Senior Inspector Mooli watched Ms. Parisha Chand sob big, fat tears into her hands. “My antique silver plaque, stolen!” she wailed. “It once belonged to the king of Tutinoor! Priceless! Stunning! Gone!”

Senior Inspector Mooli tapped on his notebook with his pen and sighed. “Once again, Ms. Chand, I am sorry for your loss. But you must tell me what happened.” “Yes, yes,” sniffed Parisha and wiped away her tears. “I had taken out the plaque last night from my vault to have it polished today. But someone broke in, took the plaque and dropped its case on the way out. Just look at the crime scene! I haven’t
disturbed anything.”

Senior Inspector Mooli cast his eye on Parisha’s living room.

If you observe the image in the magazine you will notice that it was a bright day when the criminal broke the glass door in Parisha’s living room. The glass shards were on the floor over the empty case of her antique plaque. The shards were very close to her red armchair and a small brown cupboard. On the wall she had hung two paintings, one was a picture of a city at night and the other was a beautiful farm under a bright blue sky.

“As a private collector of rare and antique items, did you not insure this plaque against thefts?” he asked. “Yes, it is insured, as is everything else in my collection,” she said as she blew her nose. “But sir, I already have money troubles. I don’t want to deal with theft of property too.
It’s too taxing on my nerves. Please find the thief and restore what’s mine.”

“I would, but something about this case just doesn’t add up,” thought Inspector Mooli.

What is it and why?