Part 6

“Very well. I was with Sandra when she locked the library,” Troy said eventually. “As you know, Andrew and you left first. Sandra and I went outside for a smoke and Lara stayed here. When we came back, we all three decided to hit the hay. Lara left the library and Sandra locked up. She definitely didn’t have a book with her.”

“Perhaps it was hidden on her person.”

At that point, Lara entered the room again, a steaming pot of coffee in one hand and a tray with cakes and another three mugs for the late risers in the other.

“How can you be sure?”

“You saw the dress she was wearing last night, Oscar.”

“You’re talking about me?” Lara asked.

“Sorry,” Oscar said sheepishly. “A beautiful dress,” he added.

“Beautiful and figure-hugging,” Troy said. “No room to hide a book.”

Lara glared at everyone and for a moment looked as though she might drop the pot and tray. Instead, she placed them carefully on the table.

“Tucked away in the back, perhaps,” Oscar pressed the point.

“I doubt it,” Sandra said.

“Out of the question,” Troy insisted. “I watched her walk along the hall. There was nothing out of place at all.” He turned to Lara and saw that she was trying not to blush.

“I love Sherlock Holmes,” Lara admitted. “My favourite is A Case of Identity. But I’m no thief, Oscar.”

He tried to hide his surprise.

“A brilliant mystery. It really is. What do you like so much about it?”

She looked startled for a second but laughed it off. “Oh, everything really. It’s perfect. Coffee?”

“Please,” Oscar replied, and studied her right hand as she filled his mug. “Did you cut yourself in the kitchen?”

She looked at the pinprick on her thumb. “I must have scratched myself somehow. I didn’t even notice. It’s really nothing.” She continued serving coffee to the others.

“I think you’re on the wrong track, Oscar,” Andrew said, disappointment in his voice. “We’re all friends here.”

“I wish you were right. Believe me. But there’s no doubt about it, I’m afraid. The ladder and broken window are mere props.”

They cast confused glances at each other.

“You really mean that?” Andrew asked.

“I do.”

“If the thief is one of us – if, mind you – and he or she didn’t use the ladder, how did the book leave the library?”

“Now, that’s an excellent question, Andrew. The answer is simple. It didn’t!”

They gasped.

“You mean the book is still here?”

“Yes, Sandra. I think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“What do you think, Troy?” Oscar asked.

He turned to Sandra, helpless.

“Well?” Sandra asked.

“Why should I know? I’m no thief!”

Oscar smiled at him. “No, you’re not.”

“Do you know where the book is, Oscar?” Andrew asked sternly. “Do you know who the thief is? You’re not just casting a line to see who bites, are you?”

“Are you ready for the truth?” he asked them.

They nodded enthusiastically and said they were, so Oscar walked to the corner of the room where the Singer sewing machine table stood and lifted the old typewriter. From the recess in the table where the sewing machine would have originally been, he picked the magnificent antique copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

“How did you know?” Sandra asked, staring wide-eyed.

“I’ll get to that in a minute, but we need to start by exposing the identity of the thief.”

Nobody dared say a word.

“All the evidence pointed to one person. The ladder and broken window staging was made to throw suspicion on an outsider, but the absence of rain on the inside sill and library floor indicated that the window was broken this morning. The ladder was wet, but that made sense as Sandra told me she generally left it lying around outside. So, who was behind the red herring? Only a woman could have been safe from the dogs.”

All eyes turned to Lara, but she remained stone-faced.