The Big Clock Page #2

We're replating one and two.

It's too late to touch

the cover, but we'll run...

a paper band around every

copy with "Fleming Found"

in block letters.

Make them red.

Steve, advertise this

in the morning papers.

Use the 25 key cities.

Young man, you've

stumbled on something...

not exactly what

I've been looking for,

but nonetheless valuable.

You have struck 12:00.

Thank you.

Contrary to the anticipated

nationwide trend,

media research reports

a present level

of want-to-buy at 25.6.

Oh, hello, George.

Sit down.

Up.4 from last month.

Nevertheless, our circulation

fails to reflect this trend.

Uh, I'll

finish this later,

Miss Blanchard.

George, you're getting

to be a regular

missing persons bureau.

Fleming's number three

this year.

Four,

if you count

the man we found

hiding in his own basement.

What are your plans

for next week?

That's Cordette's problem.

Mine shall be

in West Virginia.

Mr. Janoth wants you

to follow through...

personally.

On my vacation?

Postponed.

Oh, no.

He can't do that.

This is my honeymoon.

Honeymoon?

With a five-year-old child?

Yes. You know why?

Janoth.

Seven years ago,

I was assistant editor

at the Wheeling Clarion,

a happy man.

Then I run down a guy

police in three states

have been looking for.

Headlines three feet high.

I got a $15 raise.

So I marry my girl,

and we go on our honeymoon

to Indian Lake.

Idyllic.

I'm about to carry her over the

threshold when the phone rings.

It's Janoth. Wants me to run

Crimeways magazine, "the Police

Blotter of the Nation."

Not next week

or tomorrow,

but tonight!

Two hours later,

we're on the train

for New York.

You'd have done better

to stay at 50 bucks a week?

I had more in the bank then

than I have now, and my wife

still hasn't had a honeymoon.

Put yourself

in her place, Steve.

How would you like to be a woman

who never had a honeymoon?

It's become an obsession.

I've been working

Christmases, Fourth of Julys,

Mother's Days.

What does Janoth think I am,

a clock with springs and gears

instead of flesh and blood?

That's not the right attitude.

Janoth expects loyalty.

Oh, I'm loyal, all right.

Shut that thing off.

What are you

doing here?

Just tidying up, darling.

Isn't that the young man

you pointed out as

"the troublesome Mr. Stroud"?

You find him interesting?

How did you get up here?

Well, it did

present a problem.

The tycoon's lair,

the Berchtesgaden

of the publishing world,

seemed impregnable

till I thought

of your private elevator.

How did you

get past the guard?

He's human.

Mm-hmm.

You're the only

Superman around here.

I think he must've been

winding his watch.

You don't expect me

to approve

of your being here.

Not even on business?

My singing lessons.

Hagen attended to that

yesterday. You should have

had a check this morning.

But he made a mistake.

They were to cost $2,000.

Remember?

Perhaps you think my voice

isn't worth cultivating.

Your voice

is worth exactly

what that check reads.

Miss Perkins?

Yes, Mr. Janoth?

Get me the name of the guard

on my private elevator.

Yes, sir.

The public elevators

are this way. I'm

six minutes behind schedule.

I have to fly

to Washington at 6:10,

and I will not have

my papers disarranged.

It confuses my secretary.

I'll see you

tomorrow night.

If I wasn't up to my ears,

I'd tell Janoth...

to take his $30,000

and buy another clock.

Nobody's indispensable

to this organization

except Mr. Janoth.

Mull it over.

I don't have to.

It's honeymoon

regardless.

Even if it means your job?

Well, does it?

Mull it over.

Yes, Earl.

When does he think

he's leaving?

Late this afternoon.

I couldn't do a thing.

I'd better take charge

of the young man.

Oh, and, Steve,

on the fourth floor

in the broom closet,

a bulb has been burning

for several days.

Find the man responsible.

Dock his pay.

Yes, Earl.

Table, miss?

No, thank you.

I'm looking for someone.

Oh, there they are.

Pardon me.

How about another?

I really shouldn't.

Bartender,

two more stingers.

Make it three.

Uh, no, just two,

please.

I have to go.

An appointment

with my psychiatrist.

Do you always drink

stingers, Mr. Stroud?

Mm-hmm.

What makes you think

my name is Stroud?

Oh, I'm psychic...

horoscopes,

crystal balls, astrology.

Perhaps I should've

brought a deck of cards.

Your hand will do.

Oh, I see a stranger

coming into your life,

a woman of mystery.

Does she know

I'm married?

Yes. And I saw

a recent quarrel

with a very unpleasant man,

a publisher,

and the words, "26 hours

a day, Christmases,

Fourth of Julys..."

Wait a minute.

You've been doing a lot more

than just reading palms.

You might add a pinch

of listening in Earl's

office this morning.

What were you doing

in his office?

We're old friends.

Perhaps I should say

we were.

Didn't think he had

any friends.

Thought all he was

crazy about was clocks.

Maybe I have

a clock.

What you said this morning

made me think we have

a great deal in common.

You know the inside Janoth.

I know the outside.

And together we...

Oh, oh, Georgette!

Say, you're late.

Oh, oh, this is Miss...

Pauline York.

She was

telling my fortune.

Oh. With tea leaves,

I see.

Don't let me disturb you.

I'm afraid the psychic

vibrations are unsympathetic.

Good-bye, George.

She is psychic.

I'm definitely

unsympathetic.

Let me explain.

It better be good.

Believe me, it is good,

because A:

She just sat down.

B:
I wouldn't make

a pass at her on a bet.

C:
You knew I'd be along.

And D:
This proves it...

a reserved table,

champagne,

everything.

Now, did you

get the tickets?

Mm-hmm.

A drawing room

on the 722

from Penn Station.

Next stop:

Wheeling, West Virginia.

I still can't

believe we're going.

I get so worried sometimes.

Worried? That's no mood

for a honeymoon, darling.

I know,

but sometimes I think

you married that magazine.

We got a certificate

that says different.

But we're like two strangers.

Either you come

dragging home too tired

to talk to me,

or you're having fun

with some dancer

in San Francisco.

I told you.

That was an article.

I could write an article:

"How to Look at a Wall

in Six Easy Lessons."

We should have stayed

in West Virginia.

We'd be a family now,

an honest-to-goodness,

full-time family.

George, the whole thing

is wrong.

Little George doesn't know you.

A boy needs his father,

someone to teach him

how to play football,

make model airplanes.

I tell you, darling,

it's all different now.

That's what you said

last year before you didn't

show up at the airport.

Nothing will stop me this time,

neither snow nor rain nor heat

nor gloom of night.

Here's to a very

happy honeymoon,

Mrs. Stroud.

And a happy honeymoon

to you, sir.

It's just as topical...

Wait. Both of you.

Mr. Stroud, composing room

is screaming for those proofs.

There might be something

in that comic strip

artist murder.

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