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and long before the police had computers, which could assess crime intelligence. As I read the Occurrence Book each day, however, I did become aware that the shops were raided on the same nights that we received calls from some sleepy residents that a horse was loose and roaming the streets. It had been heard several times in the dead of night, but no one had actually seen the horse. There developed a theory that the shop-breaker was a horseman and that he carefully studied the movements of the police before committing his crimes.
    In an attempt to gain more information, I took several Occurrence Books, which were logs of all daily events, andchecked them meticulously for (a) calls about horses loose at night in Strensford and (b) shop-breakings which occurred around the same time. And a pattern did emerge. The breaks were occurring around two o’clock in the morning, the very time the policemen went into the station for their mid-shift break – this made it seem they were being observed. Furthermore, all the occasions when the horse had been reported were around the same mid-shift time.
    Then, by one of those strokes of fortune by which great crimes are solved, I had to compile a list of the times of high tides for the information of Force Headquarters – someone over there was compiling a Spring Tide Early Warning System. As I listed the times known to Strensford, I suddenly wondered whether the raids could be linked with tidal times. I was really thinking of the swing bridge across the harbour which opened at times of high tide; high tides occurred twice a day, with about twelve hours between each high water. I did wonder if our horse-riding villain came across that bridge into town, so I carried out my survey over several months.
    To cut a long story short, I did not voice my opinions to anyone else but decided to carry out a spell of observations whenever my night duty coincided with a high tide which occurred around 2 a.m. The tide was almost full for some time both before and after the official high-tide time; this meant there was often full water while the policemen were having their mid-shift meals … and that meant the fishing boats were under preparation for sailing. My mind was working fast.
    ‘Sergeant,’ I spoke to Sergeant Blaketon at the beginning of one night shift. ‘Can I work a harbourside beat tonight but take my break later than normal, say 3 a.m.?’
    ‘Why, Rhea? What are you scheming now?’
    I was in two minds not to tell him, but I felt he would not grant this odd request without knowing the story, and so, in the peace of the sergeant’s office, I explained. To give him credit, he did listen.
    ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do it. And I’ll be there too. We’ll see this out together, Rhea. We’ll show these townies that us country coppers can arrest their shop-breakers!’
    We arranged to meet at 1.45 a.m., and together we would seek a place of concealment from where we could overlook the swing bridge, the harbourside and quays, the herring boats and the main thoroughfares into town.
    That night, high tide was at 2.33 a.m., and as we watched from an alley overlooking the harbour, we could see the lights of the boats as their crews were preparing to sail to the herring grounds. And then we saw him.
    A tall, lithe young man left the shadows of the harbourside and made his noisy way into town. A Dutchman, in clogs. Clip-clopping into town.
    ‘There’s the horse, sergeant!’ I hissed at him.
    ‘Where, Rhea?’
    ‘The clogs!’ I snapped. ‘They sound like a horse walking at night, when the streets are empty. This is our breaker, a Dutch seaman!’
    ‘Right, we need to catch him with the evidence. Wait here until he comes back with his loot.’
    That was true. We had no evidence yet, certainly not enough to convict him, and so we simply waited and then, some forty minutes later, we heard the clip-clop of his return journey.
    ‘Nice work, Rhea,’ beamed Sergeant Blaketon. ‘You’ll get