The Mystery of the Missing Files

The Mystery of the Missing Files

"Mayford! There is a mole within our midst!"

The cry echoed across the deserted mansion that was serving its time as the headquarters of The Hurst Detective Agency, Inc. The imposing figure of Dr Hurst, clad in a long sweeping cloak, billowed along the empty corridors as he searched for his detective assistant Mayford.

As he rounded the corner into the large library, he started with shock. Mayford had scuttled out from the shadows of the bookshelves, resembling nothing more than an enormously oversized rat.

"A mole? What about moles? Who's a mole?" he yelped breathlessly. Dr Hurst gathered his wits about him.

"I was hoping you could answer that question, Mayford," he remarked with one eyebrow raised. "Surely the investigation of such matters is your affair? I can't imagine why else you would spend such inordinate quantities of time in the village public house, other than to ascertain the movements of the villagers at large."

Mayford looked somewhat abashed, and had opened his mouth to reply when a sudden crash resounded around the room. Immediately a dark figure shot out from the corner of the room and darted towards the door, disappearing before either of them could move.

"Quick!" cried Dr Hurst, swinging straight into action. "After him!"

He ran out of the room, confident that Mayford was following close behind. Swirling and birling down the corridors he threw a glance over his shoulder to see where his diminutive, scuttling assistant had got to. He was nowhere in sight. This discovery placed Dr Hurst in a dilemma: did he wait for his slow-footed assistant to catch up, or return to investigate his whereabouts, or merely continue on his path and leave Mayford's fate to the will of the gods? Ever decisive, Dr Hurst immediately placed his trust in the power of the deities to deliver a fair judgement and continued to chase after the shadowy figure who was fleeing from the imposing manor house.

Bursting through the heavy oak doors, Dr Hurst reeled from the shock of the bright sunshine. It was always startling to emerge from the darkness of the manor, he reflected briefly. One expected the musty shadows to extend over the surrounding grounds, however unscientific such a thought may seem.

He returned again to the matter at hand: the pursuit, ensnarement and unmasking of the elusive figure who was at that very moment haring down the gravel driveway at an alarmingly athletic rate.

"I'll never catch up with him," muttered Dr Hurst, who had found that it was far more effective to cut an imposing figure and arrive slightly later than it was to arrive immediately and be out of breath. "Besides, he won't get through the gates."

It was obvious that the escapee was not familiar with the manor house and its grounds, or he would have been aware that the high iron gates were kept permanently locked. Even had the lock been broken, it would be impossible to open the gates due to a somewhat staggering quantity of rust on the hinges.

So it was with some surprise that Dr Hurst observed the figure pushing open the gates, sliding through the gap that willingly presented itself between the ornate iron wings, and continuing down the road at the same startling pace.

"Now that is quite remarkable," he reflected to himself. "One must wonder: was that perchance an act of God, or do we have here what is commonly referred to as an Inside Job?"

The detective was musing on these thoughts and chewing contemplatively on his unlit pipe when he heard the sound of gravel crunching behind him. Without turning, he knew who it would be. That was one of the multitude of advantages that came from having such a well-concealed hideaway: it received very few unexpected visitors. Clearly the headquarters of his highly exclusive detective agency were no longer quite so little-known as he would have preferred, but nevertheless the law of averages meant that it was highly unlikely (indeed bordering on the impossible) that he would turn around to confont his second surprise visitor in five minutes.

"Ah, Mayford," he boomed in his best detective voice. "I see you've caught up at last. I'm sorry to say that our guest has clearly taken fright somewhat, and departed in a rather unusual manner."

"Which was...?" prompted Mayford, scuttling to face his detective commander.

"Was what?" Dr Hurst said in tones of surprise, his mind having already sprung onwards like a fleeing deer in the headlights of a passing motorcar at the dead of night in a misty, wooded glade through which a road had been blazed.

He was shaken out of his reverie by the rather nasal sound of Mayford's voice.

"The unusual manner of departure. What manner was that?"

"Ah yes! Of course. He departed through the gates, Mayford. Imagine that!"

Mayford looked slightly baffled. If he were a lesser man, or indeed had his mind not been on higher plains, Dr Hurst might have been moved to amusement by this sight. Mayford's bafflement involved much tilting of the head and scrunching of the nose until he resembled nothing more than a lopsided tortoise.

"I'd imagine that the gates were how most people got out, Dr," he said, somehow managing to speak without moving his head or unscrunching his nose. "Far more usual than what else he might have done, by all accounts."

"Indeed so!" confessed Dr Hurst, who (if you did not know better) you might have thought was rather startled by this idea. "More usual than departure by aeroplane, for example, or telekinetic transference of the elementary particles. But the fact remains that those gates do not open."

"Oh," responded Mayford, somewhat perplexed. Then, as understanding dawned on him, "Oh!"

"The fog has lifted," quipped Dr Hurst wryly. "Now then, Mayford, here's a question that a fine, upstanding man such as yourself should be able to answer: how does a lock such as the one securing the pair of gates at the opening to our dominion come to be inexplicably..." He faded off, realising that his words were falling on incomprehending ears. "Mayford, why was the gate unlocked? And who, for that matter, has oiled the hinges?"

He paused for a second, in case any answer might be forthcoming, but none arrived. Clearly the fine upstanding man before him was lost for words at the complexity of the problem.

"I shall leave you to ponder that thought, Mayford," he declared. "Might I trouble you to advise me the moment any inkling of an answer strikes you? I shall await the fruits of your pondering with great anticipation."

With those encouraging words he flung his cloak into place in a lordly manner and strode housewards, leaving his hunched assistant to consider the mysteries of telekinetic transference of the elementary particles.