The Discarded Picture Frames
By Ivan Johnstone 2013 based on original 1962 “draft” written at the age of 12 – download original here)
“And don’t bother to come back until you have a decent scoop!” boomed the editor as Ross left his office. Ross’s ears were burning. “Oh brother,” Ross said to himself, “I don’t know how many times I have heard that.”
Ross was a tall, cheerful young man, and pleasant to deal with. He was new to his job as a reporter and he so wanted to make a good scoop. He was halfway down the stairs of the Daily Clarion offices when he stopped short on hearing the remark from above, “Haven’t you made a scoop yet?” Ross turned around and looked up to see Sam, a senior reporter. “Have a look at my last scoop. There is a bit of luck involved, but there is no substitute for contacts and experience. If you want, I can give you a few leads to help you make a start.”
“Thanks Sam, but no. I want to write my first scoop under my own steam.”
“OK, suit yourself. I am only trying to help,” Sam replied, and then added as afterthought, “I’ll tell you what. If you make a scoop before the end of the week, I will shout you a three-course dinner at Denny’s.”
As Ross continued down the stairs, he heard the editor congratulating Sam on his latest scoop.
“I wonder what his scoop was,” Ross murmured to himself. “I’ll go to the Kan Tong Café to think things over.” Ross climbed into his car and drove off. It took him a long time to find a parking space because a wedding was taking place in the church next door to the café. He paid for a flat white coffee and sat down. On the seat beside him someone had left the Daily Clarion. Ross picked up the newspaper and shuffled the pages back to the front page to find in large headlines, “Smuggling Ring Broken Up. Four Men Arrested. Gang Members Still at Large.” Ross read the full article, tossed the paper onto the chair beside him, and heaved a sigh.
“Sam certainly seems to have reporters’ luck,” Ross said to himself, while sipping at his coffee. “He must have a lot of contacts.” He flicked over the pages of the Daily Clarion. “Here’s something.” In smaller print was “Serial Arson Suspected.” Ross continued reading. Three houses had been burnt to the ground in the last two months. One of the owners, Mrs Grundy, was a dear friend of his. He had met Mrs Grundy at a beach where he had saved her granddaughter from drowning. He was 14 years old at the time. “I must visit her and offer her my sympathy and support,” Ross thought. “She will have had quite a shock when all her belongings went up in smoke. Good, I see she is staying with her twin sister. I’ll visit them right now.” Ross finished his coffee and left the café.
***
After a long drive into the suburbs, Ross finally arrived at Miss Huggit’s residence. It was a two-storey house built in mid-Victorian times centred in rolling lawns and gardens with an abundance of beautiful flowers. A fountain bubbled away merrily by the front of the house. Everything looked luxurious. The sisters certainly had money. In the early oil strike days, their father had made a real killing.
Ross walked up the steps to the front porch and rang the bell. A plump butler answered the door. “I have come to see Mrs Grundy,” Ross said. He was ushered down a dark oak panelled hallway to the sitting room. The two sisters were seated in plush leather armchairs before an open fireplace, each reading a book.
“I have just found out your house has burnt down,” said Ross. “You must be feeling so upset.”
“Thank goodness everything was insured,” replied Mrs Grundy. “It started at night when I was in bed asleep. I might have been burnt alive but for a young couple passing by. They hurried me out of my bed just in time before the fire spread to my bedroom.” With a catch in her throat, Mrs Grundy added, “The firemen tried very hard to get the fire under control, but it was too late. I can replace most of my possessions, but I can’t replace my paintings. I do miss them so much.”
The twin sisters and Ross whiled away the time reminiscing about good old days and soon it was time for Ross to go.
“Could you take this old suitcase to the rubbish tip on your way home?” Mrs Huggit asked as Ross was leaving.
“Certainly,” replied Ross. “No problem.” He picked up the suitcase and was ushered out the front door by the sisters.
“See you soon,” they called out, waving goodbye from the front porch.
“He’s a good boy,” Mrs Grundy said to her sister as Ross drove away.
***
The rubbish tip was a long distance away, but in the same direction as Ross’s home. The tip was on a level site with all the rubbish in mounds. Everything was dumped helter-skelter on top of each other. Wind sweeping over the mounds would blow dust and paper to another mound. The mounds were placed in a complete circle with a small passageway for vehicles. Tyre marks churned up the mud and the place stank, though now and then a sweet smell passing with the wind was a reminder of a better world outside.
Ross drove his car through the passageway and parked. He then squelched his way over to a mound and tossed the suitcase as high as he could. Upon landing on the mound, the suitcase set up a miniature avalanche bringing down a load of rubbish to Ross’s feet. Among the tins, paper, and other debris lay six picture frames. The frames were quite distinctive and Ross paused, wondering where he had seen them before. Then he remembered. They were the same frames to the paintings he had seen in Mrs Grundy’s sitting room. “This is strange,” Ross said to himself. “What are these doing here?”
Ross picked up the frames, carried them over to his car, and carefully placed them on newspaper on the back seat. He then glanced back and noticed there was another set of footprints going to the mound, a skid mark, and the same footprints going back to a set of tyre marks alongside his car. The left rear tyre had a different tread from the right which was almost bald. Ross drove away in deep thought. After he had gone, a figure appeared from behind a mound where he had been spying on Ross.
***
Ross drove towards the main highway back to Mrs Grundy’s home. Thoughts were racing through his mind. “What were the frames doing at the tip and where are the paintings now?”
Ross’s car gathered speed on the highway and he soon arrived back at Miss Huggit’s home. He jumped out of his car, took the frames from the back seat, and raced up the steps of the front porch, pausing to ring the bell. Once again, the butler ushered him into the sitting room. “Mrs Grundy,” Ross said dramatically, “Are these your picture frames?”
“Why yes, they are mine. Where did you find them?”
“I found then at the tip,” replied Ross. “I think that burglars set fire to your house, but before they did so, they stole your paintings. I found traces of their car at the tip where they had thrown the frames away.”
“Then my paintings dearest to my heart are still about?” said Mrs Grundy in a weak voice.
“Yes,” replied Ross. “I will notify the police about it right now.”
After visiting the police station and giving the desk sergeant the particulars, Ross drove home for a shower and a quick meal. He then set off for late night shopping at the Mall.
The Mall car park was very busy. It took ages to find a park. Ross managed to squeeze in between two cars which had both parked too close to the white lines and then walked over to Milne’s to buy new seat covers for his car. He selected two leopard skin covers and spent the rest of his time buying groceries. At nine o’clock, closing time, Ross returned to his car loaded down with bags of shopping. He loaded his shopping into the boot and wiped down all the windows since it was now frosty. A blue Humber had double parked behind him making it impossible to reverse. “Bugger, how inconsiderate!” Ross muttered to himself and got out to inspect the car.
Ross stared at the blue Humber in silence. The treads of the rear tyres were mismatched and the right-hand side tyre was almost bald. The tyres also had deep red clay imbedded in the treads. The only place in the city which had this type of clay was at the tip. Ross was sure the car belonged to the burglars. He wrote down the number plate, climbed back into his car, and waited for the burglars to return to their car. While waiting, he decided to follow them in case the burglars had used a stolen car or stolen number plates.
After what seemed to be an hour, the door of the hotel opposite swung ajar and three dark figures trod their way to the Humber. A thickset man with a flock of greasy hair noticed that Ross was blocked in. He walked over to Ross’s car, tapped on the window and apologised when Ross wound his window down. The man then stepped into his car and drove out of the car park.
Ross turned his key to start and the engine gave a “chug, chug” and stopped. After a number of attempts the car finally roared to a start and then purred into an idle. “Damn!” Ross said, “I have lost them.” He sped away in the same direction as the Humber, but drove up a side street which had no traffic lights. At the second intersection he could see the blue Humber in the street parallel to him. Ross turned into the same street and tailed the Humber, staying 50 metres behind.
About 15 minutes later they were now in a well-to-do neighbourhood. The Humber turned down a side street to a street parallel to cliff side overlooking the sea. The Humber slowed down, turned into a driveway and stopped at the gates to a large mansion. Ross drove past the mansion, parked in the next street, and walked back. He climbed over the railings of the wrought iron fence and hid behind a tree just as a black Sedan crunched its way up the driveway to the front porch. The front door opened and a stream of light poured out past the door. The door slammed shut and once more there was silence. A black cloud drifted past the moon and Ross took advantage to approach the house while still keeping cover behind bushes and shrubs.
Ross heard a low throated rumble of a growl behind him. He turned and saw a bloodhound at his side, mouth wide open with saliva dripping from its fangs. Ross was used to handling dogs and showed no fear when he crouched down to the same eye level and extended the back of his hand for the bloodhound to sniff at. With his other hand he reached into his pocket, pulled out a bag of chocolates and offered it to the dog. The bloodhound sniffed at the bag, took it between its teeth and shook it. The chocolates fell to the ground and the bloodhound swallowed them with enthusiasm, wagging its tail vigorously as it did so. The bloodhound then looked up, gave Ross’s face a quick lick, and trotted away to the rear of the house.
Ross crept up to a lighted basement window, knelt down, and peered in. It was a while before he could make out anything through the haze of smoke. Seated at a kitchen table below was a group of men smoking and drinking while playing a game of cards. The items on the table made caught Ross’s attention. He then felt a prickling sensation at the back of his spine and spun around, but it was too late. The thickset man from the Mall car park loomed behind him. With a snarl on his lips, the man grabbed Ross’s arm, pulled it up behind his back, and forced him to stand up. He then frogmarched Ross to the front porch.
***
Carlo gave a hearty puff at his cigar and swallowed the remains of his whisky. “Who was that guy Joe caught snooping?”
“Aw, just a friend of that old biddy we stole these painting from” replied Bruce, waving his hand at the table on which rolls of paintings and jewels of all descriptions were spread out. Bruce refilled his jug to brimming full of beer and blew off the top froth. “Joe has left him trussed up in the cellar. We’ll decide what to do with him tomorrow.”
“I am sure we can think of something,” Carlo laughed while examining a green diamond between his fingers. “This is a nice sparkler if there ever was one. It must be worth quite a few thousand.”
“It’s yours if you keep me and my men undercover for a while longer,” Bruce replied. “The cops are pressing hard on us.”
“It’s a deal,” Carlo smiled back.
A howl pierced the still night. “Blast that darn dog,” Carlo cursed under his breath. “At times I don’t know why we keep feeding him.’’ Carlo turned around to the man on his right. “Joe, see if you can keep that hound quiet,” he commanded.
Joe put his hand of cards face down on the table, went across the kitchen, and opened the fridge. He cut off a slice of dog food onto a plate and took it upstairs, placing it on the backdoor porch alongside a water bowl. The men continued their game of poker upon his return and the haze of smoke in the room thickened.
***
A slender figure crept through the trees and shrubs that surrounded the mansion. The figure stiffened and then relaxed as the bloodhound, howling with joy, bounded towards him. “Hush now, Prince,” he whispered. He knelt down and ruffled his dog under the chin.
The young man was Gerald Trounson. He had been in prison for a year and was now on parole. The mansion had belonged to his father, and almost two years ago he had advertised for flatmates. A group of three men had responded to his advertisement and he agreed to take them on. Six months had gone by when Gerald found out that they were using his house for smuggling in small firearms from across the channel. They had been using the interior access from the cellar to the beach below. When these men caught Gerald snooping, they removed all evidence of smuggling, forged a 10-year lease of the mansion, and framed him with possession of stolen property. He was sent to prison for two years and good conduct had let him out early on parole. Gerald was going to search the mansion for evidence of smuggling to prove his innocence.
Gerald threaded his way through the shrubs to the front gate with Prince padding close behind. Gerald quietly opened the gate and they both sneaked out.
“We’ll get into the mansion using the internal staircase from the beach,” Gerald whispered to Prince when they were clear of the front gate. They continued down the street towards a side street which had a public staircase cut in the cliff side to the beach below. Once down the staircase, they walked back along the beach until they were directly below the mansion. The tide was now lapping at the rocks at the bottom of the cliff and was starting to enter the cave under the mansion.
Gerald switched on his torch and walked to the back of the cave where they were confronted by a wide steel grilled gate set into solid rock. The gate was secured with a rusty Yale padlock. Gerald took out a set of keys from his pocket and, after trying out a few keys, found the right key to the padlock. But the key wouldn’t turn. “Dam, this padlock hasn’t been kept oiled,” Gerald muttered under his breath. He shook the gate in frustration and noticed that the hinges were encrusted with rust. He grabbed the bars on the hinge side and shook and tugged heavily at the gate. The bottom hinge eventually snapped off at the base and he was able to pull the bottom corner of the gate clear to make an opening. He looked around the cave for a suitable rock to jam the corner of the gate open and found one.
Gerald squeezed through the opening and Prince followed him. When he stood up at the other side of the gate, he could feel the sea water lapping at his feet. They were now in a chamber cut into the rock. At one side of him was a small rowing boat with oars and an outboard motor. On the other side was a set of return stairs cut in the rock leading up to the cellar. A horizontal door set in the floor of the cellar was open. “Thank goodness for that,” Gerald thought. “That door is heavy for one person to open from below.”
Gerald climbed to the landing halfway up and then remembered to switch off his torch. He continued feeling his way up the stairs to the cellar, turned to his left, and carefully made his way to the staircase leading to the basement corridor above. He almost got to where he though the bottom of the stairs started when he tripped and stumbled. As he tried to regain his balance, pots and pans fell down from the shelving by the stairs and landed on the concrete floor with a crash. There was an immediate skid of chairs upstairs and the sound of running feet. “Quick!” he whispered to Prince with a hiss, “Run and hide!” The cellar light turned on and Prince immediately rushed down the stairs, waded through the water that was ponding at the bottom of the chamber, and squeezed his way through the bottom of the gate.
The cellar door at the top of the stairs opened and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Carlo walked down the stairs with Joe following closely behind. “Why, if it isn’t my flatmate, Trounson,” Carlo grated out. “What are you doing here? Answer me! What are you doing here?” Gerald kept silent.
“So, you won’t talk, eh! Never mind. Truss him up, Joe, and put him with that other guy.”
“Come to think of it, why don’t we put them both on the landing in the chamber,” Joe replied and added, “Why wait until tomorrow. They will have plenty of time to regret snooping before they drown.”
“When is high tide?” Carlo asked.
“12.00 o’clock, midnight.”
“Good, that is excellent timing. Go ahead, Joe, do it!”
Joe tied Gerald’s wrists and ankles together with rope and carried him on his shoulder downstairs to the landing in the chamber. He then returned upstairs to the cellar and picked up Ross who lay in the far corner. “You are going to have company,” he laughed, and carried him downstairs, dumping him alongside Gerald. He then checked their bonds. “All tight, arms and legs. Good,” he muttered and pretended to go upstairs when he stopped at the top and returned laughing, “Trounson, you thought I was going to let you call out for help,” and pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket. “Sorry, you are mistaken.” After tying and checking both gags he whispered, “Enjoy,” and returned upstairs to the cellar. Joe pulled at the door set in the floor and it fell over, landing with a clang. He then rolled a heavy barrel over the door. “That’s a job well done. Sooner them than me,” he muttered under his breath. “Now for another game of poker.”
Gerald and Ross could hear the tide lapping at the bottom of the chamber. It was now one hour to high tide.
***
On reaching the beach outside the cave, Prince climbed up onto a rock and lay down puzzling why his master had sent him away. Prince eased himself to a more comfortable position on the rock and his flanks started to shiver. Why had his master sent him away? He flinched when his keen ears heard a door slam. His master had not come out of the hole. Prince waited for a while and then slipped off the rock and paddled back towards the cave. Once inside the cave, Prince continued paddling towards the gate and squeezed through the gap. He could now smell his master. There was another person’s smell mingled with it which he recognised as a friendly smell. Prince paddled towards the staircase, climbed out of the water onto the landing, and shook himself vigorously. He then became aware that his master and his new friend were also on the landing. Prince padded over to them and sniffed. His master and his new friend were both lying down. He gave his master a lick on the face and Gerald twisted over onto his front. Prince sniffed at the ropes tied around his master’s wrists and tugged at the ropes with his teeth. He then started biting at the ropes.
With blood dripping from his wrists where Prince has nicked him, but with his hands now free, Gerald pulled his gag off and choked out “Prince, you have saved my life.” He gave Prince a hug and a pat with Prince licking him in return. Gerald fetched his torch from his pocket and untied the ropes around his ankles. He then removed Ross’s gag and untied his ropes.
Both Gerald and Ross had questions for each other and each told their story. “So, you see,” ended Gerald, “I want to search my mansion to prove my innocence.”
“We had better get out of here first,” was Ross’s response. “The tide is coming in fast. Can you swim?”
“No, I can’t swim” Gerald replied in embarrassment.
The water was now lapping at the top of the landing and the boat was floating nearby. Ross looked up at the ceiling which was four metres from the landing. “I will swim out and get help,” he said. “Look, the high tide water line is two metres from the ceiling, so you will be safe. Here, take my torch and get into the boat with Prince.”
Ross waded down the stairs into the water until it was waist deep, took a deep breath, and then plunged under the surface towards the bottom of the gate while Gerald pulled the boat over to the landing and helped Prince aboard.
Ross tried to squeeze through the gap in the gate, but his jeans caught on the edge of the hinge. He struggled and couldn’t move forwards or backwards. “Here goes,” Ross thought as he loosened his belt and kicked off his shoes, “It’s now or never.” He wiggled free of his jeans and broke the surface of the water with a gasp. He took a few deep breaths and swam out of the cave, heading strongly for the public staircase 100 metres away.
As Ross climbed the staircase, he looked back down on the beach below. “The tide is sure coming in fast tonight,” he thought. When he got to the top, he started running for the Police Station. It was 11.30 pm by the time he saw the welcoming light of the station ahead.
***
Gerald watched Ross disappear as he plunged into the cold salt-water and turned off the torch to save the batteries. The chamber was in pitch darkness. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. “It is now 11.15. Another 45 minutes and then it will be high tide,” he thought. “Ross should be swimming for the shore now.” Prince settled down in the bottom of the boat and soon went to sleep. Gerald was left with his own thoughts as the seconds ticked away and the water level continued to rise.
Gerald awoke from a semi-doze with a start. The boat was still rising. Gerald switched his torch on and shone the light up on the wall. He could see the dirty water-mark one metre above his head. “It will soon stop,” he thought, and turned the torch off.
Prince stirred and then wakened with a shake of his flanks, rocking the boat as he did so. Gerald patted his dog on the shoulder and heard Prince’s panting of appreciation as he turned his muzzle towards him. Gerald tickled Prince fondly under the chin and then realised the water was still rising. “It is now 11.45,” he whispered to Prince. “The tide will stop very soon.” He lifted his arms to stretch and, to his surprise, could feel the rough surface of the ceiling. He quickly turned his torch on again. He could now see a number of lighter water marks with one just below the ceiling. “That other water mark must be the average high tide. Spring tides are much higher!” he realised. He now felt panicky. “We’re going to drown, Prince!”
***
Ross lifted an overturned chair out of his way as a police officer escorted the last gang member out the kitchen door. “Sergeant,” Ross cried out, “the cellar is that door on the right. We have to hurry. It is now high tide and a storm is brewing!”
Ross tried the handle to the cellar door. It wasn’t locked. He turned the cellar light located in the corridor and the two men rushed down the stairs with Ross in front.
“Help me shift this barrel!” Ross called out.
“Bloody hell, this barrel is heavy,” the Sergeant grunted.
“And now the door!”
The hinges of the door gave a squeal of protest as it opened. Revealed below was a dark mass of water slurping against the ceiling of the chamber.
“I am sorry, son. We are too late,” the Sergeant said softly.
“Here, pass me your torch.” Ross shone the torch into the water. At the side of the opening in the murky depths below he could just barely see the bottom of two legs floating vertically. “Oh, no, no!” he cried out in despair. “But wait! I can see the gunnels of the boat. It must be turned upside down. There is hope for us yet.” Ross quickly stripped off his borrowed tracksuit down to his shorts and lowered himself into the freezing water. Taking a deep breath, Ross submerged and pushed his hands against the ceiling of the chamber to edge his way over to the submerged boat. He then reached down, grabbed the boat’s gunnels and forced himself down and under the boat. “I hope there is an air bubble, because I can’t hold onto my breath much longer,” Ross thought as he floated up. His head scraped against the floor of the boat as he broke the surface of the water. “Ah, there is air. Thank goodness for that,” he gasped with water lapping at his chin.
“Is that you, Ross?” Gerald spluttered, “Am I pleased to see you!”
“Are you OK?” asked Ross, treading water to stay afloat.
“Just barely. This air is now getting stale.”
“Where is Prince?”
“Prince is here behind me.” Prince gave a grunt of displeasure and discomfort at hearing his name.
“Can you trust me to help you over to the steps?”
“Oh yes, I certainly can after what I have been through.”
“OK then, pass Prince over to me and I will help him out first.”
Ross grabbed Prince’s collar, took a deep breath, and pulled the struggling dog down under the water and over to the steps of the stair. And then it was Gerald’s turn.
***
The Sergeant grabbed Gerald’s arm and helped him out of the water with Ross close behind. As Ross climbed the steps onto the cellar floor, Prince jumped up at him, put his paws on his shoulders, and started to lick his face. “You are welcome, Prince,” Ross laughed, turning his head to one side in embarrassment. A constable then entered the cellar with towels and dry clothes.
Later on, in the sitting room upstairs, Ross told Gerald of how the police had promptly organised a raid of the mansion. The Sergeant then took down notes while Gerald told him of his ordeal. Upon closing his notebook, the Sergeant said, “You will need to appear at the Branshire Courts as witnesses next week. By the way, there is a reward for the capture of the gang members. We have been hunting them down for a few months now.” The Sergeant added that Carlo had admitted forging the lease and having framed Gerald when charged with attempted murder. Ross turned to Gerald and said with a broad smile, “Mrs Grundy will be very happy when her paintings are returned to her. And Sam will be very surprised when he sees my scoop. It is sure to be front page headlines tomorrow.”
The End