Miles Kington: Dental problems at J Clayhanger & Sons...

It's time for our first complete mystery story of the new year, starring Inspector Keith Braid, the Sixty Second Sleuth. Readers who have not yet met this star of detection should know that he has the enviable record of never taking more than a minute to solve any crime. That is why he always appears in very short stories, never in novels.

Today's miniature yarn is entitled, "Open Wide, Please".

"So, where are you taking us today?" said Inspector Braid, as Sergeant Comfort edged the car out into the traffic heading north towards Harrow.

"Bit of an old-fashioned crime today, sir," said Comfort. "Safe-cracking."

"Safe-cracking, eh?" said Braid. "It's been a while since I heard that expression. Of course, in the old days people used skill opening safes. Dials and numbers and combinations, and things. They cracked things open with feeling, as if they were opening a bottle of champagne. They were experts. Nowadays, they just use explosives."

"Well, I don't think they even use that these days," said Comfort. "Money is transferred electronically so much that people don't keep cash in safes any more, except in very old-fashioned firms."

Which is exactly what J Clayhanger & Sons, Undertakers, were. They had been in the same offices in the high street since 1891. The same family had been running it all those years. And you could believe that the same safe had been used since 1891, the enormous metal cabinet which stood on the iron fixture at the end of Nat Clayhanger's office.

Old Nat Clayhanger was the current head of the family.

He had left his office the night before, locked up, and gone home.

When he had come in that morning, the safe stood wide open and all the contents were gone. Money, papers, deeds - even a bottle of whisky which Nat kept there for moments of stress.

"I would not have thought it possible, Inspector," said Nat. "You can see that although the safe opens at the front, the actual combination lock cannot be seen. That is because it is at the back, and virtually inaccessible, because the safe is too heavy to move. I can open it myself because I know the number and I can do it by feel. But if you cannot see what you are doing, there is no way you could open it. Even if you knew the number."

"So who would have had access to your room?," said Inspector Braid.

"Nobody at night. Everyone by day. Ah, here is my son..."

A tall young man came in and nodded at the two policemen.

"My son James was going to go into medicine, but he changed his mind halfway through training, and came into the old firm instead. For which I am very grateful."

The tall young man smiled a thin smile.

"Any clues yet, Inspector?" he asked.

"Well, sir," said Inspector Braid, "that rather depends on what branch of medicine you were studying."

"I don't see what on earth that has got to do with..."

"I would not be surprised to learn," said Braid," that it was dentistry."

Both men stared at him.

"Yes, it was dentistry I trained in," said the son. "But why...?"

"I know a bit about dentists," said Braid. "I know that they talk a lot, because the patient can't. I know that they feel looked down on by doctors. And I know, crucially, that they are very good at using mirrors to operate delicately in areas which they cannot see directly, and where nobody else could operate."

There was a silence.

"Like with a combination behind a safe," he explained.

Nat turned to his son.

"James..." he said.

"Father," said James, "I needed the money! I had gambling debts! You would never listen to me...!"

"Come," said Braid to Comfort. "This is an old family firm, and they are having an old family argument. Let us leave them to it."