“Gentlemen, I have called you here to unravel the mystery of the missing brooch.” 

The speaker stood, his long pipe casting shadows of the walls of his tiny London home. Large bookcases hid behind six different men.

“The answer, was, of course, obvious to me,” the speaker said, a large man named Wilson. “I merely took the clues and deduced the information necessary from the different leads and stories each of you told me.” 

The six men shifted. Each was uncertain as to the identity of the thief. “I remember clearly the day Mr. Peterson stormed into my room with a case, that of the missing brooch.”

Peterson nodded. He would never forgot that day. He remembered rushing into Wilson’s office, crying, “They have stolen my brooch!” Wilson had sat him down and had taken the facts to recreate the night the brooch had been stolen.

Wilson paced back and forth, pausing only a second before pointing and saying, in a loud, accusing, voice, “Gentlemen, I can only say that the real thief here is Richard Peterson!”

The men gasped! 
“What do you mean?” asked Peterson. “I’m the thief?”

“Yes!” Wilson cried. “You stole the brooch and then demanded insurance money on it, didn’t you? Thought you could get away with it? Not with me on the case!” Wilson sat, his body relaxed.

“But I didn’t have insurance on the brooch,” Peterson said. “That was why I brought the case to you, because I needed it recovered. You’re a moron,” Peterson said, and the other men nodded, each relieved Peterson had been accused, and not them.

“Ah, perhaps I was merely throwing you off the track to make the real thief confess to the crime.” Wilson stood again, his body ramrod straight. “I think it’s obvious now the real thief is none other than Mr. Thomas!”

The men gasped! 

Thomas blinked and said, “But I’m the police investigator working on this case. I didn’t even know about the brooch until you came to me for help on the case.” 

The men looked, around, mystified. “Wilson, you’re mad,” muttered Peterson.

“Mad for the truth!” screamed Wilson. “It’s obvious that Peterson stole the brooch, took it to Thomas to hold it until they could collect the insurance money which they would split between them. Isn’t that the truth, Thomas? Be honest!”

“I didn’t have insurance on the brooch,” Peterson said, but everyone was looking at Thomas suspiciously. 

“I suppose Peterson could have stolen the brooch, and tried to collect insurance money on it. But why would he have brought it to me? He could have hidden it anywhere.” Thomas sat on the corner on an armchair, his demeanor calm and collected

“I didn’t have insurance on the brooch,” repeated Peterson, but by then everyone was looking at him even more suspiciously.

“Where did you hide the brooch?” demanded a man built like a brick, named Forest.

“I didn’t hide it anywhere. I don’t have it. I can’t get any insurance money because I didn’t have insurance on it.” Peterson felt flummoxed now, and quite upset.

“Perhaps,” Wilson said, to the chagrin of Peterson, “your insurance agent can answer some questions about this matter for us.”

A thin man named Chaser spoke from the corner, “Peterson didn’t have any insurance to collect. It’s quite ridiculous to think that he would have stolen the brooch.” And he rose to leave.

“Stop him!” cried Wilson. Every man save Peterson  and Thomas leaped to the door to prevent Chaster’s escape. “Perhaps you were trying to league because you’re guilty?” asked Wilson in a lo

“I’m leaving because I have an appointment in ten minutes,” Chaser said, and again tried to open the door.
“You stole the brooch, didn’t you?” Wilson said. “You and Thomas and Peterson. Peterson stole the brooch, gave it to Thomas to hide, while you arranged for the insurance money, not know that Thomas secretly wanted the brooch to himself. He double-crossed you and Peterson, forcing you to kill Thomas. If I have anything wrong, it is strictly circumstantial.”

“I’m not dead,” Thomas said.
“I didn’t steal the brooch,” Chaser said.

“I didn’t have insurance on the brooch,” Peterson repeated.

“You’ve lost it, Wilson,” contended Forest, turning to the others. “Let’s go.”

The other men turned to leave but stopped when Wilson said quietly from the back of the room,

“It all makes sense now.”

“Peterson and Thomas secretly decided to double-0cross Chaser,” said Wilson with a loud voice,” and decided to take the money and split it two-for-one instead of three-for-two or seven-for-nine. But Forest found out the scheme and demanded a share. This would make it a two-for-three-for-seven-for-nine split, which was unacceptable to Peterson, who killed Thomas to quiet him. Then Forest became a member, and Chaser double-crossed Peterson, while Chaser stole the brooch from Peterson, forcing Forest to go along with the plan.” 

“I’m not dead,” Thomas said.

“I didn’t steal the brooch,” Chaser said.

“I don’t even know any of these people,” Forest said.

“Come on,” said a new voice from the side room. “Let’s go, men. Wilson’s a moron. All six men turned to the speaker. “My name’s Johnson, and I’ve had enough of this. I’m the cop who took the report from Peterson. Come on.”

“Interesting,” mumbled Wilson. “Very interesting that this man appears out of nowhere to contend that he is a policeman, when he is really a crook who stole the brooch from Thomas’s corpse!”

The men gasped!

“Yes,” continued Wilson, “it’s all clear now. Peterson stole his brooch, took it to Thomas to hide it. Chaser was called, but they later regretted it, and killed Chaser to keep him quiet. Then Forest was called in by accident, because they wanted Johnson, to the secret confined in the police station. But Chaser double-crossed them, and Peterson didn’t collect the insurance money like he wanted. Thomas and Forest then killed Chaser to keep him quiet, and Peterson brought the case to me to throw me off the track. I have your number, boys.”

“I died twice?” Chaser asked.

“At least I didn’t die this time,” Thomas said.

“I didn’t have any insurance on the brooch,” repeated Peterson.

“I still don’t know any of these people,” Forest said.

“I still want to leave,” Johnson said.

The room filled with different people’s voices mixing in teh air until no one could distinguish the different voices.

“I was wrong before,” admitted Wilson, “but the true villain is none other than Mr. Truman!” 

The men gasped!

“I’m your sidekick, moron,” replied Truman, “You called me when you heard about this case. I didn’t know anything about this case until I arrived here this morning.

“You’ve lost it,” Forest said.

“I’m not dead,” Thomas said.

“And I didn’t die twice,” Chaser said, “or, at least I don’t think I did.”

“I still don’t know any of you,” Johnson said, pointing to Thomas. “Except you.”

“Then you admit you killed him?” questioned Wilson.
“I’m not dead,” repeated Thomas.

“I didn’t have any insurance on the brooch,” Peterson said, for the fifth time.

“I apologize for taking your time, gentlemen. This will be a case not solved by the famous Mr. Wilson. You may all leave.”

“About time,” murmured Peterson, and the men left. The room sat empty except for Wilson, holding a small, jeweled brooch in his hands. The fading sunlight caught the edges and reflected off the walls.

“Too easy,” Wilson said.

Out on the street below, the men stopped and turned towards each other.

“What do you think happened to the brooch, Peterson?” asked a very alive Thomas.

“I don’t know. At this point, it doesn’t matter. It was only worth a couple hundred dollars anyway. I shall have to get another. And maybe this time I will get insurance.”