The Rehearsal It was shortly after nine o�clock that the last member of the orchestra arrived at Philharmonia Hall on the morning of the gala concert. It was, as usual, Arnold Stone, the flute player. In the doorway he almost collided with a young man wearing a black and yellow sports jacket, who seemed to be in a great hurry. Arnold Stone still found time to say �Good Morning� to the friendly commissionaire Mr Hart, and although he could hear the string players already turning up in the first-floor rehearsal-room he didn�t quicken his steps. Arnold Stone was the kind of person who always turned up late for appointments. But as he was a really outstanding flutist, the conductor, Mr. Block, was good enough to overlook his being late. In no time at all Arnold had taken his place and the rehearsal could begin. At exactly twelve the rehearsal was over. A few moments later, the small cloakroom was crowded with members of the orchestra all talking and trying to find their coats. Suddenly there was a sharp, bewildered cry from the oboist, Max Brand. �My briefcase has disappeared!� he shouted. Immediately there was total silence. Then the others hastily inspected their various belongings - and with devastating results. Thirty-nine musicians found that their money had been taken from their coats, and a few of the missing sums were quite considerable. Everyone was horrified. Mr. Block, the conductor, was the only one to keep his head. �Gentleman, please, don�t panic, I beg you! Just stay where you are for a moment!� he cried, trying to restore order. And to the caretaker, Mr. Corbett he said: �Will you please fetch the commissionaire?� A little later, Alfred Hart stood in front of the caretaker. When he was told what was happened, the commissionaire turned pale with shock and groped for a chair. �Haven�t you seen anyone, Mr. Hart?� said Mr. Block. The doorman shook his head. �This is terrible, simply terrible,� he moaned. �I haven�t seen a soul, really I haven�t. I have been downstairs the whole morning.� Then his eyes caught sight of the flute-player. �You were the last to arrive, weren�t you, Mr. Stone?� The flutist gasped, and for one moment it looked as if he were going to attack the commissionaire. �Do you mean that I�?� �Gentleman, please!� the conductor intervened. Stone stepped back and patted his hair nervously. �Perhaps you want to have a look into my pockets?� he asked ironically. Then he remembered something. �Wait a minute, Mr. Hart,� he said, pointing a finger at the commissionaire. �When I arrived this morning I almost collided with a young man. He was leaving, and in a great hurry, too. Who was he?� Mr. Hart frowned and then clapped a hand to his forehead. �Of course,� he exclaimed. �Why didn�t I think of him before? It could easily have been him. He came from the Music publishers to deliver some scores. I wondered why he was so long in the cloakroom, searching among the coats and even picking up people�s hats.� �What? He was searching among the coats?� asked the conductor, appalled. �Yes. He said he was searching for his scarf, but I realize now what a thin excuse it was!� The conductor turned to the caretaker. �Phone the police, Mr. Corbett. They�d better find out more about this young man.� �Certainly, Sir. I�ll do it right away� �I�ll come with you,� announced Arnold Stone, who had recovered his self-control. Turning to the others he said in an offhand voice: �I�m in a hurry. Besides nothing of mine was stolen. See you all this evening. Goodbye.� Who stole the money from the cloakroom? Answer: The thief must have been the commissionaire, Mr. Hart. If he really hadn�t left the street entrance all morning, how could he have seen the messenger searching through coats and hats in the first-floor cloakroom? Back to R U a Good Detective Back To Home Page |