Part 7

“The scratch on her thumb appears consistent with the kind that could be made by a rose thorn.”

Sandra gasped. “How could you!”

“Wait a minute, Sandra. Please let me finish.” He offered her a charming smile, and she frowned at him in reply.

“Just now, Lara claimed her favourite story from the collection was A Case of Identity, but it seemed uncharacteristic of her. She showed little interest in Sherlock Holmes last night. The pool table, record player, and champagne selection seemed more up her alley. Why tell me that, especially if it’s not true and she’s never read it?”

She just smiled mysteriously.

“There must have been a reason. It must have been a clue. A typewriter was the key to the mystery in that story, and so it must also be linked to this mystery. That’s how I knew where the book was hidden.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Andrew said. “Why hide the book with the intention of stealing it later and then give you a clue?”

“I’m no thief, Andrew, and you know it!” Lara shouted.

“No, you’re not,” Oscar agreed. “I suspect you’re much better at breaking hearts than windows.”

Troy released a flood of laughter, but there was undoubtedly a hint of bitterness drowning within it.

“Thank goodness for that!” Sandra exclaimed. “But who is the thief?”

“Nobody at all. You know that perfectly well.”

She grinned at him.

“Explain yourself!” Andrew ordered.

“These clues were all fabricated, but otherwise rather subtle, with the exception of the final touch. But I knew Lara wasn’t a thief long before she hinted at where the book was hidden. She played her role admirably. In fact, I really have to congratulate you all on your performances. We have a fine cast here, and Sandra, you’re an excellent playwright!”

They all laughed heartily.

“It seems you’re quite an actor yourself, Oscar,” Sandra commended him. “What gave us away?”

“Not all the clues were your fake ones. There were two real clues that set me on your trail, Sandra.”

The surprise on her face was authentic this time.

“Go on and tell us, man!” Troy urged him. “Where did we go wrong?”

“The mystery of the missing carrot cake!” Oscar announced theatrically. “When I came to the library this morning, I noticed Sandra’s empty breakfast plate on the coffee table. There were only a couple of crumbs and shreds of carrot. But she told me that the second she sat down for breakfast, she noticed the chilly air and smashed window. She claimed she called me immediately. In fact, she sat there and took her time, probably while running through the day’s performance in her mind.”

She laughed. “How careless of me!”

“The second clue?” Lara asked.

“The first clue aroused my suspicion, but it was hardly conclusive. The second clue was the clincher. There was a reddish mark on the edge of the pool table, opposite the smashed window. Initially, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but when I climbed the ladder, I noticed five photographs on the far wall of the library. One of them showed Sandra after a cricket match. When my feet touched the ground again, I made the connection. A ‘cherry’ in sporting parlance. The window had been smashed by a cricket ball, and it hit the pool table.”

Oscar took his flat cap off and caught the cricket ball as it dropped off his head.