“No thanks!” said Jeet. “Detective Jeet is on holiday.”
“Fine!” said Sindhu. She’d do it on her own.
Count the Objects was simple – observe, count and log.
1 - bin on each side at each end
2 - people with coloured hair – 1 purple, 1 orange
3 - staff members
4 - people with big coats
5 - people wearing hats
6 - radiators – 3 on each side
7 - little kids running around shouting
8 - people with cameras with zoom lens
9 - photos on each side of the walkway in the exhibition
“Sindhu,” called Mum. “Look! We can see the bridge through the glass floor.”
Jeet came over. “Can we take a Sindhu and Jeet’s Detective Agency selfie please?”
“Sure!” said Sindhu. “As long as the caption reads Famous Detectives in London when you put it up on your blog.”
They stood against the backdrop of the river as Jeet held up his pen horizontally.
“Say cheese!” said Jeet.
That’s when Sindhu noticed. Eight!
“Only eight,” she said.
Jeet clicked the picture. “I’ve never heard anyone say ‘Only Eight’ instead of ‘Cheese’.”
“No, look, there are only eight photos on both sides,” said Sindhu, opening her OWL. “There were nine before. I wrote it down.”
“If I borrow your dad’s phone,” said Jeet, “I can confirm whether it was eight or nine.”
Jeet plugged his pen into the phone and they flipped through the photos. There were a thousand photos of the river. But just a few of the walkway.
“Check that one,” said Sindhu.
Jeet counted the framed photos captured in the panorama shot.
Nine!
“Hmm, maybe the staff removed them?” suggested Jeet.
“I don’t think they’d remove them in the middle of an exhibition,” said Sindhu. “These are photos of people from the past. Why would anyone steal these?”
“Maybe the frames were more valuable,” said Jeet.
Sindhu nodded. That could be it. But how would the thief carry the two frames out?
“Show me your Count the Objects list,” said Jeet, pulling the OWL from her hand. “Here! You counted four people wearing big coats. It’s summer. Why would anyone wear a long coat?”
“Unless they wanted to smuggle out frames,” said Sindhu.
Three out of the four people wearing long coats were in a group. “You watch them,” said Jeet. “I’ll watch that other guy.”
The group of long-coat people moved slowly, reading every poster. They seemed genuinely interested in the exhibition. Sindhu observed their coat pockets. None of them sagged, weighed down by frames.
“I don’t think it’s them,” said Sindhu said. “What about your guy?”
“He does behave suspiciously, holding his coat tight all the time,” said Jeet.
Sindhu and Jeet stood behind him, pretending to look at the portraits he was looking at.
The man suddenly turned to Sindhu with a big smile.
“It’s so cold, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m used to 35 degrees heat.”
Sindhu and Jeet nodded and smiled a little.
“Red herring,” said Sindhu, walking backwards from the man.
“Watch out,” said Jeet, a little too late, as she bumped into a woman taking a selfie.
“Did you know over 250 people die every year taking a selfie?” asked Jeet.
Sindhu scowled. “It’s that woman who tried to cut Dad off in the line.”
The woman put her selfie-stick away and walked towards the exit. She then crouched on the ground as if to tie her shoelaces and dropped something into the bin.
“Did you see that?” asked Sindhu.
“Let’s check the bin,” said Jeet, moving quickly through the crowd towards the bin. Sindhu caught up with him.
A photo frame sat in the bin with a photo in it. Sindhu tried to reach for it.
“Don’t,” said Jeet. “It’ll have her fingerprints on it.”
“There’s only one frame,” said Sindhu. “Where’s the other one?”
“That’s the one she stole,” said Jeet.
“But if the frames are expensive, why would she leave this behind?” asked Sindhu.
Jeet nodded. “Yes, all the frames in the exhibition are identical. Including the one in the bin.”
CRACKLE! The PA system announced that the lift was ready to go down. The woman quickly moved towards the lift.
“We must follow her,” shouted Sindhu. Too many people pushed past them into the lift and they couldn’t get in.
“Let’s take the stairs,” said Sindhu to Jeet. “Meet you downstairs, Mum.”
Mum quickly gave her backpack to Dad. “I’m going with Sindhu,” she said. “Need to get more steps in today anyway.”
Sindhu scampered down the steps, followed by Jeet and Mum.
Just as they reached the ground floor, the woman darted across the road, avoiding a cyclist.
“Quick, let’s take the tunnel to cross the road,” said Jeet. “It’s faster.”
“Wait!” cried Mum. “What’s going on?”
“Run with us,” shouted Sindhu. “I’ll explain.”
As Jeet ran ahead down the steps to the bottom of the bridge, Sindhu explained to Mum between breathing and running. “That woman – stole photo from exhibition – we saw – we want to catch…”
“OK!” said Mum. “Let’s get her.”
Sindhu laughed aloud. “You’re the best mum ever,” she said.
They were on street level to the south of the river. Which way had that woman gone?
“There!” shouted Jeet and dashed ahead.
“STOP!” shouted Sindhu.
The woman ran down the street filled with tourists and shops on either side. The pavement was too crowded and the street was cobbled, so Sindhu, Jeet and Mum soon caught up.
Just as Sindhu was at arm’s length, the woman turned right into a street that had more buildings named after spices than Sindhu’s grandmother’s spice cupboard. Sindhu, Jeet and Mum dashed after her.
The woman dashed left and right as if she knew the streets really well. Then she slowed down and stopped near a full-size horse sculpture in the middle of the road.
Just as Sindhu had almost caught up with her, the woman shot out from behind the statue like an arrow from a bow. But this time, Sindhu was losing ground.
“Come on,” said Jeet. “We don’t want her to escape.”
Sindhu followed Jeet as Mum kept pace with her.
The street led them back to the river.
“We’re going in circles,” cried Sindhu.
“Look,” cried Jeet. “We’re in Jacob’s Island. Look at the blue plaque.”
Just for a second, Sindhu turned to see the big blue plaque. When they turned back to the street, the woman was gone.
“There!” shouted Mum, spotting the woman running through a narrow alley to cross over a private bridge. But unfortunately, the bridge was busy and she couldn’t get on it.
Mum’s phone rang. Mum explained the situation to Dad as fast and as coherently as she could, which went something like – “Woman steal photo, call police, by the river, Jacob’s Island.”
The bridge was now clear. The woman hurried over it.
“Now!” cried Jeet.
“Go! Go!” shouted Sindhu.
Sindhu and Jeet dashed across. Mum followed. Fortunately for them and unfortunately for the woman, a family of six with two twin pushchairs was coming from the other side.
The photo thief was trapped between three tourists who were chasing her and the two pushchairs.
“It’ll be funny if we catch her and she doesn’t have the photo,” said Jeet.
“What?” cried Mum. “I thought you were chasing a criminal, so I asked Dad to call the police…”
THUMP!
“Oh dear!
” said Mum.
The woman had jumped from the bridge onto the riverbed.
“The tide’s out,” said Jeet. “Maybe…”
“No, don’t you dare!” said Mum, reading their minds. “The hotel laundry will charge me an entire month’s salary.”
Fortunately for them and unfortunately for the woman, the police boats arrived right on time with Dad.
“Well done, Dad,” shouted Sindhu.
Two police officers jumped over on to the riverbed and caught the woman. One officer dug into the woman’s bag and pulled out a photo in its frame.
Sindhu and Jeet inched forward. “Excuse me,” said Sindhu. “Why did you steal that photo?”
The woman glared at them.
“We know you didn’t take it for the frame,” said Jeet.
The woman smiled sadly.
“Was it the photo of someone you love?” asked Mum.
The woman shook her head. “No! I don’t know who is in the photo.”
The police officer frowned. “So why did you steal it?” she asked.
The woman broke down in tears. “That was the last photo my great-grandad ever took and developed with his own hands. I asked the exhibition curators to give me the original. But they wouldn’t.”
“Oh no!” said Sindhu. “Sorry we scuppered your plan.”
“I’m sorry too,” said Jeet.
“But the end doesn’t justify the means,” said the police officer as she led the woman into the first boat. “You’re under arrest.”
“There’s value in old photos,” said Dad. “With this digital stuff, you guys take random stuff with no forethought.”
Jeet laughed. “Isn’t that great?”
“Let’s go back to the hotel and rest up,” said Dad. “Too much excitement for one morning.”
“We can give you a lift across the river, if you want,” said the officer.
“Yay! We’ll get to ride in a police boat,” said Sindhu. “Like real detectives.”
“We are real detectives,” said Jeet.
“But I really want to go to the Tower though,” said Sindhu.
“Of course!” said Dad. “I’ll get the tickets online this time, so I don’t get it wrong again.”
“Hang on!” said the officer. “We can drop you off at the Tower and then how about we call in for some complimentary tickets, if you’d like. As a thank you for helping to fight crime.”
“Oh wow!” said Sindhu. “Yes please.”
“Thank you,” said Jeet.
“That’s amazing!” said Dad. “This visit to the Tower is sponsored by the London Police.”
“Actually, it’s sponsored by Sindhu and Jeet’s Detective Agency,” said Mum.
Everyone laughed.
A HARD SHELL TO CRACK
After their trip to the Tower of London and then a day of rest, it was time to visit the Natural History Museum. Everyone had a list of things they wanted to see. Especially Mum, who was super keen to see the museum’s conch collection.
“So, your mum is a conch expert?” asked Jeet.
“She is a collector and an expert,” said Sindhu. “Did you know this special type of conch she collects is only found in the Indian Ocean? Most temples in India have one and some of the big ones are worth millions.”
“Millions for a conch!” Jeet exclaimed.
Inside the museum they decided to split up.
The kids are with me,” said Dad. “And Mum is…”
“…going to see the conch section,” finished Sindhu.
“I’m so excited to see their rare Valampuri Sangu from the Indian Ocean.”
“How do you identify it?” asked Jeet.
“Oh dear!” said Dad with a chuckle. “Stand by for a lecture now!”
“There are three distinct markers,” said Mum in her documentary voice. “Firstly, it belongs to the family of Turbinella pyrum [as if they were all supposed to know what that was]. Secondly, the spiral of the conch must twist right-side. Thirdly, some of them will have the twist right-side and downwards.”
“Go on then,” said Dad. “Go to your shell section.”
“The marine invertebrate section,” said Mum. “Meet you back at the café for lunch?”
“Can I come with you?” asked Sindhu, “to see the conch?”
“Of course,” said Mum.
“The boys will head to the bones then,” said Dad.
Mum and Sindhu linked their arms together and Mum continued where she had left off on the lecture.
“Our ancient epics talk about these in detail,” said Mum. “The one your dad uses for his morning prayers has been handed down for generations. It was found in Kanya Kumari, the southernmost tip of our country.”
When they reached the Marine Invertebrates hall, Mum checked the chart on the wall and headed straight to the display cabinet marked I0-A1. But the cabinet was empty. A sign said
THIS ARTEFACT HAS BEEN REMOVED TEMPORARILY.
“This room is cold,” said Sindhu. “Let’s go out and see something else.”
“Here, take my jacket,” her mum replied, not moving from the display case. “Don’t leave the pockets open. My phone is in there.”
“OK,” said Sindhu. “But are we staying here long if the conch isn’t on display?”
“Yeah, I’m going to wander a bit and see the other displays. Don’t leave the room, darling.”
“OK!” said Sindhu, looking at the displays in the Crustacean and Mollusca collections.
Suddenly a shrill voice broke the whispered chatter in the room. Her mum’s shrill voice. Mum was arguing with a woman with a museum badge. Uh oh!
Sindhu hurried over.
“Miss Finch, you don’t understand,” said Mum. “This is not a Valampuri Sangu.” Mum was pointing at the glass case, where a conch had been put back instead of the REMOVED sign.
People hovered to watch the tourist shout at a member of the museum staff. Mum took out her magnifying glass and peered at the displayed conch.
“See, this spiral here,” said Mum.
Miss Finch came closer. “You must be mistaken,” she said.
Sindhu went to Mum’s other side. The spiral on the shell was shaped upwards to the left.
“This is not a Valampuri Sangu,” insisted Mum.
“I’ll look into this right away,” said Miss Finch, half-smiling and moving away to the door.
“I need to find someone to complain to,” said Mum.
“Can you do that after lunch?” asked Sindhu. “I’m starving.”
*
When Sindhu and Mum arrived at the café, Dad and Jeet were already seated. Jeet was playing with his pen-camera.
“The food’s so expensive here,” said Dad, reading the menu.
But Sindhu and Jeet were too hungry to worry about prices. They went to the counter to gawk at the cakes.
“Did something happen?” asked Jeet. “Your mum looks upset.”
Sindhu explained the conch story to him.
“But why would they mislabel it?” asked Jeet.
Sindhu shrugged.
Just as they turned back to the table, Miss Finch came into the café.
“Look!” whispered Sindhu. “That’s her.”
Miss Finch picked up a tray and pulled out the chair just behind Mum.
“Uh oh!” said Sindhu.
“Let’s go and change table before your mum makes a big scene,” said Jeet.
“If there’s a fight, my mum will definitely win,” said Sindhu. “Especially about…”
Sindhu spotted something and pulled Jeet back.
“…conches?” asked Jeet.
Sindhu pointed at Miss Finch. The woman had turned around and was digging into Mum’s bag, which was hanging behind her chair. Mum hadn’t noticed.
“Mum!” shouted Sindhu.
Jeet darted ahead with his camera recording.
Miss Finch looked up. She lifted her empty tray and threw it at Jeet, who ducked so the tray came flying at Sindhu, who al
so ducked. The tray sailed and crashed into an arrangement of brownies behind them at the dessert counter. Someone screamed.
Miss Finch fled from the café, clattering plates and pushing chairs on her way out.
“Go go go!” shouted Sindhu.
They chased Miss Finch, swerving around pushchairs, little children and people with maps.
“Watch it!” shouted Jeet, as Sindhu almost ran into a donation box near the entrance.
Miss Finch was nearing the exit. Sindhu shouted to the guards. “Catch her! Miss Finch! Stop!”
Miss Finch slowed down as the guards stopped her and pointed at Sindhu.
“What did you take from my mum’s bag?” demanded Sindhu.
“Daphne, any problems?” asked the guard.
“No, nothing, Jimmy,” replied Miss Daphne Finch. “I’ll take care of it.”
Miss Finch pulled Sindhu to a quiet corner.
“Hey! Leave her be,” shouted Jeet.
“Shut up!” hissed Miss Finch. “I didn’t take anything from your mother. Look!” She opened her bag and tipped it out.
She was telling the truth. None of that was Mum’s stuff.
As Sindhu and Jeet watched silently, Miss Finch gathered her things and stomped out of the building, her heels click-clacking on the marble floor.
“What just happened?” asked Jeet. “Maybe we interrupted her before she could take anything.”
“Why would one of the museum staff steal from a tourist?” asked Sindhu.
As they walked back, Sindhu said, “This is what we know about her. Firstly, she works in the marine invertebrate section. Secondly, she mislabelled a conch. Thirdly, she tried to steal something.”
“Hang on,” said Jeet. “What if she wasn’t stealing, what if she was putting something in?”
“We must check Mum’s bag,” said Sindhu. “Hurry!”
But Sindhu’s parents weren’t in the café.
TRRRRING!
“You’re ringing,” said Jeet, pointing at her jacket.
“Oh! Mum’s phone,” said Sindhu.
It was Dad calling. “Come to the marine invertebrates hall,” said Dad. “There’s an office next to the entrance. I’m standing there.”
“Oh dear! Has Mum filed a complaint?”
“No, the other way round,” said Dad. “Come quickly.”
Sindhu and Jeet's Detective Agency Page 2
