It was three o’clock in the morning, and I woke up. I was tired, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I had had a sickening dream about Mr. William August’s diamonds. Some man named Philip Jarre had stolen the diamonds and ran out of the apartment with them. He ran into some stuffy house while I chased him on foot. Actually, on feet in shoes filled with lead. I had chased him up to a small room inside the house where a carpet sat, rolled up beside a tiny door. Philip Jarre had locked himself inside the other room where the door blocked me off. He rattled the door. Rattled it, as if he was taunting me. Taunting and taunting. Never giving me a chance to do anything…

    I made myself a cup of coffee and lay back in bed, allowing the hot liquid to run down my throat and warm my stomach. I got up, took a quick shower and shaved. I got dressed, then sat down at my desk and had a quick smoke from my pipe.
    In the middle of my peaceful morning, my telephone rang. I let it ring as I put out my pipe. Then I answered.
    “Smith.”
    “Hello,” said Mr. August. His voice was now back to its strong bravery imitation.
    “Good morning, Mr. August. How can I help you?”
    Mr. August cleared his throat. “Have you found the culprit, yet?”
    I rolled my eyes. “No, August. I have not. It’ll be a while. I left your office at four. I should not find him by today, nor tomorrow. We’re not even sure it’s Mr. Jarre. He’s just a suspect.”
    I heard Mr. August shift around over the line. “Thank you, Mr. Smith. I shall talk to you soon.” He hung up.
    I set down my phone, put on my coat, and went outside.