The Clock and the Key — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Crime Investigation

Authors: Vesey, A. H. (Arthur Henry) Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2017 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Venice (Italy) -- Fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction; Treasure troves -- Fiction; Mystery fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 65,714

Reading time 286 min

Text sections 30

For The Clock and the Key — A Reader’s Guide, the stored edition analysis reports 65,714 words, 4 hr 46 min estimated reading time, and 30 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 12.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Venice (Italy) -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #54888

A mystery set in Venice where a clock with automata and bas-reliefs holds a secret. The opening contrasts romantic Venice with modern intrusions, while later excerpts detail the methodical investigation of the clock's mechanisms and backgrounds.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg54888

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In spite of the flimsy excuses her aunt had suspiciously erected, I had brought Jacqueline alone with me here to tell her why I must not allow myself to love her; and, I may add, to hear her laugh to delicious scorn my reasons. And yet I hesitated. Sometimes I felt she cared for me. But if I answered her question truthfully, I risked a cruel awakening.

“Do you know how long I have been living in Venice?” I asked presently, with apparent irrelevance.

“Three years, is it not?”

“That is a long time to be dreaming and loafing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Her eyes looked gravely out on the lagoon.

“And it seems to you hardly a manly, strenuous life for a man of–shall we say–thirty years of age, to spend three years rocking himself to sleep, as it were, in a gondola?”

“No,” she laughed nervously; “hardly a strenuous life.”

“Such a life as that,” I persisted, “must contrast rather unfavorably with the lives of men you know in New York, for example?”

“I suppose one may spend one’s life well even here in Venice.”

I laughed rather bitterly.

“One gets up at ten,” I murmured. “One has coffee in bed, and dawdles over the papers. A gentle, gentle walk till twelve–to the garden, perhaps–oh, you can walk miles in Venice, though most tourists think not. At twelve, breakfast at Florian’s on the Piazza. A long smoke, perhaps a row to the Lido and a swim, if it is summer. At five another long smoke and incidentally a long drink on the Piazza again, and the band. At seven, dinner at the Grundewald, a momentous affair, when one hesitates ten minutes over the menu. Then another long smoke out in the lagoon, under the stars, with the lights of Venice in the distance, and in the distance, too, the herd of tourists, splitting their gloves in ecstasy over the efforts of the tenor robusto under the balconies of the Grand Hotel. And then, wicked, dreamless slumber. The next morning, the same thing over again.”

Jacqueline gasped. She looked at me with a curious intentness, and I was uneasy under her gaze. I knew she was noting quite ruthlessly that I was getting fat.

“It is difficult to keep quite fit in Venice,” I pleaded.

“And you really have done that for three years,” she said at last, almost in admiration. It was as if I were a strange animal doing clever tricks.

“For three years, barring flights to New York and London in January and February, and a few weeks in the Tyrol during July and August,” I answered steadily.

“And you really like it?” she asked, still wonderingly.

“I can never imagine myself liking it again. I have despised myself since last Tuesday.”

“Since last Tuesday!” she echoed, and then blushed. It was on Tuesday that Jacqueline and her aunt had arrived in Venice. “But you are not answering my first question.”

“I am answering it in a roundabout way,” I replied dreamily. Then quite abruptly, “You didn’t know me until I was at Oxford, did you?”

“I was sent to Eton when I was a sickly, timid little chap of fourteen. I had had a lonely life of it in New York. My mother was so afraid I should have a good time like other boys, and shout and play and talk with an American accent, that she chained me to a priggish English tutor, who took me for solemn walks in the park for recreation. I was hardly any better off than the pale-faced little idiots you see marching about Rome and Palermo two by two, dressed up in ridiculous uniforms of broadcloth, and carrying canes–not so well off, for there are many of them, and only one slovenly priest. But my keeper had me all to himself. Think of it, I never held a baseball in my little fist. Imagine that kind of a youngster set down in the midst of half a thousand lusty young English schoolboys, and an American at that.”

“Poor little homesick boy,” she murmured. “And then?”

“Just five years of being shunned and moping and long solitary rows on the river, and dreams bad for a boy of my years–just a long stretch of that sort of thing, that was my life at the public school.

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The novel opens on a gondola in the Venetian lagoon, where the narrator Richard and Jacqueline are enveloped in the city's beauty. Richard, however, is more captivated by Jacqueline than by the scenery. Their dialogue immediately establishes a contrast: Jacqueline sees Venice as a perfect, dreamlike paradise, while Richard points out the modern intrusions—a steamer, a train, a factory whistle—that puncture the illusion. This tension between enchantment and reality sets the stage for a story that will blend romance with investigation.

The early pages also introduce a key narrative voice: Richard is self-aware, slightly ironic, and prone to prosaic remarks. His observation that Jacqueline is 'intoxicated with the beauty of Venice' while he is 'intoxicated with the beauty of Jacqueline' hints at a personal stake in the events to come. The setting is not merely decorative; the specific landmarks—the Riva, the Arsenal, the Molo—anchor the mystery in a real, mapped city.

The Clock as a Puzzle Box

The middle excerpts shift focus from romance to a mechanical enigma. St. Hilary, a friend of the narrator, becomes obsessed with a clock that features automata for each hour. The text provides a detailed inventory: at hour 1, a robed figure and a lion; at hour 2, a figure striking a slave; at hour 6, a dancing figure that advances and retreats; at hour 7, a dove appearing at a tower window. Other hours have broken or missing figures. This catalog is not mere description—it is evidence that the clock’s mechanism is a code or a map.

The backgrounds of the bas-reliefs are equally specific: hour 1 shows the Doge’s Palace with seven arches and sixty men; hour 2 depicts a harem scene. The narrator’s role becomes that of a research assistant, fetching books and consulting archives. The investigation is methodical, grounded in art history and local records. The clock is described as a 'ticking, mocking braggart' that 'laughs at us with its brazen wheels,' personifying the puzzle as an adversary.

Deception and Legal Maneuvering

Earlier in the narrative, the clock becomes the object of a power struggle. A duke appears with legal authority, demanding the clock’s return. The narrator’s response is a blend of politeness and cunning: he expresses regret but claims he has sent the clock to New York with St. Hilary’s partner, citing fear of theft. St. Hilary then lies, asserting that he instructed his partner to surrender the clock only to someone with a signed note from Mrs. Gordon.

This episode reveals that the clock is not merely a curiosity but a contested prize. The characters are willing to deceive and manipulate to keep it. The mention of 'Mrs. Gordon' introduces a character not seen in the excerpts, suggesting a larger web of relationships. The legal threat from the duke adds a layer of tension: the mystery is not just about decoding the clock but about who rightfully possesses it.

The Toll of the Search

Chapter XVI shows the cost of the investigation. St. Hilary has barely left the narrator’s room for a week, eating little, smoking incessantly, and sleeping in an armchair. His physical decline—'his chin a reproach, his hands trembling'—mirrors his mental frustration. He despairs, saying, 'I have not the art of divination. Sometimes I feel that I am on the right track. I grope; I touch something; I clutch at it, but it eludes me.'

The narrator, meanwhile, adopts a supporting role: 'I was a hewer of wood and a drawer of water.' He visits Rosen’s, Organia’s, the Museo Civico, the Frari, and the Academy of Arts. The search is exhaustive, drawing on prints, archives, and paintings by Carpaccio and Bellini. This passage emphasizes that the mystery requires not just cleverness but sustained, wearying effort. The clock is described as having a 'spirit' that 'dwells in its hollow sides,' suggesting that the investigators are battling not just a puzzle but a kind of malevolent intelligence.

Venice as a Living Archive

The novel uses Venice not as a backdrop but as a repository of clues. The narrator’s errands take him to specific locations: the Frari (a church with archives), the Academy of Arts, the Museo Civico. These are not generic research stops; they are real institutions that would hold historical documents and artworks relevant to the clock’s origins. The mention of Carpaccio and Bellini places the story in a specific artistic lineage.

Even the canals are part of the investigation: the narrator explores an 'obscure canaletto'—a small canal—in the afternoon. The city’s geography is woven into the search. The clock itself, with its bas-reliefs of the Doge’s Palace and harem scenes, suggests that the answer lies in Venetian history. The reader is invited to pay attention to place names and architectural details, as they may hold the key to the puzzle.

Readers should approach The Clock and the Key as a puzzle story that rewards attention to detail. The opening’s romantic tone gives way to a methodical investigation, but the personal stakes—Richard’s feelings for Jacqueline, the rivalry with the duke—remain in play. The excerpts suggest that the clock’s secret is embedded in its automata and bas-reliefs, and that the solution requires both historical knowledge and cunning. The novel is best read with a map of Venice at hand, as the characters’ movements through the city are part of the mystery.

Reading about the clock’s patient mechanics took me back to my grandfather’s workshop, where fixing a broken watch felt like an act of devotion. Ashes to ashes — A Closer Reading once stirred that same quiet reverence, tracing every small, deliberate gesture until a life’s meaning surfaced. Both books let me sit with slowness, letting detail become tenderness rather than proof.