The museum atrium lurked around the German much like the way a boa constrictor strangles its prey. Despite this Abram glided across the marble floor and stalked towards the guard that was on duty beside the reception desk. The desk itself was of a strong dark oak. The guard was slacking and was leaning on his right elbow which rested on the desks thick surface.
There was no receptionist as the museum was meant to be closed, but due to the recent robbery of a valuable Japanese sword the museum was open to members of the police force. Abram, however official he may have looked, was no more then a private detective, however brilliant.
Abram pretended as if his intention was to stroll past the guard, and when he was within a meter of the museum staff member, he stopped walking. "Where were you when the katana was stolen?" Abram leaned in slightly as to read his name tag. "Mr Jacobsson." The guard looked slightly taken back. He half coughed, trying to cover the fact that Abram had taken him back slightly. "I was off duty. It was my night off. I... Wait who are you?" Abram reached casually into his jacket and felt around inside his left pocket, his hand emerged holding a business card. "I am Abram Reich Mr Jacobsson. Now I need you to show me where the katana was on display". The guard hesitated for a second as he examined the card but Abram tapped his foot out of impatience and the guard grunted and pointed to his left. "This way."
The guard pointed towards a hall. Abram raised his head in curiosity and walked two steps ahead of the young the Jacobsson. Abram let his eyes run over every inch of every statue and the floor. Looking for any sign of anything abnormal. Nothing was unnatural or strange. Everything seemed pristine, in order, organized.
The hallway itself had a high ceiling and a dozen statues leading into the display room, where a Japanese showcase had been taking place. Out of everything to steal in the room it was not even the most valuable, thought Abram.
A couple of police men stood around the glass case the katana had been resting in. It lay horizontally against the rooms far back wall, with a red velvet lining the inside. The two police men looked confused as they noticed the sharp looking figure of Abram Reich cross the room. They exchanged a look of confusion as the German pushed them aside.
The first police man went to tap Reich on the shoulder when the German spun, grabbed his wrist and tucked his card into the officers pocket before continuing onto the scene of the crime.
He examined the case and it took him less then twenty seconds to calculate what he needed. A weapons expert. It took him another fourteen seconds to come up with the name of such an expert, Lacey Bridgewater.
Abram swivlled around and stormed out of the room like a cat with a burning tail. He yelled back toward the police officers. "If you touch anything, I will not hesitate to have you both fired." The officers exchanged a worried glance and buried their hands into their pockets.
Only one thought was in Abram Reich's head. I need to find a telegram machine and fast....
The lean body of the German dashed from the building and into the dying light of the day. The cool air of the rushing night enveloped him and sent a shiver down his spine. He buttoned up his coat as he dashed forward through the large court yard and around the roman style fountain that was currently not working.
The cobbled street began to emerge and on the far side of the street, lay snuggled between the large Georgian buildings was a post office, which was currently attempting to close for the evening.
Abram rammed through the door and interrupted an elderly man having a discussion with a man behind the desk. The shutter was lowered so the setting sun was not shining in and blocking the Germans vision. "I need to use your telegram machine." The man looked slightly taken aback. "Now!"
The man shuffled across the room from behind his desk. He walked with a slight limp and took him, on average, thirteen extra seconds to reach the machine in the far corner of the room.
Abram tapped his foot impatiently as the man made his way across the room. "Hurry up man. I am in a rush." The man, who looked to be in his fifties, shot an angered look at Abram. "What do you want to send, and to whom, sir?" The German practically leaped over to the machine and leaned the man, somewhat vigorously, out of the way. He shared a glance with the elderly man at the desk.
Abram quickly typed the message, which he sent on to Ms Bridgewater:
Another issue. London Museum. Precautions not currently needed. Get here as soon as possible. AR
The German quickly hurried out of the post office and jogged across the street and back into the museum. Resuming his place in the hall where the weapon was last seen. Abram only said two words when he entered. "Everyone out."