Spin The Wheel (Flash Fiction)

For terribleminds.com – Chuck Wendig’s awesome blog. Roll a D10 and get your plot triggers. Write 1000(ish) words. Post. Here goes:

10 – Locked room mystery

6 – Heist gone wrong!

4 – A bottle of rare whiskey

“The man had a yellow handkerchief around his face and a hat on. I remember thick dark rimmed glasses too because I thought he looked a little silly, what with the green suit and fez. I don’t remember much of what he said. It was just shouting. I’m afraid I was quite frightened. I hid behind the table in the hallway. But I could see that he had a gun, strangely, it was covered by a red cloth. He must have pointed it at the safe door and it was Mr Perkins, the butler, that went to open the door but by the time he did the man had scarpered. Then Roger, one of the staff, noticed that the secret door was open, it’s an old house, and that the painting was missing. I don’t know where he went to after, that door leads to the rooms in the celler.” The secretarial looking young lady explained before she began to weep again, she was still in shock. She was aided by a policewoman with thick red, curly hair and a comforting smile whilst another weedy looking policeman was furiously writing down every word ahe said in his little black notebook.

Noone noticed the looming figure of a man step out of the shadows at the back of the room. “Yes, ingenius,” the figure said, “hiding in full view. Everyone remembers the strangely dressed man arriving but no one will see the normal Clark Kent leaving through the back door. Thank you, Miss Rogers, you may go now. PC Meadows here will see that you get a cup of tea whilst PC Rodney here will continue to write in his notebook. You do not need to write what I say in there, you know.”

“No, Sir, sorry. But did he leave through the back door, Sir?”

“No, Rodney. He did not because the back door is still locked. Please write that in your book.”

“Yes, Mr Randall”

“Inspector Randall, Rodney. I think you better write that down too.”

Another imposing figure appeared at the front door. “What’s going on in my house?” Lord Downing demanded “we were out on a walk of the grounds. My wife and daughter are still in the summer house.”

“Sir,” the Inspector explained, “I’m afraid there appears to have been a robbery.”

“My God, what did he take?”

“The Picasso, Sir.”

“Really? How did he open the safe?”

“Mr Perkins was threatened at gun point to do it. He is still very shaken.”

“Oh,” Lord Downing looked a little annoyed, “well, I don’t blame the man. I would have done the same thing.”

“Sir, will you tell me how the perpetrator would have left the building through the secret door?”

“What? There’s no way. It leads to the cellars. There’s no back way out.”

“From what you’re saying, Sir, he should still be on the premises?”


“He’s been there hours. Rodney, with me. PC Meadows fetch PC Stock and follow us down. Sir, I suggest that…”

“I’m not missing this for the world. I’m coming with you.”

Lord Downing barged passed the Inspector through the lounge and down the passageway. The Inspector and Rodney followed quickly behind leaving Roger and Mr Perkins, both a little bewildered, in the lounge.

They arrived at the cellar door. There was ample room for the three of them, it was not a small cellar. The Inspector bent to look at the scuff marks round the bottom of the door. He touched the mark with a gloved hand and rubbed some dust between finger and thumb. Then he tried the handle gently. It was locked. The Inspector stooped to look through the keyhole but it was blocked. The burgler had locked the door from the inside.

“Stand aside,” he said to Lord Downing, “Rodney, break down the door!”

“I beg your pardon, Sir?”

“Oh,” the Inspector sighed and then shouted, “PC Stock?” A large, muscular policeman entered the corridor. “Would you mind awfully breaking down the door?”

“No, sir.”

“Stand back!” the Inspector said, in a dramatic tone. PC Stock broke the door down on the fourth attempt, he was a large man and the door was very old.

Inside the cellar the onlookers were greated by the sight of a young man wearing a green suit, his head was rested on a fez and the yellow handkerchief was lose about his face and moving slightly as he snored loudly. Next to him lay an empty bottle of whiskey, a red cloth and a banana, and Lilian’s painting.

“Don’t worry, Sir.” said Rodney, “It doesn’t look like he is going anywhere fast.”

Roger and Lillian, Lord Downing’s daughter, appeared behind the crowd. “I said she could come down but only if I came with her and at the first sign of danger she was to get behind me. You know how stubborn she is.” said Roger.

Lilian said, “He took a painting from the lounge, didn’t he Daddy, but he didn’t take an expensive one. It was my painting of Mummy. Which I think is worse to take but Mr Perkins said it isn’t. It was my birthday party the other day so we moved the silly Picasso into the safe and put my painting up for the party. I didn’t like the old frame much so that is OK. Is that him?”

Lord Downing addressed the Inspector “I thought you said Perkins opened the safe?”

“Mr Perkins did open the safe, Sir, but this man had left before he finished. Didn’t he Rodney, check your notebook. If he had only waited until the safe had been opened… Well, Rodney,” said the Inspector, “There’s your gun. A banana covered by a cloth.”

“Just like that, eh, Inspector.”


“Nevermind, I’ll write that in my book.”

“See that you do. Looks like he’s had a whole bottle of whiskey too.”

“My 18 year old Talisker! I’ve been robbed.” Lord Downing exclaimed and fainted clean away.

The noise of Lord Downing’s body hitting the floor  woke the colourful burgler, “Hic!” he said just before vomiting all over the painting of Lady Downing.

“Ewwwww,” said Lilian.