“The Victoria Emerald. It’s missing. Stolen in plain sight of four guards. It just vanished into thin air.” Scotland Yard Inspector Strider was exasperated. And he hated to have to call on Cromwell Townes, the famous consulting detective renown in London as the Great Detective, much to Strider’s chagrin.
The Victoria Emerald, mined in India, was the largest and most valuable emerald in the world, a massive 658-karat stone, polished to a dazzling green hue, and named, of course, for the reigning queen.
Townes studied the now empty glass case sitting on the marble stand in the middle of the room. He handed the griffin-headed walking stick he always carried to his associate, Dr. Geoffrey Dotson. A retired country doctor, Dotson lived and helped Townes with his cases. An amateur writer, Dotson often wrote up the intriguing cases which were published in various popular magazines featuring such true-life mysteries and adventures.
“Who was in the room when the emerald disappeared?” Townes asked.
“Just us guards, sir. No one else. We heard a commotion outside, in the hallway, and we broke up a scuffle between two young boys. Since the room was empty, and we were outside the only door, we felt we could attend to the disturbance.” The guard was as stunned by the impossible theft as Strider was.
“So if the room was empty when the emerald was taken, then no one was here,” Townes announced proudly as though his statement made perfect sense.
“What?” Dotson, and the rest in attendance, looked at each other in confusion.
Townes laid the great, sweeping cloak he normally wore on another exhibit. “Or rather, no one who could be seen.” He bent down and examined the floor surrounding the marble stand. “Dotson, my atomizer, please.”
From his old medical bag, Dotson eventually found the atomizer and handed it to Townes. Townes sprayed the floor all around the marble stand. “Aha,” he said triumphantly.
“What is it?” Strider asked, looking for he didn’t know what on the floor.
“Here,” Townes gestured, “a good many shoe and boots soles are rendered visible by this solution.” Crouching down, Townes went on, “but look here; a bare footprint.”
“A bare footprint? In November? There’s snow on the ground, Townes,” Dotson complained.
“Exactly, Dotson. Who would go barefoot this time of year? Did any of you guards notice a barefoot man in here today?”
They all shook their heads no, looking even more puzzled now.
“But someone was.” Townes pursed his lips, lost in concentration. “And I think more than his feet were bare.”
“But the guards saw no one, barefoot or not,” Inspector Strider exploded.
Townes smiled calmly. “And I believe them. For the man who stole the emerald could not be seen.”
“Was he a spirit?” Dotson offered, feeling foolish the moment he uttered it.
“No spirit, Dotson, old friend, but an invisible man!” Townes was suddenly energized; he threw his cloak back on and reclaimed his walking stick. “But even an invisible man leaves tracks. Tracks visible in snow.”
Townes led the way out the rear exit. “To avoid bumping into the crowds on the main street, he would have taken the back way. Invisible is not intangible.”
The back way was an alley and relatively undisturbed on this non-delivery day. Townes’ sharp eyes picked up the clue. “There! A bare footprint in the snow. And another. Let’s follow the trail, gentlemen!” Dotson, Strider and two bobbies hurried behind him.
The trail of footprints ran down the long alley, stopping at one delivery door after another. “Locked,” Townes surmised. “Gentlemen, we are looking for the first unlocked door.”
They found it. Rushing inside the rather shabby warehouse, they discovered it was uninhabited.
“If your invisible man was here, he’s gone now,” Strider muttered.
“Officers, bar the alley door. Dotson, block the front door.” Townes, his cheeks crimson with excitement, turned to Strider, “I think our culprit is still here.” Townes pointed to the water spots on the floor in the shape of a human foot.
Crossing to a pile of stacked boxes, Townes picked up a canvas sheet. “Still wet and warm,” he mused. He moved to the middle of the room and began waving his walking stick back and forth as he walked slowly throughout the warehouse.
“What are you doing, Townes?” Dotson asked.
“Trapping our unseen quarry,” Townes responded.
“I felt something. Something brushed passed me,” Strider exclaimed, reaching out and trying to catch the empty air.
Townes moved towards Strider, swishing his walking stick more rapidly, until he struck something. “Ow,” came a voice from nowhere.
“He’s here, officers, seize him,” Townes ordered.
The bobbies fell on the spot, wrestling with an invisible foe. “We’ve got him pinned to the floor,” one of them cried.
Townes grabbed and uncorked a small barrel of flour, dumping the powdery contents onto a suddenly outlined naked man.
Strider slapped cuffs on him as Townes explained, “I believe you will find his name is Griffin. He’s the invisible man who began his reign of terror in West Sussex recently. I had read that he’d escaped police custody. The two boys were a paid distraction allowing Griffin to lift the glass case and take the emerald. He fled through the alley and stopped here only to get warm. Simple deduction.”
Dotson produced the Victoria Emerald. “It was behind the box where the canvas sheet was.”
“Great job, old man,” Townes congratulated his partner, “I couldn’t have done it without you!”
Rod Drake. Las Vegas. His name, his byline. He writes them like he sees them. Check out Rod’s other stories published in Flashing in the Gutters, Flash Flooding, Fictional Musings, Flash Forward, MicroHorror and AcmeShorts.
This was a fun read. I particularly enjoyed the revelation that the invisible man was responsible for the theft.