PART 3 – The Secret of the Grandfather Clock
The front door handle slowly moved further down. The tension in the small hallway of my house was so thick I barely dared to breathe. Daniel reacted with lightning-fast reflexes. He slid the heavy, oak coat rack—which still held my late husband's winter coat—straight in front of the door just as someone pushed forcefully against the wood from the outside.
The wood groaned heavily. "Arthur, upstairs! Now!" Daniel commanded in a muted but urgent voice.
I didn't hesitate for a second. Despite my seventy-four years and the stiffness in my joints, I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me. Daniel followed right behind me. Downstairs, we heard the door frame splintering. The intruders were trying to break in by force.
We reached the upper floor and rushed to the small study at the end of the hallway. It was Thomas's room. The scent of old pipe tobacco and paper still lingered, as if he might rise from his familiar armchair at any moment. In the corner of the room stood the dark, oak clock. It was at least two meters tall, decorated with carved leaves and a copper pendulum hanging motionless.
"How does it work?" Daniel asked hurriedly as he turned the deadbolt on the heavy wooden door of the study and pushed a heavy bookcase against it to buy extra time.
"I... I don't know exactly," I said, my fingers trembling as I walked over to the clock. "Thomas never let me touch it. He said the mechanism was very delicate and that he wanted to restore it himself."
Behind the door, heavy footsteps now sounded on the stairs. The men were inside.
"We have seconds, Arthur," Daniel said, stepping beside me and inspecting the sides of the clock. "Look for a false bottom, a hidden button, or anything loose."
My hands flew over the rough wood. I felt the carvings, the wooden side panels, and the bottom of the casing. Nothing. Panic set in. What if I was wrong? What if Thomas had hidden the key somewhere else?
Heavy boots kicked against the study door. The lock creaked under the pressure.
"Think, Arthur," Daniel said fiercely yet courageously. "What did Thomas always say about this clock?"
"He... he always said that time stood still at five past twelve," I suddenly remembered. I looked at the clock face. The big and small hands were indeed set to twelve o'clock and one minute. I grabbed the copper mechanism and manually moved the minute hand to the five.
Click.
A deep, mechanical sound echoed from somewhere inside the clock. The bottom of the wooden casing, just above the legs, popped forward an inch. Daniel didn't hesitate; he grabbed the edge and pulled the panel away.
In the hollow space lay not only a small copper key engraved with an unusual number, but also a thick black notebook and a stack of cash bundles.
"My God..." I whispered.
"This is it," Daniel said. He snatched the key and notebook and stuffed them into his inner pocket. He left the money behind. "They don't care about the cash; they want the notebook. All the names and account details are in here."
At that moment, the study door gave way. With a loud crash, the wood splintered and the heavy bookcase shifted two feet. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a leather jacket and dark sunglasses squeezed through the opening. In his hand, he held a black object I immediately recognized as a gun.
"Hand over the notebook, Daniel," the man said in a raspy, ice-cold voice. "You've gone way over your head. This isn't a financial audit anymore."
Daniel stepped protectively in front of me. "You're too late, Vance. The police are already on their way."
The man named Vance laughed mockingly. "Do you really think the local police will get here in time? Give it to me, or the old lady won't survive this morning."
Vance aimed the weapon straight at my chest. Daniel looked from the gun to the window behind us, which opened onto the flat roof of the extension.
"Arthur," Daniel whispered barely audibly. "Can you jump?"
Before I could answer, a gunshot rang out.
