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call into The Crim on my mobile as we drive away. Not surprisingly, he’s none too pleased to hear from me and is full of curses and
bluster until I tell him that Kevin’s waiting for him at Aunt Lena’s house with a present that I guarantee will make him happy, and which will simultaneously clear the debt.
    I also add that it would be a lot better for everyone if my family stayed in one piece and no one got to hear about The Crim’s crooked relationship with Mr Hairpiece himself, Stephen
Humphrey MP.
    Before he can say anything else, I end the call, settle back and turn to Vanya.
    “So,” I ask, as we reach the bottom of the road. “Which way to Slovakia?”

THE CASE OF THE CURIOUS QUORUM
    Colin Dexter
    Triply marked had been the white envelope, Personal Private Confidential; and after reading its contents, Inspector Lewis’s forehead registered considerable puzzlement.
Furthermore, after re-reading the two-page letter, such puzzlement appeared compounded with each succeeding paragraph.
    53 Cumberland Place
    London W2 5AS
    0207 3736642
    10 April 2006
    Dear Inspector,
    My only connection with you is via the late Chief Inspector Morse, who once came to talk at the Detection Club’s annual jamboree at The Ritz. We had known of him
     because one of our number had written accounts of some of his high-profile investigations, particularly into murder, a crime ever nourishing the life-blood of our distinguished membership.
     Morse spoke rather stiffly, we thought, although after his speech he was somewhat more relaxed with his plentiful supply of single-malt Scotch.
    It was at that point he came to speak of you, and in a most complimentary fashion. Clearly you formed an illustrious partnership and I know you will have learnt a great deal from him
     about the solving of crime. Indeed, one of our cruciverbalist members wrote an anagrammatic clue about his rank and name: “Person with crimes to resolve (9, 5)”. And it is in order
     to resolve a crime that I write to you now. Please, Inspector, consider the following facts.
    I was myself, until a few years ago, the President of the Detection Club, during which time I naturally held an open cheque book on the Club’s account. I attended a committee
     meeting two weeks ago in the hotel lounge at Paddington Railway Station, taking with me the cheque book and intending (belatedly) to surrender it to the current President. There were five of us
     there, all male: our President, myself, and three other senior members. The business was conducted expeditiously; and before repairing to the bar with my colleagues, I collected up my own
     material, consisting of a few personal letters, the minutes of the last meeting, the morning’s agenda, my notes, etc, and stuffed them into my briefcase.
    On returning home and taking out these papers, I found that the cheque book was missing, although I clearly remember that I had forgotten (yet again) to hand it over. Was my memory
     playing cruel tricks on me? I am certain this was not the case. My brain cells have not let me down for many a decade, to be frank – eight of them almost! I did not allow this matter to
     disturb me unduly, but it should have done. Why? Because two days ago I learnt that a considerable amount had been withdrawn from the Club’s account on a cheque from that very book, a
     cheque ostensibly signed by me.
    My mind has been going round whirlygigwise this last forty-eight hours, since I am certain that it was one of us at the committee meeting who was responsible for the theft, as well as for
     the criminal usage made of it thereafter. One of those men is a complete monster – bit of one, anyway! One of them is a d— arrant robber! One of them ought to be roasted under a
     grill – he deserves it! Do I sound a little incoherent? So be it.
    Where does this leave my reputation? I used to be called the Crime King – Father of Detection! And now I am left in much anger and despair as I see myself the victim of a