Walters picked up the clock by its base and turned it over in his hands. There was a coating of brown dust on it; the face was smashed. The hands read 10:45.

“Well,” his assistant Percival said, “at least we know when the burglar broke in, eh?”

“No,” Walters said. “This dust is from an explosive. The fact that it has settled inside the broken glass of the clock face means we cannot rely on this time as being relevant.”

“Dang,” Percival swore, “that was our best bit of evidence.”

Walters payed him no mind and continued to examine the damaged room. The door was off its hinges, a window broken, several chairs thrown about, and a handful of books dashed from the shelves. He picked up the books and flipped their pages. When he did so there was a thunk, and a large empty space was revealed inside each.

Walters looked at the book, then across the room at the papers scattered from the desk and the chair propped neatly beside the broken window.

“You know, Percival, I’m not certain this was a burglary after all.”