text: "It's 8:15 on a Sunday morning," said the officer, Tidwell, "and this sort of thing seems an unlikely adventure at such a time. Would you mind explaining?" The man was astonished at the voice from behind. He turned about and said, "I know what you're thinking, officer, but it isn't true. It's a very funny mistake." "I think you've just left this house in a manner rather than the usual one. That may be quite all right, but I'd like to make sure." Tidwell took out his notebook and a pen. "Name, address and occupation and then, please tell me your story." "Charlie Crane, lorry driver, from Nottingham, 51 Brecon Street. My story?" "Yes, What were you doing like a fly on that wall, Mr. Crane?" "Well, I had a breakdown yesterday and had to stay the night here. The landlady's name is Mrs. Fern. She gave me breakfast at seven, and I was out of here in the right way and down at the lorry park by half past seven. It was only when I felt around for a cigarette that I realized I'd left $80 under the pillow here. It's a habit I've got into. I even do it almost every day." "I see. Why didn't you miss it when you meant to pay Mrs.? What's her name?" "I paid her last night. You've got to pay when you take the room, see? So I came rushing back, but it's Sunday, and she'd gone back to bed. I rang the bell and banged on the front door for ten minutes before I came round here. Up I went this pipe and the money was still there. You know the rest, and I hope you believe it because...." "Mr. Crane, whatever are you doing here? I thought you'd gone an hour ago." It was Mrs. Fern.