A blue-bottle buzzed lazily around the dusty room occasionally landing on piles of manuscripts once thumbed by eager scholars. Professor Charles Mitchell sat staring into space. He had been working on Anglo Saxon riddles. He was exhausted and needed a break but the paper needed to be delivered the day after tomorrow.

He reached behind him and removed a red leathered book concealing a small bottle of whisky. Unscrewing the top he drank the contents. He belched, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued ruminating on his theory.

Suddenly it came to him. Looking again at the Anglo Saxon script it all made sense to him. ‘Yes! The treasure!’ he shouted out. A pain gripped his chest and he slumped over his work. The fly circled over him once or twice and then hit the window several times in an attempt to escape the tragic scene.