Are you sure this is the place? We glared at the wrecking domicile. “Yea, it is” Danny assured me. We got closer; “God damn! the house doesn’t even have a doorbell”, I knocked the door and minutes later, the door swung open.  A lad, maybe 15 or 16 with brunette hair, about 5 ft 9 inches stood before us, chewing aloud what seemed to be gum.

“What?”; he demanded. “We’ve got a few questions for Estellitta,” Danny says, “Is she here?”. “Who’s asking?”                                                                                                                                                  Danny flips out his badge in front of the kid as he retreats back into the skanky, dimly lit house.I and Danny exchange glances as the door reopen and a middle aged woman wearing a very tired face; like one who has seen far more than she could bear to open up about.              “I’m Estellalita”  she motioned.                                                                                                                                 “We’re with the Police Headquarter’s over on the 6th. Ma’am, we were notified of a robbery that occurred on Thursday night at an Official’s home. he paused.                                                       “Yes, Mr Benson is my employer, she said calmly.                                                                                   “and what is your job description”                                                                                                                           “I clean, dust and arrange” she continued ” it doesn’t seem much but in such a huge house, it is definitely strenuous work” .                                                                                                                         “did you work on the night of the robbery?”                                                                                                “Yes, but I didn’t see anything”                                                                                                                                 ” were you the only one working that evening, Mrs. Estellita? I finally ask                                                “Yes” she sighed, ” I was downstairs, wiping the portraits when the alarms went off, I naturally panicked but within minutes, it stopped and I presumed it was a technical problem, I informed Sir and Mrs when they got home ” That’s all                                                                             “You were downstairs” Danny heaved but didn’t see anything? ” Yes, no one, not even a cat?”  Danny grinned sheepishly. ” anything else you wanna add?”                                                                         she stood thinking “Madam’s window was open, that isn’t typical”                                                    “Thank you Estellita for your cooperation”, I said quite eager to get on with it. “We’ll  call if we need any thing else but for now I kindly request that you do not leave town.                                        “Bye”, Danny added.





we rounded back to the station after a brief conversation with Professor Wickit, a man of few words indeed. He’d been collecting antiques since his retirement, said it kept him busy and efficient. No doubt a hefty pension fueled his passion.

He’d identified the gloves and as he recalled, they belonged to a maiden, Helena Sedlmayr the daughter of a shoemaker 180 years earlier. When King Ludwig I charged his artist with the vigorous task of painting the portraits of the most beautiful women in Bavaria, Helene was selected personally by the King when he set eyes on her for the first time. A mere shoe daughter’s daughter honored in the palace of the king, he sang her praises and as a reward for her participation, pure beauty, and sheer innocence,   he gifted her with a pair of brown leather diamond studded gloves. These ones.

Interesting story I thought, but what was even more interesting was what he said next  “It was part of my collection but then It just upped and disappeared, I never sold it and I am way too feeble to search”. Wicket exerted                                                                                                                           Danny leaned forward “how much do you estimate it’s value?”.                                                          His soft wrinkled eyes narrowed “Two hundred thousand euros”.

We walked out of there, only shells of our former selves, ” 200,000″  Danny mumbled, “euros” I added.                                                                                                                                                                            We turned to face each other. “We at least have a breakthrough”                                                                 I grinned “always the optimist”.


If you missed them, have a brief look at The Case of the Missing Gloves 1 & 2. Thank you for tuning in.






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