LATERAL THINKING DRAMA & WHODUNNIT

In the case of the Stolen Statuette, Oliver is sure that Bill is responsible for stealing the statuette. But how can he be sure that he knows for certain?
- More recent: Whodunnit: The Body In The Study
Anthony Long looked decidedly out of sorts. He was unusually pale, with dark smudges under his eyes, and his customary brisk gait had given way to a sullen slouch. Watching him approach, Oliver quickly decided to change plans and suggest a coffee shop, rather than the game he had obtained tickets for.
“You look dreadful,” Oliver said, by way of greeting.
Anthony nodded. “Two hours sleep. Maybe less.”
“Coffee?”
“You’re a life-saver.”
Ten minutes later, the men were seated at a quiet table in the corner of a café. As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Anthony leaned forward. “I’m in a bit of a bind,” he said, quietly. “I could do with some advice, Olly.”
“You know I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Thanks. I had a break-in at the house yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Oliver said. “Did they take anything of value?”
Anthony nodded glumly. “Well, yes. The thief broke a window in the dining room and made off with a rather precious gold statuette from the hall. But that’s not the problem. I was attending a meeting in town yesterday. Mrs Chambers, my housekeeper, had the afternoon off. My brother Bill – he’s been staying for a few days – was there, but he says he didn’t hear anything.”
Oliver arched an eyebrow at Anthony’s curious phrasing. “He says?”
“He’s even wilder than ever, Olly. I get the impression that he’s only here because someone is trying to collect on a debt. I don’t see why a thief would know to go straight for the statuette, ignoring some other nice pieces in the dining room. Bill suggested that the gardener’s new lad might have seen something. Maybe he’s right. But I can’t help worrying that he might have taken it himself. If he has, the last thing I want to do is involve the police. Bill’s a damn fool, but he is my brother. If it’s not him, though, I’m risking repeat attacks, and I won’t be able to claim for the loss.”
“I understand completely,” said Oliver, nodding. “Why don’t you show me the scene?”

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A little while later, the men were round the back of the house. The broken window was a gaping mess. The flowerbed beneath showed signs of trampling. Oliver approached it carefully. There were several large footprints dug deep into the ground, with glass and shrubbery crushed into the soil in a pattern of sole that strongly suggested a work-boot of some kind. The prints were not visible on the grass of the lawn.
“Size ten, I’d say,” said Oliver.
Anthony nodded. “Yes. Bill’s a size seven, before you ask.”
“Good, good. How about indoors?”
They went into the house, and Anthony led Oliver to the dining room. “The thief opened the window through the hole, then climbed in,” Anthony said. “I’ve had the room left alone, in case the police need to see it. There’s still a bit of mud on the sill of the broken window.”
Oliver knelt down by the window and ran his hands over the carpet slowly. “There might be a little mud here, too.” He straightened up, and put a sympathetic hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Let it drop, Tony. I’m afraid it was clearly your brother.”
How does Oliver know?
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