Gridlock transferred his attention from his knuckles to his spectacles. Pondering the murder, he abstractedly polished them with an unidentifiable, dingy cloth from his inside coat pocket.

But a flash of movement behind the sofa distracted him before the operation was complete. Surely that was Frankenstein motioning to him? Perhaps he had a clue. Drat this nearsightedness! Fumbling to replace the glasses, Gridlock excitedly approached the blur.

Crash! Frobisher had been an avid collector of artwork; his Ming vase collection was considered among the most complete in the world by knowledgeable critics. As Gridlock picked himself up off the floor, he glumly considered that the vase he had just tripped over was probably worth more than ten years of his salary. Head Inspector Spivens was not going to be pleased.

But Inspector Gridlock had more important issues to contend with. First, his glasses: they had to be around here somewhere. Myopically casting about, Gridlock realized he could have flung them anywhere during his fall. Perhaps in the corner?

Crash! Inspector Gridlock's now-trained ear instantly identified the sound of the destruction of another priceless vase. But this sound came from behind the sofa.