”
“Yes, sir. But the vantage point seems to vary. I have only come upon it twice. Once, when you inquired about the cinema.”
“The film had already started by that hour.”
“And the second time when you inquired about launderer’s hours of operation.”
“Yes, they’d already closed. Two items for tomorrow, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jeeves made a curious cough, like a sheep uncertain if it’s swallowed a blade of grass or a cricket.
“The clock hands appear to be floating, sir. No doubt, an optical illusion.”
“No doubt.”
The finale exploded across the skyline.
“Do you require anything else, sir?”
“Just the wireless, Jeeves. I fancy this new programme ‘The Midnight Mystery Hour.’”
“Very well, sir.”
---
…Mister Phineas Murgatroyd was murdered…Murdered?...Yes, murdered!...But what time?...Twelve forty-six…forty-six minutes past midnight…
“Sir?”
“Jeeves!” I started. “Good Lord, I must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?”
“It is twelve fifty-five.”
“Poor Mister Murgatroyd’s dead.”
“Sir?”
“The Midnight Mystery Hour.” I yawned. “I never even heard who killed him.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, I’m for bed.”
---
“I’ve tried,” I said the next day as Jeeves was making a close scrutiny of the clock, “And I can’t see the hands at all.”
“It’s a rare phenomenon, but, sir, this is gold, platinum, ebonite, citrine, and diamonds.”
“Real diamonds!?”
“Real, sir.”
Now for the reader who enjoys picturing such things, here is a visual of our curious timepiece.
The centre was a fetching amber colour and in the shape of a square cut gem, like a topaz, Jeeves informs me. There may or may not have been hands inside, floating. Around the centre was a thin diamond border and then a larger light blue border with roman numbers in gold. Outside of this was a square of ebony with diamond ivy-clovers in each corner. The thin outside border was gold and black and the whole business was sitting on a gold and black stand with another diamond ivy-clover.
As I said, a beaut of a sundial.
“Jeeves, it seems out of place here. Not that this isn’t a toppin’ flat, but it isn’t, well, a gallery or jewelers or a museum.”
“Yes, sir, the thought had occurred to me as well.”
“Well, I am off to lunch with Corky. I’m supposed to meet him at noon.”
I glanced at the clock, and lo and behold, there were hands, diamonds ones, telling me it was already one in the afternoon.
“Dash it all, Jeeves! I’m frightfully tardy!” I exclaimed and rushed off like the White Rabbit in Alice’s Wonderland.
---
“Jeeves,” I said three days later when I’d missed a show, a concert, and a train to take me to Long Island to visit Rocky Todd, “I don’t even want to look at that clock anymore! But something compels me to do so! Not always but at certain times.”
“Shall I relocate it, sir?”
“Forthwith, Jeeves.”
The next day was a complete cock-up.
Jeeves did something he’d never done before, viz. he was late with my breakfast, so late as to make everything he brought inedible. Cold tea, horrible eggs, cindered rashers.
He was far more distressed than I was.
“I don’t understand it, sir.”
The clock went back on the mantlepiece. Neither one of us wanted to contemplate what might happen to the gent’s nightcap.
That night I awoke to a loud noise. At first, I judged it another round of fireworks, but no, the spectacle was in the sitting room.
Jeeves and I arrived to find a stranger lying face down on the rug. His head looked like it’d seen the business end of a Louisville Slugger, and there just beyond his outstretched hands, was the clock.
“I shall telephone the police, sir.”
Not wishing to disturb the scene of the crime, I skirted the edge and peered at the interloper and the clock.
“Twelve fifty-one, Jeeves. The eleventh-hour for Mister Pilferer here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves with his ear to the blower.
One attempted burglary with thief fatally undone by the object of his larceny is enough to get the blood pumping, but three in a week was enough to fray even the strongest set of nerves. The police were asking questions in a decidedly pointed manner. None of the attempts had yet to succeed in removing the clock from the premises.
Jeeves and I were having an afternoon ramble, debating the pros and cons of various strategies, when we waltzed into a high-end gallery and found something relevant to our interests.
‘Mystery Clock’ read the plaque with a description that made Jeeves and I exchange significant glances.
But no clock was on the stand.
I inquired of the gallery owner about it. He was a curious-looking cove with dark glasses, reptilian-skin boots, and a slight lisp.
“S-s-stolen,” he said, but he didn’t seem too broken up about it.
“We have it!” I informed him.
That made him lower the specs and fix us with yellow eyes. “S-s-so you do. S-s-shall I collect it?”
We agreed readily enough, and by the time Jeeves and I returned to the flat, the clock was gone.
“Only one hour, Jeeves,” I said.
He nodded gravely. “Too late.”
no subject
Date: 2021-05-05 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-05 07:05 pm (UTC)The gallery owner! He would definitely be in NYC in the 1920's.
no subject
Date: 2021-05-05 07:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-05 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-08 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-08 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 08:27 am (UTC)And I s-s-see you, Mr C.
no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 01:13 pm (UTC)He glanced at his watch, which was designed for the kind of rich deep-sea diver who likes to know what the time is in twenty-one world capitals while he's down there. [It was custom-made for Crowley. Getting just one chip custom-made is incredibly expensive but he could afford it. This watch gave the time in twenty world capitals and in a capital city in Another Place, where it was always one time, and that was Too Late].
So basically somehow Bertie's flat ended up with the 1920's precursor to Crowley's watch, and it only tells time when it's too late [for something].
no subject
Date: 2021-05-09 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 10:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 10:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 08:34 pm (UTC)