It was a cheerless Tuesday morning in London and the fog was as thick as cold porridge. Detective Fred Flint sat at his battered oak desk, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea and staring blankly out of the misty window. Opposite him, Detective Barney Rubb was vigorously trying to remove a stubborn ink stain from his waistcoat with a piece of stale toast.
The quiet of the office was shattered when the door flew open. Sir Moshe Stone, the prominent local antiquarian, burst into the room looking thoroughly distressed.
‘Detectives!’ Sir Moshe gasped, clutching his chest. ‘It is a catastrophe! The E.P. Stone files have been stolen from my study!’
Fred leaned forward, trying to look exceptionally shrewd.
‘Calm down, Sir Moshe. Take a breath and tell us everything. What exactly are these files?’
‘The priceless historical records of my American cousin’s island estate,’ Sir Moshe explained, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. ‘I locked them in my safe at midnight. By eight o’clock this morning, the safe was unlocked and the documents were gone. Only three people have the combination: my butler Higgins, my niece Clara and myself.’
‘Right then,’ Fred declared, standing up and grabbing his mackintosh. ‘Barney, we have a new mystery on our hands.’
Day One: The Suspects and the Clues
By noon, the detectives arrived at Stone Manor, a sprawling Victorian estate that looked as though it held more secrets than a politician’s diary. They began their investigation in the grand study. The safe stood wide open in the corner. Barney immediately dropped to his knees, scrutinising the Persian rug with a magnifying glass.
‘Find anything, Barney?’ Fred asked, pacing around the mahogany desk.
‘Only some crumbs, sir,’ Barney replied, looking up with a cheerful grin. ‘Scone crumbs, to be precise. Clotted cream and strawberry jam.’
‘A crucial clue!’ Fred boomed. He turned to question the three prime suspects, who were lined up in the drawing room.
First was Higgins, the tall and stoic butler.
‘I was polishing the silver until two in the morning, sir,’ Higgins said smoothly. ‘I never go near the safe, and I certainly do not eat scones on duty.’
Next was Clara, Sir Moshe’s sharp-witted niece.
‘I was in my room reading all night,’ she claimed, crossing her arms. ‘Besides, why would I steal those dusty old papers? They are completely worthless to me.’
Finally, they questioned Sir Moshe again, who maintained he had been fast asleep.
Fred scribbled furiously in his notebook.
‘Three suspects, no forced entry, and a trail of afternoon tea. We shall sleep on this, Barney. Tomorrow, the thief will be unmasked.’
Day Two: The Unravelling
The next morning, Fred and Barney returned to the manor with a fresh perspective. Fred gathered everyone in the library, attempting to recreate the grand reveals he had read about in cheap dime novels.
‘Yesterday,’ Fred began dramatically, ‘a crime was committed in this very house. The E.P. Stone files vanished into thin air. But the thief made one fatal mistake.’
Barney held up a small evidence bag containing the scone crumbs found at the scene.
‘The crumbs, sir. Tell them about the crumbs.’
‘Precisely,’ Fred said, nodding. ‘Higgins denied eating scones, and Clara claims she was in bed. However, when Barney and I checked the larder this morning, we noticed a fresh batch of scones baked yesterday afternoon had three missing.’
Fred pointed an accusing finger at the butler.
‘Higgins, you claimed you were polishing silver, yet your white gloves have distinct strawberry jam stains on the cuffs!’
Higgins gasped, looking down at his hands in horror.
‘I … I can explain.’
‘You took the files to blackmail Sir Moshe!’ Fred proclaimed triumphantly.
‘No, you utter fool!’ Higgins blurted out, losing his composure completely. ‘I did take a scone, but I did not take the files. Look behind the desk.’
Barney trotted over to the large mahogany desk in the study and peered behind it. He reached down and pulled out a heavy leather-bound folder that had jammed itself between the desk and the wall panel.
‘Is this it, Sir Moshe?’ Barney asked, holding up the dusty folder labelled ‘E.P. Stone Files’.
Sir Moshe rushed forward, snatching the folder and flipping through the pages.
‘My word! It is! It must have slipped off the back of the desk when I closed the window on Monday night!’
Fred cleared his throat, adjusting his tie and trying to look as though he had planned this outcome all along.
‘Just as I suspected,’ the lead detective announced smoothly. ‘A classic case of gravitational displacement. Well, Barney, another case solved in under forty-eight hours. Let us head to the pub for a pint.’
‘I told you the mystery lay in the crumbs, didn’t I, sir?’
Epilogue
The case was not really closed, but the investigation was suspended indefinitely from a high level of the Home Office. Detective Fred Flint was placed on mandatory leave by order of the quarry management, and Detective Barney Rubb suddenly got a promotion and bought a brand new car.
The official line remains:
E.P. Stone files that never disappeared were found intact, but they contain nothing.
Fred sighed, tossed the newspaper into the bin and shouted:
‘WILMA! Fetch me an EP Pilsner, please; this conspiracy is giving me a terrible headache.’
