“I don’t think you should be focusing on those convicts,” Granddad said. “An escaped convict is not going to go to the trouble of setting up an elaborate death to look like an accident, is he? If you’re on the run and hiding, the more time you spend out in the open, the greater the likelihood of being caught.”

“Well, at least there hasn’t been a death so far today, touch wood,” the inspector said. “Maybe he’s got the four people he wants.”

“And why did he want them?” Granddad asked. “It seems to me that they couldn’t be more different, and they wouldn’t be a threat to anybody.”

The inspector sighed. “I know. Hopeless, isn’t it? But my chief is going to come back from France and bawl me out if I haven’t solved it.” He got to his feet. “Thanks for the chat, Albert. Maybe things have quieted down for Christmas. Maybe even a hardened criminal can’t bring himself to kill anyone at such a sacred time. Maybe I can even have Christmas dinner with my wife and the nippers for once.”

As he opened the front door a bobby in blue uniform was coming up the path toward us.

“Oh, there you are, sir,” he said. “I was sent from the station to get you. There’s been a robbery in the high street. Mr. Klein the jeweler. They broke in overnight and they’ve taken his most valuable pieces. He’s in a terrible state, sir. Ranting and raving and blaming the police. You’d better come quickly.”

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Inspector Newcombe started down the path toward his motor. “I hope nobody’s touched anything and messed up the fingerprints,” he said. “A lot of damage, was there? Did they smash the window?”

“Oh, no, sir. There were no obvious signs of a break-in and the pieces they took were in the safe at the back. Sarge reckons it was professionals, all right. Picked the lock on the front door. Knew exactly what they were doing and what they were looking for. Only took some rings with bloody great diamonds in them. And Sarge don’t reckon we’ll find any fingerprints neither.”

“Aha,” Newcombe said. “See, what did I tell you? One of those convicts was a professional escape artist, wasn’t he? Expert at picking locks. I knew they were still hanging around here.”

“Oh, but that’s the other thing I’ve got to tell you, sir,” the constable said, his cheeks pink with excitement. “A message just came in that they’ve caught one of the convicts up in Birmingham. Jim Howard, sir. Wasn’t he the one who was the escape artist?”